“All life,” he said. “You did.”
“It was just a little fun,” Martina said defensively. “Only the little ones hang around during the winter, and they’re not very dangerous if you know what you’re doing. I made a little mistake, that’s all.”
Anger seized Kendi. “How the hell did you learn what to do?”
“I found a club. It’s called the Wild Dinosaur Rodeo. Look, we take all the appropriate precautions.”
“Precautions?” Kendi echoed in disbelief. “Precautions? How about this for a precaution—stay the hell away from wild carnosaurs!”
“It’s my life,” Martina flared back. “You’re my brother, not my father. Or my owner.”
Kendi was seized with an urge to slap her. How could she endanger herself like that, especially after everything he had gone through to rescue her? After he had worried for fifteen years that she was already dead? But he forced himself to calm down. She was right about one thing—he hadn’t rescued her from slavery in order to dictate her—
A presence brushed his mind, and suddenly Kendi was hungry. Ravenous. Starving. He’d been feeling a little peckish before, but now he felt ready to run down a dinosaur and tear into it with his bare teeth. “s quickly as the sensation came, it vanished. A wave of tender sentimentality flooded him. Martina, his baby sister, so lost and abused for so many years, and now she was right here on the sofa next to him. He shouldn’t feel angry at her. He should to apologize, beg her forgiveness, ask for—
~”ll right, Ben,~ he thought. ~So you can whisper, too.~
~I’m getting pretty good,~ came Ben’s mental voice. ~Though I haven’t tried it with a non-Silent yet.~
Martina deduced what was going on by the shifting expressions on Kendi’s face. “He did it, huh?”
“He did it,” Kendi said. “And now he can stop.” Manipulating people’s emotions from the Dream—whispering—had never been one of Kendi’s talents, and it always made him feel a little creepy.
~I’ll come out,~ Ben said. ~See you in a second.~
The presence vanished from Kendi’s mind. A moment later, Ben emerged from Martina’s bedroom, twirling his dermospray like a short baton. Kendi shook off the remnants of false emotion and gave Ben a congratulatory hug, his anger at Martina forgotten.
“The Children of Irfan are going to want you more than ever now,” he said.
“Forget it,” Ben said. “I’ve worked freelance all my life, and I’m not going to tie myself down with their rules and regulations.”
“That sounds strange coming from you, Ben,” Martina said from the couch. “I would expect to hear that from Kendi.”
“Kendi’s no good unless he has rules to break,” Ben said, “I avoid the rules altogether.”
“What’s going on?” said a sleepy voice. Keith stood in his bedroom doorway, looking rumpled. “You guys are being really noisy.”
“Ben and I were showing off for Kendi,” Martina said. “Enjoy your nap? You must be getting pretty good at them by now.”
“Was that sarcasm?” Keith said. “I’m not awake enough for sarcasm.”
“Keith,” Kendi said gently, “sleeping all the time is a sign of depression. Look, I can get you in to see a counselor. Or maybe the two of us can talk about...stuff. I don’t have a degree in psych, but I can listen. And maybe you can—”
“I’m not depressed,” Keith interrupted with a hint of steel. “I’m tired all the time because the Children are keeping me so busy in the Dream I barely have time to piss. In the last week, three people have quit or just disappeared, and I have to help cover for them. This is the first day off I’ve had in almost two weeks. Pardon me if I want to sleep late.”
“It’s after lunch,” Martina said in a quiet voice. “A little late for late.”
There was a long pause. Then Keith said, “What’s there to eat?”
“Kendi and Ben brought a whole lot of stuff,” Martina said. “We put it in the refrigerator. There’s ravioli, herb bread, some kind of salad. And cheesecake. You have to try the cheesecake. One bite and your depre—your grouchiness will disappear like a bad dream.”
“I’m not grouchy,” Keith growled, and stomped into the kitchen. A second later, he squawked, “What the fuck?”
“Sorry!” Kendi called. “Lars is here. Should’ve warned you. Lars, you know my brother Keith, right?”
“We know each other,” Keith called back. “Still scared the shit out of me. Fuck.” The refrigerator door opened, then slammed shut.
“He’s like this all the time,” Martina murmured. “Either sleeping or complaining. I’m starting to invent reasons to get out of the house so I don’t have to listen to him.”
“We’ll keep working on him,” Kendi murmured back. “Not much else we can do. We can’t force him to see a counselor.”
“I don’t know,” Martina grumbled. “I have a cricket bat around here somewhere.”
Keith came back into the living room with a reheated plate of food. The rich herb and tomato smells would have set Kendi’s mouth to watering if he hadn’t just eaten. Lucia’s cooking lessons were paying off. