Trickster se-3

by Steven Harper

  Pride in herself welled up. Martina fiercely shoved it aside. The words were false praise from a fake Silent. No one knew why some Silent could still touch the Dream and others couldn't. The idea that it had anything to do with Irfan Qasad or Daniel Vik was ludicrous. But the words still made her feel special, part of an "in" crowd, maybe even a member of secret society or a cult.

  Martina stopped dead in the corridor, causing the Alpha coming up behind to bump into her. She apologized and made herself keep moving, though her mind was whirling again. She entered her quarters and sat down on her bed, trying to fit her mind around another new idea.

  The place was a cult.

  Martina should have recognized it sooner. She had read about cults in her first owner's library, had heard about Silent who were members of such groups. Everything that had happened in this place, she realized, was part of an indoctrination process. The separation from society, the enforcement of strict rules, the sleep deprivation and low-carbohydrate diet-all designed to break down psychological barriers and force the "recruits" to embrace the cult itself. Martina was amazed that she hadn't seen it all earlier.

  The question was, why go through all the trouble? Martina got up to pace the floor between her bed and the computer desk. She desperately wished she could go outside, get some fresh air and sunshine to clear her mind, but the closest thing to any of that was a stupid hologram on the wall.

  Martina continued to pace. She was a slave, had been one for most of her life. She had been stolen away from her owners at DrimCom, but she didn't feel like a kidnap victim. From her perspective, one owner was pretty much like another, as long as she wasn't beaten or otherwise mistreated. None of her work in the Dream enriched her personally, so why did she care who paid for her services? Martina had no children, no husband, and no really close friends, so it wasn't as if she would be a prime candidate for running away after being bought-or stolen-by someone else. Why, then, go through the trouble of all this indoctrination?

  The answer, when it came, seemed obvious. Loyalty. Martina-and, presumably, the others-felt no loyalty toward any owner, present or past, and would happily run to freedom, given the chance. But fully-indoctrinated members of a cult were something else. Their loyalty to the cult and its leader ran strong and fierce. They invariably resisted anyone who tried to remove them from the cult's enclave. Roon's program was designed to create a group of absolutely loyal Silent who wouldn't dream of running away and who would do their best to return if kidnapped. In a universe where Silent were rarer than free-floating plutonium, such followers were worth a hundred times more than ordinary Silent slaves. A thousand times more.

  And it was starting to work. Keith, already emotionally vulnerable, was clearly ready to buy into Roon's fictional world. So was that other male Alpha. Martina herself had begun to weaken, despite the fact that she had been suspicious of late and doing her best to resist.

  A feeling of hopelessness washed over her. She had to get out of this place, and fast. She also had to somehow persuade Keith to come with her. But how? Her every move was watched, even when she was alone, and she was still shackled.

  No. There was no such thing as a perfect security system. Security systems were designed and used by people, and people made mistakes. Martina sat down on her bed to think. How had her kidnappers managed to deactivate her shackles at DrimCom? They must have done so-otherwise they would have shocked her the moment she crossed the building's threshold. If they could do it, she could do it. And the cameras in her quarters could be foiled. An "accident" could cover them up or knock them off-line entirely. All she had to do was find them.

  Martina nodded. It was a place to start and gave her something to think about, concentrate on during the mind-numbing labor. And in the meantime, she would have to play the role of good little Alpha, persuade the Deltas she was glad to be here. If they thought she was a willing participant, they would be less likely to watch her closely.

  But how would she stop them from indoctrinating Keith?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "The best way to get a child to do something is to forbid him to do it. The same goes for an adult."

  Kendi looked up from the display holo as Ben entered their quarters and flopped down onto the couch with a heavy sigh. It was shift change at the Collection. The holographic screen showed the door scanning a steady stream of people-IDs and prints-in a ritual Kendi had seen dozens of times over the last few weeks. In about half an hour, another stream of people would emerge from the same door. Kendi assumed the people coming off shift had to brief the people coming on. Kendi wondered why the Collection needed all these employees, and he desperately wished they could hack the computer system to find out. The Collection's system, however, was still physically isolated from the rest of the station, and the only way to get access was from within. It was frustrating in the extreme, knowing the Collection and his family were so close, yet so untouchable.

