Dreamer (18 page)

Silent. Prasad stared, ignoring the sidelong glances of the guards. The children were silent and Silent. They—Prasad, Dr. Say, and Dr. Kri—had made them that way. Everyone knew that a Silent fetus had to come to term in a living mother’s womb. It didn’t matter what species the being might be, and it didn’t matter what technology anyone tried as a substitute for a living mother’s voice or heartbeat. Silent fetuses grown in artificial wombs invariably withered and died. Most people assumed that the Silent were, on some level, aware of the minds around them, and the presence of the mother’s mind was crucial.

Until the lab came along. When Prasad first met them, Dr. Say and Dr. Kri had barely begun their research, but they had already made several advances. It was simply a matter of brain chemistry.  A developing fetus did not actually have to have its mother’s mind nearby—it only needed to
think
its mother was nearby.

“All sensation and memory,” Dr. Kri had said in his rich, mellow voice, “is nothing but a series of chemical patterns stored in the brain. All we have to do is figure out which chemical pattern the brain of a live-womb fetus creates when it senses its mother nearby, create that chemical sequence ourselves, and transplant it into the brain of a machine-womb fetus.”

It hadn’t been that simple, of course. Genetic codes—and therefore chemical patterns—varied from fetus to fetus, which meant creating a series of genetically identical embryos. There was also the fact that some gene combinations seemed to thrive better than others. Learning these combinations had taken several years and many failed fetuses. There was also the problem of chemical delivery. They experimented with direct site delivery using microscopic chemical packs slipped into hijacked white blood cells, but in the end, it had been easiest to produce a retrovirus that would bond with—and change—the neural DNA itself, forcing the cells to create their own memory codes.

Prasad had spent his days cutting and splicing genes, many of them his own. Katsu, meanwhile, spent her time in a small nursery area set up within Prasad’s lab. A slave woman looked after her needs, but Prasad had wanted his daughter nearby.

Several fetuses were already gestating by the time Prasad arrived, and it wasn’t long before the babies were born. Very early, however, it became clear that something was wrong. The subjects didn’t respond to outside stimuli. They rarely moved, and they never, ever cried.

After some study, Dr. Kri came to the conclusion that their brains hadn’t developed quite properly. The subjects were barely as intelligent as a fish or a bird. They were certainly not sentient. He had advocated destroying them and starting over. But Prasad had argued vehemently against it. He knew it was because he looked at the infants, perfectly formed but so very quiet, and in them he saw Katsu, but he argued on scientific grounds. Why destroy them when there was more to learn? Dr. Say had agreed and persuaded Dr. Kri.

Other batches of subjects were removed from the machine wombs, but none of them seemed to be intelligent or self-aware. They spent most of their time with their eyes closed and responded only to intense stimuli, especially pain. On the rare occasions when their eyes opened, they were blank and staring. The experiments continued.

Katsu, meanwhile, grew into a toddler and then a child. To Prasad’s pride, she seemed to be extremely intelligent, though she was also very quiet. She seemed possessed of an odd patience, perfectly happy to while away the hours completely by herself. Oddly, she rarely asked questions about the world outside the research base. Katsu seemed to accept the fact that trips to the surface were difficult and rare.

The moment she was old enough, Prasad ensured she could access the computer networks through a disguised link that the Unity would not notice, and she seized on it with an almost startling hunger. Not a social child to begin with, Katsu became even more withdrawn with the addition of network access to her life, and Prasad had to limit the amount of time she spent there. He also kept an eye on what she did with her computer time, and discovered she had a passion for marine biology. By age eight, she was an authority on Rustic ocean life, or so she appeared to Prasad, who knew next to nothing about the subject. He arranged trips for her on the base’s submersile, a small, tank-like vehicle, so she could collect samples of fish and plant life.

She was also fascinated by the experimental subjects. Although they did little but lie still in their beds on the other side of the plastic barrier, Katsu would watch them for long periods with her unreadable dark eyes. At first Prasad and the others had tried to shoo her back to her play area, but Katsu always drifted back. Eventually Prasad gave up trying. It was either let her look or lock her out of the lab, and he just couldn’t bring himself to leave her completely in someone else’s care.

Prasad did worry about Katsu’s social development. The base had little over a dozen other people in it—Drs. Kri and Say, Prasad, a research virologist named Max Garinn, and eleven slaves who cooked, cleaned, and took care of the research subjects. And Dr. Say avoided Katsu. Prasad had never seen her near his daughter. In any case, none of the people were even close to Katsu’s age, and there was no way to arrange playmates. But Katsu didn’t seem to mind. She spent time with her computer, her fish, and her father. Except for the test subjects, the other people on the base barely seemed to exist for her.

