Chapter Two

“Family secrets are sometimes even kept from family.”

—Daniel Vik

The automated flitcar rushed through the cool spring air. Kendi looked out the window. The sun had become a lonely orange ball dropping to kiss the horizon, and the talltree forest below was already in shadow. A few lights shone here and there amid the canopy, looking isolated and forlorn. Before the Despair, Treetown had been a bright, vibrant place after dark, with plenty of house- and streetlights to banish the shadows. Most people in the post-Despair depression, however, burned as few lights as possible in an attempt to scrape up a few more pennies for food. The flitcar was the only vehicle in the sky, another indicator of the new poverty that crushed Bellerophon and her people. Kendi felt another stab of guilt. He was riding high above want and need in a hired flitcar.

Ben sat beside him, face stoic. Kendi sneaked a glance at him. Although Kendi was burning with curiosity about Ben’s news, whatever it was, he knew better than to press for details right now. Visiting Ben’s family was stress enough for him. He could wait until they got home.

To pass the time, he called up a newsfeed text on his data pad. Ched-Pirasku, the Populist party leader, had just declared his candidacy and was now part of the race for governor. The Guardians were looking for a ten-year-old girl who had disappeared from a playground near the monastery. Foul play was suspected. An advice columnist advised a husband to be creative in order to spark his wife’s waning libido. And the Treetown Carnosaurs had beaten the Othertown Pirates 5-2 at soccer.

“We’re almost there,” Ben said, and Kendi shut of the pad.

The little flitcar approached an enormous house with a circular landing pad on the roof. It circled once, landed, and opened the door. Kendi smoothed his blue silk tunic and slid out into the chilly air. Ben, dressed in midnight black from head to toe, followed. Down among the trees it was as if the sun had already set, though Senator Salman Reza kept lights on her roof, and they shed a warm golden illumination.

The moment Kendi and Ben cleared the flitcar, its door snapped shut and the car fled back to the sky in a silent rush of wind that ruffled Ben’s sunset hair. Kendi gently combed the thick strands back into place with his fingers.

“You,” he said, “look damned amazing in black, Mr. Rymar.”

A hint of red colored Ben’s face. “And you look fantastic fine in electric blue, Father Kendi.”

“Then let us grace this party with our august presence.” Kendi threw an arm across Ben’s solid shoulders and they moved toward a large painted circle marked LIFT. Darkening azure sky stretched above them, and the tops of the talltrees made a green carpet that stretched all the way to the horizon. Peaks, gables, and even a small tower poked up here and there on the roof. Ben’s body was warm next to Kendi’s, and he gave an inward sigh as they approached the lift. Ben was Kendi’s rock, hard and solid, always there. And like a rock, Ben could be stubborn and silent. Kendi had been surprised when Ben started to talk about what was bothering him, and the computer call had seriously pissed him off. If it weren’t for the high priority request, Kendi would have simply ignored the call. As it was, he burned with curiosity. Ben had never gone this long without telling him about a problem. What could be so horrible? It must have been something that had happened since they got back from Silent Acquisitions, Ltd. Maybe it was the raid. No, Ben had said it was a family thing. Maybe it had to do with Kendi’s brother and sister.

Several months ago, Kendi had learned that his brother Keith and sister Martina, captured and sold into slavery when they were children, were being held by a corporation called Silent Acquisitions, Ltd. Kendi, Ben, Harenn, and Lucia had put together a risky plan to get them out, a plan that sometimes still made Kendi sweat in retrospect. In the end, however, after two months of effort, they had come away with not only Kendi’s brother and sister, but an entire shipload of escaped Silent Acquisitions slaves to boot.

After fifteen years of separation, Kendi abruptly had a brother and sister again. Keith and Martina were currently sharing a small house that had belonged to Ben before his mother had died, and Kendi spent a fair amount of time visiting them, naturally enough.

A thought struck Kendi. Maybe Ben was jealous. Kendi turned the idea over in his mind. It made sense from several sides. Ben wasn’t used to sharing Kendi with anyone. And Kendi had been spending almost every spare moment with Keith and Martina lately, helping them acclimate to the Monastery of Irfan, showing them what it meant to be free again, and just getting to know them once more.

A family thing. Jealousy? Ben doubtless felt uncomfortable admitting he was jealous, since he knew Kendi had missed his family horribly and it wasn’t fair to expect him not to see them often. Ben, shy to begin with, hadn’t made a big effort to insert himself into the relationship, and Kendi, idiot that he was, hadn’t noticed.

The more Kendi thought about it, the more sense it made. Poor Ben! No wonder he’d been upset. Well, Kendi would have to reassure him once they got home. Then there would be the make-up session in bed—a fine prospect in and of itself—and everything would be all right again. The revelation put a slight spring in Kendi’s step and a wide smile on his face.

“What?” Ben asked, noticing the change in Kendi’s mood.

Kendi kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll tell you later, love. For now, we only have to—”

Another silent blast of air hit them from behind. Both men turned. A second flitcar was landing on the roof. The door opened, and a male-female couple emerged. They were both in their late fifties, running toward plump, and wearing brown robes. Both of them wore amber rings. Ben groaned. Kendi grimaced.

“Well, we knew it would happen,” he said. “A family meeting brings out the family.”

“I’m just glad we aren’t technically related,” Ben muttered as the pair approached.

“You don’t have a single asshole gene in you,” Kendi agreed.

“Not even after all those times we—”

Kendi tightened his arm around Ben’s shoulder. “Company manners, love. Hello, Brother Hazid. Sister Sil.”

Hazid and Sil Lemish—Ben’s aunt and uncle—paused uncertainly. Kendi gave a prim smile. This was a purely social situation, but Kendi had addressed them by their monastic titles, throwing everything into a more formal mode. Sil uncertainly brought her fingers up to touch her forehead in automatic salute, then stopped herself when she realized what Kendi was doing. Hazid merely glowered.

“Very funny, Kendi,” he growled. “So it’s going to be like this tonight, is it?”

“Is it ever any other way?” Kendi replied, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice. He felt Ben tense beside him.

“I don’t know why you have to snipe all the time,” Sil put in. Her voice was high and whiny and made Kendi’s teethe ache. Her hair, usually done up in the latest cut, was styled into an old-fashioned helmet.

“When you figure out why I do it, I’ll stop,” Kendi said. He drew Ben closer to him, turned his back, and stepped onto the lift. Ben’s mouth was tight. “Down,” Kendi ordered before Sil and Hazid could join them. The lift sank into the roof, leaving the other couple behind.

