Trickster se-3

by Steven Harper

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

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

  "I'll pay you in freemarks, then," she said. "A hundred each."

  A gleam entered Melthine's eye. "One fifty."

  "Done!"

  "Hey, I never agreed to anything," Dell protested. "My job's on the line, too."

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

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

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

  "She won't give in for less than two hundred freemarks," he said. "Hard."

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

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

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

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

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

  "Did you get it?" Kendi asked.

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

  "You and me both," Gretchen muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Edsard Roon himself," Kendi said.

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

  "Still pissed at him, huh?"

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

  "I didn't even feel you coming," Ben said, surprised.

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

  "You saw what I was doing?"

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

  "I hate him," Ben growled. "Mom died because of him."

  Sejal nodded. "Lots of people's moms-and dads-died because of him. I don't know how he can live with himself."

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

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

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

  Sejal shrugged. "Around. Why?"

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

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

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

  Sejal shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not exactly able to go anywhere right now, Ben."

  "What? Why not?"

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

  "But-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  And he let go of the Dream.

  "You want a favor," Harenn said. "I can tell."

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

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

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

  "What does it contain?" she asked.

  "Silent embryos. Ben's brothers and sisters, to be specific."

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

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

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

  "Thanks," Kendi said. "We want to-hold it."

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

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

  "What sort of tests do have in mind?"

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

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

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

  "No," Harenn said.

  "What? Why not?"

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

  "Oh. Thanks. I think."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  But Keith appeared to be loving it.

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

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

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

  "What's the matter, kid?" Feder asked. "You don't like friendly people?"

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

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