“Enemies, like lovers, always eventually meet.”
—Daniel Vik
No one spoke for a long time. Finally Gretchen said, “That’s what he looks like? I’ve never seen him before.”
“I’d recognize him with my eyes shut,” Ben said in a cold and terrible voice that speared Kendi with alarm. “Gretchen, what’s the address? Where can we find him?”
“All right, all right,” Kendi said. “We aren’t going to do anything just yet.”
Ben’s jaw tightened so hard it looked like granite. He sat on the sofa, rigid as a statue with an explosive inside. Kendi swallowed and turned back to the hologram. It was definitely Padric Sufur.
Kendi had never actually met Sufur. Neither had Ben. But some time after Ara’s death, Ben had dug around the computer systems and produced several images of him. He hadn’t said why, and Kendi, still caught in the throes of his own grief, hadn’t pressed for details. He had simply assumed Ben had wanted to put a face to the name.
Padric was one of the wealthiest—perhaps even the wealthiest—being in the known galaxy. He had funded a laboratory that used the genes of Sejal’s father Prasad to produce twisted Silent children. Their Silence had been as powerful as their bodies had been monstrous, and when they came into their full power, they set out to destroy the Dream forever. This was as Sufur had wanted it. In his view, the Dream was the chief source of warfare, allowing commanders to communicate with their troops over interplanetary distances. Destroying the Dream would be the same as destroying war. Unfortunately, Sufur had been unaware that destroying the Dream would also create a backlash that would, over time, destroy all sentient life everywhere.
When Sufur’s destructive children attacked the Dream, the first thing they had done was remove every Silent in the universe from the Dream. A great many went insane at the separation. Large numbers had committed suicide out of despair. Kendi had almost been one of them, but Ben and Harenn had gotten to him in time.
They had not gotten to Ara. Ben had discovered her broken body on the forest floor, shattered from the leap she had taken off her own balcony.
The Vajhur family, meanwhile, had managed to put the twisted children’s bodies into stasis chambers, effectively snatching them out of the Dream before they could fully destroy it. The stasis chambers currently lay on the ocean floor on the planet Rust, forgotten by everyone except the Vajhur family, Kendi, and Ben. The team of geneticists that had created the children for Padric Sufur were either dead or fled. Padric Sufur himself had been nowhere near Rust during the Despair and had escaped unscathed but for the loss of his Silence. Kendi knew Sufur numbered among the Silenced because Kendi had personally scoured the Dream for the man’s presence and found not a single trace.
Now, however, he was apparently living on Bellerophon. Kendi rubbed his chin, feeling oddly calm. Ara had been both mentor and mother to Kendi, and by all rights Kendi should be the one rushing out the door to confront Sufur—or worse. Instead he felt perfectly in control, his mind cool and calculating. Why had Sufur come to Treetown? What possible business could he have here? And why was he consorting with Mitchell Foxglove?
“Let’s blow the lid off him,” Gretchen said. “Call the Guardians, call the police, call the feeds. They’ll be all over him. Or I can take him out. One shot’s all I need.”
“Stand in line,” Tan said without a trace of irony or humor, and Kendi remembered that Sufur’s plan had Silenced both Tan and Gretchen.
“No,” Kendi said. “We aren’t going to kill him.”
“Why the hell not?” Gretchen demanded.
“We need learn what he’s up to,” Kendi said. “Look, I hate him as much as you do—”
Gretchen rose to a terrible height. Her face was red beneath yellow hair. “How the fuck can you say that to me, Weaver? You can still reach the Dream. You kept your career. You are still Silent. Sufur took everything away from me. Everyfuckingthing I had—my Silence, my job, my friends. I don’t care how many game contracts you arrange because you feel guilty, you don’t have the right to hate him as much as I do. You never have the right. I want Sufur dead. I want to watch him squirm and shit blood at my feet before I crush his throat, and I want to record it so I can watch it over and over again and laugh my fucking head off while everyone I know pisses on his grave.”
Gretchen’s face had turned blotchy. Her entire body vibrated like a violin string, and her tirade all but pushed Kendi into his chair. Kendi firmed his jaw. She was being insubordinate, rash, and stubborn.
She was also right. Kendi couldn’t imagine what it must be like to lose his Silence and loved ones both. A twinge of the guilt Gretchen had mentioned pinched at him.
“I’m not denying you the right to be...angry isn’t a strong enough word, I think,” Kendi said quietly. “And I agree that Sufur is a filthy animal that needs to be put down. Maybe even we—you—will be the one to do it. But he’s here on Bellerophon for a reason, and I can’t imagine it’s to help the Children of Irfan. The last time Sufur had a plan, he nearly destroyed all life everywhere. We need to find out what he’s trying to pull.”
“If we kill him,” Ben said in that same chilly voice, “his plan will die, too.”
“Not necessarily,” Harenn said, speaking for the first time. “He may have people who can carry it out after his death. I have to say that in comparison to you three, I have lost almost nothing to Sufur, but I am no stranger to loss and anger. I understand your need to see him pay for his crimes, but I must also agree with Kendi. More people on Bellerophon have reason to hate Sufur than on any other known planet—except, perhaps, the Ched-Balaar homeworld—and it would be foolish in the extreme for him to come here without a very pressing purpose. We must uncover it.”
“And then what?” Gretchen said.
“And then you can see to his punishment,” Harenn said. “I will not stand in your way. I will also point out, however, that it may be more satisfying to see him punished while he lives. If he dies, his punishment is short-lived. If you leave him alive, there are any number of ways to make him regret what he has done.”
Kendi remembered the revenge Harenn had taken on her ex-husband, the man who had sold Bedj-ka into slavery, and he shuddered.
“Point,” Tan growled.
“Maybe we should just tell everyone that he’s here,” Gretchen said. “See how long before someone gets lucky.”