  It was also difficult because Kendi had only a vague sketch of a plan. He hadn't told anyone, not even Ben, that he had almost no idea what he was doing. Every instinct he had, however, told him that the department head keys were crucial to freeing his brother and sister. Kendi hated keeping secrets from Ben, but he didn't think Ben would react well if he knew Kendi was insisting on stealing the keys before he knew what to do with them.

  And then there was the time limit. The Poltergeist had to be back on Bellerophon in eight days, no excuses or exceptions. If it came down to it, Kendi would happily end his career with the Children if it meant liberty for his brother and sister, but he didn't want to do that. For one thing, his parents were still out there somewhere, and they were next on his list.

  "I take it you got nothing," Kendi said to Ben.

  Ben shook his head. His red hair was dark with sweat. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear Roon was a saint. He doesn't drink, he doesn't touch recreational drugs, he doesn't visit hookers, and he doesn't gamble. He doesn't even seem to have a favorite restaurant. I thought today I might actually get something on him because he deviated from his routine and made an extra stop on his way home from work, but no dice." He ran a hand over his face and grimaced. "God, I need a shower. I'll give you the details when I'm done."

  He got up and headed for the bedroom, shedding clothes as he went. Kendi watched the muscles of Ben's back bunch and move beneath smooth skin as he pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. Trousers, underwear, and socks followed. Kendi continued to watch Ben's naked form until it disappeared into the bedroom and, presumably, headed toward the bathroom. A few moments later, he heard the hiss of running water. Kendi drummed his fingers on the desk. He should watch the displays. He should look for an anomaly among the workers that he could exploit. He should look for subtle clues about what was really going on inside the Collection. He should- "The hell with this," he muttered.

  Less than a minute later, he drew aside the back corner of the shower screen and stepped into the shower behind Ben, whose face was upturned under a luxurious spray. Water had drenched and darkened his hair and ran in rivulets down his back. Kendi felt an aching, heavy need to be close to Ben, become so close that their bodies would melt and run together like drops of water. He put both his hands on Ben's shoulders. Ben jumped and turned partway around.

  "Need someone to wash your back?" Kendi asked, moving his hands lower.

  "That's not my back," Ben pointed out with a grin and turned back to the shower.

  "How about this?"

  "Nope." Ben closed his eyes with a sigh. "You'll have to keep trying."

  What started in the shower finished in the bedroom. Ben, still slightly damp, sprawled on his stomach next to Kendi, who was lying on his back but still pressed close to Ben. Kendi's skin was warm on Ben's. The soft light and lack of angles in the room were soothing and restful. The window showed gleaming stars against an utterly black background, and Ben could pretend there was no Collection, no SA Station-just a universe that was completely empty except for him a
nd Kendi.

  Ben shifted and winced beneath a slight twinge. Kendi's lovemaking had been intense, even a little rough, and Ben was sure he'd have a few bruises in the morning. He didn't care. Everything about Kendi had lately been more intense-and just plain tense-and Ben was glad to offer him some relief. Ben was just drifting off to sleep when Kendi spoke.

  "So what happened today? You said Roon deviated from his routine."

  "Hm?" Ben roused himself. "Deviated. Yeah, he did. It wasn't anything big. He gets off work every day at the same time-not during the shift change for the rest of the workers-and then he goes home. He takes the same route every single day, and once he gets home, he stays there. Except today."

  "What did he do today?"

  "He went to an art gallery."

  "Art gallery?" Kendi rolled over and propped his head up on one hand. "Did you follow him inside?"

  Ben shrugged. "Of course. I swear he looked at everything. Paintings, sculptures, holograms, sensories-you name it. There was a special exhibit on. He wandered around for more than two hours. Finally he bought a painting. He ordered it delivered and walked out. I followed him home, but nothing else happened."

  "What was the painting about?" Kendi asked intently.

  "Does it matter?" Ben said, surprised.

  "It might. No detail is too small, you know that."

  Ben closed his eyes and cast his mind back. Kendi, he knew, had the flawless short-term memory required for Dream communication work, and could faultlessly remember pages and pages of text for short periods of time. All Children were trained this way so that written communication could be transmitted word-for-word to other Silent through the Dream. But Ben hadn't gone through the mnemonic training, and he hadn't paid too much attention to the specifics of Roon's purchase. He hadn't though it would matter, though now he realized his mistake. He closed his eyes and thought.

