“A secret dies when it’s revealed.”
—Irfan Qasad
Senator Salman Reza set her teacup on the coffee table with a firm clack. A composite hologram of her grandchildren—Ben, Tress, and Zayim—wobbled slightly. “So it’s true.”
“Yeah.” Ben was sitting on her sofa next to Kendi, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. Harenn and Lucia had chairs of their own. Wanda Petrie steepled her fingertips on a loveseat. Tan and Gretchen stood guard at either entrance to the room. “Grandma, I don’t know what to do. I need your help.”
“You’re the biological son of Irfan Qasad and Daniel Vik,” Salman said. “No hoax. No joke.”
“The truth is the truth,” Kendi said. “It doesn’t change when you repeat it.”
“I’m just trying to get my mind around the concept,” Salman said. “My god, Ben—this is...this is...I don’t know what this is.”
“A miracle,” Lucia said. “People are already pointing out that the news about Ben has come out right at the time young Silent are re-entering the Dream. How can that be a coincidence? Ben and these children Harenn and I are carrying—true Children of Irfan—are arriving to lead us out of the Despair and into a new age of peace and prosperity.”
Harenn clasped her hands protectively over her heavy abdomen. “I will not allow my child to be exploited by the Church of Irfan, Lucia.”
“Exploited?” Lucia said with uncustomary heat. “Is that how you see my church? As a bunch of exploitative fanatics? Never mind how many orphans we clothe and feed, never mind how many people we shelter and guide. We are exploitative fanatics because we do these things in the name of spirituality.” He voice rose. “I am also carrying a child of Irfan. Do you think I want my baby to be exploited?”
“I did not mean to imply any such thing,” Harenn said. “But I fear there will be many people who want to get their hands on our children, and not all of them work for the good of society.”
“I am not—”
“Please,” Salman interrupted. “Please. This is no time for arguing, my loves. We need to figure out what to do.”
“The newsfeeds are carrying nothing but stories about Ben,” Kendi said. He waved his data pad. “My public mailbox is so full of requests and demands for interviews that it’s run out of memory, and the Council of Irfan has been ringing us without stop. It’s only a matter of time before someone ferrets out our home address. The neighbors knew not to tell people—they didn’t want strangers sniffing around the neighborhood anymore than we did—but now...”
“I’m not talking to the Children or the feeds,” Ben said. “I’m not talking to anybody. They don’t own me.”
“You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to, Ben,” Petrie said. “But do you understand what this means for thousands—millions—of people? Not everyone reveres Irfan Qasad as a goddess—”
“Human incarnation of the divine,” Lucia corrected.
A—but they do view her as a symbol of hope and power. Your presence would bring hope and happiness to a great many people.”
“And boost the Senator’s polls?” Tan said evenly.
“Yes,” Petrie said blandly. “Yes, it would.”
“You want me to endorse your campaign, don’t you?” Ben said tiredly.
Salman leaned forward in her chair. Behind her, the orange lizards chirped softly in their cage. “I’m going to lose the election, Ben. I imagine my polls have increased a bit with this news—”
“Eleven percent,” Petrie said, tapping at her data pad.
A—but it won’t be enough to carry me through unless you specifically endorse me.”
“Didn’t take her long to go from stunned to shrewd, did it?” Gretchen said sotto voce to Tan.
“I don’t know, Grandma,” Ben said. “I think you’re the best candidate for the job, and I’m not saying that just because you’re my grandmother, but I...I’m not good at public speaking. It makes me sick just thinking about it. I don’t want to be a celebrity.”
“You are one whether you want it or not, my duck,” Salman said gently. “The genie is out of the bottle, and we can’t put it back in.” She sighed. “You were hoping that I somehow could make it go away because I’m a Senator. I don’t have that power, love. I wish I did, because I don’t like seeing you upset or in pain. I want to see you a happy father with his new children—my great-grandchildren. And you can be. Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you can’t be happy, too.”
“You could move off-planet,” Gretchen pointed out. “There are lots of places where no one would recognize you.”
“Bellerophon is my home,” Ben said. “I’ve never lived anywhere else. I don’t want to leave.”
“Then help me make it a better place,” Salman said earnestly. “Not only that—if I were in the governor’s office, I’d be in a better position to run interference for you and the children. All of them.”
There was a long pause. At last, Ben said in a barely-audible voice, “All right.”
Salman and Petrie both sagged slightly in equal relief. “Thank you,” Salman said. “Ben, you’ve just made history in this room.”
Kendi set his own data pad on the coffee table next to the grandchildren hologram. “What I want to know,” he said, “is who dropped the news? Lots of people knew about the young Silent re-entering the Dream and I don’t think we’ll ever trace that leak, but only four people knew about Ben’s family—me, Lucia, Harenn, and Ben. And we didn’t tell anyone.”
“It must have been whoever stole that disk from Lucia,” Tan said. “There’s no other explanation.”
“We’ve gone over that before,” Kendi said. “And it still doesn’t make sense. The Days were almost certainly working for Foxglove when they found that medical file, but it’s also highly likely that they didn’t have Foxglove’s permission to blackmail Ben—too much potential damage to his campaign if anyone found out. The information about Ben would only hurt Foxglove. He must have ordered the Days killed so they wouldn’t leak the info and destroy his chances. Either his operative stole the disk from Lucia, or it really was a random theft.”
“If it were a random theft,” Lucia said, “and the thief was the news leak, all this would have happened long ago.”
“Remember how we decided the mugger was someone who knew where Lucia was headed?” Harenn said. “I still think it a sound theory.”
“Except how would the person have known where Lucia was going?” Kendi objected. He picked up the hologram of Ben and his cousins and toyed with the base. “It’s all tangled up.”
“It seems a paradox,” Harenn agreed. “It would appear Salman’s enemies stole the information, but they are also the least likely people to reveal it. Either the person who killed the Days was also the person who attacked Lucia—in which case the information should not have come out because it would hurt Foxglove—or the two events were unrelated—in which case the information should not have come out at all or should have come out long ago.”
“Yeah,” Kendi said, still playing with the hologram base. “It’s as if someone...someone knew...” There was a click inside Kendi’s head, and a cold finger slid down his spine. Moving with great care, he set the hologram back on the table next to his data pad. His brand new data pad. Slowly, unwillingly, he turned on the sofa and faced Wanda Petrie in her loveseat.
“It was you,” he said.
Petrie stared at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The data pad you gave me is bugged,” Kendi said with icy calm. “Just like the hologram Tell Brace gave me for that stupid game. The day you first visited our house was the day Ben told me about his parentage, and the data pad you gave me was sitting right there on the table. You heard every goddam word. You knew about the plan to break into the Days’ house because you overheard Ben and Lucia talking about it while I was at the Taper rally and I had left my pad at home. You ran down to the Days’ house ahead of Lucia, broke into the house, and killed them with a neuro-pistol.” He turned to Tan. “Don’t people who fire neuro-pistols get temporary palsy in their trigger hand for a few days afterward?”
Tan nodded grimly. “Especially when it’s set high enough to kill.”
“And Magic Wanda over there was dropping things left and right at the speeches just after the Days were killed,” Gretchen said. “I remember that.”
“This is—” Petrie began.
“You were trying to find the file about Ben on their house computer when Lucia showed up and scared you off,” Kendi interrupted. “You wanted that file bad, and you knew Lucia would go back to our house after she finished with the Days’ computer, so you hid and waited. Once she got close enough, you hit her and stole the disk.”
“Ridiculous,” Petrie said. Her face and voice were perfectly calm. “Why would I do such a thing, Kendi? Listen to what you’re saying.”
“You were all but frothing at the mouth that day in the flitcar when Grandma’s polls really started to slide,” Kendi continued relentlessly. “You said you’d do anything to ensure she won the election. What exactly was that awful job Grandma rescued you from? The one where your boss wouldn’t pay for medical procedures? The one you clearly didn’t want to talk about? Tan here has police contacts. Perhaps she could find out, if you don’t want to tell us.”
“She was a sex worker,” Salman said quietly. “I knew that when I hired her. One of Wanda’s clients...hurt her, and her employer refused to pay for the healing. Then he fired her because he said the incident was her fault. The sex industry lost a worker, and I gained a publicist.”
“A fanatic publicist,” Harenn spat.
“It wasn’t like that,” Petrie said. Her voice was tremulous. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. But the Senator has to win. Ched-Pirasku is weak, and Foxglove is a lying, cheating son of a bitch.”
“He was the client who hurt you, wasn’t he?” Kendi said with a flash of insight. “You aren’t so much committed to seeing Grandma win as to seeing him lose.”
The statement cracked the last of Petrie’s calm. “You don’t know what it was like,” she cried. “Watching his polls climb higher and higher because of his lying and cheating and scheming. Seeing his smug face on the feeds every goddammed day. Standing by as he breaks the news of children re-entering the Dream. I killed the Days, yes—but they were filthy extortionists distracting Kendi from his work for the Senator. Thousands of lives will change for the better with the Senator in office. The Days just didn’t measure up to her purpose.”
“Oh, god,” Salman said. Her face had gone a bit green.
“I only wanted what was best for you, Senator,” Petrie pleaded. “You have to understand—I didn’t want to hurt Ben. I like Ben. That was why I didn’t release the information about Irfan right away. If you could have won without it all being made public, I would have quietly erased the disk and no one else would have needed to know. But now—” She waved an agitated hand. “The scandal about Yaraye’s campaign contributions and the loss of your chance to break the news about the Dream destroyed everything. I waited, hoping for something else to come along, another opportunity. But nothing did. We’re too close to election day now. So I sent the file to all the major—” She halted, took a moment to get herself under control, and drew herself upright. “Well. Now you know. I can’t say I’m sorry. Ben has agreed to endorse the Senator, and that gives the campaign another chance.”
Kendi was so angry it was all he could do to stop himself from leaping across the coffee table and smashing Petrie across the face. Ben had turned to stone on the sofa beside him. Harenn and Lucia looked like someone had kicked them both in the stomach. Gretchen and Tan wore tight, wrathful expressions.
“I’m going to do two things,” Salman said in the silence that followed. “First, I’m terminating your employment with malice, Wanda. Second, I’m calling the police.”
“You wouldn’t,” Petrie said, aghast. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”
“Watch me.”
“Think of the scandal,” Petrie said quickly. “The scandal of having a killer on your staff, as one of your most trusted advisors. I don’t think even Irfan’s son could counter that.”
Another long silence. Salman’s lined face was rigid and immobile. At last she said, “Ben, I’ll leave it up to you.”
“That’s unfair,” Kendi said quickly. “If he tells you to call the police, he’s ruining your campaign. If he tells you not to, he lets a killer go free.”
“Let Ben say that,” Salman said. “He can also choose not to decide.”
Ben sat immobile as a pile of rock. Kendi couldn’t even see him breathing. Then he said in slow, careful words, “I hate you, Petrie. I think I hate you almost as much as I hate Padric Sufur. But I’m committed to seeing Grandma win the governorship. Lewa, do you have access to personal trackers?”
“Only the best,” Tan said.
“Good. Can you implant Petrie with one?”
Tan nodded.
“Do it. Petrie, you can roam free until the end of the campaign. After it’s over and everything has calmed down, we’re coming to get you and you’re going to prison for what you’ve done.”
Petrie opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again and nodded once. Lewa Tan took her firmly by the arm and led her from the room.
“There’s more going on than just that,” Kendi said. “We’ve also learned that Padric Sufur is on Bellerophon.”
Salman started so violently that she kicked the coffee table and upset the teacup. The delicate china broke and tea gushed over the table. Lucia quickly mopped it up with a linen napkin while Salman recovered herself.
“Explain,” she said in a hoarse voice. Her face was white as milk and her hands trembled.
Kendi did, finishing with, “We decided we shouldn’t confront him or report him to the authorities until we can figure out what his plan is. The Vajhurs are keeping watch on his house, but so far nothing’s happened.”
“Everything is moving so fast,” Salman lamented. “I can’t keep up. Young Silent re-entering the Dream, Ben’s heritage, attempts on your life, Kendi, and now Padric Sufur. After this, being governor will be easy.”
“An ancient curse commands the recipient to live in interesting times,” Harenn said. “I believe we have long passed interesting and gone straight into enthralling.”
“I think Sufur is the one behind the attempts on Kendi’s life,” Ben said.
“Why is that?” Salman asked.
“Here we go,” Gretchen muttered.
“Kendi stopped Sufur’s plan to destroy the Dream,” Ben said. “He probably figures Kendi might stop him again, so he’s trying to make sure it doesn’t happen.”
“Except,” Salman said, holding up a finger, “that stopping Sufur was a team effort. The entire Vajhur family was involved, as were you yourself, Ben. Sufur has to be aware of this. Why would he single out Kendi? What do the police think?”
“They’re still mystified,” Kendi admitted. “Ched-Theree says the charge used to cut the tree branch didn’t give them anything traceable, and they went over the holo-vid that woman made pixel by pixel. No clues. As far as the poisoning goes, Ched-Theree said the dart is one used for hunting glider-lizards, and the sporting goods stores carry thousands of them. The military kept polydithalocide in its arsenal until fifty-some years ago, when it was outlawed, but there are still stores of the stuff around. The police are checking with the military bases to see if any of the stuff has gone missing, but it’s slow work.”
“I’ll see if I can speed things up a bit,” Salman said grimly. “The military likes me. I have to apologize, Kendi—I should have been more involved with all this.”
“You’ve been a little busy,” Kendi said wryly.
“So what do we do about Ben?” Lucia asked.
“First we need to have independent confirmation of his identity,” Salman said. “If you can give us a little blood, Ben, we can get it checked so you don’t go out there without hard evidence to back you up.”
“Go out there?” Ben said.
Salman nodded. “I’ll have Yin May set up a press conference. For this evening, if possible.”
Ben swallowed hard and Kendi put an arm around him. His entire body was humming like a high-tension wire.
“I’ll be right there with you, love,” Kendi said. “You’ll do great.”
“Long as I don’t throw up in front of everyone,” Ben said tightly.
oOo
Ben did throw up. Twice, in fact. Kendi stood outside the auditorium bathroom, waiting for him. At last he emerged, his fair skin still pale but his expression determined. Without a word they made their way to the dimly-lit backstage area. It smelled of old cloth and dust. Harenn, Lucia, Salman, and various campaign functionaries awaited them. A rumble of voices indicated the audience was filled to capacity. On the stage was a wooden podium, standing like a leader in front of a small army of chairs.
“Not exactly how we were planning to spend Three Drink Night,” Kendi said to him.
“Is your ocular implant showing the speech text?” asked a technician.
Ben nodded. “I’m ready,” he said, and only Kendi knew he was shaking.
“Let’s go, then,” Salman said, and strode onto the stage. Immediate applause thundered through the auditorium. Two assistants escorted Harenn and Lucia to chairs behind her and helped them sit as Salman took the podium.
“My fellow citizens of Bellerophon,” Salman said, voice booming through the chamber, “today you received some news that struck like a thunderbolt. I’m here to tell you that I was as stunned as everyone else. My grandson, Benjamin Rymar, went to great lengths to keep this information private. He didn’t even tell his own family. Recent events, however, have changed that, and I have arranged for him to speak with you for a short time. May I introduce my grandson, Benjamin Rymar.”
Ben didn’t move. Kendi gave him a nudge and he took a hesitant step forward. Then he stopped. The auditorium had fallen silent. Salman shot an expectant look backstage. Ben took another faltering step forward, and then another. Kendi put a gentle hand on the small of his back.
“I’m right here,” he murmured. “I love you, and I know you’re strong enough to do this. Give ‘em hell, Rymar.”
Ben snorted, then cleared his throat and strode onto the stage. The explosion of noise that greeted him vibrated the entire building. In homes, offices, restaurants, bars, and schools across the planet, citizens of Bellerophon, both human and Ched-Balaar, crowded around holographic displays and held their breath. The conference was being broadcast live on every single feed. There was no other news, no other entertainment. Just Ben. Kendi was glad there was no way for Ben to see that. One auditorium full of roaring humans and hooting Ched-Balaar was more than enough.
Salman yielded the podium to Ben, who took it with obvious trepidation. True to his promise, Kendi stood right behind him. Salman had said Kendi’s presence would make Ben look less credible, but Kendi had refused to surrender the spot, and Ben hadn’t disagreed. Every human and Ched-Balaar in the auditorium was on his or her feet, shouting, clapping, waving, and clattering. Ben blinked at them and swallowed hard. Kendi wondered if he was going to throw up a third time. Then Ben held up a hand. It took several moments for the crowd to calm down.
“Good eve—” Ben’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Good evening. Irfan Qasad said, ‘The greater your knowledge, the lesser your risk.’ I think that after tonight, there won’t be any risks left.”
The crowd roared with laughter. A small smile played across Ben’s face and he visibly relaxed. And when the laughter died down, he turned and nodded a dismissal to Kendi. Kendi was so startled it took him a moment to realize what Ben wanted. Suppressing a proud grin of his own, Kendi took a seat next to Salman behind the podium.
“First I’ll break the suspense,” Ben said, reading from the text that scrolled across his optical implant. “Irfan Qasad, the first human to enter the Dream, is indeed my biological mother, and Daniel Vik is my biological father.”
Another roar burst through the auditorium. The reporters in the front row—given this prime spot because they were the most respected of their kind on the planet—leaped to their feet and shouted questions. Ben stopped speaking until they quieted.
“I have submitted my DN” to several different laboratories for independent confirmation,” he said. “The information is widely available and you can download the files from the net at the address now appearing on the feed display.
“I know you’re wondering how this is possible. The answer is that I’m not completely sure. I can only tell you what I know. My mother—the woman who gave birth to me and raised me—was a Mother Adept with the Children of Irfan. Almost thirty years ago, her team found a derelict ship orbiting a gas giant.”
He went on to explain how Ara found the embryos and how she had elected to give birth to Ben. Ben’s words were calm and measured, even serene. The audience stayed quiet throughout, riveted now. Kendi’s heart swelled with pride.
“It is also true,” Ben continued, “that the babies carried by Harenn Mashib and Lucia dePaolo are from the same group of embryos. Genetically they’re my siblings, but to me and my husband Father Kendi Weaver, they will be sons and daughters.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd at this. Ben waited a moment, then continued. “I learned of my genetic heritage only a few months ago, and I had hoped to keep the information private. However, the news got out, and my family and I have to live with the consequences. I know a lot of people are looking to me to be some sort of savior, as someone who will bring peace and prosperity to Bellerophon. I can understand that sentiment. The Despair hit Bellerophon hard, harder than most places. People are hungry and homeless. But I’m not a savior. I may be the son of Irfan Qasad, but when it comes down to it, I’m really just Ben Rymar, a guy who’s good with computers and who’s a little nervous about becoming a father.
“I know that people are saying that I’m some sort of...avatar, here to lead the people of Bellerophon to some great destiny—or just back into the prosperity we knew before the Despair. I’m afraid that those people are going to be disappointed. The people who can bring prosperity back to Bellerophon are the ones watching this broadcast, the people who walk the solid world and the Silent who walk the Dream. You have the power, not me or my family. Irfan Qasad is part of everyone, not just me. Her legacy touches everyone on this planet.
“As for me, my mother was Mother Adept Araceil Rymar do Salman Reza. She gave birth to me, raised me, loved me. Irfan Qasad is to me as she is to you—a wise, serene woman who lived a very long time ago.” Ben paused. “I’ll take a few questions.”
The auditorium exploded into noise again, and it was some time before the audience calmed down enough for the front-row reporters to make themselves heard.
“Mr. Rymar,” said a dark-haired man, “what went through your mind when you found out about your heritage?”
Kendi gave an inward sigh. The feeds couldn’t seem to get away from How did you feel when questions.
“I was as stunned as you were when you heard about it,” Ben said. “Well, maybe a little more than stunned. It’s not the kind of news you ever expect to get.”
Another reporter asked, “Mr. Rymar, what impact does this have on your relationship with Father Kendi Weaver?”
Ben pretended to think about this one. Kendi, however, knew that backstage certain members of Salman’s staff were coming up with answers and feeding them into Ben’s optical implant, just as they had done for Ben’s speech. The delay was to give the team time to upload the text.
“I love Father Kendi deeply,” Ben said. “He was a little startled, too, but it hasn’t changed our feelings for each other.”
The questions continued. “Why did you choose Ms. Mashib and Ms. dePaolo to carry your children?”
“They volunteered,” Ben said. “Both of them are close family friends, and Father Kendi and I were thrilled when they agreed to it.”
“Mr. Rymar, are you planning to join the Children of Irfan?”
“No. I have Father Kendi and the two expected babies. That’s enough children in one household.”
More laughter. Then a young Ched-Balaar reporter gestured for Ben’s attention. He was relatively new and inexperienced, and Salman’s staff had granted him a front-row seat in exchange for his promise to ask one particular question.
“Mr. Rymar,” he clattered, “which candidate do you support for the governorship?”
“Senator Reza,” Ben replied. “And I’m not saying that just because she’s my grandmother. She’s simply the best candidate for the position. Senator Reza and the Tapers have my complete, unhesitating support.”
Another murmur rippled through the auditorium. Ben spoke—read—at greater length about Salman’s strengths and merits while Salman herself looked modest in the chair behind him. Ben answered a few more questions, then took his leave amid a standing ovation. Next, Kendi took the podium to make a short speech and take questions, followed by Harenn, Lucia, and last of all, Salman herself. She carefully avoided mentioning her campaign—an election speech would make it look as if she had somehow orchestrated the revelation of Ben’s parentage—and talked instead about the pride she felt toward her family and how she hoped the citizens of Bellerophon would allow Ben and his children to keep their privacy. And then it was over. A waiting flitcar, one large enough to transport a small platoon, whisked them away from the auditorium and back to Salman’s house. The place bustled with people.
“Your polls have climbed thirty-two percent, Senator,” Yin May reported the moment everyone entered. “You’re in the lead by two points!”
A small cheer went up, and Salman kissed Ben on the cheek. He flushed, and Kendi laughed.
“We can’t expect that to last, of course,” Salman said. “But praise Irfan—I’m back in the race!”
oOo
Much later that night, Kendi and Ben arrived home. Tan and Gretchen climbed out of the flitcar first to establish a safe perimeter and lower the drawbridge. Ben started to get out, but Kendi stopped him and went first. Ben grimaced. Would the rest of his life be like this—always looking out for danger? He fervently hoped not. Maybe all the fuss would die down after the election and people got used to him.
Kendi finally gestured for him to emerge. Ben obeyed, and the flitcar rushed back into the sky. Before the four of them could go inside the house, however, a familiar voice called out of the damp darkness.
“Mr. Rymar! Mr. Rymar! Please wait!”
Ben recognized Grandmother Mee. Gretchen and Tan tensed as the old woman limped toward them. Kendi nudged Ben toward the door, but Ben refused to move. He wasn’t going to live his entire life mistrusting everyone.
“It’s all right,” Ben said quietly. “I’ll talk to her.” He raised his voice. “Hello, Grandmother.”
Grandmother Mee halted a few feet from the drawbridge. Her wrinkled face was uncertain, even a little frightened. “It’s true?” she whispered. “Your mother is really...her?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “It’s true.”
“And to think,” she said incredulously, “that I’ve been in your house. Eaten your food. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” And to Ben’s horror, she started to kneel. He reached down and stopped her.
“Don’t do that,” he said in a harsh, choked voice. “I’m the same person I was yesterday.”
“How can you say such a thing?” she asked, and there were tears in her words. “Irfan was your mother. You can save us just as she saved her people.”
“I can’t save anyone,” Ben said. “I’m just me.”
Grandmother Mee hesitated, then said in a quavering voice, “Can you...can you give me my Silence back?”
Ben felt his heart twist and break. The desperate hope that shone on her face slashed like a razor, and he wanted to run from it, hide himself away. “I wish I could,” he said softly. “But I can’t. I’m sorry.”
The hope died from her face. Grandmother Mee nodded once and started to leave. At the last minute she turned back and grabbed Ben’s hand. She kissed it once. Her lips were soft, like butterfly wings.
“Help us,” she said. “Please.” And Ben knew he would have to try.
oOo
The next few weeks were a whirl of activity. Everyone wanted a piece of Ben. He was offered houses, flitcars, cash, sex, and the chance to endorse any number of products. Organizations dedicated to charity wanted him for speaking engagements. Organizations dedicated to Irfan begged him to perform services, weddings, and funerals, or simply bless their church building. Every day the feeds carried a dozen stories about Ben—his daily activities, a history of his childhood, interviews with people who had known him. Sil and Hazid transformed themselves into a loving uncle and aunt who remembered being proud of Ben when he was child. Hazid even billed himself as Ben’s surrogate father figure until an angry call from Kendi threatened legal action if he didn’t knock it off. The spotlight also fell on Tress and Zayim, but not as often. HyperFlight Games put out a hastily-altered version of Dream and Despair, one in which Ben was given an expanded role, and the game flashed through two million copies on its first day.
And then there were the offerings.
It didn’t take long for the general public to learn where Ben lived—too many people knew—and every day crowds of humans and Ched-Balaar made pilgrimages to the house. Tan kept the drawbridges stubbornly raised, and Ben and Kendi were forced to use a flitcar anytime they wanted to go somewhere. At night, candles and lanterns left by well-wishers made a ring of light around the house, and the dawn always revealed piles of offerings—food, wine, flowers, clothing, musical instruments, holograms of dead loved ones, live bluelizards in tiny cages, and more. After the stuff began to pile up, Lucia suggested that Ben donate the gifts to the Church of Irfan, a solution Ben readily accepted. Eventually, he had a small outbuilding built near one of the drawbridges, and two representatives of the Church remained on duty to direct traffic and accept the offerings on Ben’s behalf. There were never fewer than a hundred people on the balconies and walkways around the house, and at least once a day, someone tried to find a way across the drawbridges. Reluctantly, Ben and Kendi started searching for another house, one with more privacy. Within moments of their first inquiries, two different wealthy people offered up estates—free. Ben politely declined.
The news also carried through the Dream, and Ben found himself approached more and more often when he walked there. Fortunately he was able to refuse contact more readily in the Dream than in public.
The Children of Irfan tried to contact Ben almost daily with offers of membership. These Ben steadfastly ignored. Kendi wondered if Ben still blamed the Children for sending Ara away on long missions when he was a child. Ben was never rude to the Children, but he did remain pointedly aloof.
“They’re desperate for you to join,” he told Ben one day. “The Council of Irfan called me into their chambers and asked if I knew of any way to persuade you. I think they would have ordered me to persuade you, if the idea weren’t so patently ridiculous.”
“Tell them you can’t persuade me,” Ben said with a shrug. “No one can. I’m not going to tie myself to them or anyone else.”
“They’ve even created a new position for you,” Kendi said. “The Offspring.”
Ben’s laugh was like a bell. “Oh no! Is that a joke? Would my correspondence come from the Office of the Offspring? When I’m on holiday, would they say ‘The Offspring’s off’?”
“You could take longevity treatments and people would say ‘Offspring’s eternal,’ “ Kendi said with a laugh of his own. “But seriously—they want you bad. It’s not only because you’d be a big boost to them financially—”
“How?” Ben interrupted. “I can only carry so many messages through the Dream every day.”
“You’d bring in grants and investors and universal interest,” Kendi said. “Especially once Dream communication is up and running again. More Silent will come from other planets to join the Children if you’re in the club. And you’d be an enormous boost to morale.”
“You’re taking their side?” Ben said.
“Nope. Just telling you what they told me. Far as I’m concerned, they have me. They don’t need you, too.”
In addition to the social changes, the Rymar-Weaver house itself also underwent a transformation. Tan oversaw the installation of cameras, monitors, and one-way windows that would allow people to see out but not in. Harenn, Bedj-ka, and Lucia—all of whom had bodyguards of their own—found it harder to come and go, and ended up spending most of their time in Ben and Kendi’s house. Ben himself was not allowed to go anywhere without at least two bodyguards.
Kendi, meanwhile, found himself in Ben’s shadow instead of the other way around. It felt distinctly strange. Kendi hadn’t realized how much he’d grown used to the spotlight until it shone on someone else. And the strain was showing on Ben. He did relatively few public appearances—most of them were political speeches for Salman or festive functions like appearing as grand marshal in Treetown’s Ghost Night parade—but they were still a strain. He always threw up at least once before any such function, though he told Kendi that once he was on stage or in front of the camera, he was fine. Still, he lost weight, and Kendi worried.
Harenn, meanwhile, grew larger and larger, until her due date was only seven days away, meaning she could go into labor at any time.
“And how I look forward to that,” she grumbled one day from her customary place on the sofa. Through the one-way windows, Kendi could see the usual little crowd of people who stared across the gap created by the raised drawbridges. “I have not slept a full night in so long, I have forgotten what it is like.”
“Did you get this big when you had me?” Bedj-ka asked.
“Almost,” Harenn said. “And you were a much quieter child. This one kicks and punches and performs back flips.”
“Mom said the same thing about me,” Ben said with a laugh.
The computer announced a visitor. Tan checked the monitors, answered the door, and escorted Nick Dallay into the room. He was a dark-haired, middle-aged man engaged in a running battle with his waistline. This week he was looking trim, though Kendi had seen him expand like a balloon during a holiday. Privately, Kendi assumed he must have five or six set of clothes in different sizes. Despite this, he had a sharp mind and was the head of the legal team Ben and Kendi had hired to handle the legal affairs that seemed to explode into their lives with annoying regularity of late.
“Hey, Nick,” Kendi said. “Who’s suing us this week?”
Nick’s face remained serious and Kendi, who had been joking, gave an inward sigh. It was always something.
“What’s going on now?” Ben asked. “More charges of fraud over my true identity? Liability junk? No wait—I’ve been secretly persuading little old ladies to give me their pension funds.”
“I wish it were that simple,” Dallay said. “This one’s...this one’s bad.”
Kendi tensed. “How bad? What is it?”
“The Church of Irfan is suing you,” Dallay said. “They want custody of your children.”