“Be impossible for him to operate here,” Tan said. “Too many people watching.”
“No!” Kendi said. “If we do that, Sufur will just disappear. Now that we know where he is, we can keep an eye on him, figure out what he’s up to. Harenn, let’s change the surveillance schedule and have Sufur watched around the clock.”
“As you wish.”
“The rest of you keep quiet about this,” Kendi warned. “Not one word, not a hint to anyone.”
“I don’t need to talk to him to see him dead,” Gretchen said.
oOo
Ben stared out into the night, hard and unmoving as a rock. Kendi stepped out onto the balcony, uncertain and a bit frightened. He hadn’t seen Ben this worked up since Ara’s death.
The winter air was damp and chilly, and Kendi could see his breath. Only a few night animals made faint calls to each other. Most of the dinosaurs had migrated to warmer climates, the plant eaters taking the lead with the meat eaters following close behind. The holiday season would arrive soon, beginning with Three Drink Night, after which came Ghost Eve and the Drum and Tooth Revel. Irfan’s Birthday came next. Kendi didn’t much feel like celebrating, though a relentless cheer seemed to have swept up everyone else in Treetown. There was even talk of adding a new holiday to commemorate Mitchell Foxglove’s announcement that children were returning to the Dream. Kendi ground his teeth at the thought. History would record the event as Foxglove’s triumph instead of as a theft. Kendi didn’t want or need any more fame, but he hated the idea of the truth going unrecorded. For an irrational moment he wondered if history had maligned Daniel Vik just as it was exalting Mitchell Foxglove.
Kendi laid a tentative hand on Ben’s shoulder. Ben didn’t react. Kendi hugged him from behind, but it was like embracing a stone.
“Talk to me, Ben,” Kendi said. “You shouldn’t keep it in.”
Ben remained silent.
“You’re angry with me.” Kendi sighed. “Ben, the thought of you wanting to kill someone scares me. You’ve never done it.”
“And how would you know that?” Ben said in a strangely gentle voice.
A familiar anger flared. Kendi knew what Ben meant. There were a lot of things Kendi didn’t know about Ben because their relationship had been stormy for years, with Ben coming and going from Kendi’s life like an ocean wave. But Kendi had never once initiated a breakup. Ben’s capriciousness, not Kendi’s, had put holes in their time together, and for him to intimate the apart times were Kendi’s fault ...
Kendi gritted his teeth and bit back sharp words. Ben rarely started arguments—he said small things calculated to anger Kendi and get him to start the fight, leaving Ben blameless. It was one of the things about Ben that annoyed the hell out of Kendi and served as a sharp reminder that no one, even someone you loved, was perfect. The only way to deal with this trick was not to rise to the bait, a skill Kendi had only recently learned.
“Look, Ben,” he said quietly, “no matter how much Sufur deserves it, no matter how justified your anger is, the law would still count it a murderer if you killed him. I’m ready to party on his tombstone, but I’m also be terrified the police will take you away from me—from our kids. Please promise me you won’t do anything. I can’t lose you like—like I lost—”
He stopped, unsure if he should go so far as to mention Ara’s name. But Ben had clearly understood. There was a long pause. Their breaths mingled in white puffs. And then Kendi felt Ben’s body slacken. He sagged back against Kendi, who sank to the balcony under Ben’s weight. He managed to control the slump and they both ended up on the cold planks. Kendi braced himself against the wall of the house. Ben lay like a rag doll against Kendi’s chest, his legs sprawled brokenly on the wood. His body shuddered noiselessly. It took Kendi a moment to understand that he was crying. Kendi wrapped his arms around Ben and held him while he wept.
“The bastard killed her,” Ben said in a thick, harsh voice. “He killed my mother. I hate him, Kendi. I want him dead. Why is he alive when she’s dead?”
Kendi didn’t give an answer, knew Ben didn’t want one. He rocked Ben like a child until Ben grew still and calm. At last Ben sat up and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“I’m freezing,” he said.
“How about some tea?” Kendi said. “Or maybe a beer. I think Lucia found some.”
They rose stiffly. Ben put a heavy arm around Kendi’s shoulders. “Thanks,” he whispered. “And I promise.”
Back in the house, they found Harenn, Gretchen, and Tan in the living room. The sharp smell of strong alcohol hung in the air, and several empty and half-empty bottles and glasses littered the coffee table.
“If we can’t kill him,” Tan said in an uncharacteristically bright voice, “we can at least get drunk.”
“So who’s going to guard us?” Kendi asked, more out of curiosity than uncertainty.
“Who the fuck cares?” Gretchen said. “I’ve saved your ass—what? Three times? Four? Save it yourself for once.”
“You aren’t drinking, are you?” Ben said to Harenn.
“Certainly not,” Harenn said. “I wanted to plan our next steps, but—”
“Lighten up, Hare,” Gretchen slurred. “A few hours won’t make a difference.”
“I was thinking,” Ben said, picking up a glass and sniffing at it, “of trying to hit Sufur’s computer trail. Since I know his home address, I can track quite a lot. He must have utilities and net hookups, and the ones connected to that address will have whatever name Sufur is using on them. Once I have that information, I can track down more records—his buying habits, what bank he uses, and so on. It might tell us what he’s up to.”
“I’ll search around the Dream,” Kendi said, “see if there are any rumors about him there. But first I’m going to go see him.”
“What?” Gretchen said. “You just said not to confront him.”
“I didn’t say confront,” Kendi replied. “I said see. I need to look at him with my own eyes. He tried to kill me, too, you know.”
“I’m going with you,” Ben said. “Don’t try to talk me out of it—it won’t work, and I’m stronger than you are.”
“All right,” Kendi said. “But you’re it. No bodyguards. It’s dark out anyway—no one’ll see us.”
