Dreamer:

A Novel of The Silent Empire

Steven Harper

Chapter Three

The Dream

The best spy hides in open day, where everyone can see.

—Kethan Majir, Letters from Prison

Kendi Weaver got to his feet, his stomach still lurching around his insides. His arm hurt, his drugs were wearing off, and he wanted nothing more than to call up hot, dry Outback. Gretchen’s mind pressed in on him, however, keeping the Dream ocean washing up and down beneath him. The motion worsened his nausea.

“Let’s go, Gretch,” he said. “I’m about done in.”

Gretchen caught sight of his arm and let go of the helm. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

“I’ll explain on the ship, Gretch. I have to go.” And he released the Dream.

Ship and ocean vanished, replaced by gray ceramic walls and a red spear under his knee. He disentangled himself and sank down to the narrow bed. Angry red scratches ran down his arm, and bruises were already forming. His shoulder was stiff, and faint pangs of nausea still oozed through his stomach. No matter how hard he tried, Kendi still couldn’t master instantaneous movement through the Dream. The abrupt change from one world to another was just too much.

Another small wave of nausea. Kendi took deep breaths until the feeling passed. Both the nausea and his injuries were in his head. If he could keep his Dream and waking selves more separate, as Ara was fond of reminding him, his mind would stop creating counterparts to injuries he sustained in the Dream. Most Silent only sustained slight discomfort if they were hurt while Dreaming, though actual death in the Dream meant death in the waking world no matter how finely-tuned a Silent’s control might be. This knowledge lessened neither pain nor nausea.

After a moment, Kendi pulled on a robe and went down the hall to the bathroom. He took a hot shower, sprayed his arm with disinfectants and painkillers, and swallowed an anti-inflammatory agent for his shoulder. Feeling better, he headed back to get dressed and found Ben at his door. Ben’s red hair was tousled as usual, though his purple tunic had been recently smoothed.

“Hey, Ben,” Kendi said. “I was in the bathroom.”

Ben turned. His blue eyes fixed on Kendi a moment before glancing away. “We’ve landed,” he said. “Customs will board pretty soon, and I’ve got some bad news. Jack downloaded the latest illegals for Rust. I guess your...uh...your...”

Kendi groaned theatrically and entered his room. Ben followed with a certain reluctance, like a puppy trying to figure out if it was welcome or would be shooed out the moment someone noticed it. Kendi thumbed the lock on his medicine chest and gathered ampules.

“I would’ve called on the intercom,” Ben continued, “but Peggy-Sue couldn’t find you. Poor thing’s old and full of bugs.”

Kendi, still gathering ampules, stole a glance at Ben over his shoulder. He was shorter than Kendi, and stocky. His build, muscular but not intimidating, filled out the trader’s tunic very nicely, and his face had an open, ingenuous look.

And so damned handsome, Kendi thought.

Kendi’s injured shoulder suddenly spasmed. Ampules scattered over the floor. Instantly Ben was at Kendi’s side, his hand on Kendi’s good arm.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Kendi grunted. “It’s all in my head, but it still hurts. Guess my mind is stronger than the painkillers.”

Ben guided Kendi to the bed, and Kendi let him. There was nothing wrong with his legs, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the gentle, familiar warmth of Ben’s hand. He sat down and Ben knelt to gather up the ampules. Kendi felt a little empty when Ben let go.

“Ben,” he said suddenly.

“No, Kendi,” Ben said without looking up.

“But—”

“I’m sorry, Kendi. Just ‘no,’ all right?” Ben’s knees cracked when he got up, his hands full of ampules. A slight blush colored his face.

“Ben, I just want to know why. I mean, you all but pushed me out the door.”

“Kendi, please don’t. Not right now.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ben,” Kendi said quietly. It was hard to keep his voice steady. “You’ve been avoiding me since I moved back to the monastery. This is the first time I’ve been alone with you, and even on this ship, that isn’t easy to arrange.”

Ben looked away, then nodded. “I don’t like avoiding you. I want to be friends, Kendi, but—well, we can talk later, I promise. Maybe we can be...” Then he shook his head and backed away. “Look, I’ll put these in the smuggling compartments in the engine room, all right?”

Kendi nodded. His heart beat fast and his mouth was dry. Ben trotted into the hall and the door slid shut.

“Maybe we can be...” Kendi repeated aloud. Elation filled him and he wanted to leap to his feet in a dance of joy. He forced the feeling down, however. ‘Maybe’ meant only ‘not no.’ Kendi lay back on the bed and sighed heavily. He could still see Ben’s blue eyes, feel his firm hand, hear his quiet voice.

If it is in my best interest and in the best interest of all life everywhere, he thought, please let ‘maybe’ mean ‘yes.’

Another knock at the door made him sit up. “Come in.”

