“A celebrity is a person who’s known for being well-known. “
—Daniel Vik
Over the next two weeks, Kendi spent every spare moment in the Dream fruitlessly looking for the whisperer. His spare moments weren’t many. Evan took up a great deal of his time. The baby was strangely hypnotic. Every so often Kendi would shake himself and discover he had spent nearly an hour just staring at him. It didn’t seem to matter what Evan was doing—waving his fists, trying to put a finger in his mouth, sleeping. It was all good.
He was also forced to deal with the house. The explosion had destroyed the nursery, demolished the master bedroom, and badly damaged the rest of the house, causing the building inspector to condemn the entire building. Sorting out the insurance claims took up yet more time. In the end, Ben had directed Nick Dallay to handle it, but he and Kendi still had to approve offers, read paperwork, and sign forms.
A bonded moving crew, carefully checked by both Salman’s people and by Lewa Tan, took over the task of packing and moving the Weaver-Rymar household’s surviving possessions to the new house, though for simplicity’s sake, everyone was staying with Salman until the election. Even though Kendi wasn’t directly involved in the move, he lost more time to answering questions and dealing with small crises that arose.
Kendi tried to hook other Children of Irfan to searching the Dream for the strange Silent who whispered from an office, but without success. Every moment the monks spent hunting was a moment they weren’t ferrying messages. Every moment they weren’t ferrying messages was a moment the monastery earned no revenue, and at the moment, revenue ruled supreme. In the end, only Keith and Martina spent time with the search, and they turned up nothing.
Ben, of course, was even busier. His face appeared on the feeds almost constantly, whether he was making campaign speeches and commercials, appearing at public functions, or just caught on camera. Spurious, often pernicious headlines about him grew like poison ivy. OFFSPRING CAUGHT IN HOTEL SEX SCANDAL! OFFSPRING CHECKS INTO RECOVERY PROGRAM! OFFSPRING “DMITS DOUBT “BOUT PARENTAGE! OFFSPRING GIVES IN TO VIK SIDE OF NATURE, THREATENS SHOOTING SPREE. The monastery and the law offices of Dallay, Muskin, and Kared made tidy sums by suing the more libelous feeds. The publishers usually paid up and went right back to writing more fake stories—anything with Ben’s name or face on it a guaranteed sell.
In addition to the feed publicity came marketeers. Offers to name toys, games, food, even a flitcar after him poured in. Ben universally turned them down.
Another type of offer plagued Ben as well, this one from women. Hundreds of female humans—and a few female Ched-Balaar—offered themselves as surrogate mothers for the remaining embryos. These Ben also turned down, but not without a shudder.
“It’s like they’re offering to climb into bed with me,” he told Kendi one day, “only much more...much more intimate, if you know what I mean.”
Salman’s initial burst of popularity wore off somewhat, but Foxglove’s dropped considerably, leaving Salman just ahead of Ched-Pirasku and his Populist party. The election was now a week away. Between that and caring for Evan, Ben and Kendi barely slept. They got even less sleep when Lucia woke them up in the middle of the night and announced it was time to go to the medical center. Harenn said she would stay with Evan while Gretchen and Tan got the flitcar. Kendi and Ben spent the subsequent ride sending frantic messages canceling various appearances.
oOo
Lucia’s mother Julia and her cousin Francesca were waiting at the medical center entrance, as was a man in the blue robe and clerical collar that marked a priest from the Church of Irfan. Ben closed his eyes and wrestled back a spurt of ire. Even though he had performed countless blessings and rituals for various parishes within the Church of Irfan, he hadn’t managed to give up his final shreds of anger toward the organization and its members.
“You want me and Tan to shove them aside, boss?” Gretchen asked.
“Don’t you dare,” Lucia hissed back. “Mom! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Her usually serene voice took on a note of frost. “Or you, Francesca.”
“Lucia,” said Francesca. “I’m glad you’re well.”
“Of course I’m here,” Julia put in. Her words echoed off the hard tile floors of the medical center lobby. “I was at the birth of all my grandchildren.”
“And I came with Friar Pallin,” Francesca put in. “He’s here to perform the birth blessing.”
“How thoughtful of you to bring him,” Lucia said. “You just think of everything.”
“Someone has to think of what’s best for the child,” Francesca purred.
“Odd. I never considered you much of a thinker,” Lucia replied.
“Lucia!” Julia said, aghast.
Before anyone could react further, Friar Pallin knelt before Ben, effectively ending the conversation. The friar was balding, a bit pudgy, and possessed of an enormous nose. Ben looked down at him and sighed. When his career as the Offspring began, he had refused this gesture and told people to stand, but after a while it became easier just to give them a “blessing” and move on. He put brushed the priest’s head with his fingertips, and the man rose.
“Thank you, blessed one,” Pallin said in a startlingly rich, deep voice that sounded like it belonged to a feed newscaster. “I’ve longed to meet you ever since...since your presence was revealed to us. Lucia has been a parishioner of mine all her life, and I never dreamed she would bear...”
“Speaking of which,” Kendi interrupted, “we should probably get into a room instead of standing in the lobby.”
A nurse was already heading toward them with a hover chair. Less than a minute later, they were in a private suite of rooms. The place smelled of hospital antiseptic despite the wood floors and cheery curtains over dark windows. Ben felt a stab a dejá vù. Lucia moved carefully from hover chair to bed, then gave a groan and ran a hand over her ripe, round abdomen.
“How fast are they coming?” asked the nurse.
“About every twenty minutes,” Lucia said, adjusting the sheet.
“We have time, then,” said the nurse. “I’ve already sent for Dr. McCall. She should be here soon.” She turned to the crowd of people. “Anyone who isn’t an immediate relative of the baby needs to leave. You can visit one at a time once she’s settled.”
Julia, Francesca, and Friar Pallen left with obvious reluctance. As with Evan’s birth, Tan and Gretchen took up positions guarding the door while Ben and Kendi gathered around Lucia. Only Harenn was missing—she was at Salman’s house with Evan and Bedj-ka.
“Do you want your mother here?” Kendi asked. “We can bring her in.”
Another contraction swept over Lucia, but the pain patch on her forehead kept it from being painful. “Maybe in a bit.” She bit her lip. “I’ve barely spoken to her these last few months. Ever since...the lawsuit. I don’t think she supported it, but she never told me she opposed it, either.”
“What about Francesca?” Ben asked.
“She was a supporter,” Lucia growled. “I think she was secretly hoping to be implanted with one of the other embryos, or even being granted custody of Evan or this baby. I don’t want her in here.”
“Suits me,” Kendi said. “How do you feel about Friar Pallen and the blessing?”
Lucia looked torn. “Let him in,” she said finally. “But only for the blessing.”
Ben took Lucia’s hand. “Whatever you want. Mom.”
“Dad.”
They all laughed. Ben couldn’t help comparing this birth to Evan’s. He felt far more relaxed and also eager. This baby, his next son or daughter, would go home with him, Kendi, and Lucia, no matter what. It was a relief and a pleasure to look forward to it. He caught Kendi’s eye and knew he was thinking the same thing.
Dr. McCall arrived, checked Lucia, proclaimed her fine, and left again. Julia bustled in and out, fetching ice chips, offering to rub Lucia’s shoulders, and asking if Ben or Kendi needed anything. Francesca and Friar Pallen stayed in the waiting room.
Eventually, as the sun rose on a fine spring day, Dr. McCall told Lucia to push. Half an hour later, she placed a healthy, wailing baby girl in Lucia’s arms. Julia wiped tears from her eyes as Ben and Kendi gathered around the head of the bed. Ben felt his insides melt like butter as he looked down at his daughter’s patently unhappy face. She waved tiny fists, and her eyes were screwed shut as she screamed her displeasure at this new world.
“Her name is Araceil,” Ben said, and his voice caught. Kendi nodded his solemn agreement. Lucia gave Ara her breast, and the baby calmed down to nurse.
“Did I hear a cry?” said Father Pallen from the doorway. Francesca was trying to peer over his shoulder. “Is everything fine?”
“Come in, both of you,” Lucia said, the birth thawing her a little toward her cousin. “You can give the blessing, Friar.”
Friar Pallen approached the bed. With one hand he beat a slow rhythm on a small drum that hung from his shoulder. Francesca followed with a ritual rattle that she shook at every step. Pallen held his hand over Ara’s head. Julia watched, a wide smile on her face.
Without pausing his drumming, Pallen pulled a small stone from the recesses of his robe. He slipped it into Ara’s blanket. “We ask for the blessings of the world on this child,” he said. Then he took out a water shaker and sprinkled a few drops of water on Ara’s head. “We ask for the blessings of the sky on this child.” He scattered a pinch of dust from Bellerophon’s moon over Ara’s body. “We ask for the blessings of the stars on this child. Great Lady Irfan, we ask for your blessings, your protection, and your inspiration. Let this child grow and flourish and be free of the taint...the taint of...”
“The taint of Vik,” Ben said in a flat voice. “Her biological father and mine.” Francesca gasped and Julia’s smile faltered.
“The taint of Vik,” Pallen finished. He leaned down and gingerly kissed the top of Ara’s head. “May she be hale and happy until the end of days.”
“Thank you, Friar,” Kendi said.
“I never thought I’d give Irfan’s blessing to one of her own children,” Pallen admitted.
“Aren’t you going to name a spirit parent?” Francesca asked.
“That’s not necessary, Friar,” Lucia said quickly.
“But Lucia!” Julia interjected. “The baby needs a—”
“Ara has three parents already,” Lucia responded. “Four, if you count Harenn. She doesn’t need more.”
“As you like,” Pallen said, and withdrew.
“What was that for?” Francesca demanded. “Why didn’t you name one?”
Ara finished nursing. Lucia burped her, and she fell asleep before Lucia could bring the baby down from her shoulder.
“I’m too tired to say clever things,” Lucia said, “so I’ll be direct. The only reason you came here was because you were hoping to be named spirit mother. But I know where you stood on the lawsuit, Francesca. You can leave now.”
“Lucia!” Julia said, shocked. “She’s your cousin!”
“Did you point that out to Francesca when she said she supported the Church’s lawsuit, Mother? Leave, Francesca, and be grateful I allowed you to look at this child for as long I did.”
Francesca looked ready to protest, then apparently changed her mind and marched out.
“Lucia,” Julia said. “Can’t you just—”
“No, Mother,” Lucia replied. “I can’t.”
“I want to hold her,” Ben said, holding out his arms. Lucia handed Ara up to him. Ben looked down at his daughter’s sleeping face and felt a fine peace.
“I hope she does that a lot,” Kendi said beside him. “Evan hogs enough attention for three.”
“Just like his da,” Ben said.
oOo
Sister Gretchen Beyer kicked off her shoes and leaned back on the sofa with a heavy sigh of relief. Kendi and Ben were safely back home from the hospital, Harenn was with them, and Lucia was being guarded by someone else. She wiggled her toes and considered the merits of a long, hot bath. These days it seemed like she was either on guard duty with Ben and Kendi or watching images of Padric Sufur’s house on a monitor, but this was a good thing. Every waking moment was full of work, giving her no time to think. Tan had finally ordered her away.
“Burned-out bodyguards make mistakes,” Tan had said. “Go home. I don’t want to see you for the next two days.”
Gretchen closed her eyes and let her body sink further into the supremely comfortable sofa, unwilling to think about what two days of leisure would mean. Leisure gave her time to think about...things. The Despair. Being Silenced.
Padric Sufur.
Every night before she went to sleep, she saw his hawk-like face. In the mornings she usually got five Sufur-free minutes before he surfaced in her mind like a shark shooting up from the depths. She loathed Sufur with a depth that both surprised and exhilarated her. It was good to know hatred could run so deep.
Knowing where he lived was the worst part. She knew exactly where to find the bastard. She knew where he ate and slept and breathed and shit. But she couldn’t do anything about it. The only thing that made it bearable was the knowledge that he would eventually pay. Gretchen intended to make sure of that.
“Attention! Attention!” said the computer. “An unknown visitor is requesting entry.”
Gretchen opened her eyes, surprised. She never got visitors. “Sergio, tell the visitor to identify him- or herself.”
Pause. “The visitor wishes to deliver a singing telegram.”
“What?” Gretchen crossed her little living room to the door and peered through the one-way peephole. She saw the distorted image of a blond man in a formal black tunic. He was holding a bunch of brightly-colored balloons. “Who are you?” she said through the door.
“Delivery, ma’am,” the man called back, his voice somewhat muffled. “From Father Kendi Weaver.”
Gretchen’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She wouldn’t put it above Kendi to send her some kind of joke delivery, one that would spray whipped cream or silly snakes in her face. Still, she was intrigued. Maybe it was a belated thank-you gift for the life-saving. She opened the door.
The man had with him a companion who hadn’t been visible through the peephole. She had dark hair and eyes. “Sister Gretchen?” the man said, looking down at a little card tied to the balloon strings.
“That’s me.”
“My assistant and I have a song for you.” The man whipped out a pitch pipe and blew a note. The woman hummed it.
Gretchen glanced uneasily up and down the hallway. “Uh, not out here,” she said. “Come on in.”
The pair followed Gretchen into the living room. She turned to face them. “Okay, what’s this all about?”
“It’s all in the song, ma’am,” the man replied. “Oh—these are for you.” He handed her the balloons. Gretchen had just grasped the strings when a flash of movement caught the corner of her eye. Her reflexes, honed by years of field work for the Children of Irfan and weeks of bodyguard duty for Kendi, snapped her other arm up. The motion knocked the dermospray out of the woman’s hand. Gretchen instantly released the balloons. They bumbled against the ceiling and Gretchen dropped to the floor. The man’s roundhouse swing swished through empty air. Gretchen lashed out with her foot as she went down, catching the man in the knee. He screamed. The woman pulled a pistol from her pocket. Gretchen rolled to her feet. The woman fired and Gretchen dove. The pistol burned a circle in the wall and Gretchen smelled scorched wood. She landed near the coffee table and shoved it desperately toward the woman, who easily twisted out of the way. The man snatched up the dermospray while the woman leaped toward Gretchen. Gretchen tried to dodge, but woman landed full on top of her. The two of them rolled across the floor. Pain exploded against Gretchen’s ear as the woman landed a punch. Gretchen sank her fist into the woman’s midriff. The breath rushed out of her and Gretchen shoved her aside. She was just in time to catch the man’s wrist as he tried to press the dermospray against her neck. Gretchen gritted her teeth and tried to push his hand away, but he was strong. The dermospray crept closer and closer. Gretchen’s hand trembled and she shoved with all her strength. The dermospray moved away. Out of nowhere another hand clamped around the man’s and rammed the spray downward. The last thing Gretchen saw was the triumphant look on the dark-haired woman’s face.
oOo
Kendi and Ben stood in the hastily-assembled nursery on the top floor of Salman’s house. Ara was now one day old, and she was asleep in her crib, just as Evan slept in his. Their mothers slumbered as well. The nursery walls were simple wood—no one had had time to construct an animated scene—and room smelled sweetly of baby powder. The sun was setting, leaving only three days before the election. Downstairs, the house was filled with frantic people doing frenzied work, but up here, everything was quiet. Kendi enjoyed every second, especially because he knew that at any moment the fragile peace would be shattered by a new crisis, one which could range from a campaign upheaval to a dirty diaper.
“This is so strange,” Ben said, looking down first at Ara, then at Evan. “They’re here. And they’ll be here for the rest of their lives.”
“Grandma’s already arranged trust funds for their education,” Kendi said.
“How did we live without them?” Ben asked.
“The trust funds?”
Ben dinged Kendi’s ear. “The babies.”
“Babies,” Kendi repeated, rubbing his ear. “All life, I’m a father. Twice.”
“I keep expecting Ara to have dark hair, like Mom,” Ben said, laying a gentle hand on her head. “But she’s going to be a redhead like me.”
“Evan’s going to be blond,” Kendi said. “Irfan had brown hair, didn’t she?”
“That’s how she’s always shown,” Ben replied. “Danny Vik had blond hair, though. Maybe their hair will darken when they get older.” He leaned on the edge of Ara’s crib. “What do you think they’ll be when they grow up?”
“Silent,” Kendi said with a grin. “That’s about all we can predict.”
“Still fun to speculate, though. Maybe one of them will like computers. I can show Ara how to circumnavigate a trench trap and hack into a six-nine-p-fiver database.”
“Most fathers want to teach their kids how to play football or cricket.”
“Or ride dinosaurs like their Aunt Martina?”
Kendi shuddered. “Don’t remind me. She goes out two, three times a week these days. Scares the hell out of me.”
“What kind does she ride?”
“I’ve stopped asking. Scares the piss out of me, whatever she answers.”
Evan stirred in his sleep and made small meeping noises. Both Ben and Kendi snapped to attention. Evan settled back down again, and they relaxed.
“We should probably leave,” Kendi said. “Let them sleep.”
“Yeah.” Ben didn’t move. “Probably.”
“Your pardon,” Yin May said from the doorway. “Senator Reza would like to see both of you downstairs.”
The inevitable crisis. Kendi sighed. “What is it this time?” he asked as they headed for the stairs. “Alien invasion?”
“It would be easier for her to tell you,” May said. His face was tight. Kendi tried not to tense up and failed.
Downstairs they found everyone swarming around like termites in a broken mound. Salman was talking urgently to her running mate, Ched-Mulaar. A muted newsfeed showed a life-sized holo of a Ched-Balaar newscaster.
“What’s going on, Grandma?” Ben asked.
Salman’s face was tight. “Wanda Petrie’s been arrested for murder.”
“All life,” Kendi breathed. “Oh shit.”
“It becomes worse,” Ched-Mulaar said. “The person who—”
“It’s coming on!” someone shouted. The room went quiet and everyone turned to the newsfeed, which was no longer muted.
A—ator Mitchell Foxglove,” said the newscaster.
Mitchell Foxglove appeared on the feed. “It is my sad duty,” he said, “to bring this to the world’s attention. As many of you know, several months ago two people named Finn Day and Leona Day were murdered in their home. The crime distressed me beyond measure; the Finns were friends of mine, and I swore their killer would not go unpunished. However, the monastery Guardians were unable to find the killer.”
“Getting his jabs in about the monastery,” Salman muttered. She put on a coat. “Just do it, you bastard.”
“Thanks to a generous private donor, I was able to hire a private team of forensic specialists to perform a DN” sweep of the house. It took several months to process the results, but the team finally uncovered one set of DN” that we couldn’t explain. The Guardians have arrested Wanda Petrie, publicist for Senator Salman Reza’s campaign, and charged her with first-degree murder.”
A murmur went through the room, quickly shushed. Foxglove paused, as if he knew his viewers were gasping in horror.
“Where are you going, Grandma?” Ben asked.
“Press conference,” she said, already heading for the door with Yin May in tow. “For damage control. Stay here, my ducks, and don’t talk to anyone.”
“It saddens me that Senator Reza has now twice seen fit to involve criminals in her campaign,” Foxglove continued. “She accepted donations from racketeer Willen Yaraye and now one of her staff is accused of murder. She surrounds herself with crooks and killers, then dares to run for governor. I urge all honest citizens of Bellerophon to—”
“Shut him up,” Kendi barked, and the feed muted. “Now what?”
“The Senator will give a counter-statement,” said Ched-Mulaar. “She will point out that Wanda Petrie was fired many weeks ago and that we were unaware of any criminal activity.”
“Will that do any good?” Ben asked as the various campaign workers went back to their tasks.
Ched-Mulaar dipped his head. “I doubt it. This will hurt us much. Three days come between now and the election. That leaves no time for the news of Wanda Petrie to grow old and die among the voters.”
Foxglove vanished, and the feed showed a hologram of a restrained Wanda Petrie being led away by two human Guardians. She was trying unsuccessfully to hide her face.
“How long does it take to do a DN” sweep?” Kendi said suddenly.
“About a week to sweep the house,” Ben said. “Another five or six weeks to sort and process all the DN”, maybe another two weeks to correlate the result and produce a list of people.”
“So a little over eight weeks,” Kendi said. “But Wanda killed the Days several months ago. It was before Evan was born.”
“So?” Ben said.
Ched-Mulaar clacked his teeth in a wordless exclamation. “Mitchell Foxglove must have had the results of the DN” sweep weeks ago,” he said. “He kept the results to himself until this moment because he knew releasing them now would hurt our campaign the most.”
“In other words,” Kendi growled, “he let a murderer walk free to aid his own campaign.”
“So did Grandma,” Ben said.
“Yeah, but we were going to turn Wanda in after Grandma was elected.”
“In other words,” Ben said, “we let a murderer walk free to aid Grandma’s campaign.”
“Maybe so,” Kendi said, “but we didn’t...we weren’t...” He trailed off.
“Yeah,” Ben said quietly. “You know, I’m really tired of politics.”
Kendi sighed. “So am I.”
oOo
The next three days were spent in a frenzy of activity. Both Ben and Kendi made as many appearances as they could squeeze in. It was rough going. Everywhere they went, reporters asked for comments about Petrie. Kendi kept his answers short and scripted and tried not to look like he was operating on less than an hour’s sleep. He hated being away from Evan and Ara, but he consoled himself with the thought that it was only three days.
Unfortunately, his and Ben’s efforts seemed to have little effect. Salman’s polls dropped sharply, and even Ben’s power as the Offspring couldn’t seem to raise them to their original levels. Wanda Petrie, meanwhile, stayed in her jail cell and refused to speak to anyone, even her own lawyer.
On the day of the election, Foxglove and Ched-Pirasku were leading the polls, but Salman made a close enough second that the feed analysts declared it anybody’s race. Salman announced the time for speech-making was over. She rented the same gymnasium that Foxglove had blacked out, thereby creating the “Taper” nickname for the Unionists. The place was crowded with Salman supporters, most of them high-level campaign workers, volunteers, and other celebrities who had, like Ben and Kendi, endorsed Salman’s campaign. Kendi looked around at the crowd of humans and Ched-Balaar that formed a chattering, talking mass on the auditorium floor. Holographic signs silently shouted slogans. IRFAN CHOSE SALMAN! SALMAN SAVES THE FORESTS! SALMAN KEEPS US SAFE! Giant feeds projected on the walls and as free-standing holograms stood ready to report the latest exit polls. The voting itself had only opened a few hours ago, too early to expect projections. “n undercurrent of expectation and hope threaded through the crowd.
Off to one side, Ben cradled Evan in one thick arm as he talked to Keith and another human Kendi didn’t recognize. Lucia stood nearby with baby Ara. Reporters were everywhere, but they’d had to agree not to broadcast pictures of the infants before Salman’s team would grant them entry. Salman herself was talking to Yin May, while Ched-Mulaar browsed through the enormous buffet. A young man was chatting up Martina by the drink bar, and Kendi made a mental note to find out who it was. Bedj-ka sat on the floor in the corner playing some kind of miniature holographic game with a pair of children his own age. Tan had taken up a post by the main doors. Kendi looked up at the stage, remembering how much had happened since he had stood in the audience with Gretchen and watched Salman declare her candidacy.
Speaking of Gretchen...he thought, and scanned the room. Gretchen was nowhere in sight. That struck Kendi as strange. In the past few months, Gretchen had spent more time on duty than off, and it seemed unlikely she’d absent herself today. Kendi trotted over to Tan to ask about it.
“No idea,” Tan rasped. “She was supposed to be on today, but didn’t show up. No one else could come in, so we’re short.”
“Gretchen didn’t show up?” Kendi said, uneasy. “That’s not like her. She may be abrasive, even bitchy, but she’s always reliable.”
Tan tapped her earpiece. “Gretchen Beyer.” Long pause. “No answer. I can leave a message if I want, but I already did.”
Kendi’s unease blossomed into heavy worry. “I don’t like it, Lewa. Ched-Theree said a whole bunch of Silent and Silenced have disappeared.”
“Oh god.” Tan looked worried herself. “I should have wondered if something was up, but I’ve been so busy coordinating with Senator Salman’s—anyway. We should check her house.”
“Let’s go,” Kendi said. “I’ll get Ben and—”
“By we, I meant not you, Kendi. It could be dangerous.”
“Gretchen’s saved my ass more times than I can count, Lewa,” Kendi said. “Besides, you said you were short-handed today. Who are you going to spare?”
“The Guardians can—”
“The Guardians can’t do anything until at least a day has passed,” Kendi interrupted. “By then it may be too late.” He tapped his earpiece. “Ben, Gretchen’s missing. We need to go look for her.”
“Kendi,” Tan warned.
“I’m pulling rank, Lewa,” Kendi said. “I’m going, and it’s going to be your job to keep me safe. So you better start planning.”
Ben, meanwhile, handed Evan over to Harenn and hurried over as quickly as he could without attracting undue attention from the reporters. Keith came with him.
“What’s this about Gretchen missing?” Ben demanded.
Kendi was already moving for the door. “I’ll explain on the way. Come on.”
“It’s not safe,” Tan said, catching his arm.
“I’ll come, too,” Keith interjected. “That’ll make two guards.”
Tan looked ready to protest further, but Kendi pulled away from her and headed out the door. Tan slapped her earpiece.
“Lars!” she barked. “Meet us out back with the flitcar. Now!”
Outside, the afternoon sun was shining. Lizards chirruped in the talltree branches, and spring flowers made merry rainbows in planters and boxes on balconies and window ledges. The walkways threading into the talltree forest around the gymnasium were busy with people, many of whom walked with one hand pressed to an ear as they listened to the feeds. A silver flitcar hovered just outside the gymnasium doors. Tan made sure the way was clear, then rushed Kendi and Ben into the vehicle with Keith close behind. Once the door was shut, Lars took them straight up. Kendi gave him Gretchen’s address.
“I want to go on record as saying this is an incredibly stupid idea,” Tan growled. “And that if anything happens to either of you, it isn’t my fault.”
“Noted,” Kendi grinned, feeling strangely exuberant. He was still worried about Gretchen, but it also felt good to be out there and doing something instead of giving speeches and letting people shepherd him around.
Gretchen lived in an apartment building near the boundary of the monastery and Treetown. On the flight, Keith abruptly dropped into a sullen silence. Ben stared out the window, obviously worried. The ever-present feed announced that early polls showed Foxglove with a two-percent lead over Ched-Pirasku. Salman trailed in a distant third place.
The apartment building resembled the beehive structure near the site where Ben and Kendi had made the blackmail dropoff, though this building was in better repair. Lars landed the flitcar on the roof, which poked up above the talltree. He left the flitcar running as Tan, Ben, Kendi, and finally Keith got out and dashed toward the stairway door. They clattered down the echoing stairwell to the fifth floor, where Gretchen had her apartment.
The corridor was a little dingy, and the wooden floor hadn’t been swept in a while. Tan moved ahead of the group to Gretchen’s door. She pressed her ear to it and listened, then pressed her thumb to the doorplate. From inside, Kendi heard the muffled sound of the computer announcing Tan’s presence. No response. Tan pressed her thumb again, then knocked. Still nothing. Kendi shifted from foot to foot, his nerves rubbing raw. Gretchen might be inside, hurt or unconscious or even dead and Tan was taking unreasonable precautions. He finally shouldered her aside and tried the door. It was unlocked. Before Tan could protest, Kendi burst into the apartment. Tan and the others boiled in behind him.
The living room was a total mess. Furniture lay askew, carpets were rumpled, and a broken coffee table scattered splintery shards across the floor. A circular scorch mark scarred one wall.
“A struggle,” Kendi said.
“No kidding,” Ben said.
“We need to call the Guardians. Don’t touch anything.” Tan tapped her earpiece.
Keith advanced cautiously into the room and disappeared into the kitchen. He reemerged a moment later. “No one’s there.”
“We should check the bedroom in case she’s...unconscious,” Ben said. He didn’t mention the word dead, but Kendi heard it nonetheless. Kendi dashed down the short hallway to the bedroom with Keith right behind him. On the way he checked the bathroom. Empty.
In contrast to the living room, Gretchen’s bedroom was perfectly tidy. Bed made, closet door closed, curtains drawn. Kendi dropped to the floor and checked under the bed. Nothing. A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. He flung himself sideways just in time to avoid the knife. The blade hit the floor with a thunk. Adrenaline singing in every vein, Kendi rolled to his feet. Keith yanked the knife free and brandished it at him.
“Keith!” Kendi said. “What the hell—?”
Keith lunged. Kendi twisted aside and collided with the side of the bed. He lost his balance and fell flat on his back on the mattress. A silent snarl twisted Keith’s face. Part of Kendi’s mind noticed that Keith’s eyes had a glazed look. Then Keith leaped forward, bringing the knife down. Kendi flung up his forearm and blocked Keith’s wrist. He stared at the knife pointed at his throat.
“You son of a bitch,” Keith hissed. The knife quivered. “You and your Outback bullshit. You’re going to join the Real People real soon and there’s no way you can stop—”
“Help!” Kendi yelled. “Ben! Lewa!”
Keith shoved the knife downward with surprising strength. Kendi felt a pinprick as the point pierced the skin above his jugular vein. He struggled to push Keith’s hand away, gained a centimeter, lost it.
And then Keith vanished. Kendi heard a crash and a cry of pain. He got to his feet and saw Tan pressing Keith face-first against the wall. His right hand still was still clutching the knife, but Ben was beating his wrist against the wood. Three blows, and the knife clattered to the ground. Tan used her body to keep Keith pinned and pulled out a set of wrist restraints. In one swift movement, she got his hands behind him, closed the silvery bands around his wrists, and activated the restraints. The bands stuck together with a firm click.
“What the fuck is going on?” Tan demanded.
“Are you all right?” Ben asked. “You’re bleeding.”
Kendi checked his neck. A streak of blood smeared his hand. “Just a scratch.”
“I’ll kill you, Outback boy!” Keith snarled at the wall.
“Shut up,” Tan snapped.
“Why did he attack you?” Ben asked. “Where’d he get the knife?”
“The kitchen, I think,” Kendi said. “As for why...” Kendi stared at Keith as several thoughts came together. “All life, we’ve been idiots! Ben, we have to get into the Dream. Now!”
“Kill you!” Keith howled. Tan rapped his head against the wall.
“What are you talking about?” Ben asked.
“Do you have your dermospray with you?” Kendi rummaged around in his pockets and found his own. “We don’t have much time.”
“For what?” Ben demanded, producing his own dermospray. “You don’t even have your spear.”
“I don’t need it,” Kendi said. “It’s just easier if I have it. Lewa, keep an eye on Keith. We’re going in.”
“But—”
“This will go faster if you quit talking to me,” Kendi said. He lay down on the recently-rumpled bed and thumped the dermospray against his arm. Ben shrugged and lay down next to him to do the same. Kendi closed his eyes. It was hard to relax at first. The adrenaline from the fight hadn’t worn off yet, and he was tense. It also felt strange not to be leaning on his spear. But eventually years of practice took over, aided by the drug. Colors swirled behind his eyelids and he found himself in kangaroo form on the flat, empty plain of the Dream. Whispers swirled around him. A moment later, Ben flicked into view, his rapid appearance creating momentary distortions in the air and ground.
“What’s this about?” Ben asked.
“Shush!” Kendi said, and stretched to his full height, listening hard. “This way!”
He bounded off, leaving Ben with little choice but to follow. Kendi dashed over the flat, gray ground as fast as he could, knowing that in the Dream, Ben could keep up with him on foot. Moments later, he crossed a boundary, and both men found themselves in a plush office that overlooked a skyscraper skyline. The strange Silent Kendi had chased several weeks ago sat in his executive chair, eyes shut in concentration. They popped open when Ben and Kendi appeared on his turf. Kendi didn’t hesitate. He leaped over the desk and landed with his full weight on the man.
The man yelped with pain and surprise as the chair went over backward. Kendi shifted shape into a camel. His great split hooves pinned the man’s shoulders to the carpeted floor. Kendi felt the man’s bones creak and the man cried out in pain. With his hind legs, Kendi kicked the chair backward out of the way, and it crashed against the rear wall.
“You were whispering to my brother,” Kendi snarled at him. Thick camel spittle spattered the man’s face. “You took advantage of the fact that he was suffering from depression and that his mind had been damaged from the time he spent on Silent Acquisition Station. You whispered to him, made his depression worse, made him attack me, and I want to know why.”
The man shut his eyes. Kendi bit the top of his head and ripped out a hank of dark hair. The man screamed. Kendi spat out the bloody hunk of scalp.
“No concentrating,” he said. “And no leaving the Dream. Ben! Can you keep watch and make sure the son of a bitch doesn’t disappear?”
“Not a problem.”
Kendi glared down at the man. “Explain what’s going on.”
“Fuck you.”
Before Kendi could respond, a small sledgehammer popped into Ben’s hand. With a sickening crack he broke the man’s little finger. The man howled in agony. Kendi gasped and shot Ben a startled glance. Ben’s attention, however, remained riveted on the man’s contorted face. Kendi recovered his composure. They could talk about it later. Right now they had to extract information. The man continued to yowl like a kicked cat. Kendi leaned down and snorted saliva into his mouth. The yowls turned into spits and sputters.
“Let me tell you what I already do know,” Kendi said. “Maybe it’ll loosen you up. Keith was—or you were—behind all the attacks on me from the beginning. I was too stupid to see it because it never occurred to me to suspect him. Keith knew I was going to meet him at the shopping center, and Keith knew I would cross that particular walkway. The amateur hologram showed him with his hand in his pocket because he was detonating the device that severed the branch.
“When that didn’t work, you got him to try the poisoned dart. He oh-so-casually volunteered to walk me home from his house after the rain cleared up, then let the bodyguards get ahead so he’d have a clear shot from behind me. I even saw him move, but I thought he was looking for the culprit.
“After that, you got him to plant the pieces of the bomb. He was right there in the nursery just before it exploded. In fact, Keith was the only person who was on the scene for all three murder attempts. You were whispering to him the night of the explosion, telling him to start the detonation process. Except I was in the Dream, and my subconscious picked up on what you were doing. I must have known even then it was Keith, but I didn’t want to face it. So my subconscious mind scared me out of the house. It should have been obvious what was happening. What I want to know is why.”
“Who do you work for?” Ben interjected. “Tell, or I’ll break your thumb.”
The man’s face contorted as he struggled with his dilemma. Blood ran from his scalp where Kendi had torn out the hair. Ben raised his hammer and the man flinched. So did Kendi, though he tried to hide it. He had never seen Ben bloodthirsty before.
“All right!” the man said. “I work for Silent Acquisitions.”
“Of course you do,” Kendi sighed. “SA would be in a perfect position to know that Keith’s mind is weak and that you could whisper him into doing things he would normally never do.”
“You’re also working for Padric Sufur,” Ben growled.
The man nodded.
“Can I say ‘I told you so’ now?” Ben asked.
“Save it for later,” Kendi said. He shifted back into kangaroo shape and sat on the man’s chest. It made for easier conversation. “Why does Sufur want me dead?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” the man spat. “He wants to make sure Reza loses the election. You—and the Offspring—keep giving her chances to win.”
“And Sufur wants Foxglove to win,” Kendi said. “He’s funding Foxglove, isn’t he? It’s where Foxglove got the money to take over Othertown’s mining corporations and everything else he’s snapped up.”
“He’s funding Ched-Pirasku, too,” the man said. “It doesn’t matter to him who wins as long as Salman Reza loses.”
“Why?” Kendi demanded. “What’s so important about Salman Reza?”
“I don’t know,” the man said, and Kendi knew it was the truth—lies were impossible in the Dream.
“Is Sufur the one behind the missing people?” Ben asked.
The man remained silent.
“Trouble remembering?” Kendi said. “Let me remind you how the story goes. A whole bunch of good Bellerophon citizens have turned up missing, and all of them are either Silent or Silenced. Including our friend Gretchen Beyer. What do you know about her?”
“I don’t know any Gretchen Beyer.”
“That doesn’t answer my main question. Why is SA making people disappear?”
The man shifted beneath Kendi’s heavy hind feet. “Look, SA owns me. When Mr. Sufur says ‘jump,’ I jump. You think I liked manipulating your brother? His mind is so sad, and I had to make it worse.”
“My heart is bleeding like your head,” Kendi said.
“Do you know who Padric Sufur is?” Ben said. “He’s the guy who touched off the Despair.”
“He owns me,” the man repeated quietly. “I have to do as he says.”
“What’s he planning?” Kendi persisted. “What’s he want that Salman could stop?”
“Do you honestly think he’d tell me?” the man replied. “A slave?”
“Where’s your body?” Ben asked abruptly.
“Back on SA Station. Look, I can barely breathe.”
Kendi stepped off the man’s body. “Get out. Go home.” The man closed his eyes and vanished. The office went with him, leaving behind the flat, gray plain.
“Why did you do that?” Ben said. “The bastard tried to kill you. He tried to kill Ara and Evan, for god’s sake.”
“And what should we have done, Ben?” Kendi asked tiredly. “He’s thousands of light-years away. Did you want to kill him like you smashed his finger?”
“He tried to kill us, Ken. He turned your brother into a puppet.”
Kendi rubbed his forepaws together. “Since when did you become an advocate of torture?”
“Since someone tried to kill my son,” Ben spat. “God, Kendi—it isn’t like I really hurt him. The psychosomatic carryover will probably give him a sprained finger. Why is this such a problem with you?”
“The problem is that this isn’t like you,” Kendi said. “I’d expect this kind of thing of Harenn or Gretchen. Maybe even Tan. But not you.”
“You don’t think I’m strong enough to torture someone?”
“I didn’t think you were weak enough to have to,” Kendi said simply.
Ben spun around. He was still holding the sledgehammer, and his fingers were white around the handle. After a long moment, he let go. It vanished before it hit the ground. Kendi let out a long, heavy breath.
“What do we do now?” Ben asked without turning around.
“We take care of Keith,” Kendi said, and let go of the Dream.
oOo
“So what happened?” Tan demanded when Kendi and Ben sat up. Keith sat on a chair, his hands still fastened behind him. His head drooped and his eyes were shut.
“We saw a man about a plan,” Kendi said, and gave a short explanation. Keith didn’t react to any of it. “We should take Keith to the medical center,” Kendi finished. “He needs a lot of help. And we should call—”
“The Guardians?” Tan said. “They’re on their way.”
“Then we should get Keith out of here before they can ask awkward questions about him,” Kendi said. “He needs a therapist, not a jail cell.”
They took the unresisting Keith up to the flitcar, explained to Lars what was going on, and went back down to the apartment. Two human Guardians were just arriving. Kendi, Ben, and Tan answered their questions about Gretchen, carefully leaving out any mention of Keith’s presence in the apartment. Kendi, however, couldn’t keep his mind off his brother, and it was hard to concentrate. Ben seemed restless as well.
After the Guardians were finished, Kendi boarded the flitcar with Ben and Tan. Keith, on the seat beside him, seemed nearly catatonic. Ben stared grimly out the window. Tan conversed with Lars in a low voice. Kendi squeezed Keith’s hand, but his brother didn’t respond. Kendi’s mind ran in a hundred different directions. He didn’t know what to worry about most—Keith’s condition, Gretchen’s disappearance, or Padric Sufur’s plan. That the latter two were connected, Kendi didn’t doubt. But why would anyone kidnap Silenced people? And why was Sufur going to such lengths to ensure that Salman lost the election?
It struck him that Foxglove had mentioned a “generous private donor” whose funds had allowed him to hire the private forensics team and finger Petrie. That donor must have been Sufur. Kendi clenched a fist. Salman needed to know what he and Ben had learned. But would it do any good? The election was already in progress, and they had to get Keith to the medical center.
This actually turned out to be easier than Kendi anticipated. The staff took one look at Kendi and Ben—the famous Father and the blessed Offspring—and whisked Keith into a private room. A psychologist named Dr. Lev Mayfield arrived shortly thereafter, and Kendi was able to explain what had happened to Keith, who was now almost completely unresponsive.
“We won’t be pressing charges,” Kendi said. “And I’m hoping to keep things confidential.”
“We keep all our patients confidential,” Mayfield said reassuringly. “I’ll see to his care personally, Father.”
“I’ll come and visit as soon as I can, Keith,” Kendi said, squeezing his brother’s hand again. Still no response. Kendi choked down a surge of anger and he kept control with difficulty as he and Ben left.
Back in the flitcar, Ben said, “Do we tell Grandma about this?”
“What would be the point?” Kendi checked his fingernail for the time. “The election ends in less than an hour. Even if we had proof of what we know, and even if we went public with the information, it wouldn’t help.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “All life, what a day. I don’t even know how the returns are going.”
“It’s close,” Tan reported from the front seat. Text scrolled by on her data pad’s holographic display. “Exit polls are showing Foxglove in first place with thirty-six percent of the votes. Ched-Pirasku and Senator Reza are tied for second place with thirty-two percent each. It’s going to be really close.”
A small image beside the text showed long lines of humans, Ched-Balaar, and a sprinkling of other races at various electoral polls. Then it switched to a montage of the candidates. Foxglove opening a new mine. Salman speaking to the military. Ched-Pirasku giving rides to human children on his back.
“So where do we go now?” Ben asked. “Lars is just circling Treetown.”
Kendi set his mouth. “We need to go see Padric Sufur.”
oOo
The day was drawing to a close as they approached Sufur’s little house. The talltrees exuded long shadows and a chill suffused the air. A dinosaur roared far below, and the noise was answered in the distance. Mating season. Kendi thanked all life that the dinosaur rodeo club closed down at this time of year. Even the most hardened rider stayed out of the way of male dinosaurs in full rut. Tan trailed Kendi and Ben, looking nervous. She had tried to talk Kendi out of this course of action, but Kendi had turned a deaf ear, as had Ben. The windows of the other little houses around Sufur’s glowed with yellow light. Sufur’s house, however, was dark.
They were climbing the stairs to his front door when a voice spoke in Kendi’s earpiece. “Kendi? What the hell are you doing?”
Sejal. Kendi had forgotten that the Vajhur family was keeping remote watch on Sufur’s home. He tapped his earpiece.
“It’s okay, Sejal,” Kendi said as they reached the top of the steps. “Just keep watching.”
The door opened before either of the two men could knock. Padric Sufur stood in the doorway. Ben was white-lipped, and his body radiated tension. Kendi felt the same way. Tan appeared impassive until Kendi noticed she was rubbing her thumb and forefinger together fast enough to start a fire from the friction.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Sufur said. “You may as well come in.” He turned and went back inside without bothering to see if they were following. Kendi strode in after the old man with Ben and Tan in tow.
The inside of Sufur’s house smelled stale, as if the windows hadn’t been opened in months. Everything was perfectly tidy, however. A small part of Kendi noticed that although there were several holograms and pictures of non-humans scattered about the simply-decorated living room, there were no mirrors. A desk with a computer terminal occupied one corner.
Sufur, clad in a long white robe that made him resemble the ghost of a scarecrow, took a seat in an easy chair near the window. He didn’t look like a man who had engineered the deaths of millions. “Sit. I won’t be offering refreshment, so don’t ask.”
“I don’t take food from filth,” Ben spat, and remained standing.
Sufur nodded, as if Ben were commenting on the weather. “The Offspring. I’ve been watching the reports about you with some interest, young man. Which will win out, do you think—the supposed nobility of Irfan Qasad or the psychotic treachery of Daniel Vik? I’m betting on the treachery.”
“Fuck you,” Ben said.
“How nicely you prove my point.” Sufur crossed his legs. “How much do you know? You can speak freely—these walls are insulated against listening devices, and any recording devices you may be carrying were disabled when you crossed my threshold.”
