Trickster (5 page)

 
The screen beeped again. Harenn tapped it and the computer-generated woman re-appeared.

 
"Welcome to Sunnytree Farms," she said in an overly-friendly voice. "If you would like guided information about our family-owned operation, just touch the green button on your screen. Otherwise please proceed with caution to the main office building. Thank you!"

 
Harenn reached down to tap the screen's off button, but Kendi grabbed her wrist.

 
"Wait," he said. " 'The greater your knowledge, the lesser your risk,' remember?"

 
"Irfan Qasad," Harenn muttered. "Very well." She touched the green button. Kendi continued to drive. Among the trees, he could now make out people. They wore simple clothing, with silver bands around their left wrists and ankles. Slave bands. Memories welled again, and Kendi resisted the impulse to rub his own wrist in sympathy.

 
"The L.L. Venus Corporation was founded on Earth over a eleven hundred years ago, when Lawrence Venus opened a single candy kitchen in the city of Milwaukee," burbled the computer lady. "He eventually expanded this small family business into a global operation. When the chance came, his heirs took the Venus Corporation to the stars. The company has spanned two millennia and operates on twenty-eight different planets, creating delicious chocolates and candies for billions of consumers--the delight of children everywhere."

 
The workers--slaves--were engaged in a variety of tasks, and they scarcely glanced at the passing groundcar. Some of the adults used hooked knives on poles to cut down the brownest pods, which the children gathered and piled on floating gravity sleds. Other slaves spread mulch, trimmed branches, and performed other tasks Kendi didn't recognize. Harenn watched the children with sharp eyes, and Kendi knew she was wondering which of them was her son.

 
"The cacao trees you see here at Sunnytree Farm are only the very first step in producing the rich, sumptuous chocolate treats you buy at the store," continued the computer. "The trees are difficult to raise--they require very a specific climate, soil type, and daily weather pattern. Attempts to genegineer cacao trees to make them sturdier and easier to grow have invariably degraded the quality of the beans, so we raise them the old-fashioned way, by hand--exactly as was done on Earth for thousands of years."

 
The groundcar abruptly emerged into bright sunlight. Kendi blinked until the windshield darkened itself to compensate. Harenn continued to sit rigid. A line of slaves stood at an outdoor conveyer belt loaded with lumpy brown cacao pods.

 
"If you look to your left," said the computer cheerfully, "you will see the L.L. Venus hands processing the ripe seed pods. First the pods are split in two with a machete." As if on cue, several of the slaves chopped the pods neatly down the middle as they passed by on the belt. "Next, our hands scoop out the mucilage and cocoa beans inside and put it into wooden boxes, which are then covered with leaves." The car passed stacks of leaf-covered crates. "Once the beans have fermented, they are removed and spread in the sun to dry. Each pod will produce between forty and fifty cocoa beans, but it takes more than seven hundred beans to make a single kilogram of--"

 
Kendi tapped the screen's red button. When Harenn raised her eyebrows at him, he said, "I can't stand that syrupy tone anymore."

 
"What number of slaves do you suppose this farm owns?"

 
Kendi looked out at a group of slave children who were using long-handled hoes to spread cocoa beans on screen-bottomed drying racks in the hot sun. Several of them were barely tall enough to see over the racks.

 
"Lots," he muttered. "Suddenly the idea of having a candy bar makes me sick to my stomach."

 
The driveway ended at an enormous mansion, complete with cupolas and gingerbread trim. Beyond the house lay a series of low, metal-sided buildings. Kendi assumed they were warehouses, equipment storage areas, and slave quarters. He guided the car into a parking lot near the house. The sun hit him like a hammer when he exited the air-conditioned interior of the car. Harenn didn't seem to notice, and instead headed straight for the mansion's front porch. Before they had reached the top step, the door opened and a man in a red tunic and brown trousers emerged. The L.L. Venus logo was embroidered in gold on the shoulder of the tunic. Kendi took Harenn's arm.

 
"Let me do the talking," he muttered.