“Unless they have night vision equipment,” Tan said. “Oh, just go. I’m too drunk to do you any good. You die, though, your estate still pays me.”
They did take the precaution of wearing low rain hats and anonymous slickers as simple disguises. Outside, the damp winter air was still chilly but no rain fell. Kendi and Ben made their way over dark walkways toward the Treetown address Gretchen had given them. The neighborhood was quiet and middle-class, though very few outdoor lights offered to illuminate the way, and the two men slipped from small pools of light into long lakes of shadow. Sufur’s house was the highest in a small cluster of homes stacked up against the talltree trunk. A lattice of staircases gave access. Lights glowed behind Sufur’s curtains. Kendi picked a vantage point on a public balcony and watched it intently.
“Now what?” Ben asked.
Kendi shrugged. “I just needed to see the place.” He paused. “It doesn’t look like a monster’s house.”
“It looks like the kind of place a little old lady would live in,” Ben said. “Like Grandmother Mee.” He took a deep breath. “I want to throw rocks through his windows. Or maybe a grenade.”
“Me, too. But that wouldn’t tell us what—hold it!”
A figure on a small electric scooter buzzed toward the bottom of the staircase lattice. In the dim light of a lonely street lamp, Kendi could make out the name “Maureen’s” emblazoned on the figure’s jacket. He dismounted and started up the stairs toward Sufur’s house.
“Come on!” Kendi said, and ran down the walkway toward the delivery boy without looking to see if Ben were following. They reached the boy before he was quite halfway up the steps.
“Excuse me,” Kendi said. “Hey!”
The delivery boy turned. He was carrying a food warmer and he looked distinctly nervous at seeing two grown men dashing up the stairs toward him. “Look, I don’t carry cash, okay? You want the food, you can—”
“We don’t want the food,” Kendi said a little breathlessly. “But you’re delivering to that house there, right?” He pointed at Sufur’s house.
“Yeah,” the boy said. “So?”
“So the guy who lives there is a friend of ours,” Kendi said. “Listen, can you help us play a little joke on him? He won’t be expecting to us deliver his supper. I’ll give you fifty freemarks if you let me and my friend borrow your jacket and do the delivery for you.”
The money, Kendi knew, was probably more than the kid made in three days. “You’re on,” he said, and handed over both the jacket and the food warmer. “I need those back. Maureen’s will charge me if I come back without them.”
“No problem,” Kendi said. “Here—you can take my rain slicker as collateral.”
A moment later, Kendi and Ben were mounting the stairs, Kendi wearing the delivery boy’s jacket and Ben carrying the food warmer.
“What are you doing?” Ben hissed.
“Just getting a look,” Kendi whispered back, his calm voice belying a pounding heart. “To make sure it’s really him. “re you going to be all right?”
Ben paused, lifted the lid of the food warmer, and rummaged around inside. “Now I will be,” he said, closing the warmer.
“What did you do?” Kendi asked.
“I spat in his ben yai leaves.”
Kendi gave a choked laugh and knocked at the door. “Delivery from Maureen’s,” he said, knowing the house computer would relay his words to the occupants. His heart continued to beat fast and his mouth went dry. Abruptly the door opened and Kendi was staring at Padric Sufur. The man’s face was lean, largely unlined, and hawk-like, with a long nose and thin lips. His body was equally lean, with long limbs and hands. He wore a heavily-quilted comfort suit. With a sudden rush of anger, Kendi wanted to reach out and snap the man’s neck. It would be so easy. The brittle old bones would break under his hands with a satisfying crunch and Kendi would be able to watch the man squirm and shit himself on the floor. Beside him, Kendi felt Ben tense and he knew Ben was thinking the same thing.
“I prefer to pay in cash,” Sufur said. “No prints. I assume that’s all right?”
“Yeah,” Kendi said shortly. “No problem. I don’t have change, though.”
Kendi collected the handful of bills Sufur gave him. Their hands touched at the transfer. No Silent jolt. Sufur’s skin was warm and dry, and Kendi felt nausea at the contact. Sufur hissed at the touch and yanked his hand back. He accepted the food packets Ben handed him from the warmer, thanked them curtly, and slammed the door.
“It was really him,” Ben said in a gravelly voice.
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here before it starts raining again.”
They returned the jacket and food warmer to the delivery boy, who was waiting below with his scooter, and headed wordlessly for home.
oOo
Jak Peer, delivery boy, climbed onto his scooter and hit the starter. This was shaping up to be a seriously weird night. He suspected that the guys who had asked to make the delivery for him were crooked somehow, but fifty freemarks was fifty freemarks and he’d have been stupid to refuse it.
The scooter didn’t start. The misty rain intensified and Jak tried again. The scooter still didn’t respond. Jak wiped cold water from his face in exasperation. Now what? Had those two weirdos had anything to do with it? He touched his pocket. The weirdo’s freemarks were a gift from Irfan, and he wondered how best to use it. Jak Peer didn’t see himself as a delivery boy for the rest of his life, no sir. He had been an Initiate at the monastery with dreams of becoming the youngest Grandfather Adept in history. The Despair had changed all that, Silenced him and crushed his Dream to dust. Now he had to find a new dream, and maybe fifty freemarks would let him buy one. The mining restrictions had been lifted. Perhaps he could use the money to travel to Othertown and get a job there. Mining would pay a hell of a lot better than delivering steamed slugs and ben-yai leaves.
One more try. The scooter’s engine clicked twice and remained still. Jak made an exasperated noise.
“Having some trouble?”
The speaker was a woman wearing a rain slicker. Jak saw a few locks of dark hair peeping out from under the hood. He had been so intent on the scooter and his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her approach.
“It won’t start,” he said. “And I’m not any kind of mech.”
