Chapter Seven

“When someone tells me he isn’t a thief, I count my money.”

— Drew Fleming, Investigative Reporter, Earth

Rafille Mallory was a plump, motherly-looking woman who kept people in cages. Harenn watched her with hard brown eyes and wondered how the woman could sleep at night.

”That’s her?” Bedj-ka said.

”It is,” Harenn said. “Stay with me, my son. I do not want to lose her — or you.”

Bedj-ka wordlessly fell into step beside Harenn as they threaded their way through the crowd of shoppers. This part of SA Station was given over to consumer goods for the wealthy, and the tall, wide tunnel was lined with expensive shops and exclusive stores. Long balconies created two more floors on both sides of the hallway, and occasional escalators and lifts granted access to them. Potted plants and fountains were artistically scattered about. Brightly-colored clothing displays and the rich smell of baking cookies tugged at Harenn’s attention, but she ignored them in favor of the woman she and Bedj-ka were trailing.

By now it felt natural to have Bedj-ka at her side, though Harenn still woke up and looked in on him in the middle of the night, just to make sure he was still there, that his return hadn’t been a dream. For his part, Bedj-ka had fallen easily into the rhythm of Harenn’s life. When they returned to Bellerophon, she would have to enroll him in school, but for now he assisted her in engineering, in the medical bay, and today, with a bit of spying. She liked having him there.

Despite all this, Harenn still felt strong flashes of negative emotion. She had missed all but the first month of Bedj-ka’s life. She had missed his first steps, his first words, his first day of school, and more. Other people, strangers, had been there to see them instead, and how could they celebrate these things properly, when to them Bedj-ka had been nothing more than a slave? Harenn felt cheated and angry, angry at Isaac Todd, angry at the slavers who had brokered Bedj-ka’s sale, angry at this Matron and Patron who had bought him.

Bedj-ka, for all his chatter, actually talked very little of his time in the Enclave. Harenn had managed to glean here and there that they were a small group who viewed the Silent as blessed people who needed to be sequestered because their gift made them more vulnerable to the normal foibles of humanity. Enslavement assured easier control, so the Enclave bought Silent children, both to “shelter” them and to train them. Once such Silent grew to adulthood and were able to work in the Dream, they kept the Enclave afloat financially by providing communication services. It was similar to the Children of Irfan, in a twisted sort of way.

Rafille Mallory paused to examine display of perfume in a store window. An animated sign flashed OBSESS WITH PHEROMONES. Harenn hung back to watch. This was growing frustrating. Three days of shadowing had turned up nothing. The woman had no hooks. Jeung and Papagos-Faye had shown vices that had proven easy to exploit, but Mallory had so far shown nothing. Harenn hadn’t even been able to determine where on her person she kept her computer key.

Bedj-ka started to speak, then coughed hard.

”Cover your mouth, please,” Harenn said, and pretended to stare thoughtfully into a gushing fountain so she could spy on Mallory, who was smiling at a display of stuffed toys.

”Sorry.” Bedj-ka coughed again, this time into his fist. Mallory picked up a small bear in motley colors, considered it, and set it back down again. “When do you want me to do it?”

”Soon,” Harenn said.

Mallory wandered into the perfume store, her walk almost a waddle. Harenn decided to wait outside for her rather than follow her inside and risk being noticed. She paid an exorbitant price for two giant cookies from a nearby bakery, and mother and son settled down on a bench to keep an eye out for Mallory’s exit. The cookies were warm and soft, made with peanut butter. Neither Harenn nor Bedj-ka much cared for chocolate these days.

”I had a weird dream last night,” Bedj-ka announced amid a spray of damp crumbs.

”Do not speak when your mouth is full,” Harenn said, taking a delicate bite of her own.

Bedj-ka swallowed and said, “I was walking through the dormitory at the Enclave, but all the rooms were empty and everything made these weird echoes around me. It felt like there were other people there with me, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. I looked and looked, and then I started to run, but I still couldn’t find anybody. Finally I ended up in the dining hall, and it was empty, too, except the tables were all full of food.” He held up the remaining half of his cookie. “There were cookies like this one there, which is why I remembered the dream just now. Anyway, I was hungry, so I grabbed some food to eat it, and then I noticed I was breathing hard and I had to wait until I caught my breath before I could eat. The foods were all my favorite ones — fried chicken and creamed corn and sweet-and-sour fish — and I could eat as much as I wanted and it all tasted really good. That was weird because I never remember stuff like breathing or tasting food in dreams. Then I woke up.”

Harenn thought about this. Bedj-ka’s dream was fairly straightforward. The empty rooms symbolized his feelings of abandonment and betrayal, while the banquet and its plethora of choices symbolized his new-found freedom. But she wasn’t sure that Bedj-ka would appreciate all this.

”Your dream is a good omen, my son,” she said. “Dreaming of abundant food indicates good luck for the future, or so the Ched-Balaar say.”

”What are they like?” he asked, flipping easily into a new subject. “I’ve never even seen one, but Father Kendi talks about them sometimes.”

”They are strange and graceful,” Harenn said. “I enjoy their company — most humans do — and they seem to enjoy ours. They have four legs and two arms and a very long neck that ends in a rather flat head. Their language sounds strange because they speak by chattering their teeth together and by making hooting noises. No human can duplicate the sounds, just as they cannot duplicate our language, except in the Dream, of course.”

”Have you ever been in the Dream?”

”Only once, and very briefly. Sejal brought me in. He has the power to pull other Silent out of the solid world into the Dream. I am not Silent, but he was able to bring me there for just a moment.”

”Did you like it?”

Harenn smiled at him. “I was not there long enough to form an opinion.”

”I was supposed to start training to enter the Dream in two more years,” Bedj-ka said wistfully. “But now I guess I’ll never get there. The Despair ruined it for almost everyone. I really wanted to see the Dream, too. Everyone says it’s really rigid.”

Harenn put an arm around his shoulders in a brief hug. “Perhaps it is best that you never entered it. From what I hear, it is devastating to lose the Dream. I know Gretchen is greatly disturbed by what she has lost.”

”Is that why she’s so mean all the time? She yells at me sometimes even when all I’m doing is walking down the corridor.”

”She is very unhappy,” Harenn said, making a mental note to have a few pointed words with Gretchen. “And unhappiness makes people do things they would not normally do.”

”I was unhappy.” Bedj-ka took a pensive bite of cookie. “During the Despair, I was so unhappy, I wanted to die. It was awful. I felt completely alone, like there was no one in the entire universe who cared about me or even knew I existed. I couldn’t even move, it was so bad.”

Harenn’s throat thickened. Her son had needed her, and she hadn’t been there. The Despair had rocked her, filled her with pain, but she had been used to dealing with pain and had continued to function. The universal depression had ended once Kendi, Vidya, and Prasad had forced Sufur’s twisted children from the Dream, but wounds still lingered. The scars ran deepest for the Silent, who had stronger connections with the Dream. Bedj-ka hadn’t even entered the Dream, and he said he had wanted to die. She ached with guilt at not being there to share his pain. She hugged him again.

”You were very strong and very brave,” she said. “And I am proud of you.”

Bedj-ka smiled at her, and Harenn’s heart swelled. Then he pulled away and munched his cookie again. A moment later, Rafille Mallory exited the shop. Harenn stood and brushed crumbs from her loose-cut blouse.

”I think now is the time,” she said. “Do you know what to do?”

Bedj-ka flashed another smile. He was quite handsome, she realized with a touch of maternal pride. “I know,” he said.

”Let me get ahead of her, then. Once you see me signal, do what we rehearsed.”

Harenn trotted through the light crowd of shoppers until she was well ahead of Mallory. Then she stopped to admire a display of blue roses in a florist shop window while she activated the camera in her ocular implant. A tap on her earpiece opened a communications link with the Poltergeist.

”Harenn?” came Ben’s voice.

”I am recording visual,” Harenn said, “but you should watch as well in case I miss something.”

”Got it.”

Harenn turned and saw Bedj-ka among the people a little way to Mallory’s left. Mallory herself was about ten meters away from Harenn, strolling casually in her direction. Harenn scratched her nose and Bedj-ka nodded. Abruptly, he dashed up to Mallory and all but slammed into her. She staggered. Bedj-ka tugged at Mallory’s jacket, then with a laugh vanished into the crowd before she could react. Harenn watched carefully. Several other shoppers turned to stare as well.

Mallory regained her balance, her expression startled and surprised. Quickly she patted a tiny pouch on her belt, then she spun to see if she could spot Bedj-ka. A man approached and said something to Mallory, but she shook her head, refusing his apparent offer of help. Then she opened her shoulder bag, rummaged through it, and quickly checked her shopping bags and parcels. Apparently satisfied with what she found, she closed the bags again and, with a shake of her head, wandered off through the crowd again. Harenn moved to follow.

”I saw it all,” Ben said.

”The belt pouch?” Harenn said.

”Most likely.”

Harenn nodded in private agreement. If Mallory thought her pocket had been picked, she would check for her most important possessions first. Identification and cashcards were all easily deactivated and replaced, but the same could not be said of her computer key, and Mallory’s instincts had made her check for it right away.

Mallory continued on her way, and Harenn continued to follow. Bedj-ka, she knew, would head back to the ship. It would be too risky to keep him at the shopping center in case Mallory spotted him and grew suspicious.

In quick succession, Mallory visited a toy store, two clothing stores, and a candy shop. She emerged from each, sometimes with more bags, sometimes not. The woman clearly liked to shop. Harenn was trying to figure out how this bit of information could work to her advantage when Mallory ducked into a department store. Harenn followed, able to remain inconspicuous in the larger store.

Mallory browsed aimlessly among various clothing displays. Harenn grew bored. The whole thing seemed pointless, and the longer Harenn continued to shadow the woman, the more likely it became that someone would notice. But then the continual guilt she felt about rescuing Bedj-ka first overtook her again, tightening her stomach and forcing her to keep at it.

The store smelled like fresh cloth, and the customers were all human. Mallory paused to try on a series of straw hats, none of which suited her coloring or clothing style, then ambled onward to look at a display of key rings. She held up one shaped like a little silver cat, then put it back.

Or seemed to.

Harenn blinked. Had she seen correctly? To the casual observer, it would appear that Mallory had put the key ring back on the display rack, but Harenn had been watching carefully and was sure she had seen Mallory palm the key ring. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Mallory strolled away and casually dropped a hand into her pocket. Harenn hurried to catch up, but paused long enough to check the key chain display. She saw no silver cats.

All traces of Harenn’s boredom vanished. This was quite the fascinating the development. Had it been a unique event? Or had Mallory been shoplifting all day? Harenn suddenly wished she had risked following Mallory into some of the other shops.

Harenn’s ocular implant flashed a message across her retina. MEMORY FULL, it said. TO CONTINUE RECORDING, PLEASE EMPTY MEMORY CACHE. Harenn had forgotten to turn off her implant’s record function. Harenn did so and turned her attention back to Mallory.

Mallory headed back to the main mall area. Harenn held her breath as she left the store. Would security pounce on her? Most stores were outfitted with AI cameras that watched customers unceasingly and untiringly, looking for exactly this sort of behavior. One of them should have noticed Mallory’s move and notified security. But Mallory calmly crossed the threshold into the mall. No alarms sounded, no security guards appeared on the scene. Harenn narrowed her eyes. How had she fooled them?

Harenn remained behind Mallory, hoping against hope that Mallory wasn’t done for the day and planning to head back home. With a heavy sigh audible even at Harenn’s distance, however, Mallory shifted her parcels around and entered a food court. She bought a plate of noodles and sat down to eat at one of the empty tables in the middle of the court, where food smells from a dozen different worlds and cultures clashed into a melange of scents both spicy and sweet. More humans strolled by. Aliens were few and far between in this sector, as the stores were geared primarily toward products humans used. Harenn waited patiently until Mallory finished eating. She rose, gathered her parcels, and continued on her way, Harenn trailing unobtrusively behind her.

Eventually, Mallory entered another clothing store, this one specializing in leather goods. The fine smell of suede wafted over Harenn, who pretended interest in a pair of boots while never once taking her eyes off Mallory.

Mallory looked at a leather coat, several belts, and a red leather corset before slipping a pair of gloves into her bags and striding nonchalantly toward the door. Again, no one raised a fuss as she exited. Harenn stayed right behind her, and a few minutes later got to see Mallory lift a small case of makeup in another department store.

Harenn’s mind raced, examining possibilities and discarding them one by one until she settled on something she thought might work. She tapped her earpiece and called Ben.

”What’s up?” he asked.

”I know how to get Mallory’s key,” she reported. “But you must move quickly. Listen... “

oOo

Rafille Mallory emerged from the bookstore barely restraining a smug smile. Two bookdisks, recently liberated from their shelves, nestled in her jacket pocket. A touch of excitement thrilled through her. All day she had been lifting various objects from different stores and not once had she been caught. She had even paused in one store to chat with a security guard who remained completely unaware that Rafille was carrying several hundred chits worth of liberated goods. The idiot.

The sense of excitement continued, and Rafille allowed herself to grin for a moment. She needed this. Her job was deadly dull — overseeing security for a bunch of captured slaves was no big deal, occupying only a small part of her attention every day. There was no challenge there, not when Roon’s indoctrination program was operating fully on schedule. Eventually, the Silent drones wouldn’t want to leave, would believe that their true place in the universe was in Roon’s little enclave. She didn’t know if the Alphas believed Roon’s claim about being able to enter the Dream without drugs. She didn’t much care, actually. People were so gullible, so willing to believe in miracles, it had apparently never occurred to any of them to question what he said. Roon wasn’t even Silent, and how would they react to that?

Rafille checked her pocket. The jammer was still there. Now that had been a challenge, coming up with a device that would temporarily disrupt from a distance the AI programs that watched the stores. A part of her felt like she was cheating, but she still had to avoid the store security guards, both the ones in uniform and the ones in plain clothes. And it was almost impossible to beat the AI programs. Rafille wanted a challenge, but she wasn’t stupid about it.

She checked her ocular implant. Time to go home. Her feet were tired, and the packages were growing heavy. She was just turning away from the bookstore when heavy hands landed on her shoulders from behind.

”Excuse us, ma’am,” said an unfamiliar male voice, “but I’m afraid we need to talk.”

Rafille’s heart wrenched inside her chest. She wrenched her head around and stared at a man and a woman, both dressed in simple suits. The man was tall and thin, with dark skin. His companion was only slightly shorter, with blond hair and bland features. Each of them had a hand on her shoulders.

”What’s this all about?” she gasped, though she was dread certain she already knew.

The man flashed an identification holo. “Security, ma’am. You’ll have to come with us now.”

”But I didn’t do anything,” Rafille spluttered. Her heart was now beating fair to shake her blouse, and the bookdisks felt very heavy and conspicuous in her pocket.

”I don’t think we should discuss that here, ma’am,” the woman said. “If you’ll please come with us?”

They had her dead to rights. A hundred different scenarios flashed through her head. She could make a break for it. She could throw the packages into their faces and then make a break for it. She could pretend to faint. She could hit the man with her fist and punch the woman in the stomach. Rafille discarded all of these possibilities. Both man and woman were clearly far more athletic than she was, and Rafille doubted she would get ten meters before they caught up with her. As if reading her thoughts, the man tightened his grip on her shoulder enough to make her wince, a subtle indicator of his strength. Rafille’s mouth went dry. She was in deep, deep trouble. If Roon found out she had been arrested, Rafille would land in the job pool so fast, she might well have traveled there through slipspace. She would lose her luxury apartment and almost everything she owned. Her daughter would have to drop out of college.

This isn’t fair! she thought wildly. Why should my daughter have to suffer because of this? There has to be a way out of it. Think, woman. Think!

The security people steered Rafille toward an empty store. The front windows were obscured by blank beige screens and a sign read, COMING SOON: ANOTHER FINE STORE! The blond woman pushed open the door and the man guided Rafille firmly into the space beyond.

Inside was a great, empty space. The floor was simple gray tile. A few empty clothing racks made a tangled metal jumble, and a sales counter sat off to one side. A line of closed doors marched along the back wall, and Rafille assumed they were fitting rooms. The place smelled of stale air and dust.

”What’s going on?” Rafille demanded, deciding to play the role of indignant innocent. Perhaps she could brazen it out. “What is this place?”

”It’s where we take shoplifters for... debriefing,” the man said, and held up a small computer disk. “We caught you on camera. Would you like to see it?”

”But that’s... I mean, there’s no way you could have... how did... “

Without a word, the man produced a datapad from his pocket and slotted in the disk. A holographic display popped up. Rafille watched herself in miniature as she palmed the silver cat key ring. Her heart plummeted into her shoes and her hands began to shake.

”Pretty conclusive,” the man said. “Would you like to see the rest?”

”No,” Rafille whispered. “Oh god.”

The man pulled a large card from his jacket pocket. “Please give me your hands, ma’am. I need your prints.”

They were treating her like a criminal? A common thief? Rafille couldn’t believe it, even when the man rolled her fingers carefully across the card. They left black prints in their wake, though her hands remained clean.

”Detective Dell here is going to search you now,” the man said next. “Hold your arms out to your sides, please.”

Rafille numbly obeyed. Detective Dell’s search was quick and thorough. It produced the silver key ring, the bookdisks, the leather gloves, two bottles of perfume, a scarf, and the AI disruptor. Dell laid the objects out on the counter in an accusatory row. Rafille didn’t respond until she felt Dell’s fingers open the little pouch on her belt, the one that contained her computer key. Rafille’s hand shot down and grabbed Dell’s wrist.

”There’s nothing of importance in there,” she snapped.

”I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have to look,” Dell said neutrally.

”Please remove your hand from my partner’s wrist, ma’am,” the man said, “or I will remove it for you.”

”The key in that pouch is classified property of Silent Acquisitions,” Rafille said, obeying with reluctance. “If you tamper with it — ”

”I’ll set it on the counter, ma’am,” Dell said, and did so. “No one will touch it.”

”Look at me, ma’am,” the man said, and Rafille did so. “My name is Detective Melthine. Who are you, please?”

”Rafille Mallory,” she whispered.

”Ms. Mallory, do you have receipts for any of these items?”

Rafille didn’t answer.

”I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ “ Melthine passed a hand wearily over his face. His eyes were a liquid brown. “I’m going to go through the rest of your packages, Ms. Mallory. What will I find there?”

”I think I should call my corporate representative,” she said.

”You certainly may, ma’am,” Melthine told her, “though you aren’t under arrest. Yet.”

”Please,” she said. “Please, I have the money to pay for all this. I can pay.”

”That’s as may be, you still broke corporate law, Ms. Mallory.”

Dell, meanwhile, went through Rafille’s packages, separating objects that had receipts from those that didn’t. Something rustled behind the counter, and Rafille shot a glance in its direction. Her possessions, including the key, were still there.

”What was that noise?” she demanded. “Is there something back there?”

”Ms. Mallory, you have a lot more to worry about than a couple of hungry mice,” Melthine said. “I’m just eyeballing here, but it looks like you’ve stolen over a thousand chits worth of merchandise. That’s a serious crime on SA Station, Ms. Mallory.”

”You’ll never make it stick,” she said.

He held up the data pad. “We’ve got several hours of images here. Hard to discount evidence like that.”

How had they gotten around her jammer? There must be something wrong with it. Or maybe there were technological developments in security that she wasn’t aware of. No, that couldn’t possibly be the case. It had to be a flaw in the disruptor. Dammit! What did these detectives want from her? She had already agreed to pay for the stuff, but they didn’t seem to —

And then it struck her. She was offering to pay for the wrong thing.

”Listen,” she purred, “I’m sure we can come to an agreement here. You have the stuff back. What do you need me for? All it’ll mean is a lot of paperwork for you to fill out. I can make it worth your while.”

”Ms. Mallory, are you offering to bribe me?” Melthine asked.

”It’s a simple exchange,” she said. “I’m sure you can use the money, and I have plenty.”

”Listen to her,” Dell said. “Miss Moneybags here thinks she can buy her way out of trouble. Just like a rich bitch.”

”I’ll give you each a hundred chits.”

”Ma’am, attempting to bribe a detective is a crime under — ”

”But you aren’t corp cops,” she pointed out. “You’re store security. Look, I have a daughter in college. If I get arrested, I’ll lose my job and she’ll have to drop out of school. Is it fair to punish her for what I did? I’ll give you two hundred chits each.”

”No deal,” Melthine growled. “If I got caught, I’d lose my job.”

Ah ha! So the only thing holding him back was the threat of getting caught. Rafille sensed a potential advantage and rushed to press it. “Who’s to know?” she countered. “I won’t say anything, that’s for sure. Two fifty.”

”How am I going to explain company chits getting into my account from yours?” Melthine said, and Rafille knew in that moment she had him. It was merely a matter of the amount.

”I’ll pay you in freemarks, then,” she said. “A hundred each.”

A gleam entered Melthine’s eye. “One fifty.”

”Done!”

”Hey, I never agreed to anything,” Dell protested. “My job’s on the line, too.”