 
Harenn gave a curt nod of acquiescence.

 
"Welcome to Sunnytree Farm," the man said. "How may I help you?"

 
Kendi repeated his request to see Douglas Markovi. "It's extremely important, and I'm afraid we really can't talk to anyone but him."

 
"Mr. Markovi is very busy," the man said doubtfully.

 
"I realize that, and I apologize for dropping in with no notice, but it's very important."

 
"What company did you say you were with?"

 
"I didn't," was Kendi's only reply.

 
The man wasn't daunted. "What company are you with?"

 
"A large private concern," Kendi said. "I'm sorry, but I can't be more specific than that except with Mr. Markovi himself."

 
Kendi could almost feel the waves of controlled impatience radiating off Harenn. He ground his teeth. In the days before the Despair, another Child of Irfan would have entered the Dream to whisper into this man's mind. If the man had any inclination toward granting Kendi and Harenn an audience with his managerial majesty, the whisper would magnify it and make Kendi's job easy. But nowadays very few Silent could even enter the Dream, let alone reach out of from it. Even before the Despair, Kendi had never been good at reaching out or at whispering. Ben hadn't yet learned. Kendi would have to rely on his own powers of persuasion.

 
The man resisted, and Kendi continued to work at him. His instincts told him offering a bribe wouldn't be effective, so he continued with a non-stop flow of persuasive talk while Harenn looked on. Eventually the man reluctantly led them to a tastefully-furnished waiting room with the curt promise that he would check with Mr. Markovi.

 
They waited over an hour. Harenn sat like a statue the entire time. Kendi knew she was in agony, but he didn't dare speak to her--the waiting area was probably bugged. Finally the man returned.

 
"Mr. Markovi has agreed to see you," he said with a certain amount of surprise in his voice.

 
He ushered them into a large, airy office. A blond man with a prominent chin waited behind a castle-sized desk against a bank of windows. A potted cacao tree blocked some of the sunshine streaming in through the glass. The man's tunic was edged with silver, and he forced Harenn and Kendi to reach across the huge expanse of his desk to shake hands. His grip was iron-hard. Kendi gave a mental sigh. The negotiations were going to be rough.

 
"I'm Douglas Markovi," said the blond man. "What's this about? The computer said you were asking about one of my hands."

 
"Hands," not "slaves,"
Kendi noted.
As if those people--
those
children
--
out there were interviewed and hired
. He decided to try the direct approach.

 
"My name is Kendi Weaver and this is my associate Harenn Mashib," he said. "We have a problem that I'm hoping you can help us solve."

 
Douglas Markovi sat in a tall leather chair behind his desk. He did not offer seats to Kendi and Harenn, though there were smaller chairs behind them. Kendi decided to remain standing for the moment. Although it made him look like an inferior, it did give him and Harenn a height advantage.

 
"What problem would that be?"

 
"You have a--a
hand
on your farm named Jerry," Kendi said. "According to public record, you bought him two weeks ago."

 
"I may have," Markovi said. "We acquired several hands recently, but I don't know all of them."

 
Despite the fact that you give all of them your last name
, Kendi growled silently. "Unfortunately," he said aloud, "Jerry is not actually a slave."

 
"He is my son," Harenn blurted out.

 
Markovi raised a single blond eyebrow, a trick Kendi hated--the few people he knew who could actually do it invariably used it for sarcastic effect.

 
"Jerry was kidnapped by his father as a baby and sold without Harenn's knowledge or permission," Kendi said. "This is a violation of Independence Confederation slave code and a violation of the slave codes set down by the Five Green Worlds."

 
"This isn't the Independence Confederation," Markovi said. "And the FGW doesn't seem to exist much anymore."

 
"You are correct, sir," Kendi said. He hadn't really expected a legal ploy to work. "However, I'm not asking you to hand Jerry over for free. I'm offering to buy him from you."

 
"I just acquired him," Markovi said. "And spent a fair amount of time having him trained. Why would I want to sell him?"