“Let me take a look,” she said. “I know a few things.”
“Thanks,” Jak said, grateful. He dismounted and held the scooter upright while she took out a small flashlight and peered at the motor.
“Major sucking to be a delivery boy in this weather,” she said.
“You know it,” Jak said. “The good stuff never lasts, either.”
“Here’s your trouble.” The woman did something Jak couldn’t see. “Try it now.”
Jak hit the starter and motor sprang to life. “Perfect!” he said. “Hey, thanks a—”
Something thumped against the side of his neck. Jak managed a gasp before the drug hit and he fell into wet unconsciousness.
oOo
“Okay, I’m watching,” Kendi said. On the sofa next to him sat Martina. They were at her house, the one she and Keith rented from Ben and Kendi. It was a week later, and the rains had begun in earnest. Sheets of cold water washed down the windows, and the damp got into everything. Kendi wore heavy sweaters and Martina was keeping the heat cranked up, but he still felt chilly and vaguely wet. The weather also put a damper on all the campaigns—open-air speeches were impossible, and few people braved the weather to attend the indoor ones, so most of Kendi’s activity was limited to commercials and newsfeed interviews, and that could be done close to home.
Martina lounged on the sofa, her brown eyes wide and on the edge of her usual mirth. Then she abruptly shifted posture, becoming stiffer and more upright. She put both hands on her knees in a gesture Kendi recognized immediately. It both chilled and excited him.
“All life!” he said. “Ben?”
“It’s me. Can you believe it?” It was Martina’s voice, but Ben’s inflections. “We’ve been working on this for a while now.” Martina-Ben got up and strode around the tiny room. “This is weird. Her body moves different from mine. And I can smell perfume.”
“Wait until you wear an alien’s body,” Kendi said. “I kept tripping over my own feet the first time I possessed a Ched-Balaar. Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“We wanted to surprise you. You kept saying how you wanted me and Martina to get closer. And we have.”
“Okay, that would be an ‘ew’ sort of thing,” Kendi said. “What about Keith? Could you possess him, too?”
Martina-Ben shrugged. “He didn’t want to try it. He’s kind of hard to talk with, you know?”
“I know,” Kendi sighed.
Martina-Ben sat back down. “And that’s not all. Hold on.” A shudder, and Martina looked blankly at Kendi for a moment. Then she regained her composure. “Ta da!” she said in her own voice.
“That’s great, Sis.” Kendi said, impulsively grabbing her hand. It was then he noticed the red scar running up the inside of her forearm. “What the hell is that?”
“Nothing,” Martina said, and pulled her hand away. “It’s fine.”
“It can’t be nothing,” he said. “That must’ve hurt like a ballyhoo. What did you do—go carnosaur riding?”
He had meant it as a joke, but the startled look on Martina’s face told him he had hit the mark right off.
“All life,” he said. “You did.”
“It was just a little fun,” Martina said defensively. “Only the little ones hang around during the winter, and they’re not very dangerous if you know what you’re doing. I made a little mistake, that’s all.”
Anger seized Kendi. “How the hell did you learn what to do?”
“I found a club. It’s called the Wild Dinosaur Rodeo. Look, we take all the appropriate precautions.”
“Precautions?” Kendi echoed in disbelief. “Precautions? How about this for a precaution—stay the hell away from wild carnosaurs!”
“It’s my life,” Martina flared back. “You’re my brother, not my father. Or my owner.”
Kendi was seized with an urge to slap her. How could she endanger herself like that, especially after everything he had gone through to rescue her? After he had worried for fifteen years that she was already dead? But he forced himself to calm down. She was right about one thing—he hadn’t rescued her from slavery in order to dictate her—
A presence brushed his mind, and suddenly Kendi was hungry. Ravenous. Starving. He’d been feeling a little peckish before, but now he felt ready to run down a dinosaur and tear into it with his bare teeth. As quickly as the sensation came, it vanished. A wave of tender sentimentality flooded him. Martina, his baby sister, so lost and abused for so many years, and now she was right here on the sofa next to him. He shouldn’t feel angry at her. He should to apologize, beg her forgiveness, ask for—
~All right, Ben,~ he thought. ~So you can whisper, too.~
~I’m getting pretty good,~ came Ben’s mental voice. ~Though I haven’t tried it with a non-Silent yet.~
Martina deduced what was going on by the shifting expressions on Kendi’s face. “He did it, huh?”
“He did it,” Kendi said. “And now he can stop.” Manipulating people’s emotions from the Dream—whispering—had never been one of Kendi’s talents, and it always made him feel a little creepy.
~I’ll come out,~ Ben said. ~See you in a second.~
The presence vanished from Kendi’s mind. A moment later, Ben emerged from Martina’s bedroom, twirling his dermospray like a short baton. Kendi shook off the remnants of false emotion and gave Ben a congratulatory hug, his anger at Martina forgotten.
“The Children of Irfan are going to want you more than ever now,” he said.
“Forget it,” Ben said. “I’ve worked freelance all my life, and I’m not going to tie myself down with their rules and regulations.”
“That sounds strange coming from you, Ben,” Martina said from the couch. “I would expect to hear that from Kendi.”
“Kendi’s no good unless he has rules to break,” Ben said, “I avoid the rules altogether.”
“What’s going on?” said a sleepy voice. Keith stood in his bedroom doorway, looking rumpled. “You guys are being really noisy.”
“Ben and I were showing off for Kendi,” Martina said. “Enjoy your nap? You must be getting pretty good at them by now.”
“Was that sarcasm?” Keith said. “I’m not awake enough for sarcasm.”