  "It was an exhibit of circus art," he said after a while. "And Roon bought a painting of a circus animal. An elephant? Yeah, an elephant."

  Ben felt the bed move and heard the rustle of sheets. He opened his eyes. Kendi had gotten up and was yanking open the closet door.

  "What's up?" Ben asked.

  "I have to go talk to him." Kendi pulled out an outfit he rarely wore because it was so dressy-an electric blue silk tunic with matching trousers that set off his dark skin and eyes.

  "Talk to who?"

  "The art gallery owner." He pulled a long length of red cloth from the closet and expertly wound it into a turban. A purple amethyst lapel pin completed the ensemble. Ben gnawed his lower lip, feeling like he had let Kendi down. If he had done a proper job shadowing Roon, Kendi wouldn't have to go back to the gallery. Ben felt had somehow blown it, but he didn't know what he had done wrong. Kendi didn't seem upset, but still.

  "How do I look?" Kendi asked.

  "What look are you going for?" Ben countered, sitting up.

  "Wealthy collector."

  "Works for me. Um… do you want me to go with you? Back you up?"

  "No, I'll be better off alone. Send out the troops if you don't hear from me in two hours."

  And then he was gone, leaving Ben alone on the bed.

  Bedj-ka ghosted along the walkway, staying close to the shadows. Insects chirped among the talltree leaves, and his feet made only a tiny whisper of sound on the wooden path. The forest was almost completely dark beneath the talltree canopy, though enough silvery moonlight filtered through the leaves to let him see where he was going. The house, built into the branches of the talltree, lay about ten meters ahead of him. Like most Bellerophon treehouses, it sported a wide balcony that went all the around it. Golden light shone from the house windows, and a pair of enormous, shaggy humans guarded the front door. Bedj-ka halted where he was. He knew from experience that if he got much closer, the two men would spot him, no matter how many points he put into his stealth skill. This time, however, he had a different idea.

  Just before reaching the discovery point, Bedj-ka oozed carefully over the rail of the walkway. The forest floor was shrouded in shadow, and Bedj-ka was grateful for that-he didn't have to look at the hundred meter drop. Beneath the walkway was a fine polymer netting made to catch objects or people that slipped over the edge. Bedj-ka dropped fearlessly onto the netting and scuttled along the stretchy strands like a spider until he had made his way to the rear of the house, opposite the side with the guards. The men didn't stir. Bedj-ka reached up, got a hand on the walkway, and hoisted himself back onto it. This brought him almost directly under a rear window of the house-and got him past the guards unnoticed.

  Voices filtered out of the open window.

  "Where would she run to?" demanded a husky male voice. "Where's she hiding?"

  "I don't know," replied a woman in shaky tones. "How would I know?"

  The sound of a slap, a grunt of pain. Bedj-ka's throat tickled. He swallowed hard to suppress a cough and slowly raised himself up until he could peer through the window. A big, shaggy man in black was glowering down at a woman who was holding her cheek and trying to look defiant. Three other men in the room held energy pistols on a small crowd of scared-looking humans of varying ages. Some were younger than Bedj-ka.

  "Maybe I should kill one of the others," the shaggy man snarled. "Maybe then you'll be more forthcoming." He gestured at one of his men, who leveled a pistol at a boy Bedj-ka's age. "Tell me where Irfan Qasad is hiding, or the boy dies."

  "I can't tell you what I don't know," the woman cried. "Please, Mr. Clearwater. I really don't know where she is. None of us do."

  "Max," Clearwater said. Max tightened his finger around the pistol. Bedj-ka made an odd gesture, and the scene instantly froze. He stared through the window, trying to think. Bedj-ka had already died seven times, and he didn't want to make a mistake that handed him death number eight.

  Okay. The shaggy man was Ormand Clearwater, leader of the pirates. That he already knew. Irfan Qasad was hiding in the woods less than a kilometer away from Treetown, but she had no idea what the pirates were doing or why they had invaded Treetown. All she and the other escapees knew was that the pirates had slipships and a lot of weapons. Bedj-ka had volunteered to go spy on them to learn more, and Irfan had flashed him a grateful look before nodding and sending him off. She hadn't actually said whether or not he should rescue anyone, and the only weapon Bedj-ka had was a knife.