“You’ve been financing both Ched-Pirasku’s and Mitchell Foxglove’s campaigns,” Kendi growled. “You tried to have me—and then Ben—killed because our support helped Salman overcome all the scandals you engineered for her. Did you have your pet Silent whisper to Petrie, too? Is that why she killed the Days like Keith tried to kill me?”
“The Days embodied the worst of human greed,” Sufur said. “They had become a detriment to Foxglove’s campaign. A pity Petrie turned out to be thief as well as murderer when she stole that disk. I would never have revealed your secret, Ben, or exploited your heritage for personal gain. I don’t count myself as cruel.”
“You must have a different dictionary from us poor folk,” Tan rasped from her position by the door.
“What about the people you’re kidnapping?” Kendi demanded. “Where are they? What have you done with them?”
“They’ll fulfill their destinies,” Sufur said. “Helping me end the pointless struggle that makes up humanity.”
“If you hate humanity so much,” Ben said, “why don’t you just jump off a balcony and end it all? One less human in the world.”
“Because I’m a philanthropist,” Sufur replied, voice mild. “You’re young, you don’t understand. To be human is to be miserable. We exist only to make war and rape and kill and prey on one another. Don’t you find it interesting, Father Kendi, that your brother was so easily whispered into killing you? Whispers can’t create thought or emotion. They only amplify what already exists. Your own brother resents the fact that you went free while he remained a slave, that you had your mother for a short time after he lost her. That a fellow human sodomized him and left you unmolested. Deep down, your own brother wants you dead, even though you rescued him from slavery. Human gratitude at work.”
Kendi took a step forward, teeth clenched, but Tan put a hand on his shoulder from behind.
“Do you know how many species have no concept of falsehood?” Padric continued as if Kendi hadn’t moved. “Seventy-nine. And how many have no concept of murder? Ninety-seven. Humans don’t number among them. As such, we deserve extinction.”
“You don’t have the right to judge anyone,” Kendi said through clenched teeth.
“But I do. I spent my childhood in a concentration camp. I was rescued by some people—you would call them aliens—who became dear to me. They brought me to adulthood. They showed me how vile and violent humans are, how caring and compassionate other species are. I am a human who sees humans from an outsider’s point of view. It makes me uniquely qualified to judge.”
“So you want to kill all humans?” Ben asked in disbelief.
“I want to help them. I want to stop the warring and the fighting and everything associated with it.”
“By destroying the Dream,” Kendi said.
“Armies communicate through the Dream. Dictators give orders through the Dream. Without them, war ends. After the Despair, I wept from relief because I thought I had won, that war would end forever. Later I wept because I realized I had lost. The Dream still lived, even though I could no longer touch it. War will return. I have to stop it. For your sake and for the sake of all humans everywhere.”
“Children are re-entering the Dream,” Kendi said. “More and more of them every day. You can’t possibly think you’ll stop them all.”
“Of course not,” Sufur said. “There are too many. The Ched-Balaar alone will repopulate the Dream in less than a decade. But I came to realize that interplanetary warfare among humans is a human problem. If we remove humans from the Dream, the species will be better off.”
“That’s what you’re trying to do?” Kendi said. “Remove all humans from the Dream? You’re insane.”
“History may paint me that way,” Sufur agreed. “I wonder if the same thing happened to Daniel Vik.”
“How can you possibly remove all human Silent from the Dream?” Kendi said before Ben could respond.
“With the help of the Children of Irfan.” Sufur gazed out the window. By now the room was so dark, Kendi could barely see him. “Thanks to the Despair, the vast majority of all human Silent are now concentrated in two places—Silent Acquisitions Station and—”
“Bellerophon,” Kendi breathed.
“You yourself helped with that, Father Kendi,” Sufur told him. “How many Silent did you bring here after the Despair? Fifteen? Twenty? Including Sejal and his sister Katsu and that boy Bedj-ka. And your own children, of course.”
Ben charged like a raging bull. He reached Sufur’s chair and energy cracked through the air. Ben fell gasping to the floor. Kendi and Tan were beside him in an instant.
“Warning!” said a computer voice. “Persisted hostile activity will result in use of deadly force.”
“You call yourself a philanthropist?” Kendi yelled.
“I’m also a realist, Father Kendi,” Sufur said. “I’m just as violent as the next human being.”
Ben sat up with Tan and Kendi’s help. “I’ll show you violence, Sufur,” he gasped. “I’ll rip your head off and listen to you blab about violence.”
“You would be unwise to kill me,” Sufur said mildly. “I transmit a regular coded message to...certain people. If they fail to hear from me, they have orders to terminate certain other people.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Tan said. “We can’t do anything more.”
“What are you planning, Sufur?” Kendi snapped.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sufur replied in that infuriatingly mild tone. A soft tone chimed. Sufur tapped the arm of his chair and checked the readout that appeared there. “Ah. I see the election returns are in. I imagine your next step will be to inform the press and the police about my presence. I feel I should warn you that the governor-elect owes me a great many favors, and since I’m only vaguely implicated in any crimes on this planet, I can assure you that I will spend no time in jail.”
“Who won?” Kendi demanded.
But Sufur stared out the window as if he hadn’t heard. Tan made a sharp gesture, and Kendi nodded. They helped Ben limp outside. Kendi shot Sufur a final poisonous glance before Tan shut the door. Once in the fresh night air, Ben seemed to regain his equilibrium and he shook off further help.
“I’m all right,” he said. “But he’s going to die, Kendi. No one in the universe deserves death more than he does.”
His icy tone made Kendi shiver. “Ben, you promised me you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”
Ben stared wordlessly at him for a moment, then he ran down to the flitcar and jumped inside. Kendi and Tan followed. Once the door was shut and Lars was powering up the engines, Tan called up a news feed.
“Well?” Kendi asked.
“Final returns are in,” Tan reported flatly. “Our new governor is Ched-Pirasku.”
Ben closed his eyes. Kendi slumped back in his seat. It felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. All that work and heartache for nothing.
~Father Kendi.~
Kendi bolted upright. “Who the hell—?”
~Father Kendi, can you hear me?~ The mental voice felt familiar, but it took Kendi a moment to place it. It was the Silent slave who had whispered to Keith.
“What do you want?” he said.
“Who are you talking to?” Ben asked.
~I need to speak to you, Father. In the Dream.~