“Keith,” Kendi said gently, “sleeping all the time is a sign of depression. Look, I can get you in to see a counselor. Or maybe the two of us can talk about...stuff. I don’t have a degree in psych, but I can listen. And maybe you can—”
“I’m not depressed,” Keith interrupted with a hint of steel. “I’m tired all the time because the Children are keeping me so busy in the Dream I barely have time to piss. In the last week, three people have quit or just disappeared, and I have to help cover for them. This is the first day off I’ve had in almost two weeks. Pardon me if I want to sleep late.”
“It’s after lunch,” Martina said in a quiet voice. “A little late for late.”
There was a long pause. Then Keith said, “What’s there to eat?”
“Kendi and Ben brought a whole lot of stuff,” Martina said. “We put it in the refrigerator. There’s ravioli, herb bread, some kind of salad. And cheesecake. You have to try the cheesecake. One bite and your depre—your grouchiness will disappear like a bad dream.”
“I’m not grouchy,” Keith growled, and stomped into the kitchen. A second later, he squawked, “What the fuck?”
“Sorry!” Kendi called. “Lars is here. Should’ve warned you. Lars, you know my brother Keith, right?”
“We know each other,” Keith called back. “Still scared the shit out of me. Fuck.” The refrigerator door opened, then slammed shut.
“He’s like this all the time,” Martina murmured. “Either sleeping or complaining. I’m starting to invent reasons to get out of the house so I don’t have to listen to him.”
“We’ll keep working on him,” Kendi murmured back. “Not much else we can do. We can’t force him to see a counselor.”
“I don’t know,” Martina grumbled. “I have a cricket bat around here somewhere.”
Keith came back into the living room with a reheated plate of food. The rich herb and tomato smells would have set Kendi’s mouth to watering if he hadn’t just eaten. Lucia’s cooking lessons were paying off. Neither Kendi nor Ben would ever be chefs, but they were no longer dependent on ordering out every day, and had managed to cut their food bills by more than half. And ever since Kendi had come up with a...creative new use for cheesecake batter, Ben had become much more receptive to spending extra time in the kitchen.
“So what’s on the schedule for Three Drink Night?” Ben asked. “It’s just next week, you know.”
“Three Drink Night?” Keith asked around a mouthful of bread. “What’s that?”
“Don’t you pay attention?” Martina said, gesturing at the living room. “I’ve been decorating.”
She had. Three large candles stood next to three silvery goblets on the coffee table. Three sketches of Irfan—done by Martina herself—hung on the wall next to a small shelf with three new books on it. Three talltree withes hung over the entrance to the hallway.
“It’s a party holiday,” Kendi said. “You do everything in threes—eating, drinking, gambling, and...um...”
“Sex?” Martina supplied. “Must be hard on the guys.”
“It’s a Ched-Balaar holiday,” Kendi laughed. “Things are little different for them.”
“Mom usually threw a party,” Ben said. “I think...I think I’d like to throw one, too. If Lewa will let us, that is.”
“Grandma’s throwing one,” Kendi said. “I’ll have to put in an appearance.”
“Then we’ll throw a little one here as well,” Martina said. “Just for an hour or something. That’ll make three parties.”
“I like that,” Ben said with enthusiasm. “We start here, go to Grandma’s, and end up at our house.”
They discussed plans for almost an hour. Keith volunteered little, though his eating may have interfered. At least, Kendi observed, his appetite seemed unaffected by his mood.
After a while, the rain lightened noticeably, and the gray sky visible through the window showed a few cracks of blue.
“We should get home,” Kendi said, rising. “This break in the rain won’t last long.”
Keith set his plate aside and brushed crumbs from his shirt. “I’ll go with you. After that meal, I’m suddenly in the mood for a brisk walk.”
They collected Lars from his waiting post in the kitchen, donned rain slickers, and headed out. The late afternoon air was chilly and damp but clean-smelling. Water glistened and dripped from every talltree leaf, pattering lightly on Kendi’s slicker. The foursome made their way over the walkways and staircases. Pedestrian traffic was light, and their footsteps thumped over the boards like muffled drumbeats. Lars walked just ahead of Kendi, eyes alert.
They were halfway to their destination when Kendi felt a sting on the back of his neck beneath his slicker. He slapped at it and spun around with an oath. Keith, walking behind him, had also turned.
“What the hell was that?” Keith said, looking over his shoulder. “I thought I saw—”
oOo
Kendi collapsed to the boardwalk. Ben blinked down at him, uncomprehending. Lars shoved Ben aside and dropped to his knees. He rolled Kendi over, revealing a thin trickle of blood that flowed from the back of Kendi’s neck. Face set, Lars pulled a small metal dart from the wound, then yanked a kit from his under his slicker. Belated fear thrilled through Ben.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ben demanded. He tapped his earpiece. “Emergency! I need a medical emergency team right away!”
“We’re tracking your signal, sir,” said a calm voice in his ear. “A team is on the way. What’s your emergency?”
“It’s Kendi,” Ben said tersely. “He collapsed. He’s unconscious. I think it’s poison.”
Lars, meanwhile, opened the kit and produced a dermospray and a small suction unit. He ripped Kendi’s slicker off, pressed the suction unit to the wound, and set the dermospray against the skin beside it. The dermospray thumped and the suction unit clamped itself to Kendi’s neck.
“Is he breathing?” asked the voice.
“I think so,” Ben said. “Yes. But it’s fast and shallow and he’s sweating. Our bodyguard is giving him something. A broad-spectrum antidote.”
Lars took out a medical scanner and touched it to the suction unit. It beeped once, and text scrolled down the display. Ben read over his shoulder, surprised at how calm he felt. It was as if he were floating in a quiet pool of water, watching everything happen to someone else. A crowd was gathering, but Ben was too busy reading to notice.
“The first aid kit found polydithalocide in the wound,” he reported. “Oh, god. That’s a neurotoxin.”
Lars put another ampule in the hypospray and thumped it against Kendi’s neck.