Once Ben and Kendi’s heads dropped below roof level, a door slid shut above them, and the lift descended gently to the floor of an entry foyer. The interior of Salman Reza’s house was all white plaster walls and deeply-carpeted floors. Expensive paintings hung in tasteful places, and the furniture looked more elegant than comfortable. Kendi dropped his arm from Ben’s shoulder and they stepped off the lift together. It rose back up toward the ceiling to fetch Sil and Hazid.

Ahead, the foyer opened into a formal sitting room, and Kendi attention was immediately drawn straight to a hovering easy chair and the a woman seated therein. Senator Salman Reza. She had silver hair, pale gray eyes, and an absolutely straight posture. The senator was a large woman, and her presence permeated the room. When she sprang to her feet to greet Ben and Kendi, her movements crackled with fierce energy.

“Come in, ducks,” she said. Her voice filled the space around her. “Your aunt and uncle should be here any moment now.”

“They’re on the roof,” Kendi said, and kissed her on one soft cheek. She reminded Kendi of Ara Rymar, her daughter and Kendi’s long-time teacher. Ara had also been Kendi’s surrogate mother from the time she had freed him from slavery at the age of fifteen. Her death had dealt him a heavy blow, one that still made him reel at times.

Elsewhere in the room, fresh flowers made splashes of scented color among the furniture, and in the corner a floor-to-ceiling cage swarmed with dozens of tiny Bellerophon tree dinosaurs, each one yellow as sunshine. They chirped with musical softness. On a sofa that floated a few centimeters off the floor perched younger versions of Sil and Hazid—Zayim and Tress, Ben’s cousins.

Ben gave his grandmother a kiss of his own while Kendi turned to the cousins.

“Brother Zayim,” he said formally. “Sister Tress.”

Neither of them rose to the bait. Zayim got up to shake hands. Tress kept her seat. Her eyes were tired, almost vacant, and she looked unfocused and dim, especially with her grandmother in the room. Still dealing with the aftermath of the Despair, Kendi thought.

The lift came down again, and Sil and Hazid entered the room, looking defiant. More greetings were exchanged. Ben said very little, pulling inward tight as a turtle. His handsome face remained expressionless, though Kendi’s practiced eye saw the misery. It made Kendi’s blood boil to see Ben like this, and fresh anger burned in his chest. Ara Rymar had been active among the faction of the Children of Irfan that traveled about the galaxy, seeking enslaved Silent and doing whatever it took to free them. Ara had used bribery, theft, blackmail, extortion, and an endless supply of con games to pry Silent chattel away from their owners and bring them back to Bellerophon.

This meant, of course, that Ara had been away for long periods when Ben was a child. During those times, Ben had usually stayed with his aunt, uncle, and cousins. Ara had hoped that Tress and Zayim would turn into a brother and sister for her only child, but it had never worked out that way. Not only did Ben look completely different, he was also the only family member who wasn’t Silent. Tress and Zayim had made his life miserable, and Hazid and Sil had turned blind eyes to it. Had contributed to it. Kendi kept hoping that one of them would finally give him an excuse to use an uppercut. Or a groin shot.

Everyone settled back into couches and chairs, which adjusted their elevation for optimum comfort. A tray of hor’s d’oeuvres sat on the etched glass coffee table next to a selection of chilled flasks and bottles and a steaming tea set. Kendi knew the rule—no one but Salman touched that tea set.

“Help yourselves,” Salman said. “Dinner will be ready soon. I don’t know about all of you, but I’m tired and starving.”

“Long trip?” Hazid said.

“Fourteen days of speaking, pleading, cajoling, and even roaring like a dinosaur,” she said. “And I’m not a hatchling anymore.”

“So what’s this meeting about, Grandma?” Kendi asked, pouring himself a glass of juice. “As if we didn’t know.”

“When will you be making the formal announcement?” Tress asked. Her voice was low, barely audible.

“Soon,” Salman said. “Within a few days. There are things to discuss first, my loves.”

“Such as?” Ben asked, and Kendi could hear his apprehension.

“The impact my candidacy will have on this family.” Salman picked up a teacup and saucer in her large hands. “Bellerophon’s population numbers about ninety-eight million people. Just over half are human. The Ched-Balaar make up approximately forty percent, and the rest consist of other sentient species. I want to be their governor. This means that millions of people are going to be watching me and mine very carefully. Unfortunately, this also means that you’ll come under a certain amount of scrutiny as well. Sil, you’re my only...my only child now, and the press will try to take a hard look at you.”

“Let them,” Sil said airily. “I have nothing to hide.”

“What about all those recreational drugs you took last year?” Kendi asked.

“How dare you!” Hazid snapped, half-rising.

“I never did any such thing!” Sil said.

“Candidate’s Daughter Denies Taking Drugs,” Kendi intoned like a newscaster. “Details at ten.”

Ben said, “Ouch.” Sil stared at Kendi, her mouth open.

“He’s right, Mother,” Tress said quietly. “We have to be ready for that.”

“I can, of course, let the press know that my family isn’t involved in my politics, and that any reporter who bothers you will never have access to my administration,” Salman said, “but that sort of protection only goes so far, and it’s an empty threat to the scummier newsfeeds that know they’d never be allowed inside the governor’s mansion anyway. Everything you say, everything you do, is a potential story. If you accidentally belch in a restaurant, there’ll be a vid of it on the feeds within minutes. If you step outside with your fly unfastened, they’ll beam a close-up into every living room on the planet.”

“What about personal safety?” Kendi asked.

“Safety?” Zayim echoed. “You mean we’re in danger?”

“We have ninety-eight million people in the world,” Salman said, “and some of them talk to trees. Or wear foil hats. Or think they’re the reincarnation of Irfan Qasad.”

Ben snatched up a napkin and coughed wildly, drenching the cloth with a mouthful of soda. Kendi thumped him on the back.

“You all right?” he asked, concerned.

“Fine. Sorry, Grandma.”

Salman nodded. “Since the Despair, the number of mental patients has skyrocketed,” she continued. “Some of them fixate on public figures and may—I stress, may—want to harm you. And, of course, I have political enemies who might try to influence me by threatening you.”

“I don’t want bodyguards,” Zayim said. “Do you think I need bodyguards?”

“We’ll talk specifics in a moment,” Salman said. “Right now I’m just laying out the topics of discussion. We also need to go over privacy issues, what’s likely to come out in the press, and how to behave in public. Especially you, Kendi.”

“Me?” Kendi said, startled.

Zayid smirked while Hazid nudged Sil in the ribs. They exchanged knowing looks.