  A sudden cough exploded from Bedj-ka's throat. He put a fist to his mouth and coughed several more times, then swallowed. Was he getting sick? He hoped not. Good thing he had paused the game.

  Bedj-ka stared at the frozen scene for a long moment. Maybe Clearwater was bluffing, or maybe the woman did know something and would reveal it now. Regardless, Bedj-ka was sure that if he charged through the window, he would die.

  Or would he just be captured?

  Bedj-ka suddenly wished he had read more about Bellerophon's history. The sim was supposed to be historically accurate, and he had the feeling he was playing the part of a real person. If he knew what that person had done, Bedj-ka might know what to do now.

  Clearwater continued to train his pistol on the cowering woman. Bedj-ka did know that Clearwater was actually a minor player in all this. The real villain was Daniel Vik, who was even now amassing an army to attack Treetown and the new Silent who lived there. Irfan — and Bedj-ka — had to find a way to stop Clearwater and rid Treetown of the pirates before Vik got wind of their presence. If he knew how vulnerable Treetown currently was, he would almost certainly invade in force and the Silent would be wiped from the face of the planet.

  Bedj-ka drew an "S" in mid-air. The letter glowed briefly, then flashed and vanished, indicating the game had been saved. If he blew it, he could just restart from this point and try again. Bedj-ka drew his knife and made the gesture that would re-start the scene.

  "Hold it!" he shouted, and dove through the window. Everyone turned in surprise. Clearwater's face shifted into a mask of rage — and then froze again.

  "Time
expired," said a dry computer voice. "Do you wish to save the game before exiting?"

  Bedj-ka sighed. "No." The scene vanished, replaced by the blank inside of sim goggles. Bedj-ka pulled them off, removed gloves, boots, and earpieces, and stepped off the little trampoline which could become rigid or soft, depending on what sort of surface the sim called for. He considered calling Mom to ask for more sim time, but ultimately decided against it. She always said no, and he didn't feel like arguing with her right now.

  A coughing fit seized him, followed by a hefty sneeze. Definitely a cold. He grimaced. Getting sick meant you had sinned and were being punished. It also meant being confined to bed, having to drink horrible-tasting medicine several times a day, and having the other children pray over you. He didn't want to go through that here.

  What had he done? Bedj-ka tried to think. He hadn't disobeyed Mom that he remembered, though maybe he hadn't obeyed her as fast as he could have. He didn't like Sister Gretchen very much. Did that count? He didn't know.

  Bedj-ka put the sim equipment on the shelf in the living room of the quarters he and Mom shared. They were nice, a lot nicer than the Enclave had ever been. Everything was done in soft blue, and several windows looked out into space. There was a big living room, a bathroom with both a shower and a tub, and two bedrooms. The rooms were also quiet, with no gongs to mark meditation time and no bells to mark learning time, eating time, and play time, no shouts and yells of other kids. The only sound was the soft rush of the ventilation system. Bedj-ka liked that. He could be alone whenever he wanted.

  In this place, Bedj-ka had his own room. It was small, but it had a door he could close and a bed that stood by itself instead of in a long row of other beds. It also had a window. Bedj-ka had his own closet with seven whole outfits Mom had bought for him on Drim and on SA Station. He had unlimited access to the galley and could get something to eat whenever he liked, as long as it wasn't too close to a meal time. He had bookdisks and sim games and other toys, all things Mom had bought for him. She limited the amount of time he could play sim games, but he could read all he wanted. Bedj-ka liked reading. The Enclave had taught him how, but Matron and Patron had made it clear a lot of stuff was forbidden to the Silent. Silent were weaker than other humans, more prone to corruption, and they had to be sheltered. When Bedj-ka had brought this fact up with Mom, however, her face had gotten all tight. The next day, he had found a small library of bookdisks in his room, ones filled with histories and fairy tales and stories of adventure the Enclave had forbidden. Bedj-ka had devoured most of them. At first he had felt guilty and wondered whether he would get corrupted, but nothing had happened, and then Mom had asked him about some of the books at supper. That had been a surprise. He hadn't known she'd read them too. Mom wasn't corrupt. She had gotten him away from the chocolate farm.