“The rescue team is almost there, sir,” the voice said. “You should see them now.”
“They’re here!” Keith said, pointing upward and waving his arms. “Hey! Over this way!”
“n ambulance dropped from the sky like a stone and landed a few yards away. The backblast blew through Ben’s hair and sent a shower of water over everything. Two paramedics were on the ground before the ambulance had fully landed. They gave Kendi a quick examination and bundled him onto a hovering stretcher while a third paramedic asked questions. Ben answered as best he could, but Kendi’s ashen face and slack body were a terrifying distraction. Ben climbed into the ambulance behind the stretcher, leaving Lars and Keith on the walkway with the crowd. Several people in the crowd had cameras and other recording devices. Ben turned his back on them as the paramedics slammed the double doors.
The ride to the medical center was horrible for all that it was short. Ben pressed himself against the side of the ambulance while the paramedics worked on Kendi. They slapped IVs on his hands, and the tubules burrowed into his skin like worms. One medic injected more drugs. Then a shrill alarm sounded. Kendi’s heart had stopped.
Ben stuffed a fist into his mouth to keep from crying out and distracting the medical team. The first paramedic, a blond man, slapped a patch on Kendi’s chest—they had already cut his shirt off—and jabbed at one of the medical scanners. Kendi twitched, then lay still. The alarm continued to shrill. The paramedic jabbed the scanner again. Kendi twitched, but didn’t respond further. Another paramedic slipped a breathing tube into Kendi’s mouth, and it slid down his trachea like a long snake. Oxygen hissed. Ben watched, feeling cold, alone, and helpless. The paramedics ignored him and gave each other tense, terse orders.
Please, Ben pleaded. Oh god—please don’t let him die. I can’t lose him. Please, please wake up, Kendi. I can’t lose you like I lost Mom.
The blond paramedic slapped the scanner again. Kendi twitched once and lay still. Ben wanted to lay down and die. Ben’s children—their children—would grow up without their Da. They would never know him, never play with him, never take family trips or run through the park with him. And neither would Ben.
The scanner beeped once, then twice, and a third time. It took Ben a moment to realize it was Kendi’s heartbeat. His legs went weak and he slid to the floor. The paramedics continued their work. Why was it taking so long to get to the medical center? They should be there by—
The ambulance landed, and the paramedics whisked Kendi’s hovering stretcher into the emergency room. Ben hurried to follow, but an orderly blocked his way.
“I know you’re worried, Mr. Rymar,” she said, “but you need to give us room to work on him. The moment we have news, we’ll let you know. Do you have anyone you can call?”
Slowly Ben nodded. He turned and walked like a zombie into the waiting area, which was just off the main doors. A scattering of other worried-looking humans sat in worn chairs or paced about. The room smelled like floor polish and stale fried food.
A commotion at the main entrance caught his attention, and Ben turned to see what was going on. A bunch of people crowded the entrance, trying to push past a trio of security guards that barred their way. Cameras beeped wildly and a dozen voices shouted questions.
“Mr. Rymar, can you tell us what happened?” “Mr. Rymar, can you confirm that Father Kendi is dead?” “Mr. Rymar, was this an accident or an attempt at murder?” “Mr. Rymar—” “Mr. Rymar—” “Mr. Rymar—”
Ben fled. He shoved open the nearest door and stumbled into the hallway beyond. The door swung shut, cutting off the noise. It was too much. He couldn’t handle it. Already, he knew, pictures and holograms and live reports were cramming the feeds, feeding the relentless, hungry maw of a nosy public. The weight of it all pressed him down with a terrible weight, and he suddenly felt dizzy. He sank to the cold floor, put his head between his knees, and tried to slow his breathing. After several breaths, he sank into a stupor, staring at the white tiles without thinking. It was a blessed blankness.
A hand touched his shoulder. “Ben?”
He looked up to see Lucia kneeling beside him. Harenn, Keith, Martina, and Bedj-ka stood beside her. He hadn’t even heard them come in.
“Is there news?” he croaked. His mouth was so dry he could barely move his tongue.
“None yet,” Lucia said. “Keith called us and we came right over.”
“I want to be with him, Harenn,” Ben said. “I should be there.”
“I know.” Lucia put an arm around him and he noticed her newly-rounded stomach. “The orderly said we can wait in that empty patient room over there. Can you stand up?”
Ben found he could. The group filed into the room. Lucia and Harenn sat on the bed while the others crowded along the wall. No one spoke. Ben started to take the only chair, then found he was too restless to sit.
“You probably want to know what happened,” Ben said.
“Lars and Keith filled us in,” Martina said. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“His heart stopped for a while,” Ben said dully. “But they got it started again. Now they’re doing other stuff to him, but I don’t know what.”
“Polydithalocide poisoning is treatable,” Harenn said. “And Lars acted quickly. I am confident Kendi will be fine.”
Ben tried to find hope in her words, but his mind kept shutting down. Bedj-ka, standing in the corner, was clearly fighting tears.
“The reporters were real assholes,” Keith growled. “A pack of vultures hanging around the—”
“Okay, Keith,” Martina interrupted. “We don’t need to dwell on that.”
“He’s my fucking brother,” Keith snarled. “I’ll dwell on whatever I—”
“Mr. Rymar?” A man in a white coat stood in the doorway. “I’m Dr. Ridge.”
Ben’s heart jumped. “How is he?” he demanded, wanting and not wanting to hear the answer.
“He’s going to live,” Dr. Ridge said, and a universal breath of relief sighed through the room. “It was touchy for a while, no question, but he’ll recover. The rain slicker prevented the dart from penetrating completely and he only got a partial dose of the toxin. Still, Father Kendi wouldn’t have made it if your bodyguard hadn’t administered those antidotes. You can thank him more than me.”