“You aren’t known for your tact, hon,” Salman said, and Kendi shifted a little under her penetrating gaze. He was surprised to find himself flushing. “What you did during the Despair has granted you a certain amount of leeway—”

“You mean the fact that I saved the universe means people give me a little slack now and then?” Kendi said despite his warm cheeks. “Imagine that.”

“Now that’s exactly what she means,” Sil said. “You can’t shoot your mouth off whenever you like, Kendi, or lord your status over the rest of us like a spoiled child. If you want to be a part of this family, you can’t go around saying—”

If I want to be a member?” Kendi interrupted. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sil. I was dragged kicking and screaming into this den of dysfunction. Ben is the only one of you lot who’s worth a—”

“That’s enough!” Salman’s voice boomed like a cannon. “You listen to me—all of you. I know damned well that this family has two enemy camps. I also know that if I’m going to win this election, we have to present a united front. I don’t give a flying shit-fit if it’s a fake front or not. What you do and say behind closed doors is your own damn business, but in public, you behave. Or do you want Michael Foxglove in the governor’s mansion?”

Her fury silenced the room. Kendi clenched a fist. Tress had drawn her feet up and tucked them underneath herself on the sofa. Sil and Hazid sat rigidly next to each other, and Ben’s face was carved from stone. The stillness lay thick as dust.

“Grandma’s right,” Kendi said at last. “We can’t let Foxglove anywhere near the governorship.”

“I never liked the fighting,” Tress said softly. “Not since the Despair, anyway. Ben...” She took a deep breath. “Ben, I want to apologize. I treated you like dirt when we were kids, and I wasn’t any better when we grew up. I was dreadful, and I’m sorry.”

Ben stared, clearly unable to speak. Kendi squeezed his hand. It was sweaty.

“Tress!” Zayid said. “What the hell? We weren’t any meaner than kids in any other family.”

“Yes we were,” Tress said. “We treated Ben like an outsider and a bastard child just because he wasn’t Silent. Well these days he’s Silent and we aren’t, and now I know what it’s like. So I’m apologizing.”

“To make yourself feel better?” Kendi burst out. “Assuage some guilt? All life—is he supposed to forget everything you did and said to him just because you say you’re sorry?”

“Kendi,” Ben said. “You’re hurting my hand.”

Kendi instantly relaxed his grip, though he couldn’t keep from grinding his teeth. Tress expected a single sentence to undo more than twenty years? What kind of trick was she trying to pull?

“I accept, Tress,” Ben said gravely.

“Thank you,” Tress replied.

Kendi started to speak again, but Ben squeezed his hand hard, and Ben’s hands were strong. Kendi suppressed a wince and shut his mouth.

“Let’s continue, then,” Salman interjected from her chair. Every head swiveled toward her. “I’m afraid very little of this is going to be pleasant, my ducks, and I want you to remember that I love each of you very much. The public, however, may have a different view.”

“What do you mean?” Zayid said.

“Let’s start with the news media. They’re going to dig into our pasts to look for delightful and interesting facts to air on the feeds. We need to anticipate what will come up and how to handle it.

“First, Zayid, they’ll make hay over your four marriages, your four divorces, and the child you had from that one-night stand.”

Zayid paled. “How did you know about that?”

“And Tress,” Salman continued, ignoring the question, “they’ll learn how your studies at the monastery were delayed while you underwent rehabilitation. Sil and Hazid, you separated for six months and got back together again, but only after Sil spent time in a psychiatric hospital. None of this should cost me the election, but it will come out, and you need to be ready for it.”

“What about Ben and Kendi?” Sil said, her face hard. “They aren’t perfect, you know.”

“The circumstances of Ben’s birth will come under scrutiny, yes,” Salman said. “As will his and Kendi’s role in the Despair, though that’s already gone through the feeds a thousand times. If there’s anything else you can think of that might come out, you’d better tell me, either here and now or soon and in private.”

The room remained silent. Kendi thought about his checkered past at the monastery, his angry teenager days. He’d stomped on several dozen rules and almost been expelled twice. Or was it three times? Maybe he should mention that to Salman.

“Remember,” Salman continued, “that the media are extremely resourceful and persistent. If there’s anything to find, they’ll find it, and they’ll make it public. It’s easier to deal with such things if we know about them in advance, my loves.”

On the couch beside Kendi, Ben tensed. A flushed crawled over his face, and subtle movements of his jaw told Kendi he was chewing the inside of his cheek. Did Ben have a dark secret? A skeleton in the closet? No. Kendi knew Ben’s past like he knew his own, and it contained nothing Grandma hadn’t already mentioned. Kendi considered asking him. Then he caught sight of Sil and Hazid, whose faces bore an odd mix of stubbornness and anticipation. They were dying to hear some tidbit about Kendi and Ben, something they could snicker and snarl about. Kendi’s own stubborn streak came to the fore and he clamped his lips firmly shut. There was no way he would give Hazid and the others the satisfaction of ferreting out some nugget of scandal, especially one attached to Ben.

“I’ll talk to each of you later, then,” Salman said. Her words sounded ominous. “Also remember that reporters will almost certainly dog your steps every moment of every day once I declare my candidacy. The four of you”—she made a gesture that took in Kendi, Ben, Tress, and Zayim—”can expect less attention because you’re ‘only’ my grandchildren, though Kendi is already a celebrity.”

“Senator,” said a gray-clad maid at the doorway, “dinner is ready.”

They rose and went into the dining hall, where they took places at a long polished table beneath a crystal chandelier. Salman sat at the head. The first course was clear onion soup covered with a mild melted cheese. It was delicately seasoned and delightfully salty. Kendi savored each mouthful and wished that Ben liked to cook. Or that Kendi himself could cook. Ben, however, remained supremely uninterested in culinary matters. As for Kendi, every time he even glanced at the kitchen, food smoked, shriveled, vaporized, or exploded. Eventually the two of them had given up and run up tabs at all the local take-out places. Ben called it their duty to the local economy.

Salman continued her speech as they ate. “In answer to Sil’s earlier question,” she said, “Sil and Hazid will indeed need bodyguards. It would be foolish for you to go out in public undefended. The Guardians will work with you, of course, and keep the disruption to a minimum.”

Hazid groaned and Sil covered her mouth with a napkin, but neither one of them questioned Salman’s assertion.

“What about the rest of us?” Kendi asked.

“As a rule, grandchildren of high-ranking government figures don’t need bodyguards. However, if any kind of threat arises, we’ll provide security to you.”

