Offspring

by Steven Harper

  Keith squatted down and ran his hands over the heavy skin at his feet. “Wow.”

  “Dinosaur riding is a big sport here,” Kendi said. “We’re trying the easy version.”

  “What’s the hard version?” Martina asked.

  “Smaller dinos who are more likely to notice you. And for the real danger-mice—carnosaurs. People have died trying that one.”

  “Oh, god,” Keith said.

  Another round of moaning cycled through the heard. The sound traveled up Kendi’s body in a low, almost delicious vibration. A flock of glider lizards slid overhead, squeaking like excited children. The herd plodding on as if the Weavers didn’t exist.

  “You mean people actually climb on a wild meat-eater?” Martina said. “All life!”

  “Yeah. And people call me insane,” Kendi said. “You’d never catch me trying to—”

  “How can you do it?” Martina asked. “Is there a club or something?”

  Kendi realized her eyes were sparkling. It made her look bewitchingly beautiful. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “You want to try—”

  “I never imagined such things were possible before,” Martina said. “Not even in the Dream. I want to try them, Kendi. I want to try everything. Riding a meat-eater—that would be a real slice of life!”

  “Long as you don’t let the life slice you,” Kendi said.

  “I’m serious, big brother,” she said. “Look at me! “ll life, a month ago I was a slave and now I’m riding a dinosaur! I’ll have to work hard to top this!”

  And she ran toward the dinosaur’s neck.

  “Martina!” Keith shouted. “What are you—”

  “I want a better view, guys. Come on!” She reached the base of the creature’s neck. It was as big around as a good-sized tree trunk, but Martina wrapped her arms and legs around it. With a wide grin, she shimmied upward, using her arms and thighs for purchase.

  “Martina!” Kendi yelled.

  The dinosaur didn’t react at first. Then it brought its head around, trying to see what was going on. Martina laughed and clung tightly as the animal’s neck swung and twisted beneath her. Kendi’s heart leaped into his throat.

  “Martina!” he yelled again. “Get down from there!”

  The irvinosaur made a low, rumbling sound Kendi didn’t like. Martina whooped one more time, then slid back down to the creature’s back. She trotted back to her brothers, breathless and laughing.

  “That was the greatest!” she said. “All life, you have to—”

  “Martina,” Kendi said with absolute calm, “move slowly toward the gravity sled. Now. Right now.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Do it!” Keith hissed. He grabbed her arm. “Come on!”

  “Why?” she repeated. “I don’t see—oh.”

  The entire herd had come to a stop. Half a dozen dinosaurs, including the one the Weavers were riding, had bent their heads around the siblings like strangely animated trees. One or two were chewing cud. They blinked and stared, clearly uncertain about these strange creatures riding their lead male. Kendi swallowed. Irvinosaurs were stupid and slow to react, but if they decided the humans were a threat ...

  One of the herd let out a bellow that nearly blasted Kendi off his feet. The alpha female raised her head high in an aggressive posture. Her roar was echoed by the others.

  “Run!” Kendi shouted.

  Keith and Martina dove for the sled. The alpha brought her head down toward Kendi and he leaped aside just before it crashed into the spot where had been standing. The male they were riding roared in pain, anger, or both. Kendi scrambled aboard the sled and kicked the tow rope loose. Another dinosaur raised its head.

  “Hang on,” he snapped, and punched one of the controls on the pedestal. The sled shot straight up. Kendi’s stomach fell into his shoes and the dinosaurs smeared into green-brown blurs.

  “Watch it!” Martina yelped.

  Kendi flicked another control and the sled stopped. For a split-second he was weightless and his feet left the surface of the sled. His head brushed something, then he came back down on the sled again. Keith looked queasy. A talltree branch stretched into the forest only a few centimeters above their heads. Another split-second and the sled would have crashed into it. Kendi’s knees felt weak, and he sank slowly to a sitting position. The irvinosaurs continued to bellow below.

  “All life,” Kendi whispered.

  Martina raised her arms and whooped. “That was great!” she yelled. “We are gods! Do you hear that, world? You can’t touch me!”