Gretchen slid the door open. “Intercom’s broken,” she announced. “Ara told me what happened. She wants to brief everyone, but first—”

“Attention! Attention!” said the computer’s voice. “Unity customs officials will board in five minutes.”

Kendi stood up. “Guess the intercom’s fixed.”

“Do you think what happened has something to do with the child?” Gretchen asked as they headed for the door.

“Dunno,” Kendi said. “But something that can do that to the Dream scares the hell out of me.”

oOo

The quarantine and customs people only confiscated five shots of painkillers, a pair of goldfish Ara had warned Trish not to bring, and three heads of lettuce from the galley. Some extensive clinking that passed from Ara’s hands to the inspector’s ensured that they confiscate nothing else.

After they left, Ara called a briefing in the tiny galley. Despite her earlier threat, Kendi didn’t have to clean up the mess left by his abrupt u-turn. Jack Jameson, who held forth as ship’s cook and quartermaster, had already taken care of that. Not everyone could sit down, even though the crew numbered only eight. Kendi—and the others, he was sure—would have preferred to meet somewhere else, but the customs inspectors had just left, and Ara was worried they might have planted listening devices. Trish had so far managed to sweep only the galley.

Ara, Kendi, Gretchen, Trish and Ben got seats at the table. Jack, a thin, blond man in his late fifties, hovered in a corner. Pitr’s solid bulk occupied the doorway. Abruptly he yelped and stood aside. Harenn Mashib slouched into the room, her dark eyes heavy above her blue veil. She was short, with an average build and olive skin. Kendi wondered what she had done to make Pitr jump. Harenn moved toward Jack’s corner, and he vacated it immediately.

“Coffee?” she grumped.

“I’d like to get started,” Ara interjected tartly, and launched into an explanation of what had happened in the Dream. Pitr, who was also Silent, went pale.

“So whenever you go into the Dream, I want you to be extra careful. Get out if something in your environment changes and you can’t fix it,” Ara concluded. She drummed her fingers briefly on the tabletop. “I also met personally with the Empress.”

The group stirred at this, and Kendi stole a glance at Ben. Ben’s eyes, however, remained locked on Ara.

“She wants the child at all costs,” Ara said. “She’s worried this kid might kill someone or even start a war. We are to find the child quickly. Highest priority.”

Kendi shifted in his seat. Something didn’t feel right. He looked closely at Ara’s face, but found no help there. Like Ben, she wouldn’t look at him.

She’s holding something back, he decided. What’s with that?

“Kendi’s will search the black markets,” Ara continued. “Gretchen will check out the legitimate slaves. Ben, you and Trish see what you can find on the nets. Anything unusual might be a clue. Pitr, I want you to explore the Dream, see if you find anything funny. I’m going to shmooze with the bureaucrats. Jack, you deal with inquiries about buying our cargo. Harenn, you keep working on the damage we sustained when the Unity fired on us.”

“I’ll probably be a few days, Mother,” Kendi said. “It takes time to make contacts. I’ll check in when I can.”

Ara nodded, still without looking at him. “Just remember—we are nothing more than humble confection traders. If you even poke your nose out a hatchway, make sure you’re wearing a purple tunic. Questions? Then head out, troups.”

Everyone except Kendi moved for the door. After the room cleared, he turned to Ara.

“I can’t wear the tunic when I’m trying to make contacts,” Kendi said. “I’d be better off posing as an out-of-towner instead of showing up as an off-worlder.”

“You’d know better than I would,” Ara said in a neutral voice.

The hell with it. “Ara, what aren’t you telling me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you aren’t telling me everything. Did the Empress say something? Something you left out of the briefing?”

“No.”

Kendi blinked. “You know, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever lied to me.”

“Leave it, Kendi.”

“Ara, I’m second in command here. If the Empress told you—”

“I said, leave it!” Ara snapped.

“Fine.” Kendi rose. “Just don’t get yourself killed or incapacitated, Mother, or I’ll be commanding this shitshingle half blind.” And he left the galley.

oOo

Ara shifted impatiently from foot to foot. She examined her fingernails. She counted the gray ceiling tiles. And she waited. Behind her, in the public clerk’s office proper, low murmurs mixed with the clatter of computer keys and flat-voiced computer responses as people used the terminals. Despite the computer access, however, a hefty line of people waited to talk to the half-dozen clerks behind the counter. Painted signs admonished, Everything for the Good of the Unity, You Are Your Neighbor’s Keeper, and You Have a Friend in the Unity. The room was cramped and dingy, with dirty white tile on the floor and cheap, lumpy walls. Ara had been waiting in line for an hour, and that gave her time to think. Words and phrases mixed in her head, and the office offered no distractions.

The safety of this Confederation is more important.

I think that’s the first time you ever lied to me.

I want you to destroy it.