“How much will all this cost?” Hazid asked.

“The bodyguards are government employees,” Salman said. “No cost to you. And that brings us to the next thing—blathering personal opinions.”

The maid took away the soup bowls and replaced them with a small fish fillet drizzled with a creamy mushroom sauce. Kendi picked up his fish knife and suppressed a smile. He had grown up in the poorer section of Sydney, Australia back on Earth, running half-wild with his older brother and younger sister on the grimy streets. His parents had fought to get him to use a plastic spoon to shovel beans down his throat. Now he was eating fish fillet at a table decorated with enough cutlery to arm a small nation. Life was a strange thing indeed.

“The media will ask you about this issue or that problem,” Salman said. “And they’ll be relentless. Just acknowledging their presence will start a frenzy, and they won’t leave you alone.”

“Well, that’s all to the good,” Sil said. “I have a few things to say about—”

No,” Salman interjected firmly. “That’s exactly what I’m warning you about. Never, ever talk to a reporter or newsfeeder. Even a comment that seems inocuous at the time can have earth-shattering repercussions for my campaign. Kendi already showed you how easily they can twist words. The only thing you should ever say in the presence of a reporter is—”

A ‘Get the hell out of my way’?” Kendi asked.

“I was thinking a firm ‘No comment,’ “ Salman replied. “You need to understand that even the slightest slip can damage my party and my chances.”

“How many Senate seats do the Unionists hold right now?” Ben asked.

“We have thirty-two out of ninety-eight,” Salman said. “A little over a third. Foxglove’s Federals hold only twenty-five, but we’re both outnumbered by Ched-Pirasku and the Populists, since they have the remaining forty-one.”

Kendi did some math. “Ninety-eight seats total. When did they lose one?”

“Just after the Despair,” Salman said. “Enough people died that we had to adjust the Senate down a chair. The Federals were the losers, thank heaven, and you should have seen the fight they put up. Redistricting everyone was hell, especially because we were trying to run this place on our own for the first time. We still don’t know what the hell we’re doing half the time.”

Kendi nodded. Just a few months ago, Bellerophon had been a part of the Independence Confederation, a powerful government that encompassed dozens of worlds. The Bellerophon Senate had run local affairs but had ultimately answered to Empress Kan maja Kalii, a benign and popular ruler. After the Despair severed all interplanetary communication, however, the Confederation fell apart and Bellerophon was left to its own devices. Political parties rose out of the chaos, and the Senate decided to elect a planetary governor, imbued with the powers once held by the Empress. To avoid giving any one party too much power, the Senate also decided that the Governor would be elected by popular vote and not appointed by Senate majority.

“The real struggle is going to be defeating the Populists,” Salman said. “They hold the most seats, and Ched-Pirasku’s popularity is pretty high right now.”

“But together the Unionists and the Federals outnumber them,” Tress pointed out. “That has to be some kind of advantage for you.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Salman said. “We’re polar opposites. My Unionists are out to keep Bellerophon a united planet, and we’ve got to build up the military and find some allies. It’ll mean more jobs, for one thing. For another, Bellerophon has more functioning Silent per capita than any other planet in the galaxy, and you can be sure someone out there will realize that we’re ripe for picking without the Empress to defend us. An invasion is inevitable. But Foxglove and his pet Federals are pushing that separatist nonsense. They want to pull away from the rest of the galaxy and retreat into racial enclaves. Foolishness! This isn’t the time to entrench—it’s time to expand, to reach out toward other—”

“We’re on your side, Grandma,” Zayid interrupted. “You don’t need to give us the speech.”

Salman’s mouth snapped shut. Then she gave a small smile. “Sorry. Rhetoric is a hard habit to break.”

“How are the campaign finances doing?” Hazid asked, changing the subject.

“Could be better,” Salman said. “Could always be better. There isn’t much to go around these days.”

Kendi looked down at the remains of his fish and saw the face of a hungry little girl.

The Children of Irfan Eat While My Children Starve!

People were going hungry around the galaxy, even on this very planet, and Kendi was eating gourmet food from china plates with silver flatware. Grandma Salman wasn’t hurting. Neither were he and Ben. But they were exceptions. The Despair had Silenced almost all the Children of Irfan, the very people who provided Silent communication for hundreds of governments and corporations in all corners of the galaxy, and the revenue generated by this essential service kept the Children and their employees highly solvent, even wealthy. Now only a tiny handful of Children could enter the Dream and they produced only tiny handfuls of money.

“I’m running fund raisers,” Salman continued, “but it’s hard to get people to cough up. That’s another problem. The Populists are bigger, so Ched-Pirasku is outgunning me financially. The Federals are smaller, thank heavens, so Mitchell Foxglove is an even worse position than I am. I’ll be exploiting that, my ducks, you may be sure.”

The fish was replaced with a char-grilled steak tender enough to cut with a fork. Three splinters of bone placed discreetly on the plate told Kendi the meat came from a mickey spike—an herbivorous dinosaur the size of a truck. Mickey spike meat was always served with three bone slivers on the side. No one knew exactly why, though folklorists argued endlessly about it.

“We’re all waiting for the High Court’s ruling on Othertown’s mining rights,” Salman said. “That’ll have a tremendous impact on my campaign.”

“I don’t understand the connection,” Sil said, setting her bone slivers aside and cutting a piece of meat. “I know you’ve been trying to get the rights halted, but—”

“We can’t allow Bellerophon to become another Earth,” Salman said. “It was extremely wise of the original colonists to put severe restrictions on mining and tree farming and anything else that might hurt—”

“You’re giving another speech, Grandma,” Ben said. “What’s it got to do with your campaign?”

“Money,” Salman said, and popped a bit of steak into her mouth.

“It always comes down to that,” Kendi said. He remembered the dreadlocked woman and the little girl, and a thought struck him. “Before you explain, Grandma, tell me if I’m right.”

“Oh, here we go,” muttered Zayim. Tress waved her wine glass to shush him.

“If the Othertown district is granted better mining privileges,” Kendi said, “it will mean a boom in the mining industry. That’ll open up new jobs. The people who are out of work in Treetown will move to Othertown to find employment. And that will mean another redistricting. Correct so far?”

Salman nodded, chewing. “Very good.”

“An exodus will cost Treetown plenty in the way of political power and hand it to Othertown,” Kendi said. “So it’s definitely in Mitchell Foxglove’s interest for that law to pass.”

“And he’s pushing hard for that to happen,” Salman said. “Before the Despair, the High Court thought more like I do. But the Despair balanced the bench, and the mining decision could go either way now. I can’t say I blame them for changing their minds, but it’s a short-term solution that’ll create long-term problems.”