Melthine put a hand on her shoulder and turned to Rafille. “Will you excuse my partner and me for a moment?” he asked.

The two of them walked to the other end of the store and conversed in low tones. Melthine made a great many wild gestures, but Dell folded her arms and looked stubborn. Rafille strained to overhear, but she couldn’t make out any words. Her heart pounded. Melthine was on her side, but could he persuade his partner? Her entire career rested in the hands of this man, this stranger. Rafille had never felt so helpless in her entire life.

At last, Melthine said something that made Dell bite her lip. Her posture relaxed and she gave a single, stiff nod. Melthine trotted back over to Rafille.

”She won’t give in for less than two hundred freemarks,” he said. “Hard.”

Rafille let out a long, heavy sigh of utter, pure relief. “You got it.”

Melthine and Dell took the money, counted it, and stuffed it into their pockets. “Take the stuff you paid for,” Melthine said, “and get the hell out of here. I think it goes without saying that I’d better not see your face around this mall ever again.”

”Not hide nor hair,” Rafille promised fervently. She snatched her computer key from the counter, returned it to her belt pouch, gathered up her parcels, and all but bolted for the door. Once outside, she took a deep breath and felt her knees go slightly weak. Definitely time to head home for a drink.

As she strode swiftly toward the mall exit to find a taxi, it occurred to her that she should technically turn in her computer key and get fitted for a new one. After all, it had been out of her sight for quite a while. Then she shook her head. No, the paperwork would be immense, and she certainly didn’t feel like explaining why she needed a new key. Besides, what would a couple of low-grade rent-a-cops have done with her key for the few moments it had lain on the counter?

oOo

After Rafille had left, Harenn emerged from a fitting room and strode into the main part of the empty store. Lucia popped up from behind the counter like a jack-in-the-box. Harenn smiled.

”Did you get it?” Kendi asked.

Lucia held up the copycat in one scarred hand. The lights were flashing green. “I got it. But I have to say that my heart about stopped when she asked what was behind the counter.”

”You and me both,” Gretchen muttered.

”Did everything go well?” Harenn asked. “I could not hear everything.”

”It all went perfectly,” Father Kendi grinned. “Good work, Harenn. Great plan on short notice.”

”Do you think she suspected anything when you took her into an empty store instead of a security office?” Harenn asked.

”Are you kidding?” Gretchen scoffed. “She almost wet her pants when we grabbed her out there.”

”Best of all, we keep getting paid.” Kendi held up the wad of cash. “Between her and Elena Papagos-Faye, we won’t need to dip into the kitty for a month.”

Harenn nodded in satisfaction. “They are paying for their own demise.”

”All right,” Lucia said, “we have keys and prints for Security, Research, and Information Services. Just one left to go.”

”Edsard Roon himself,” Kendi said.

oOo

Ben Rymar howled like a wild thing. Storm clouds swirled in the sky above him and a few drops of rain spattered the dust at his feet. In front of him, the crude statue of Padric Sufur stared impassively at nothing. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Ben howled again and raised a fist. Lightning cracked down from the clouds and smashed into the statue. It exploded, sending stone fragments whizzing in all directions. The thunderclap smashed Ben’s very bones. He flung himself flat on the ground, arms wrapped around his head. Shards rained down all around him and few stung the backs of his hands. After a moment, the rain of stone stopped. Ben uncurled himself and sat up. Where the statue had been stood a charred, blackened hole. Ben sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

Okay, he thought. That may have been a mistake. Still, it had felt good. And he had grown better at manipulating the Dream around him. It was easier than he thought it would be. From the descriptions he had heard from Mom’s students over the years, he had assumed that shaping the Dream would be difficult, but that didn’t seem to be the case. The Dream responded well to his touch, almost as if he had been born to it.

”Still pissed at him, huh?”

Ben, still seated, twisted around. Sejal was standing behind him, his strangely blue eyes looking both amused and concerned.

”I didn’t even feel you coming,” Ben said, surprised.

”You were busy, and you’re still new at this,” Sejal said. “Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt, so I kept quiet.”

”You saw what I was doing?”

Sejal spread his hands. “I’m no fan of Padric Sufur, either. Looks like your interest in him is more personal, though.”

”I hate him,” Ben growled. “Mom died because of him.”

Sejal nodded. “Lots of people’s moms — and dads — died because of him. I don’t know how he can live with himself.”

Ben worked his jaw for a moment in an attempt to keep fresh grief from running down his face. It still hurt, no matter how many statues he destroyed. Mom was dead, gone forever. It had happened over six months ago, and it still hurt as if it had been last week. He remembered finding her body, shattered and broken, at the base of the talltree. He could still feel her ribs grate and shift beneath his hands as he attempted CPR, even though she was already growing cold. And it was all because of Padric Sufur. Whenever he thought too much about it, the rage overtook him, burned with terrible intensity, and Ben knew that if he ever met Padric Sufur face-to-face, he would kill the man without a moment’s hesitation. But Ben kept most of it to himself. Some things were too raw to share, not even with Kendi. Kendi probably had some idea that Ben’s grief was far from abated — Kendi’s own pain was still an ongoing concern — but Ben doubted he knew just how deep it still ran.

Kendi. The con job. And Sejal was here. An idea popped into Ben’s head.

”Sejal,” he asked urgently, “where exactly are you these days?”

Sejal shrugged. “Around. Why?”

”We could really use your help. You can still reach through the Dream and possess non-Silent in the solid world, right?”

”Not as easily as I used to, but yeah.” Sejal’s tone was wary. “And before you ask, no, I can’t pull people who’ve lost their Silence into the Dream. I’ve already tried.”

”That’s not what I was getting at,” Ben said. “I meant that you could help us. God, with you on the team, we could get Kendi’s brother and sister out of the Collection in ten minutes. All you’d have to do is possess the people on the project, and Martina and Utang could walk right out. How fast can you get to SA Station? Should we come and get you?”

Sejal shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not exactly able to go anywhere right now, Ben.”

”What? Why not?”

”I’m sort of busy. I just popped into the Dream to take care of some stuff and I noticed you were in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d just say hello. I can’t really go anywhere right now.”

”But — ”

”I’m sorry, Ben. Look, I have to go. I’ll see you around, all right?” And Sejal vanished so abruptly it created a wash of Dream energy that almost bowled Ben over. Slowly he got to his feet. The anger, initially directed at Sufur, shifted toward Sejal. What was Sejal doing that was so important? He wasn’t a Child of Irfan, took orders from no one except his parents as far as Ben knew. Kendi had saved Sejal’s life, for god’s sake.

Ben took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Sejal wasn’t usually mean or thoughtless. Maybe he had a good reason for refusing to help. What it might be, Ben had no idea. In any case, it was obvious that getting assistance from Sejal would not be an option, and there was no point in expending energy getting angrier about it. He needed something else to think about. Ben waved a hand, banishing the charred hole in the ground and replacing it with the featureless, blank plain that was the default condition of the Dream. Faint voices whispered on the air, just barely audible. Ben closed his eyes and concentrated on what he wanted to see. Around him, the Dream shifted and shimmered, bending to his will. Ben opened his eyes and smiled.