  “Martina?” Keith said. “You’re scaring me.”

  “You’ve been acting like an old woman ever since Kendi freed us, Keith,” she said. “Me, I want to live it up.”

  Kendi peered over the side of the gravity sled. The irvinosaur herd had moved on, leaving a trail of trampled undergrowth. “Let’s go home and live it up there for a while,” he said. “There’s a staircase topside just over there.”

  Keith said he wanted to lie down, so they dropped the gravity sled off at the rental agency—Kendi caught Martina checking the place’s message board for notices about dinosaur riding clubs—and trouped back to the house Keith and Martina shared. It was a small house, and high up in its tree, where the branches were barely thick enough to support the platform. The house rocked perceptibly during strong winds. It had originally belonged to Ben, then to Ben and Kendi, then just to Ben again. Kendi had once observed that friends could update themselves on the status of his and Ben’s relationship by checking local housing records. With Ben and Kendi now living in the house Ben had inherited from his mother, the little house had stood vacant until Keith and Martina’s rescue from slavery. Kendi had offered to let them live with him and Ben, but both of them had refused.

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Martina had said. “Besides, I like the idea of living in my own, separate house.”

  Martina, still glowing from the ride, entered first, followed by her brothers. Keith went immediately into his room and shut the door. Martina checked the kitchen.

  “I’m starved,” she said. “Want some lunch? I make a mean macaroni and cheese.”

  “Sure,” Kendi said. He sat down at the tiny kitchen table. The place was scrupulously clean. A window looked out over a long talltree branch. Gloomy sky sulked in the spaces between green leaves. “Will Keith want anything?”

  “He hasn’t been eating well lately,” Martina admitted. She set a pot of water on the stove and took an onion from the refrigerator. “He’s had a few good days since we got here, but they’re getting few and far between.”

  “I know. I’ve been watching him.” Kendi ran a fingertip over the tabletop. “I could pull some strings, get him into a counselor.”

  “He won’t do it.” Martina skinned the onion with deft movements and set to chopping. The sharp, sweet smell mingled with steam from the pot. “You can’t make someone see a therapist if they don’t want to. And anyway, getting him in would displace someone else, someone who was Silenced and who really needs a counselor.”

  “You don’t think Keith should see someone?”

  “No. I just think that other people—Silenced people—need it more.”

  She went back to chopping. Kendi watched her for a while. “ll life, she had grown. She had been barely ten years old at the slave auction that had broken their family into bits. Now she was a fully-grown woman, able to cook and enter the Dream and ride a dinosaur.

  “How was it for you?” he asked suddenly.

  Chop, chop, chop. “How was what?”

  “Slavery.”

  “I’ve told you that.”

  “No.” Kendi crossed his ankle over his knee. “Not slavery to the S” Station cult. I mean before that. When you were a...a regular slave.”

  Martina smiled at him. She had a beautiful smile, Kendi decided, and a wave of affection flowed over him.

  “Regular slave,” she said. “I like that. I was only a regular slave for a litt
le while, though. A history professor bought me to work in his house. He wasn’t a bad guy, in his way. He didn’t molest me or beat me or anything like that, and he let me read in his library when my work was done for the day. But when my Silence surfaced—I think I was twelve or thirteen—he sold me for the profit to a company that trains Silent slaves and resells them. I stayed with them for...six years? Seven? Anyway, they sold me to a law firm, and they eventually sold me to DrimCom. I worked for them until that weirdo cult kidnapped me a few months after the Despair. Overall, I had it pretty good. You hear stories about slaves being tortured or beaten or”—she lowered her voice and glanced toward Keith’s bedroom door—”raped. But none of that happened to me. It took me a long time to get over being sold away from you guys and from Mom and Dad, but I eventually coped. No other choice, you know?”

  She got chunks of cheddar and mozzarella cheese out of the refrigerator and started grating them. The cheeses made fluffy, pungent mounds next to the pale pile of onion.

  “So how was slavery for you?” she continued. “You said you worked on a frog farm.”