“What are you planning to do?” Ben asked.

“Lobby,” Salman replied. “But indirectly. Lobbying the High Court is a no-no, but there’s the food lobby and the drinks lobby and even the dessert lobby.”

“What’s that all about?” Sil said.

“High Court justices work long, torturous hours, poor things,” Salman said. “And it’s my duty as a citizen to ensure my justices have plenty of delicious food and drink at their fingertips for those late-night sessions. I have informants at every restaurant and food market within walking distance of Justiciary Hall, so I know their favorite dishes.”

“Isn’t that`bribery?” Tress said.

“It would be,” Salman said with a bland smile, “if food counted as money. And it doesn’t. Keep that in mind the next time you want me to do something for you, my ducks.”

That garnered small chuckles, and the conversation turned away from politics. Kendi began to relax, if only a little bit. Naturally, Salman dropped a bombshell in the middle of dessert.

“I have one last request,” she said, digging her fork into a meltingly-soft chocolate cake. “Ben and Kendi, it would be a great help if the two of you would publicly endorse my campaign.”

Ben froze, a forkful of cake partway to his mouth.

Kendi nodded. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking that.”

“No ego problems there,” Zayim muttered.

For once, Kendi ignored him. “What did you have in mind, Grandma?”

“You’d tell everyone you can what a wonderful governor I’d make. There’d be fund-raising speeches, advertisements, speeches—the usual.”

“No,” Ben said.

Salman raised silver eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, his face wooden. “But no. I’m not going to stand on a podium and make a fool of myself. Kendi’s better at that than I am.”

Kendi laughed. “I think that’s a compliment.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to ask any of us,” Hazid said. Chocolate crumbs dropped from his lips into his lap.

“I’m sorry to be so blunt, dear,” Salman said, “but you aren’t a celebrity. Ben is. So is Kendi.”

“Only because Kendi hogs the spotlight,” Zayim pointed out. A ‘Look at me, everyone! I saved the whole goddamned universe! I’m a god! Bow down before me!’ “

“Awwww, wook at dat, Gwamma,” Kendi cooed. “Widdle Zayim’s so cute when he’s jealous.”

“Don’t you call me cute,” Zayim snarled. “I’m not like you.”

“Yeah—I know how to use birth control.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Time to go,” Ben said, rising and hauling Kendi to his feet. “Thanks for dinner, Grandma.” And he towed Kendi toward the door.

“I’ll do it, Grandma,” Kendi called over his shoulder. “Call me.”

oOo

Ben remained silent on the trip home. Kendi didn’t try to draw him into conversation, and for this Ben was grateful. It always took Ben a few hours to recover from a family visit. He was still feeling unstable from this one. As always, Grandma was loud and bossy. Sil and Hazid made Ben shake with a mixture of fear and anger. Zayim remained immature and obnoxious. And Tress! Her unexpected apology had startled Ben more than anything else that evening. He still wasn’t sure he believed it. He wanted to believe it.

Kendi, on the other hand, was clearly in a bouncy mood, and he fidgeted on the seat next to Ben. He knew what Kendi was thinking. Salman had asked him to endorse her campaign, and he was excited. Ben tried to be excited for him, use Kendi’s happiness to banish his own unease. It worked a little bit, but Ben still didn’t feel like talking.

The automated flitcar deposited them in front of their house and vanished into the night sky. Walkways and balconies made black lattices among the talltree branches. Tree lizards chirped and squeaked from hidden places, and the night air was chilly. Ben and Kendi’s two-story house, the one left to Ben by his mother, was dark. Ben palmed the lock and the lights came on inside. The usual twinge—

mom’s dead and I’m in her house

—bolted through him, then faded. Maybe one day it would disappear entirely. Ben wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

A pair of arms hugged him from behind and a dark chin rested on his shoulder. “How do you feel?” Kendi asked.

Ben reached back and rested a hand on Kendi’s rough hair. The touch settled Ben a little and he felt muscles unclench. “Better,” he said. “Now that I’m home.”

“I hate what they do to you,” Kendi said. “Maybe we should tell Grandma we won’t do family meetings if your family is there.”

Ben had to laugh. “Maybe. How about coffee?”

“That’ll settle your nerves?”

“It will if you drink it with me.”

They entered the spacious kitchen with its polished wood floor and cabinets. Ben pulled the coffee maker from his niche and filled it with water. The coffee container was almost empty, the victim of an early shortage. Coffee was one of the few dishes Ben could reliably make, however, and it had the added benefit of not reminding him of his mother, an avid tea-drinker. Ben set the machine to brewing, then got out the cream and sugar. Ben wondered how long it’d be before sugar became hard to find. Kendi sat in amiable silence at the wooden table with an enigmatic look on his face. The rich smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. Ben narrowed blue eyes.

“What?” he said.

“What what?” Kendi asked.

“You look...sly,” Ben replied. “What are you up to, Father Kendi?”

“Everyone suspects me of being up to something,” Kendi complained.

“That’s not a denial.”

Kendi toyed with a sugar spoon. “I’ve figured out your secret, is all.”

“My secret?” Ben said, confused.

“About why you’ve been edgy lately, why you haven’t wanted to talk to me. I know all about it.”

Ben’s stomach clenched and he sank into the chair opposite Kendi. “You do?”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Kendi reached across the table and took Ben’s hand. “I’m not mad, love. I know it’s been hard for you, and I can see why you’d have a hard time bringing it up with me.”

“Oh. Okay,” Ben said, and felt oddly put out. He had torn his hair out forcing himself to decide when to tell Kendi about his parents, and now Kendi had gone and found out on his own. He felt oddly cheated. “But how did you figure it out? Harenn didn’t say anything, did she? Or Lucia?”

“Lucia?” Now Kendi looked confused. “No, it was logic. That, and the fact that I know you better than anyone else. It’s a natural reaction.”

“It is?”

“Sure. Hell, I should have seen it coming.” Kendi squeezed Ben’s hand once and released it. “But I’m not upset. You’re my family, Ben, and we’ll work it out. You don’t need to be jealous of my family.”

“Uh...” was the best Ben could come up with. By now it was clear he and Kendi weren’t talking about the same thing. So Kendi didn’t know. Ben’s mouth went dry, and he steeled himself for what had to come next.

“Look,” he said, “there is something I need to tell you, but it’s not—”

A knock at the front door interrupted him. Kendi let out an aggravated noise. “Who the hell is coming by at this hour?”