 
"Humanitarianism," Kendi said bluntly. "The chance to reunite a torn family. The chance to let a mother hold her own child again. And the chance to profit by it all. I'm willing to pay you twice Jerry's original purchase price, to reimburse you for your time and effort."

 
"Jerry, Jerry." Markovi tapped his desk and a holographic computer screen popped into being. "Oh yes--the damaged goods. Our regular slaver bought him from a small communications company. Little Jerry was just starting to sense the Dream when the Despair hit. None of the company's Silent slaves were able to reach the Dream afterward, and the company wasn't big enough to survive long without Silent revenue. They went bankrupt right quick, had to sell off their livestock. Looks like we got him for a song."

 
Harenn's hands were clenched so tightly Kendi was afraid her palms would start bleeding. "Triple price, then," he said, "to ensure it's worth your while. Hard currency."

 
"Well, here's the thing." Markovi leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "The boy's seen a lot of our operation by now, and security around here's pretty tight. We can't sell off hands who might blab secrets to Venus's competitors."

 
"How much could he have learned in two weeks?"

 
"The chocolate business is cutthroat. You'd be surprised," Markovi continued as if Kendi hadn't spoken. "For all I know, you two work for Wexford Chocolate and Jerry is your mole. Wexford would love to know exactly how we do things around here."

 
Harenn said, "I brought his birth certificate and genetic--"

 
"Yes, yes, I'm sure you did," Markovi interrupted. "But I'm afraid that I couldn't sell the boy even if I wanted to. FGW law says only a slave dealer can sell hands less than a year after purchase. I sell you this Jerry boy now, and I'm in trouble for trafficking in slaves without a license. Sorry, but you understand where I'm coming from. No sale."

 
Slaves
, not
hands
, Kendi thought.

 
"You just said the FGW doesn't much exist anymore," he said aloud, trying to keep his temper. "They aren't in a position to uphold--"

 
"Sorry, Junior. Can't do it."

 
"Five times the price," Kendi said tightly. "I might even be able to come up with six."

 
"Wouldn't matter if you handed me a hundred and your associate here gave me a blow job," Markovi drawled. "Joe and Alex here will show you out now."

 
Kendi turned. He hadn't heard the office door open, nor had he sensed the two heavily-muscled goons glide into the room. Harenn's eyes went wild. She lunged across the desk and grabbed Markovi by the throat.

 
"You have to sell him to me," she hissed. "He is my
son
, you bastard!
Give me my son!
"

 
"Harenn!" Kendi shouted. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her away. Markovi's eyes bulged and he made choking sounds. Joe appeared next to Markovi and pried Harenn's fingers away. The moment he broke her grip, Harenn balled up a fist and socked Markovi in the face. He stumbled backward with a yelp.

 
"Get them the fuck out of here!" he howled, one hand over his nose. Blood trickled between his fingers.

 
Joe grabbed Harenn's wrists and twisted her hands behind her. Kendi spun to face him. He was the man who had originally shown them in.

 
"Let her go!" Kendi snapped.

 
"Not until we're outside," Joe replied through clenched teeth. Harenn fought his grip, cursing and snarling. He pushed her firmly and none-too-gently toward the door. Alex put a heavy hand on Kendi's shoulder to escort him away as well. Kendi shook it off with a glare and followed Joe and Harenn out the office door.

 
"Bitch!" Markovi yelled after them. "You'll never see your little brat again, I'll make sure of that!"

 
Harenn renewed her struggles, and in the end it took both Joe and Alex to get her out to the parking lot. Kendi, not knowing what else to do, followed.

 
"Get into the car, sir," Joe said. "Our security computer will take control of your vehicle and drive it from the grounds. If you try to come back--" he cracked his knuckles pointedly "--it'll involve a lot of broken bones."

 
Kendi silently climbed in. The moment he closed the door, the groundcar rushed out of the parking lot and zipped up the driveway. The gates swung open just in time to let the vehicle through and they crashed shut behind it.