He was standing in a large nursery. Eleven cribs lined the walls, each one different. Shelves stood filled with toys, and happy animals capered across the brightly-colored walls and ceiling. Gauzy curtains floated in balmy spring air that breezed through open windows. Ben admired it for several moments, trying to imagine what it would look like filled with babies and children. He snorted, knowing the answer. Toys would be scattered all over the room, some of them broken, while shrieks and cries bounced off the walls. Someone would be laughing, someone else would be crying, and yet another someone would be howling in indignation over some slight. Far from idyllic.

With eleven children, Ben knew, there would be days when he would wonder why he had ever thought having even one was a good idea. But he was equally sure there would also be days when he would wonder how he had lived without them. He was eager to experience both.

Then he sighed. It would be a while. First they had to free Kendi’s brother and sister, and after that they’d have to find host mothers. Still, it was fun to dream and plan, especially when he knew that eventually it would all come true.

Assuming they didn’t get caught stealing slaves from Silent Acquisitions. Assuming they could find host mothers. Assuming they could afford eleven children. Assuming the Children of Irfan didn’t simply disappear.

Ben bit his lip. It was hard to imagine the Children of Irfan fading away. The monastery had always been there, a comfortable constant in his life. He knew every building, every walkway, every tree and balcony. He couldn’t imagine them empty and lifeless, bereft of the people who had lived and worked there for almost a thousand years. As well imagine the sun going out. But when the current generation of Silent died, the Children would indeed die with them.

Ben gave himself a shake. Boy, you’re in a mood, he thought. Go check on Kendi, see how he’s doing.

And he let go of the Dream.

oOo

”You want a favor,” Harenn said. “I can tell.”

Kendi blinked innocently at her from the medical bay door. “How could you possibly know?”

”It is a psychic power found among all mothers. That, and you are holding something behind your back.”

With an unrepentant grin, Kendi produced a star-shaped piece of equipment and set it on the counter. Harenn instantly recognized the object as a small cryo-unit, though very old.

”What does it contain?” she asked.

”Silent embryos. Ben’s brothers and sisters, to be specific.”

”Ah.” Harenn picked up the cryo-unit and examined it with interest. “I have heard the story. I was unaware that Ben had... inherited the other embryos.”

”We want to take them out and raise them as our kids,” Kendi said, leaning one hip against the counter. “One or two at a time.”

Harenn blinked at him. “You wish to become parents? Congratulations! I think Ben would make a fine father.”

”Thanks,” Kendi said. “We want to — hold it.”

”And what is it you wish me to do?” Harenn continued with a perfectly straight face. “Be a host mother?”

”Nothing like that,” Kendi laughed. “Though we’ll have to address that issue eventually. What I’d like is a detailed gene scan. All we know about these embryos is that they’re all healthy and they’re all Silent. Ben says he and Ara never ran any other tests on them, but you could perform a few, couldn’t you?”

”What sort of tests do have in mind?”

”See if there are any matches in the databases that might tell us who the parents are or where they came from. Or even how old they are. Whatever you can come up with.”

”Genetic scans will not tell me their relative ages, unless the gene patterns are from an extinct group. Still, this is an interesting mystery. I will see what I can do.”

Kendi thanked her and turned to go, then turned back. “Harenn, do you think I’m ready to be a father?”

”No,” Harenn said.

”What? Why not?”

”No one is ever truly ready to become a parent,” Harenn said with a small smile. “Even those who think they are. Parenthood is too powerful, too unique to each individual. So I do not think you are ready. But I think you will learn quickly and I think you will learn well.”

”Oh. Thanks. I think.”

”I will run your tests as soon as I have a chance,” Harenn told him.

”Thanks for that, too.” With a wave, he left. Harenn looked thoughtfully at the empty doorway for a moment, then stared for a long time at the cryo-unit.

oOo

A small snip, and a tiny hole opened in the fabric covering Martina’s index finger. Martina held her breath, waiting for some kind of shock or even an alarm. Nothing. Martina set the scissors down with an internal sigh of relief and shot Keith a brief glance.

Martina was worried about her brother. It was hard not to stare at him over the pile of robes, even though staring at a member of the opposite sex created more N-waves and would earn her a warning shock. Keith was bent industriously over his work, the needle dipping swiftly in and out of the fabric. His depression seemed to have vanished entirely, which was why Martina was worried.

The other Alphas sat in a circle on the hard floor, their legs swathed in piles of yellow fabric. There was no conversation, just the rustle of cloth, the snip of scissors, and the occasional low murmur from a Delta pointing out flaws. The Alphas wore special gloves, thinned for the extra sensitivity required for sewing.

How long had she and Keith been here? Martina had no idea. Whenever she tried to keep track of the time, something happened to make her reckoning slip away. Sleep cycles were irregular. Sometimes Martina and the other Alphas were kept awake for so long, they were collectively ready to pass out on the floor. Some began to hallucinate. Other times Martina knew they couldn’t possibly have been awake for more than a few hours before being sent to bed. Sleep time, when it came, was always too short. Martina had no way of knowing for sure, but judging from her level of fatigue, she and the others weren’t getting more than five or six hours of sleep at a time.

Food was another problem. At first it had been fairly plentiful, if heavy on the protein. Lately there had been less, and mealtimes were also irregular. Martina was almost never full. Every so often, the Deltas handed out sweet snack cakes, and the unaccustomed sugar sent Martina soaring — until she crashed back to earth a few minutes later. She craved starchy foods almost constantly. Bread slathered with butter, mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, pasta peeking out from heavy tomato sauce, and even plain boiled rice danced in her dreams and made her stomach rumble.

Days — if they could be called that — were spent in a variety of ways. The Alphas spent a great deal of time in mind-numbing labor such as hand-stitching robes or scrubbing floors with stiff brushes or washing clothes in great tubs. Other times the Alphas sat through meditation exercises, though these came easily to Martina and the other experienced Silent. A certain amount of time was set aside for study, mostly of Dreamer Roon’s book. The more Martina read of his work, however, the more convinced she became that the man had no idea what he was talking about. His stories about Irfan Qasad and Daniel Vik were ludicrous. True, no one questioned the fact that Vik was one of the greatest fiends in all history. After all, the man had been a blatant racist who had kidnapped his own child away from his wife, collaborated with terrorists, and done his best to wipe all Silent from the face of Bellerophon. But Martina seriously doubted that the taint of his genetic material coursed through the bodies of all Silent, causing their impure N-waves. For one thing, Martina herself had been born before the founding of the Bellerophon colony and couldn’t possibly be touched by the “taint” of Daniel Vik. The same applied to Keith, for that matter.

And then there was the Confessional. Martina hated it. Every moment she sat in the chair listening to Alphas and Deltas shout “Impure” at her was pure torture. She told herself over and over that there was nothing wrong with her, that she was not impure, that the peccadillos they wrung from her were nothing more than normal human behavior. Lately, however, she left the Confessional feeling wrung out, exhausted, and filthy. If the circle was supposed to cleanse her, it was failing miserably. Martina had considered mentioning this to Delta Maura, but had almost as quickly decided against it. Something told her that confessing any such thing in this place would be a fatal error.

But Keith appeared to be loving it.