There’s something you aren’t telling me.

The line shuffled forward a pace. Ara sighed. She had wanted to tell Kendi what the Empress had said, but the words had stuck in her throat. How could she kill a child?

Maybe it won’t come to that, she told herself. Maybe the child won’t be a threat.

“Glory to the—Ara? Stars above, is that you?”

A chill stabbed Ara’s bones. She glanced up sharply and realized she had reached the front of the line. Behind the counter was a man who looked about sixty. He was bald, heavily freckled, and thin. He didn’t look the least bit familiar. Who was he? How had he recognized her? Should she brazen it out? Pretend he was mistaken? Run for it?

She settled on polite bewilderment.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I don’t think I—”

“It’s me, Ara. Chin Fen.”

Recognition dawned. “Fen?” Ara gasped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Fen shrugged. “Everyone’s got to go somewhere. What are the odds, huh? Looks like you didn’t complete—” He halted for a moment, then leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Complete your Silent training after all.”

Relief washed through Ara, though she didn’t relax. Chin Fen had left the Children of Irfan when he and Ara were in their early twenties. She remembered him as quiet and shy. More of a hanger-on than a friend. He’d always been friendly, though, and now that Ara was over her initial shock, she realized his presence was a gift, a free contact.

“I didn’t recognize you at first,” she admitted. “But what should we expect after—”

“Don’t say how many years it’s been,” Fen interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it.”

God, he’s a year younger than I am, Ara thought, trying not to stare at the wrinkles and spots. And I’m not even fifty. Is that what living under the Unity does?

Fen lowered his voice again. “Look, don’t tell anyone that you’re Silent, even an untrained one. You’ll be sold into slavery. You wouldn’t believe what I went through to avoid being found out.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Ara murmured.

Fen nodded. “So what made you leave the...university?”

“I had a change of heart,” Ara replied. “It didn’t turn out to be what I was looking for.”

“For you and me both,” Fen laughed. “How long did you last after I left?”

Ara thought quickly. She’d have to remember whatever lie she told. Best to keep it simple. “Two years. Maybe three? I haven’t thought about the university in a long time.”

“It was a good time. You, me, Priss, Dello, and—what was his name? The guy who limped.”

“Benjamin,” Ara supplied with a small twinge.

Fen snapped his fingers. “Benjamin Heller. Wouldn’t let us call him Ben. Whatever happened to any of them? I never heard.”

In a split-second, nearly thirty years fell away. Claxons blared again. The eerily calm computer’s voice announced the hull breach. Benjamin shouted in frantic surprise.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I fell out of touch.”

The man behind Ara pointedly cleared his throat. Chin Fen took the hint.

“Maybe we can have dinner later and catch up,” he said. “What can I help you with right now?”

Ara drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Information. I’m selling chocolate, and I hear Rust is hurting for it.”

“We are,” Fen said with a small laugh. “I can’t remember when I last tasted the stuff. But we don’t carry trade info here. You want the Commerce Chamber.”

“I’m not worried about my current cargo,” Ara replied. “It’s the future I’m looking at. I have a couple of standing contracts for slaves, and I need to know more about Rust’s regulations. I tried to access the public terminals, but they won’t let me in without a code. The error message said I could get one here.”

Although it would be relatively easy for Ben to hack into Rust’s nets again, Ara saw no point in risking arrest over information that could be gotten legitimately with proper paperwork. Best to save Ben for the high-powered stuff not available to the public.

Fen’s face cleared. “Access codes I can help you with. I’ll just need to download your papers. And there’s a forty kesh charge.”

“Forty kesh?” Ara yelped. “I could open my own store for that.”

“Not on Rust,” Fen replied. “Sorry.”

Making a big show of grumbling, Ara paid the fee and let Fen download from her computer pad the identity papers Ben had forged for her. In the interest of keeping everything simple, he had used their real first names and falsified last names.

“I adopted my grandmother’s name after she died,” Ara breezed when Fen asked about the discrepancy. “I wanted to honor her memory.”

“Did you ever marry?” Fen used a small scanner to verify her retina and thumb prints.

“No.” She laughed. “Running a merchant vessel doesn’t leave time for romance.”

“It must be more interesting than working here.” Fen’s fingers flicked over his terminal. “All set. If your crew wants access, though, they’ll each have to come down here themselves. Tell them to bring a good book.”

“And a small fortune,” Ara groused.

Fen leaned across the counter. “I’m supposed to go on break soon. Let’s get something to eat, hey?”

Ara’s initial instinct was to make excuses. She’s have to watch every word she said and remember every lie she told. A moment’s thought, however, told her that this man was a friendly contact in unfriendly territory.

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” she said.

Chin Fen’s face lit up like a puppy in love, and suddenly Ara wasn’t so sure she’d made the right decision.