“It’s not even eight-thirty,” Ben said. “It just feels later because of everything that’s happened. Irene, who’s at the door?”

“Wanda Petrie,” said the computer.

“Wanda Petrie?” Kendi repeated. “Who the hell is Wanda Petrie?”

“No idea,” Ben said.

“Irene, ask Wanda Petrie to state her business.”

Pause. “Wanda Petrie says she is a publicist who is here to see Father Kendi Weaver. Wanda Petrie says she is in the employ of Senator Salman Reza.”

“I’d better put another pot on to brew,” Ben said, feeling both relief and trepidation. Was this a reprieve or an impediment?

“It’s okay, Ben,” Kendi said. “We can pretend we aren’t home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Irene, unlock the door and tell our guest we’re in the kitchen.” He poured the coffee into a carafe and started the second pot.

“Hello?” said a woman’s voice a moment later. “Father Kendi?”

“In here,” Kendi called. “We’re just having some coffee.”

A woman entered the kitchen. Her hard shoes snapped the floorboards with quick clicks. Her blue business suit stood stiff at every crease, and her upswept brown hair was rigidly piled in a firm nest atop her head. She extended a birdlike hand to Kendi, who rose to shake it.

“Father Kendi,” she said. “I’m Wanda Petrie, manager and publicist. Senator Reza hired me to handle your involvement in her campaign.”

“That didn’t take long,” Kendi said with a wide, white grin. “We only just left her house.”

“I was already on her staff, Father. The Senator called to reassign me a few minutes ago, and I decided not to waste time.”

“Efficient,” Kendi said.

“Coffee?” Ben said, brandishing the carafe and an empty cup.

“You have coffee?” Petrie said. “I’d love some. “re you...?”

“Sorry,” Kendi said. “Ms. Petrie, this is Ben Rymar, my spouse.”

“Of course,” Petrie said, and shook hands when Ben set the cup down. Her grip was dry and forceful. “I don’t have to tell you, Mr. Rymar, that Senator Reza is still hoping you’ll eventually join the campaign as well. Two heroes of the Despair would be a major asset.”

“Not for me,” Ben replied. “Cream and sugar?”

They took up places at the table. Kendi drank his coffee with long, slow swallows. Petrie sipped quickly, like a bird dipping up water. Ben stirred his, staring at the swirling patterns that trailed after his spoon.

“We need to set a schedule, Mr. Weaver,” Petrie said between sips, and set a data pad on the table. A tap called up the holographic screen, and another tap called up a calendar program. “I’ve already contacted a feed studio, and they can film your first commercial the day after tomorrow at eight o’clock. That should end in time for you to attend a fundraising luncheon for the Ched-Balaar League of—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kendi said, holding up his hands. “I’m still at the monastery, you know. I have duties in the Dream. We don’t have a whole lot of working Silent these days, and I can’t just—”

“Senator Reza is arranging leave for you,” Petrie interrupted. “It shouldn’t be a problem. After all, the Children of Irfan are backing her campaign.”

“With endorsements or funds?” Kendi asked. Ben could see he was getting interested despite himself.

“Both, though their funds are limited these days.”

“You said you want me to speak at a luncheon,” Kendi said. “I’m not much of a speech writer, though I suppose I could put something together if I don’t have to go to work.”

Petrie looked horrified. “We have speech writers, Father Kendi. Please don’t ever speak extemporaneously in public. Every word you use has to be weighed carefully. Casual remarks can have terrible repercussions.”

“So Grandma said.”

“I’ve arranged an extensive workshop for you tomorrow afternoon,” Petrie said, and the date glowed on the calendar. “Our team will take you through what to do and not do, what to say and not say.”

“How fun,” Kendi said with too much enthusiasm. Subtle signs in his expression and posture set off alarm bells in Ben’s head. “Gee. What else will I learn?”

“How to dress, places you should and should not visit, what to say to unexpected questions, how to modulate your voice for best effect, and similar subjects.”

“Where will they insert the key?”

Petrie looked blank. “The key?”

“The one that winds me up.” Kendi made jerky hand motions like a mechanical toy. “Senator-Reza-is-the-best-choice-vote-for-her-no-further-comment.”

Petrie’s face hardened. “Mr. Weaver, Senator Reza is running for world governor. That means the world population is going to examine her and everyone in her campaign in great detail. That includes you. You are a hero of the Despair, and the public has raised you high, but remember that the public also tears people down, especially in hard times like these. If you can’t control yourself and follow the rules we set for you, you’ll become a liability to the Senator’s campaign. In that case, we’ll have to let you go and hope the Senator can win without you.”

Ben half expected Kendi to snort in derision and tell Wanda Petrie to get lost. Instead, he thought a moment and then nodded.

“I’ll go along with what you say,” he said. “But I have a few conditions of my own.”

Petrie looked doubtful. “What kind of conditions?”

“Ben and I are trying to start a family,” he said. “That comes first with me. This means I can’t do multi-day trips, and family business will take precedence over fundraising, speeches, and commercials. I also reserve the right to modify speeches—with the help of your speech writers, of course. This is because I won’t publicly state a position I don’t agree with.”

“The last part is easy,” Petrie said. “The first—I don’t know. Long-range flits get expensive, and we’ll definitely need you to speak in Othertown and Rangeway and other places. We can probably handle it, but I’ll have to check with the Senator.”

“And speaking of expenses,” Kendi continued, “how are mine going to be met? The monastery is generous, but I don’t think they’ll give me paid leave for a political campaign, even one they support.”

“Stipend from us.” Petrie took another sip of coffee. “Indirect, of course.”

“How so?” Kendi asked.

“The campaign can’t pay you a direct salary,” Petrie explained. “It would destroy your credibility. Instead, we’ll set up a foundation, then ask some of our contributors to give money to it. The contributors pay the foundation, the foundation pays you. The campaign never touches the money.”

“And I thought I was a con artist,” Kendi said happily. “This is going to be fun.”

They continued to talk about the campaign and work on Kendi’s schedule. Ben sat at the table, toying with his coffee and growing restless. Kendi and Petrie filled the kitchen with their presence, and Ben felt pushed aside. He had been prepared to tell Kendi about his biological parents all afternoon and evening, and this latest delay was grating on him. Petrie stabbed at a date on the holographic calendar and it changed from blue to green, indicating another speech. She was a black hole, sucking up Kendi’s time and energy. Ben grew more and more restless as the coffee in his cup grew cold. The words built inside him like a volcano. Abruptly he stood up.