Through the little snatches of conversation she had managed to steal with him, Martina had gathered that Keith wasn’t completely well on a mental level. His previous owners had apparently been hard on him, and there were... other factors.

Martina stole a glance across the sewing circle at Keith. His forehead was wrinkled with concentration as he worked. His Delta leaned down and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. Keith stiffened and momentary touch of fear crossed his face. The expression was familiar, and a long-buried memory stirred within Martina. All at once she was back on the slave ship, still shivering with cold leftover from cryo-sleep. A slaver named Feder was herding her family down a long corridor that smelled of cold metal. The Weavers — Dad, Mom, Evan, Keith, and Martina — were the last ones to leave the colony ship, and Feder stayed right behind them. The new slave shackles were heavy on Martina’s wrist and ankle.

Feder, a dark-haired man with a long nose and thin lips, put his hand around Keith’s shoulder as they walked. Keith tried to shrug him off, but Feder only tightened his grip. The smile that crossed his face made Martina feel cold and scared inside. She wondered how Keith felt.

”What’s the matter, kid?” Feder asked. “You don’t like friendly people?”

Before Keith could respond, Dad’s hand shot out and grabbed Feder’s wrist. “Don’t touch my son,” he said in a low, deadly voice.

Feder’s free hand darted to his waist. Dad collapsed the floor, screaming in pain. His bands glowed blue. Mom dropped beside him, wanting to help but not knowing what to do. Martina stared with wide eyes, scared and uncertain. She had never heard her father scream like that. Evan began to cry, and Keith looked dazed. Dad’s screaming continued for a long time, then abruptly stopped. The blue glow on his bands faded.

”Touch me again, you bastard,” Feder told Dad in a voice that carried up and down the passenger bay, “and I won’t shock just you, hey? I’ll shock your wife — or your kids. Now get up. No talking.”

Mom and Dad slowly got to their feet. Martina’s throat was thick and she stifled sobs. Around them, other slavers herded the other members of the Real People toward the large double doors at the other end of the passenger bay. Evan and his family were at the very end of the line. Bare feet shuffled and padded on the cool metal deck. Feder walked in front of Martina and her family with his arm draped around Keith’s shoulders, as if the two were old friends. The look of helpless outrage on Dad’s face mirrored the way Martina felt. Evan was obviously trying not to cry again, and Rebecca took his hand.

”I read some of your files before we woke you up,” Feder said to Keith in a bright, friendly tone. “The whole ship is from Australia back on Earth, but you bunch call yourselves the Real People, hey?”

Keith didn’t respond. The muscles on Feder’s arm tightened. “Hey?” he repeated.

”Yeah,” Keith said, barely audible.

”A great idea,” Feder said. “Starting fresh on another planet, re-establishing tribal ways. Too bad it’s not going to work out.”

Silence. The arm tightened again. “I guess,” Keith mumbled.

”What’s your name, kid?”

Pause. “Utang,” Keith said, giving the Real People name he had chosen for himself only a few months before the People boarded the colony ship. Martina rarely thought of Keith as Utang, even though Keith — Utang — used it regularly.

”Your ship’s behind the times, kid,” Feder said. “Now that we got slipships, these old slower-than-light heaps are just about junk. Barely worth salvaging. But people — now that’s different. People never devalue, hey?”

”I guess.”

”You wouldn’t have wanted Pelagosa anyway,” Feder continued. “It was colonized by the KLO Syndicate and the Freebanders four, five hundred years ago. They’re not taking immigrants. But don’t you worry — we’ll find a good home for you. Might even buy you myself, hey? Boss gives us our pick at cost-and-a-quarter. Been saving up for a new cabin boy. What do you think?”

”I — I — ” Keith stammered.

Martina’s stomach churned. There had to be some way to help her brother, but she couldn’t think of anything.

”You don’t have to answer, kid,” Feder said kindly. “Know why?” He clamped his arm around Keith’s neck. Martina heard him gasp and choke. Dad looked ready to leap, bands or no bands, but Rebecca put a hand on his arm and gestured sharply at Martina. Martina felt a stab of guilt. Dad wasn’t going to help Keith because he was afraid Feder would shock her. It was her fault Dad couldn’t do anything.

”You don’t have to answer because you don’t have a choice,” Feder said. He abruptly spun Keith around to face his family and grabbed Keith’s cheeks from behind with one big hand. With a nasty grin, he gave Keith’s ear a long, wet lick. Martina wondered why he would do such a thing. Then Feder gave Keith a shove that sent him sprawling.

”Now move your lazy ass!” Feder barked.

Keith waved off Dad’s help and got up on his own, ankle and wristbands shining in the ship’s harsh lighting. His face was hard, but Martina caught tears at the corners of his eyes. Feder herded them through the double doors into the corridor and from there into a tiny cell with two other families. The cell contained nothing but a few sleeping pallets on the floor and a single sink and toilet in the corner. It all stank of urine and fearful sweat. The coverings on the pallets had clearly not been washed in years. Two round portholes looked out into black, star-strewn space. Feder slammed the door shut, and it locked.

Martina looked out one of the portholes and by craning her neck was barely able to make out the colony ship. A stiff umbilical cord chained it to the slaver ship. The colony ship was a giant cylinder, gray and impact-pocked, and looked slow and clunky compared to what Martina could see of the slaver vessel, which was sleek and flat. The colony ship was spinning to provide gravity, and the slaver vessel had matched the spin, though from Martin’s perspective, the stars were rotating around the two ships instead of the other way around.

”Do you realize,” said Dad behind her, “that the mutants have enslaved us again? As they did our ancestors?”

Gary, the father of one of the other two families in the cell, shrugged. “They enslaved the other groups, too. And the crew.”

”How can they get away with this?” his wife Anna cried. She held twin boys not even a year old on her lap. “We’re not slaves. We never were. What about our records? Citizenship and all that?”

Mom shook her head. “We left Earth over nine hundred years ago. Even if any of those records survived, how would we access them? Telephone? Fax? I overheard some of the slavers talking, and it sounds like they do this all the time. The slavers find a colony vessel like this one, hit the crew with a surprise attack and enslave the whole lot. Who’s to prove we aren’t slaves?”

”We need to pool our knowledge,” Dad said. “Compare notes about what we’ve all seen or overheard so we can form a plan of escape or rebellion or — ” His bands glowed blue and he cried out in pain. Startled, Martina spun from the window in time to see her father writhing on the floor. Mom crouched near him, looking as helpless as Martina felt. After a long moment, Dad stopped squirming. His bands were no longer glowing. Martina bit her lip.

Once they had determined that Dad had suffered no permanent damage, Gary gestured at the walls. Listening devices? he mouthed.

”Probably,” grunted Liza, the mother of the third family. She was a large woman, with heavy breasts and thighs. “Either they’re eavesdropping or the computer is programmed to listen for certain words. They shock us if we talk about... anything important.”

”We should still pool information,” Dad said stubbornly. “Just don’t use those words.”

The adults did so, gesturing for Martina and the others to remain silent. Two shocks later, they knew that sometime in the nine hundred years since the Real People had left Earth, someone had invented slipships, which allowed for faster-than-light travel. The slower ships and their claims on habitable planets had either been forgotten or purposely ignored. These slavers were from a government called the Five Green Worlds, though the colony ship had been found in unclaimed space.