  “I hated it,” Kendi said. His stomach growled and he wondered if he could swipe a piece of cheese. “No surprise, eh? I was a mucker, the lowest of the low. We worked right in the ponds, catching frogs, reconfiguring the shorelines, digging new water holes. It was hard, filthy work, and the managers were always looking for an excuse to crack their whips.”

  “But Mom was there.” Martina poured flour, salt, oil, and other ingredients into a small machine. It whirred busily, and a small heap of elbow macaroni tumbled out the bottom like soft, misshapen snowflakes.

  “Yeah. They put her in the kitchen. She snuck me and Pup extra food when she could.”

  “Pup?”

  “Another boy my age. We became best friends after a while. Then a woman visited the farm. She was Silent, and she touched me. Pow! I thought she had socked me with a cattle prod. Mom turned out to be Silent, too, and Mistress Blanc—my owner—sold us for the profit. We were split up. I was lucky that the Children of Irfan bought me, but I never heard from Mom again.” Kendi’s throat grew thick and he cleared it hard. “Sorry. I’ve been looking for her and Dad ever since, but I’ve never gotten a lead.”

  “I’ll help you look,” Martina said. “If Mom and Dad are out there, we’ll find them one day.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Hey, you found me and Keith.” Martina dumped the macaroni into the water and counted to twenty. She drained it, mixed it with the cheese and onions, poured in a little milk, and popped the dish into the oven.

  “Bake medium, ten minutes,” she said to the computer, then sat next to Kendi at the table. “So was Pup just a friend or something more?”

  “Just a friend,” Kendi laughed. “I think I wanted something more from him, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Too young yet. I don’t think Pup was interested anyway. What about you? Did you ever pair up with anyone?”

  Martina’s eyes went flat. “Only once. He was sold away. I haven’t really been looking since then. Some slaves grab whatever love or sex they can, but me—I didn’t want to.”

  “Too much to lose,” Kendi said quietly.

  “Something like that.”

  They sat in silence until the computer chimed, announcing that the macaroni and cheese was done.

  “Father Weaver, I’d like to ask a candid question, if I could,” said Tel Brace.

  “Shoot,” Kendi said, leaning back in his office chair. The holograms of Ben, Gretchen, and himself were lined up on his desk. Kendi had deliberately set them so that they seemed to staring up at Tel Brace.

  “Are you in negotiation with another game company?”

  Kendi’s eyes widened a tiny bit. “No!” he said a little too quickly. “I wouldn’t do such a thing. It might upset the generous deal I have with you, Mr. Brace. I’ve just been really busy with Grandma’s campaign and all and haven’t had much of a chance to look at the agreement.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Brace managed a weak smile and Kendi noticed a tiny line of sweat at his blond hairline.

  “Speaking of the contract,” Kendi said, “I had a question about one part. This clause states that you’ll own the exclusive rights to use my image in any capacity. I’m not so sure about that one. The other—I mean, I’ve heard that other game companies don’t run things that way. I need to appear in the game itself, obviously, and in ads for the game, but I might need to use my own image somewhere else once in a while, you know?”

  “Well, maybe we can pare that back a little.” Brace tapped his data pad, then beamed a change to Kendi’s pad. “I like your data pad, by the way. New?”

  “A gift,” Kendi said.

  “There. How’s that? Game and ads—that’s it.”

  “Better,” Kendi said. “Where’s my stylus? I can probably sign right—oops! You forgot to take out the word ‘exclusive.’ “

  “Sorry. Just strike it.”

  Kendi took out his stylus, touched the tip to the agreement, then paused. “When’s the deadline for this, anyway?”

  The sweat on Brace’s forehead became more pronounced. “Er, it’s not firm yet. We hope to start beta testing next year.”

  Kendi nodded, though inside he was grinning wide. Brace was lying through his keen, white teeth. Ben had spent a little time on the gaming boards and uncovered plenty of rumors that “Dream and Despair” was actually almost ready for beta testing now. That meant HyperFlight had made the enormous mistake of starting production on the game before all the contracts were signed. Kendi, Ben, and Gretchen were in a position to stall the release indefinitely and cost the company millions of freemarks.