Just before Katsu’s ninth birthday, Prasad and other scientists noticed a change in the lab subjects, the ones from the first batch that Dr. Say had wanted to destroy. At times, they expressed agitation, twitching movement that bordered at convulsion. One day when Prasad was observing, one of them sat up and screamed. Or at least, that was what appeared to happen. The subject opened its mouth wide and had a look of fear on its face, but not a single sound emerged from its throat.

Prasad and the other researchers didn’t know what to make of it. Max Garinn, a tidy, blond man with a long mustache he liked to twirl, was especially fascinated. He offered several theories, none of which sounded plausible. Then Katsu, at her customary place near the barrier, spoke up.

“They’re in the Dream,” she said in her soft voice.

And no matter how much Max Garinn and Prasad urged her, she refused to say more.

Dr. Kri immediately reset the medical sensors to read neural activity among the subjects, something she hadn’t done before because human Silent never showed direct awareness of the Dream without training. She found increased activity in each subject’s right hemisphere, consistent with normal humans in REM sleep and with Silent humans in the Dream. The pons of each subject was also sending a multitude of signals to the thalamus and cerebral cortex, again indicating dream—or Dream—activity.

Excitement reigned in the lab for weeks as the phenomenon was studied. Obviously the early batch of subjects had met with some success—they were able to reach the Dream, and without training. Prasad tried several times to entice Katsu into telling him how she had known, but she continually refused to say.

The same thing happened when the next set of subjects reached their eleventh year, and the next set, and the next. At this point thirty-five subjects were reaching the Dream on a steady basis.

So was Katsu. At age thirteen, two years after the first subjects entered the Dream, she had lain down on her bed and, without help from any drugs Prasad knew about, gone into the Dream herself. She had reported the fact to Prasad at dinner that night in the same tone of voice that she might have used to report the acquisition of a new fish. Astounded, Prasad pressed for details, but Katsu avoided giving them. All she would say was, “They taught me.”

And Prasad had to be content with that.

Dr. Say had wanted Prasad to be more persistent, to the extent of forcing the information from her if necessary, but Prasad couldn’t bring himself to do it. Katsu’s presence in his life was a delicate, fragile thing, something to be honored and cherished. He couldn’t bear to raise his voice in her presence, let alone wring information from her.

As time passed, Katsu spent more and more time in the Dream and less on the computer. Prasad had no idea what she did in the Dream, but she seemed none the worse for the time she spent there. At age seventeen, Katsu was a beautiful, serene young woman. Nothing seemed to bother or even startle her, and Prasad could not imagine her any other way.

And now they wanted her eggs.

Prasad’s genes were conducive to creating Silent subjects, and Dr. Kri had determined that Katsu’s were as well. Not only did she carry both Vidya’s and Prasad’s rich genetic structures, Katsu additionally carried a bonus—Vidya’s mitochondrial DNA. The mitochondria, a tiny cell structure contained that converts sugar into energy, contains a strand of DNA separate from the cell’s nucleus. Mitochondrial DNA, however, is passed down from mother to child. The father contributes nothing to it. This meant that Katu’s mitochondrial DNA was a clone of Vidya’s and that Katsu would pass it on to her children one day. Dr. Say wanted to incorporate just Vidya’s DNA into more test subjects, and this was a way to do it.

On the other side of the barrier, another subject opened its mouth in a silent scream. The phenomenon had begun several months ago, starting with the oldest subjects and appearing to spread to the youngest in a mere matter of days. Their blood pressures skyrocketed during these episodes, and their brainwave activity indicated a seizure reminiscent of epilepsy. Prasad didn’t know what to make of it, though Dr. Say claimed to be working on a theory.

They are not sentient,
Prasad told himself over and over.
The mental capacity is not there. They aren’t aware that they exist any more than a fish or a chicken is.

But lately Prasad had begun to wonder. How could something non-sentient have so much brainwave activity? How could something without a mind enter the Dream? And how was all this helping Dr. Say and Dr. Kri figure out how to let Silent gestate outside a mother’s living womb?

Prasad continued to stare through the barrier. His breath fogged the plastic with warm white mist. Some of those subjects were his children, just as surely as Katsu was his daughter. Were they suffering? Did they feel fear and pain? Lately, he had become more and more sure that they did.