“It’s late,” he said. “Could we finish this later?”

Wanda Petrie looked a bit taken aback. “If Father Kendi—”

“It’s been a long day,” Ben said, “and Father Kendi and I still have things to do. Thank you for coming by.”

“Of course.” Petrie snapped off her data pad and withdrew from her pocket a brand new one. “Here, Kendi—a thank-you gift from Salman. All the people in the campaign are using this version, and it’s half again as powerful as what’s available on the civilian market. You’ll like the holographics—twice as many pixies per cubic centimeter. Makes holos crisp and clear like you’ve never seen.”

“Nice,” Kendi said with pleasure. “Tell her I said thanks.”

Petrie shook hands all around. “I’ll be at the workshop in the afternoon, Father,” she said. “If you have questions or an emergency arises, you can call me night or day.”

“Thank you,” Kendi said with a hard look at Ben. “I’ll escort you to the door.”

They left. Petrie’s shoes made more clipped clicks on the hardwood floor. Ben felt suddenly nervous. He dumped his cold coffee down the drain and began cleaning up the kitchen, more out of a need to do something than any real desire for tidiness.

“That was rude,” Kendi said in the doorway. He set the new data pad on the table. “And unlike you. What the heck is—”

“Daniel Vik and Irfan Qasad are my parents,” Ben blurted.

Kendi burst out laughing. “That’s a good one,” he said. “No really—what’s bothering you?”

“It’s the truth,” Ben said in a hoarse voice. His heart was pounding, but he didn’t know why. “Harenn confirmed it.”

“What?”

“She ran the gene scan three times on the Poltergeist and twice more after we got home from SA Station. The results were always the same.”

“What?”

“We haven’t been able to figure out why Irfan and Daniel made all these embryos—made me—or how the embryos got onto the ship Mom found or anything else about them. I wish we could have.”

“What?”

“Harenn told only me because she figured I should be the first to know. I asked her to keep quiet because I wanted to be the one to tell you. But I couldn’t find a way to say the words until now. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“Would you stop saying what? You sound like you’re broken.”

“Wha—oh.” Kendi sank into a chair with a dazed expression on his face, one Ben couldn’t read. “All life. Ben, you’re saying that those embryos—that you—are almost a thousand years old? That you’re the son of Irfan Qasad and Daniel Vik?”

Ben managed a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

The Irfan Qasad,” Kendi went on. “The first human to enter the Dream. Who founded the Children of Irfan. Who created the idea of human Silent.”

Ben sat down with a nod. “And Daniel Vik is my father. Yes—the man who tried to destroy all human Silent on Bellerophon. Lucia’s been having fun with that one. Something about it symbolizing the good and evil found in everyone.”

Lucia knows?” Kendi said. “You told Lucia but not me?”

Ben looked down at his hands. They were twisting themselves in his lap. He had known this would happen. Kendi was angry at him. He hated it when Kendi got angry. Not because he was afraid of Kendi, but because it...hurt. As if he had disappointed Kendi somehow. Ben hated disappointing anyone.

“Lucia was there when Harenn gave me the results of the scan,” Ben said to his hands. “Harenn said she had a right to know if she was going to be a surrogate mother.”

“But I didn’t have the right to know?” Kendi’s voice was growing shrill. “All life, Ben—when were you planning to tell me? After the kids were born? At their first birthday party? Shit, I can’t believe you sat on this for a goddam month!

Ben stood up and walked out of the room. He strode into his study and quietly shut the door.

oOo

Kendi stared at the empty space Ben had occupied. His mouth opened and shut like a landed fish and his mind spun in circles, trying to encompass what Ben had told him. Ben was the son of Irfan Qasad herself. It was impossible. It was preposterous. But Ben would hardly say such a thing as a joke.

“Irene, call Harenn,” he said suddenly. “Mark the call high priority.”

“Working.” A moment later, part of the kitchen walled glowed and Harenn’s face appeared on the monitor.

“Is it true about Ben?” Kendi said without preamble.

“Yes,” Harenn said, not mincing words herself. “I ran the scan five times. He and the other embryos are Irfan’s children. And Daniel Vik’s.”

Kendi flung himself backward against the slats of his chair. “Do you know what this means? It’s like discovering a son of Buddha or Krishna. Not a descendent. A son.”

“Sons are descendants,” Harenn pointed out.

“You know what I mean,” Kendi snapped.

“Are you unhappy about it?”

“I’m startled out of my billabong, that’s what I am. I knew Ben had something on his mind, but I would never in a thousand years have thought this was it. All life, Harenn—why didn’t you tell me?”

“I promised Ben I would not. He wanted to be the one.”

“The Children are going to throw a thousand cats,” Kendi muttered. “Half of them will figure it’s some kind of blasphemy and the other half will worship at Ben’s feet.”

“Do not forget that your children bear the same genes,” Harenn said. “They are Vik and Irfan’s children as well.”

Kendi groaned.

“You are acting like this is bad news,” Harenn said. “Is it?”

“I don’t know,” Kendi growled. “I can barely get the idea through my head, let alone figure out the implications.”

“And how do you think Ben feels about it?”

Kendi froze. The news had flabbergasted him so badly he had barely noticed Ben’s agitated exit. “I have to go,” he said, and broke the connection without waiting for a response.

A moment later he stood outside the door to Ben’s study. A thin line of light limned the bottom. He tried the knob. It turned easily. Kendi took a deep breath and entered.

Ben was sitting at his desk, turning an old hard drive over and over in his hands. Computer guts and arcane bits of machinery littered the room around him. Ben didn’t look up when Kendi entered. Kendi just looked at him for a moment. Now that Kendi was looking for it, he could see the resemblance to Daniel Vik. It was eerie and made Kendi’s skin crawl. He swallowed. Irfan Qasad and Daniel Vik had reached across a millennium to create a man named Benjamin Rymar, a man Kendi had loved for almost fifteen years.

All life, had it been that long? It had. Kendi clearly remembered the first time he had laid eyes on Ben. Ara had thrown a party in honor of several students who had entered the Dream for the first time. Kendi was among them. Ben sat on the floor in one corner, looking shy, forlorn, and striking. Flame-red hair, sky-blue eyes, large hands, and a lost puppy expression. Even today Kendi couldn’t believe he had just walked up to Ben and started talking to him, and every moment from then on, he was glad he had done it. Their relationship had survived numerous breakups, several attempts at murder, the Despair, and Ara’s death.

So why are you so upset now? he thought. He’s the same person he was before. You just know more about him.