“I will,” Ben said. His throat was thick. “Is Kendi awake? Can I see him?”
“We’re transferring him to intensive care upstairs,” Dr. Ridge said. “He’s still unconscious but should wake up soon. You can see him when he does. He’ll be very weak and will have to spend several days with us.”
Ben thanked Dr. Ridge and accepted embraces from everyone in the room, including Bedj-ka. Almost everyone was wiping surreptitious tears from their eyes. Upstairs at the intensive care ward, the nurse on duty firmly refused anyone who wasn’t family to enter.
“Mr. Rymar and no one else,” she said. “Those are the rules.”
“I’ll stay here in the waiting room in case Ben needs me,” Martina said. “The rest of you should go home, especially the pregnant ladies. You need your rest.”
“I will need to speak with you first, Mr. Rymar,” said a new voice. It was Inspector Ched-Theree, her blue cloth tied neatly around her head and her silver medallion around her neck. She looked incongruous, standing in a low-ceilinged hallway designed for humans. The Ched-Balaar’s medical needs were vastly different from human ones, and they had a different medical center. “This was a clear attempt at murder, and I have many questions to ask.”
Ben swallowed. In all the stress and excitement, he had completely forgotten about that. Anger kindled inside him and overshadowed the fear. The bastard who had done this would pay. Ben wouldn’t rest until he had his hands around the asshole’s throat. If only he knew who had—
The thought struck him with absolute clarity. Sufur. It has to be Padric Sufur.
“I have already spoken to Father Kendi’s brother and to the bodyguard,” Ched-Theree was saying. “Now I will need your statement, Mr. Rymar. Perhaps we could sit in the waiting area.”
“Do you wish that we stay, Ben?” Harenn asked.
“No,” Ben said, forcing the anger back. “Martina was right—you should go home. I’ll be fine with Martina.”
The others left. Martina, Ben, and Ched-Theree retired to a small waiting room, where the Inspector had Ben go through the events. Unfortunately, Ben had been walking just in front of Kendi and hadn’t noticed much.
“And then he just collapsed,” Ben finished. “I didn’t see anyone who could have done it.”
“Did you notice any movement?” Ched-Theree persisted. “Anyone acting in the least bit strange?”
I saw Padric Sufur, Ben thought, in a house. Walking free and unmolested. But he didn’t want to tell Ched-Theree this. Ben wanted Sufur to himself. So he shook his head. “I didn’t see a thing. I was mostly looking at Kendi. Did Keith see anyone?”
“He says he only saw a flash of movement just before Father Kendi collapsed,” Ched-Theree said. “The bodyguard gave us the dart he pulled from the wound. The alloy carried a tiny magnetic charge, which seems to indicate it was propelled rather than thrown by hand or blown from a pipe. We will analyze the data more thoroughly for further clues, of course.”
A nurse poked his head into the room. “Mr. Rymar, Father Kendi is awake.”
“We can finish at another time,” Ched-Theree said. “Gratitude.”
Ben barely heard. He hurried to follow the nurse into Kendi’s room. The lighting was dim. Kendi lay face-up on a hospital bed surrounded by medical equipment. Sensor patches were stuck on his head, arms, and chest. The equipment made soft beeps and whirrs.
“Only five minutes, please,” the nurse said. “He needs to rest.” And he left.
Ben sat next to the bed and took Kendi’s hand. It was cool and dry. Kendi turned his head and gave Ben a weak smile.
“Still here,” he whispered. “Wow.”
Ben’s throat thickened. “You just stay here, mister. I’m not going swimming in the Dream by myself.”
“The Real People...spoke to me,” Kendi said in a halting voice. “They said...we have to repopulate the Dream and I...I have to help. So I came back...even though it was...cold. I was cold.”
“Are you cold now?” Ben asked uncertainly. “I can probably find the temperature control on the blanket and—”
“Not cold now. Tired.”
“I’ll go,” Ben said. “You sleep. And we’ll find the bastards who did this.”
He started to rise, but Kendi squeezed his hand with surprising strength. “Promise.”
“That we’ll get them?” Ben asked. “You’re damned right I—”
“No. Promise you’ll...let the police do it. Don’t...go after Sufur.”
Ben gasped. “How do you know it was Sufur? Did you see him?”
“Didn’t see anyone. I just know...how you think. Promise me. Promise.”
The effort was costing Kendi a great deal, and Ben couldn’t bring himself to refuse. “I promise.”
Kendi released Ben’s hand and fell instantly asleep. Ben looked down at him for a long time. All right. He couldn’t go after Sufur directly, but damned if he was going to sit and do nothing. He kissed Kendi’s forehead and tiptoed out of the room.
oOo
The next day, Kendi was much improved and could sit up unaided. The day after that, he was trying to climb out of bed. After three days he was complaining to anyone who would listen about how bored he was. After six days he tried to leave the hospital and was physically stopped by Gretchen and Tan, who were standing guard outside his room. After eight days, the doctor pronounced Kendi in perfect health and ready to go home. Ben guided the hoverchair to the main entrance, and Kendi all but leaped for the door. Outside, an enormous crowd of reporters were standing in the rain, held back by a line of police officers. They shouted incoherent questions when the doors opened. Kendi gave them a brief wave before Tan hustled him into the flitcar.
“Praise the Dream,” he sighed as the car door shut. Gretchen took the pilot’s chair and her takeoff was smooth. “I have to say that rainy air never smelled so good. It’s fresh air.”
“Three Drink Night is tomorrow,” Ben reminded him as they flew home. “Lucia’s been cooking up a storm. “re you up for a party?”
“You bet!” Kendi said with enthusiasm. “I’ve been sitting on my bum for so long it’s gotten flat.” He ran his hand up Ben’s leg. “There are lots of other things I’ve missed, too.”