A great restlessness filled Prasad. How long had it been since he had visisted the surface? Three years? Four? Suddenly he felt caged in. How had he let himself go on this far?

Then he thought of the surface. It was the surface where wars were waged, where Silent children were ripped from their parents’ arms, where innocent people starved because a foreign government desired more resources. Down here everything was safe and hidden. Food was plentiful. His daughter was free to pursue whatever interest she desired.

And what would happen if she desired an interest that took her above the surface?
he thought.
What would Dr. Kri say to that?

Prasad left the lab and walked the quiet corridors back the apartment. The entire place felt wrong to him now, and he felt a growing restlessness, as if something were coming for him and for Katsu, something that had nothing to do with her eggs or her genes. Should he and Katsu leave the complex? Get out right now? But how could he arrange it?

Prasad Vajhur checked on his daughter one more time—she was still asleep or in the Dream—and went to bed, where he spent a fruitless night trying to sleep.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SHIP
POST SCRIPT

The greater your knowledge, the smaller your risk.

—Silent proverb

“He’s going to need a teacher, Ara,” Kendi said, trying to keep his temper.

“Not a good idea at this stage,” Ara replied firmly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Kendi demanded. “Sejal has a new form of Silence, and someone needs to teach him how to use it. He’s already sixteen years old. He should have started lessons years ago.”

Ara set her tea on the small table next to her armchair. Kendi sat across from her in a matching armchair. Ara’s quarters always seemed overstuffed to him, with their preponderance of furniture, rugs, bookshelves, and desk space. The place felt stuffy and humid, a far cry from the spartan quarters he himself kept.

“You’ve answered your own question,” Ara said. “Sejal has a new form of Silence. How can anyone teach him how to use it?”

“Silence is Silence,” Kendi shot back. “He needs to learn meditation and concentration, no matter what his abilities are. And he needs to start now.”

“Have you been in the Dream lately?” Ara asked.

“I’ve been too busy. Harenn kept us all jumping, trying to get the ship back in order. You’re the only one who’s been in since...” Kendi licked his lips, trying to suppress the lump of sudden sorrow in his throat. “...since Pitr’s funeral.”

“The Dream has gotten more dangerous since then,” Ara said flatly. “There have been more incidents like that pit opening up and that canyon appearing, and now there’s some sort of...I don’t know what to call it. A storm, maybe. It’s swallowed up nineteen planets, and their Silent have gone incommunicado. This is not a good time to bring a novice into the Dream.”

“I won’t be bringing Sejal into the Dream,” Kendi shot back, though Ara’s description of danger had piqued his curiosity. “He has to learn breathing and meditation, and then we have to figure out what drug cocktail will get him the rest of the way. We have to get started now.”

“Kendi,” Ara said, switching tactics, “you’ve never taught anyone before. You’re inexperienced.”

“So were you at one time. Look, I’ve had all the courses on how to teach the Silent, and I’ve reviewed the material. I have to start somewhere. If I get stuck, I’ll call for help.”

“Kendi—”

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?” Kendi interrupted. “Ara, what’s going on? I know there are things you haven’t told me. Is this related to any of that secrecy bullshit?”

“There’s no need to swear,” Ara said primly.

“The hell there isn’t,” Kendi snapped. “You’ve been leading us by the nose for days and telling us next to nothing. You even kept quiet about this new thing in the Dream until now.” His voice softened. “That isn’t like you. The Real People—my people—have a saying:
It’s far easier for people to do what’s necessary when they understand why it must be done.
”

“Irfan said that,” Ara murmured.

“She got it from us,” Kendi said without missing a beat. “Look, the point is you know I’m right. Keeping information from us—from me—isn’t helping here. What has the Empress been telling you?”

“Did I say this had anything to do with the Empress?”

“Dammit!” Kendi slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, but the padded surface muffled the noise and crippled the dramatic impact. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I’m taking Sejal as a student.”

Ara gave him a cool stare. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh yeah? Try this.
The Law of the Children,
section four, subsection six, paragraph two point one, and I quote:
Any Silent who has achieved the rank of Sibling or higher may begin instructing students.
I’m still a full Brother, last I looked. Section eight, subsection twelve, paragraph four point one:
Any Sibling who locates and brings a fellow Silent to the ranks of the Children has the option of becoming the new Silent’s teacher, provided such an arrangement is agreeable to both parties.”

“Just looked it all up, I take it.”