The cell grew close and stuffy. Martina did a quick count. Six adults, three teenagers, four pre-teens (counting herself and Evan), and two babies for one sink and toilet and maybe eight sleeping pallets. How would they —

The porthole exploded into multicolored light. The quiet talk instantly died. Martina stared. The stars and darkness had vanished, replaced by psychedelic swirls of color. Martina’s eyes felt as if something were twisting them, and nausea turned her stomach. She looked away from the porthole and felt a little better.

”I think we’ve entered slipspace,” Gary said. He scrambled to the toilet and threw up.

They spent several days in slipspace, though the only way to mark passing time was by how often the slavers came by. Three times a “day” the door opened and someone handed in diapers for the babies and bowls of food, usually some kind of mush. No silverware — they had to eat with their fingers or slurp directly from the bowl.

There was nothing to do but talk, and even that was limited. Anyone who said a wrong words received a shock. They learned not to say “revolt,” “escape,” “run,” “kill,” “attack,” “hurt,” “organize,” and a good dozen other words. The families also learned to sit with their backs to the portholes, since a single glance at the colors outside brought on violent headaches or nausea. Most of the time, everyone sat and stared at the walls, sunk into a dull apathy. Martina’s skin itched and she wanted a shower. The cell smelled of unwashed people and babies that needed changing.

The adults took turns comforting each other and the children. Everyone went through at least one session of weeping despair. One time Martina wondered what had happened to the shell collection she had put into her suitcase, and the realization that it was probably now the property of one of the slavers choked her throat and made tears run down her face.

”It’s just a stupid shell collection,” she sobbed when Rebecca put her arms around her on the pallet. “Just some stupid shells.” But she couldn’t stop crying for a long time.

That night — which was night in name only, since the lights never dimmed — Martina lay on the crowded pallet with Evan squashing her on one side and Keith pressing her on the other and found herself wishing they would get wherever it was they were going, get it over with.

The next day was the worst. The door slid open not long after breakfast, and Feder stood framed in the entrance. The Weaver family gasped as one. Feder didn’t say a word. Instead he crooked a finger at Keith. Keith flinched and Martina’s heart pounded hard. Dad got slowly to his feet and stood between his son and Feder.

”No,” was all he said.

Feder’s hand went to his belt and pain tore through Martina’s body. She screamed. Mom pulled Martina’s writhing body to her, but there was nothing she could do stop the pain. The pain went on and on, ripping at her muscles and tearing at her head like hot knives. Dad flung himself at Feder, but before he could touch the man, his own bands glowed. Dad dropped to floor, face pale with agony. Martina continued to scream. The others stared uncertainly and the twins began to cry. Martina screamed and screamed. She couldn’t stop herself, or even think. She wished she was dead.

”Stop it!” Mom cried. “Leave her alone!”

And then Keith stepped over Dad and stood in front of Feder, eyes downcast. Feder removed his hand from his belt. Dad and Martina’s bands faded to silver and their cries stopped. The hot pain ended, but Martina’s whole body still hurt. She whimpered in Mom’s arms, glad to feel them around her. Feder took Keith by the shoulder and the two of them left. The door slid shut.

Martina sat in her mother’s embrace, trying to stop crying. She had never felt so helpless. His brother was at this moment being... what? Beaten? Killed? Raped? Martina was only ten years old, but she had heard the older kids on the streets of Sydney talk about that kind of thing. Some of them took money for it. Martina didn’t know for sure if that was what Feder had in mind for her brother, but she couldn’t think of anything else he would want.

Everyone in the cell sat and waited like the family of a hospital patient expecting bad news. Mom and Dad looked like statues. Martina’s soft cries were the only sounds. She felt bad, guilty. Something awful was happening to Keith, and it was her fault. If she had been able to stop screaming, stand up to the pain, maybe Feder would have left Keith alone.

A long time later, the door slid open. Everyone came quietly alert as Keith entered the cell. Martina caught a glimpse of Feder’s smirk before the door shut. Keith made his way to a corner of the cell and sat down, his face a blank mask. Mom approached him, but he turned his back on her. He continued to shun all forms of contact for the rest of the day, and in the middle of that night’s sleep cycle, Martina awoke to hear him crying softly. She didn’t know what to do, so she did nothing. Eventually, the crying stopped and Martina fell back into restless sleep.

oOo

Martina forced herself to look down at the seam she was stitching so she would avoid looking at Keith. Feder had come for Keith several times before they reached the station where Martina and her family had been auctioned off. She had thought she’d forgotten that, buried safely in the bottom of her mind, but now it felt as if it had happened only a few days ago. Had Feder carried through on his threat to buy Keith as a cabin boy? Martina didn’t know, though she also remembered a slaver — not Feder — coming for Keith at the end of the auction and taking him away. It could easily have been for Feder. Fury rose in Martina’s chest and the yellow seam blurred before her. How long had Keith been abused by that man? And then, to top everything off, Keith had turned out Silent. Feder, or whoever had initially bought him, had probably sold him off at a healthy profit, just as Martina’s first owner had done. He had doubtless been trained by his new master, learned how to enter the Dream — and then been wrenched away from it during the Despair. Martina herself had almost jumped off a building, and she hadn’t ever encountered anyone like Feder. No wonder Keith was unbalanced.

Keith’s Delta said something to him, and he smiled. Martina wondered what it was. A warning tingle from her shackles reminded her not to stare and she quickly turned her attention back to her sewing. How long were they going to do this? Dreamer Roon said in one of his lectures that hard labor drove away N-waves, bringing them closer to Irfan and making them more ready to enter the Dream without drugs. Martina had her doubts. She suspected it was make-work, but to what end? And why the weird sleeping and eating patterns? A way of reinforcing Roon’s power over them? Martina had been a slave for most of her life and was used to obeying orders from her owner, so why did Roon need to establish dominance? It was a puzzle, something to think about during the interminable labors of the day.

A soft chime sounded. “Time,” called Delta Maura. Martina tensed. She was taking a risk today, a small one, but a risk nonetheless. With a false sigh of relief, Martina set aside the half-finished robe, then surreptitiously pulled at her left glove, tightening it over her fingers and exposing the little patch of skin. The Alphas rose and stretched the kinks out of arms and legs. Keith neatly folded his work first. When Martina got to her feet, she swayed, as if dizzy. Immediately, Delta Maura was at Martina’s side.

”Are you all right, dear?” Delta Maura asked.

With her left hand, Martina grasped Delta Maura’s wrist just above her green glove and pretended to steady herself. The tiny patch of Martina’s bare skin came into direct contact with Delta Maura’s. Martina braced herself.

Nothing.

”Alpha?” Delta Maura said. “Is something wrong?”

”I’m fine,” Martina managed. “I sometimes get a little head rush when I stand up too fast.”

This was no lie and therefore didn’t earn her a shock. Delta Maura nodded and stepped away, folding her hands in front of her. Martina’s heart was pounding. She had felt nothing. It had been drilled into her from childhood that when two Silent touch skin-to-skin for the first time, they both experienced a physical jolt. The jolt was the physical manifestation of a newly-established psychic link that would allow the two Silent to find each other in the Dream faster and more easily than two Silent who had never touched. It was also a highly reliable test for Silence.