“Keep it for home, please,” Tan said from the front seat.
“Tell him your surprise, Ben,” Gretchen added. “Maybe it’ll distract him.”
“Surprise?” Kendi said, curiosity piqued. “You got me a present?”
Ben gave a strange grin that conveyed both pleasure and severity. “Sort of. I found out a few things about Padric Sufur.”
Kendi’s mood shifted from ebullient to wary. “Like what?”
“With you in the hospital, I had a lot of time to hack around,” Ben said. “I finally managed to access a few of Sufur’s accounts. He’s operating under the name Patrick Sulfur—original—and he has all the utilities and network accounts you’d expect. I’m not up to hacking banks, thanks, but he pays his bills in advance and buys some pretty expensive groceries. His messages are too deeply encrypted for me to crack—yet—but I’ve been able to tell he’s communicating a lot with somebody. And we haven’t bugged his house.”
“Why not?” Kendi asked.
“He’s always home. Lucia scrounged up some distance listening devices and we tried to listen through the walls, but he’s insulated his house and we couldn’t hear a thing. We’re keeping an eye on the place, but it’s barely worth it because he rarely goes outside. That makes it hard to plant bugs in there. Besides, if he’s insulated the house, he’s probably also set up detectors and scramblers.”
“Okay,” Kendi said. “I’m assuming there’s more.”
“Martina and I started sniffing around the Dream, too,” Ben said. “We learned something really interesting. We would have picked it up earlier pre-Despair, but these days it takes news quite a while to get—”
“What did you learn?” Kendi demanded. “No babbling.”
“Sorry.” Ben took a deep breath. “We found out that Silent Acquisitions was in bankruptcy. When we freed all those Silent slaves and destroyed the Collection last year, we destroyed Silent Acquisitions. Except at the last minute they found a buyer. Guess who?”
Adrenaline thrilled through Kendi’s veins. “Sufur.”
“Sufur knew the Despair was coming because he arranged it,” Ben said. “Turns out he managed to set himself up so his own fortune would remain untouched, and he has the buying power to be a savior. He owns a majority of stock in Silent Acquisitions now.”
“All life,” Kendi said in awe.
“Now we just have to figure out why he tried to kill you,” Ben said.
“Ben,” Kendi said, “this is going to sound really strange coming from me, but—aren’t you jumping to conclusions?”
“He shows up on Bellerophon at the same time the attempts on your life begin,” Ben said. “That’s opportunity. You foiled his plan to destroy the Dream. That’s motive.”
“We haven’t seen means,” Kendi said. “Did the Vajhurs say they saw him leave the house when I was darted?”
“No, but he probably hired someone.”
“He could have,” Kendi said, “but I’m still thinking Foxglove is involved.”
“Why?” Ben said. “You’re no threat to him anymore. Grandma’s polls are at an all-time low. I know Petrie was hoping there’d be some kind of martyr effect with you being attacked and all, but it never happened. Grandma’s credibility is shot, thanks to that gangster, and Ched-Pirasku is too boring to put up a good fight. It would be stupid of Foxglove to try and kill you now. If he got caught, it would ruin his chances of winning an election he’s already got locked down.”
“I’m just saying we should keep an open mind,” Kendi said. “Sufur’s high on my list, but he isn’t the only one I’m looking at.”
“Who else do you have in mind besides Foxglove and Sufur?” Gretchen asked.
“Um...well...”
“That’s what I thought,” Gretchen said.
The rest of the ride was silent. Gray rain washed over the windows, and below Kendi saw golden glimmers of lights set out on balconies in groups of three. He tried to summon up some holiday spirit, but it was hard. In addition to everything else, this would be the first Three Drink Night since Ara had died.
They arrived home to a houseful of delicious kitchen smells. Lucia emerged from the kitchen holding a wooden spoon and gave Kendi a welcome-home hug. Her abdomen pressed against his like a small basketball. Harenn sat on the couch with her feet up, both hands on the mound of her stomach.
“The cow gives you welcome,” she said.
Kendi laughed. “You’re not a cow. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Flatterer. I feel like something that washed up on a beach and could not flop back into the water.”
“It won’t be long,” Ben said. “Can I bring you anything?”
“A bigger bladder.”
Kendi leaned down to kiss her cheek, something he would never have considered doing even a year ago. “We deeply appreciate everything you’re doing, Harenn. Every moment.”
“You may prove your devotion by bringing me three glasses of egg nog.”
“I’ll get them,” Ben said with a laugh, and went into the kitchen. He emerged a moment later with four small glasses on a tray. Brown nutmeg floated on the white-gold nog. “The fourth one’s for me,” he said. “I have to check my messages. I’ll be right back.”
“Bedj-ka is playing sims in your office,” Harenn said. “But his time is up, so you may kick him off.”
“Got it.” He left.
“How do you feel, Kendi?” Harenn asked.
“Perfect,” Kendi said. “I could run wind-sprints. If it weren’t raining outside, I probably would, just to get my blood moving again.”
“You won’t be running anywhere,” Tan said. “You’re staying under lock and key until the police catch whoever’s trying to kill you.”
Kendi sighed. “I figured as much. It may be for my own good, but—”
A cry came from Ben’s study, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Kendi darted out of the living room and got there first. He found Ben standing in the room with Bedj-ka. The glass of egg nog had shattered on the hardwood floor. Both of Ben’s hands were over his mouth and his blue eyes were filled with horror. Bedj-ka was pale.
“What’s wrong?” Kendi demanded as Tan, Gretchen, and Lucia crowded into the hallway behind him.
Ben pointed at the data pad on his desk. The floating display showed a text story from a newsfeed. The headline read, SALMAN REZA’S GRANDSON REVEALED AS SON OF IRFAN.