“Look,” Kendi said, “Sejal wants me for his teacher. He said so when I asked him this morning. The regs are my side. For once.”

“There are too many unknowns here, Kendi. I won’t let you.”

“You can’t stop me,” Kendi countered, “unless you throw me in the brig. Oh, wait—we don’t have one. Shucks.”

“I’ll confine you to quarters.”

Kendi almost countered with the fact that he could press charges against Ara for breaking protocols. But, he realized, that would probably only spur Ara to dig in and become even more stubborn, and the fight would only escalate from there. Five years ago he would have fought, but despite what Ara liked to think, Kendi had learned at least a few things about human nature and the art of diplomacy.

“Ara,” he said, “the law is very clear here. I found Sejal, I get to teach him. You know that’s the case. If there’s something you haven’t told me that might change my mind, now’s your chance.”

“Why are you so interested in this boy?” Ara asked. “You do know he isn’t related to you.”

Kendi shrugged, ignoring the stab of disappointment awakened by Ara’s words. “I like Sejal. He’s a nice kid. We click when we’re together.”

“And are you sure you want to change that relationship? Being a teacher is different from being a friend.”

“I want to show him the Dream,” Kendi said simply.

“And you want the advancement opportunity.”

Kendi gave her a hard look. Although he was a full Brother among the Children, Kendi didn’t intend to remain a Sibling forever. As a Father, he would be allowed to scout on his own for other Silent outside the Dream. As a Father Adept, he would be able to lead a crew of recruiters as Ara did. It was a strict rule among the Children of Irfan, however, that new monks had to pay back all that the Children had done for them—education, room, board, and Silent training—and no one advanced beyond Sibling before this debt was repaid.

Repayment was partly accomplished through performing the inter-system communication work that remained the stock in trade for Silent everywhere and was the primary source of income for the monastery. Another rule, this one unwritten, stated that one paid back by paying forward. Taking on a student was the primary way of doing this, though finding and recruiting was another method. A fair number of Siblings were unsuited to recruiting or teaching, and remained Brothers and Sisters—field agents, communication experts, and researchers in the main. Brother Kendi, however, had his own agenda. Father Kendi would have the freedom and resources to search for his family on his own. Father Adept Kendi would be able to comandeer others to help him.

And successfully teaching a student with a heretofore unknown form of Silence would bring him a certain amount of notoriety, meaning the unofficial pay-forward period would be shortened considerably.

“I can’t deny I’m looking to advance,” Kendi said calmly. “But that isn’t the main reason I’m doing this. You know me better than that, Ara.”

Ara sighed. “I guess I can’t stop you. Teach him, then. Just be careful.”

Kendi rose and turned to go.

“And Kendi,” Ara said. Kendi paused and looked back. “I’ve taught over a dozen students. I’m here if you need advice.”

Kendi nodded his thanks and left.

Mother Adept Araceil Rymar emptied her teacup into the tiny sink. Kendi had learned a great deal, she had to give him that. Not long ago, he would have dug in his heels and kept on fighting, which would have only made her want to fight back. Now, however, he had learned how to sidestep this problem. Still, he hadn’t noticed how she’d steered the conversation away from herself and levered it back on him.

Youth and beauty will forever lose to age and treachery,
she thought wryly.

Ara stared down at the little brown trickles left in the bottom of the sink. She’d had the perfect opportunity to tell Kendi about the Empress’s order, and still she found herself dodging the issue. Before that, there had been the excuse of needing to repair the ship and taking care of Pitr’s memorial service and it had been easy to tell herself she’d take care of the situation as soon as all that was done. Now, however, she still found she couldn’t do it.

Why burden him?
she thought.
It’s my problem, and there isn’t anything he can do to solve it. He’ll have his hands full with Sejal.

She had hoped to talk Kendi out of teaching the boy. Not only was Sejal’s Silence an unknown, it wouldn’t be a good idea for the two of them to get too close. Not if Sejal might...die. Unfortunately, Kendi had been correct about the law. If she had continued to refuse him—and as captain of the ship, she could technically refuse any request she wanted—her refusal would be overruled the moment they arrived back at the monastery. Besides, Kendi was, in many ways, another son to her, and she hated fighting with him.

Ara rubbed a hand over her face. The strain was starting to tell on her. She felt tired all the time, and she barely ate. It was difficult to summon the concentration necessary to enter the Dream, and she found herself avoiding the Dream in any case because lately it always seemed to involve messages to the Empress.

Her chime sounded. “Come in,” Ara said automatically.