Kendi stood behind Ben’s chair and put his hands on Ben’s shoulders. The muscles were tense and hard. Ben himself didn’t respond. He had shut down again, and Kendi’s heart felt as if it had dropped into a bucket of ice. Kendi leaned down to embrace him more fully.

“Ben,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t react well. It was the last thing I was expecting to hear. I didn’t mean to shout. The news must have been a shock to you, too, hey?”

Ben thawed a bit. “Kind of.”

“I’m glad you told me. It must have been hard.”

Ben grabbed Kendi’s wrist without answering. After a moment, his head dropped back to rest against Kendi’s body. Kendi wrapped his arms around Ben for a long time, savoring the relief.

“What’s it like?” he said after a while. “Knowing who your bio-parents are, I mean.”

Ben thought. “I don’t feel any different. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real. Irfan and Vik died so long ago and they’re so...famous. When I was little, I used to pretend Benjamin Heller—Mom’s fiancé before he died—was my bio-father and that he’d come home one day and play with me.”

“Wait a minute,” Kendi said. “Ara once said—didn’t the cryo-unit’s computer record them as frozen in the same year Benjamin Heller died? Ara said it was almost like a sign or something.”

“That’s when the embryos were put into that particular cryo-unit, yeah. My guess is they were transferred from an older unit into that one for some reason. Maybe the old one was breaking down. Anyway, the unit’s computer would record them as being ‘frozen’ when they—we—were put into the cryo-chambers. It doesn’t mean we weren’t created earlier than that.”

“So who else knows?” Kendi asked.

“Just Harenn and Lucia,” Ben said. “And I want to keep it that way.”

“Oh?” Kendi hooked another chair with his foot and dragged it over so he could sit. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t want anyone else to find out about this,” Ben said fiercely. “Not Grandma, not my cousins, and definitely not that publicity woman. If this got out, I’d be an instant celebrity—and a target. The idea scares the shit out of me, Kendi. God. I’ve had nightmares.”

“What about the kids?” Kendi said. “Do we tell them? They’re Irfan’s children, too.”

Ben started to answer, then shut his mouth and pursed his lips. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose they have a right, but...I don’t know.”

“Well, we don’t have to decide now. We have a few years. Want something to eat? Or maybe we could go for a walk and talk some more.”

Kendi started to get up, but Ben grabbed his hand. “I want you to swear.”

“Swear what?”

“Swear that you won’t ever breathe a word of this to anyone, no matter what,” Ben said. “I want you to swear on Mom’s memory.”

“Ben, I—”

Ben squeezed Kendi’s hand. “Swear!”

“I swear on the memory of Mother Adept Araceil Rymar do Salman Reza that I will never tell anyone about your parentage,” Kendi said. “Good enough?”

“Yeah.”

Kendi flashed a grin. “Hey, you can trust me with a secret. I’m a con artist from way back. I deal in secrets.”

“That’s why I had you swear on Mom,” Ben said with a grin of his own. “It’s the only vow I know you’d never break.”

“Hey!”

But further protests were interrupted when Ben pulled Kendi down into his lap and kissed him, long and hard. His arms, warm and solid, wrapped around Kendi’s shoulders and his large hands stroked Kendi’s hair. The kiss grew more intense, and Kendi felt his body responding.

“You know,” Ben said, breath hot in Kendi’s ear, “I think I like this. It’s putting me in the mood to do something different.”

“Like what?” Kendi asked. Small shivers ran up and down his spine.

“Let me show you.”

oOo

Brother Carl Kirchenbaum snuck a peek into the bedroom. His wife Larissa lay peacefully asleep on their bed. He marveled at how different she looked now. Her breasts had grown considerably, and her stomach was already starting to round out. Carl carefully shut the door and checked his watch. He had maybe half an hour before Larissa would wake up and have to use the bathroom. Just enough time, if he hurried.

He let himself out of the tiny apartment they now shared and clattered quickly down the stairs. The building was shabby, and the hallways stank of old cooking and unchanged diapers. Carl grimaced. Before the Despair, her job and his stipend from the Children had been plenty enough to allow the two of them to rent a nice little house on the outskirts of the monastery. After the Despair, things had changed drastically. Carl himself had been Silenced—worse than being struck deaf and blind—and Larissa had lost her job when her employer went bankrupt. For a short while they’d been all right with Carl’s income. Then the monastery had reduced stipends to almost nothing, meaning he and Larissa could barely afford a two-room walkup in a bad part of Treetown.

Carl sighed worriedly as he trotted out into the night. It seemed like he worried all the time these days. He worried about Larissa getting unexpectedly pregnant. He worried about money and medical care. And through it all, he worried that he was going to fall apart. The only thing that kept him from falling into a permanent depression after losing his Silence was the thought of what it would do to Larissa. So he kept going, even when it felt like gravity had doubled and he would fall through the floorboards like an unfeeling rock.

The night was already chilly. The height of summer had passed. That, of course, meant heating bills, something else to worry about. Carl touched his pocket, which held the precious few freemarks he had managed to scrape together by going without lunch while he hunted for a job—any job. He should probably set the money aside, just in case. But it had been so long ...

Brother Carl went up a set of stairs and down a walkway until he reached the store. Mrs. Porfax, the aging owner, nodded to him from her counter near the door. Carl found what he was looking for and brought it over to her, feeling slightly embarrassed. Mrs. Porfax glanced at the item, and Carl felt his face heat up.

“Do you need anything else?” Mrs. Porfax asked, opening a brown bag.

“Not today,” Carl mumbled.

“Five freemarks and twenty, then.”

He paid her and left quickly. Outside he opened the bag and looked in. The small carton of gourmet chocolate ice cream seemed to look accusingly up at him. I’m too expensive, it said. You shouldn’t spend the money.

But Larissa loved it so much, as did he. After everything they’d gone through, they deserved a little treat together now and then. Didn’t they?

“Hey, friend. Spare a freemark?”

Carl closed the bag and looked up. A shabby man and an equally shabby woman stood at the mouth of an alleyway near the store. The man was holding out his hand.

“Sorry,” Carl said. “I don’t have—”

The woman gave a low cry and doubled over. The man spun and caught her, though her weight was an obvious drag on him. Carl automatically stepped forward. He took the woman’s arm and helped the man lower her, moaning, to the ground.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“Sometimes she gets like this,” the man said. “We don’t know why. She hurts.”

The woman looked up at Carl with pain-filled eyes. Then her hand whipped around and Carl felt a thump against the side of his neck. The woman’s hand came away. She held a dermospray.

“What—?” Carl said. And then his world went black.