  “You know,” Kendi said, toying thoughtfully with the stylus, “three percent royalty seems a little low. I know I’m not doing any of the actual writing, but it is my story. Ben did some research and found out that the—that other companies pay four percent.”

  “Only for really famous celebrities,” Brace said. His eyes never left the stylus.

  Kendi gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Sometimes I swear my name is a household word, Mr. Brace. But if HyperFlight doesn’t want to do that, I can understand. Times are tough. You can take the agreement back and ask your bosses about it, I guess. I’ll be out of town for a couple of months on the campaign trail, and maybe we can talk again when I get—”

  “I think we can handle four percent,” Brace said.

  “And raise the other rate, too?” Kendi asked. “Five point five percent on every copy sold after the first two million? Though I read somewhere that the breakpoint for books is the first million. I don’t suppose that—”

  “Five point five after the first million,” Brace said recklessly. “And we’ll raise the advance to one point five million freemarks.”

  “And make the same offer to Ben and Gretchen.”

  “They’re minor characters,” Brace countered. “Half a million advance to each of them, royalties at two and two point five.”

  “Three quarters of a million to Gretchen. Ben stays at half.”

  “Done.”

  Kendi signed with a flourish. “Thank you, Mr. Brace. I’m sure Ben and Gretchen will sign without a problem.”

  Brace got up, shook Kendi’s hand, and moved toward the door. He seemed to be in a daze. Kendi picked up Ben’s hologram by the base and turned it over. The movement caught Brace’s eye and he turned in time to see Kendi scrape a tiny, translucent button off the bottom and crush it with his fingertips. Brace winced and his hand rose to his ear. At the last moment, he scratched his temple instead.

  “Speck of dirt,” Kendi said. “I look forward to playing this game when it comes out, Mr. Brace. Do you think I’ll choose Gretchen or Ben as my love interest?”

  “I really have no idea,” Brace said in a faint voice. He left Kendi’s office and quietly, carefully closed the door.

  Jolanda Rondeau double-checked the pheromone tanks. Full. The motor on the ultralight purred like a co
ntented lizzie-bat. Her mechanic made a final adjustment and gave Jolanda a thumbs-up.

  “Thanks,” Jolanda said, and put on her helmet. “Tell Frank I hope he’s feeling better.”

  “Will do,” the mechanic said.

  Jolanda boarded her craft. The ultralight looked like the skeleton of a tiny airplane, one just big enough for a single pilot. Ahead of the craft stretched a fallen talltree trunk, which was so massive the top formed a nearly flat surface. The bark had been sanded off and platforms hung off either side. At one end, the monstrous roots made a tangle that reached three stories above the trunk. A small hangar had been built there. At the other end, the branches had been cut off, leaving a long, smooth expanse that made a fine runway. The fallen tree left open a strip of open space that would let small aircraft slip unhindered into the sky.

  Jolanda goosed the motor and started down the runway. To her left she caught sight of the mechanic. He was a dark-haired man with bland features. Jolanda had never seen him before, but it wasn’t unusual to have a substitute mechanic now and then. She put him out of her mind and turned her attention to flying.

  The takeoff was smooth, as it always was, and her stomach dropped as she grabbed fast altitude. Jolanda inhaled in the crisp, clean-smelling air that rushed over her face. Below her, the tops of the talltrees made a green carpet that stretched all the way to the horizon. Jolanda loved it up here. She could pretend she was the only person in the entire world, with nothing but sunlight above and leaves below.

  Jolanda checked the navigation computer and nosed around until she was pointed in the right direction. Then she tapped a button. Behind her, a thin, steady stream of mist jetted from the pheromone tanks. The pheromones would disperse and spread, keeping the more dangerous carnosaurs away from Treetown. Jolanda checked the tanks and went into a grid dispersal pattern. Once she had flown this route twice a week. Now she did it twice a month. The city couldn’t afford any more than that. The irony was that tent cities had sprouted like mushrooms beneath the city, meaning more people walked the forest floor than ever. The inhabitants erected their shelters well away from the stomping grounds of the big herbivores, but the carnivores wandered more. Jolanda wondered how long it would be before a carnosaur chomped down some hapless homeless person.