The door slid open, revealing Chin Fen. Behind him stood Harenn, eyes half-closed, veil covering her lower face. Ara had ordered that whenever Fen left his quarters, he was to be accompanied by a crew member. He had no computer access, and no door on the
Post Script
would respond to his voice or thumb. Electronic shackles still adorned his neck, wrists, and ankles, and everyone on board except Sejal carried a master unit.

“Harenn says the repairs are finished,” Fen said. “Does that mean you have time to talk to me?”

Ara met Harenn’s eyes over Fen’s shoulder. She nodded and withdrew.

“I can clear space on my calendar.” Ara sat. “Have a chair. Would you like some tea?”

Fen obeyed, choosing the seat Kendi had just vacated. “The only thing I’d like is some information. Nobody on this ship will tell me anything but their names. I’ve been cooped up in that tiny room for four days, and I’m going insane.”

“Ask away, then.”

“What organization are you with?”

“The Children of Irfan.”

“I
knew
it,” Fen howled. “I didn’t believe for a second that you’d left them, or that if you did, you’d become a Unity trader. It just didn’t fit.”

“I didn’t figure on running across someone I knew,” Ara told him.

“Good thing you did,” Fen pointed out. “Otherwise you would never have found Sejal and his mother. All those lunches. You were playing me for a sap.”

Ara shrugged again. “You got free meals.”

“Bitch,” Fen said affably. “So what happens to me now?”

“Frankly, I have no idea,” Ara said. “I can’t trust you, Fen. You must know that.”

“Why not? I helped you. I stuck my neck out for you.”

“But I don’t understand why you did it.”

Fen looked faintly puzzled. “Because I
like
you Ara. I’ve always liked you.” He gave a small smile that deepened the wrinkles around his mouth. “And because you were my chance to get the hell out of the Unity. I had this half-baked idea that if I was nice enough to you, you’d get me off-planet. My motivations were selfish. Is
that
believable?”

“I’m still not sure,” Ara said, ignoring his attempt at humor. “Listen, Fen—all I know is that you came barreling out of nowhere and jumped aboard my ship just as it was about to take off. Your timing was too perfect. How do I know you’re not a Unity spy?”

“Look,” Fen pleaded, “I knew you were looking for Sejal and his mother a long time before you left Rust. If I were a Unity spy, I would’ve reported you to the Unity right away. You’d have been arrested, I’d have been promoted, and they’d have gotten Sejal.”

“You have a point,” Ara admitted grudgingly. “But I still don’t know what to do with you.”

Fen shrugged. “Take me back to Bellerophon.”

“Well, obviously. I’m sure the Grandparent Adepts will take you off my hands. I meant that I don’t know what to do with you
now.
We’re still eleven days out.”

“How about taking the shackles off me and giving me access to entertainment programs or something? I’m going crazy with boredom.”

Ara wordlessly pressed a button on the master unit. Fen’s collar and shackles opened and thumped softly on the carpet.

“Thanks.” He rubbed his wrist. “Nice quarters, by the way. You’re ranked at Mother Adept these days? Or have they changed the rules about crewing a ship since I left the order?”

“Mother Adept Araceil Rymar at your service.”

“I’m impressed,” Fen whistled. “I’ll bet lots of things have changed around the monastery in—” he coughed pointedly “—years.”

Ara snorted in spite of herself. “Not as many things as you might think. Vasco Beliz is still head of the research division.”

“Beliz?” Fen said incredulously. “He was older than refrigerator mold when I left. He must be ancient by now.”

“He says he hasn’t seen a refresher,” Ara said wickedly, “but you know he has.”

“What about Nowma Reed?”

“Retired. Long time ago.”

They continued to talk, and to her surprise, Ara found she actually enjoyed it. She didn’t have to remember previous lies or try to steer the conversation in any particular direction, and that was a tremendous relief. It was also nice putting off going back into the Dream. Now that Sejal’s existence was pretty much common knowledge, at least among the Silent, the Empress’s requirement of secrecy was no longer necessary, and Ara would have to report to the Council of Irfan everything that had happened—the discovery of Sejal, his odd powers, Kendi’s adamant desire to teach him. Ara wasn’t looking forward to it. So far she’d used the excuse of having to repair the ship and consult with the Empress as reasons to put it off, and Fen was a good excuse to put it off yet again.

Fen seemed different, too. Gone was the fawning, puppyish attitude that she had found so irritating. He was far more engaging when he wasn’t hitting on her or going out of his way to impress.