Delta Maura was not Silent.

Martina’s head swam beneath this staggering concept. All the Deltas were supposed to be Silent, trained by Roon himself. But Delta Maura clearly wasn’t. Was this true of all the Deltas?

That’s the reason for the gloves and the rules against touching each other, Martina realized. So we won’t find out the Delta’s aren’t Silent.

It made a terrible sort of sense. Working Silent were rare these days. How had these people — she still didn’t know what the group was called — found so many of them and re-trained them in the few months since the Despair? It was something Martina hadn’t considered until now, but she had been dealing with strange food, sleep deprivation, and mind-numbing labor. Was this the reason for all that? So no one would ask too many questions?

One of the Delta’s — Keith’s Delta — cleared his throat pointedly and the Alphas fell silent.

”I need to announce,” the Delta said, gesturing at Keith “that this Alpha has been doing exemplary work of late and is deserving of high praise. Very soon he will be promoted to Beta. All praise the Dream!”

”All praise the Dream!” everyone repeated automatically. Keith smiled, glowing at the kind words. Martina felt an unexpected wash of jealousy. Ridiculous. She squashed the feeling and filed it away as something to trot out during the Confessional.

”You may now return to your quarters for a few moments of free time,” the Delta finished.

As the Alphas filed out of the sewing room, Martina managed to get next to Keith. “Congratulations,” she said wryly without looking directly at him. He gave her a glance that was almost shy.

”Thanks,” he said.

Now Martina did look at him. She had heard no trace of irony in his voice. Deciding on the direct approach, she said, “You like it here, don’t you?”

”Of course,” he said. “I don’t have to worry about anything here. There are fewer N-waves in my brain, and I feel freer than ever. Didn’t you hear? Pretty soon I’ll be a Beta!”

Martina worked her jaw. How could he be buying into this place? Sure, she might be a slave, but she was Silent, and used to better treatment than this.

”I didn’t like at first, either,” said another Alpha, the plumpish man who had been the first to sit in the Confessional. “But now I’m thinking it isn’t so bad. Out there — ” he made a vague gesture toward the corridor walls “ — we’re slaves to the Dream. In here, we’re free. No one can hurt us or look at us like we’re freaks because we’re Silent. Dreamer Roon cares about us. He’s trying to help us get into the Dream without all those drugs. If putting up with some weird stuff now and then is part of the price, I’m willing to pay it.”

Martina couldn’t believe her ears. True, she had thought at first that the deal was pretty good — nice quarters, nice clothes, not having to put long hours in the Dream — but they didn’t outweigh the other factors. Not even close. And now she had learned that at least one part of the whole place was a lie.

Martina threw a glance over her shoulder. The Deltas were following, doubtless listening in on the conversation. Best to play along. “I’m starting to think so, too,” she said. “I do miss the Dream, though. Do you think they’ll give us our drugs back and let us back in?”

”That will come when you are a Gamma,” Delta Maura said from behind. “For now, you must concentrate on Dreamer Roon’s teaching, dear.”

”I’ll try, Delta,” Martina said with pretend disappointment.

”Do you hear the Dream whisper to you?” Delta Maura asked.

”At ni — just before I go to sleep,” Martina replied, remembering at the last moment not to make references to time. “I used to hear it all the time, but ever since the Despair, I’ve only heard it a little bit.”

”The Despair was a time of cleansing,” Delta Maura said seriously. “It was a time when the unworthy were weeded out of the Dream. Those who were cast out had too much of Vik’s evil taint about them, and they deserved their fate. You are all chosen by Irfan herself, and her blessings run strong within you.”

Pride in herself welled up. Martina fiercely shoved it aside. The words were false praise from a fake Silent. No one knew why some Silent could still touch the Dream and others couldn’t. The idea that it had anything to do with Irfan Qasad or Daniel Vik was ludicrous. But the words still made her feel special, part of an “in” crowd, maybe even a member of secret society or a cult.

Martina stopped dead in the corridor, causing the Alpha coming up behind to bump into her. She apologized and made herself keep moving, though her mind was whirling again. She entered her quarters and sat down on her bed, trying to fit her mind around another new idea.

The place was a cult.

Martina should have recognized it sooner. She had read about cults in her first owner’s library, had heard about Silent who were members of such groups. Everything that had happened in this place, she realized, was part of an indoctrination process. The separation from society, the enforcement of strict rules, the sleep deprivation and low-carbohydrate diet — all designed to break down psychological barriers and force the “recruits” to embrace the cult itself. Martina was amazed that she hadn’t seen it all earlier.

The question was, why go through all the trouble? Martina got up to pace the floor between her bed and the computer desk. She desperately wished she could go outside, get some fresh air and sunshine to clear her mind, but the closest thing to any of that was a stupid hologram on the wall.

Martina continued to pace. She was a slave, had been one for most of her life. She had been stolen away from her owners at DrimCom, but she didn’t feel like a kidnap victim. From her perspective, one owner was pretty much like another, as long as she wasn’t beaten or otherwise mistreated. None of her work in the Dream enriched her personally, so why did she care who paid for her services? Martina had no children, no husband, and no really close friends, so it wasn’t as if she would be a prime candidate for running away after being bought — or stolen — by someone else. Why, then, go through the trouble of all this indoctrination?

The answer, when it came, seemed obvious. Loyalty. Martina — and, presumably, the others — felt no loyalty toward any owner, present or past, and would happily run to freedom, given the chance. But fully-indoctrinated members of a cult were something else. Their loyalty to the cult and its leader ran strong and fierce. They invariably resisted anyone who tried to remove them from the cult’s enclave. Roon’s program was designed to create a group of absolutely loyal Silent who wouldn’t dream of running away and who would do their best to return if kidnapped. In a universe where Silent were rarer than free-floating plutonium, such followers were worth a hundred times more than ordinary Silent slaves. A thousand times more.

And it was starting to work. Keith, already emotionally vulnerable, was clearly ready to buy into Roon’s fictional world. So was that other male Alpha. Martina herself had begun to weaken, despite the fact that she had been suspicious of late and doing her best to resist.

A feeling of hopelessness washed over her. She had to get out of this place, and fast. She also had to somehow persuade Keith to come with her. But how? Her every move was watched, even when she was alone, and she was still shackled.

No. There was no such thing as a perfect security system. Security systems were designed and used by people, and people made mistakes. Martina sat down on her bed to think. How had her kidnappers managed to deactivate her shackles at DrimCom? They must have done so — otherwise they would have shocked her the moment she crossed the building’s threshold. If they could do it, she could do it. And the cameras in her quarters could be foiled. An “accident” could cover them up or knock them off-line entirely. All she had to do was find them.

Martina nodded. It was a place to start and gave her something to think about, concentrate on during the mind-numbing labor. And in the meantime, she would have to play the role of good little Alpha, persuade the Deltas she was glad to be here. If they thought she was a willing participant, they would be less likely to watch her closely.

But how would she stop them from indoctrinating Keith?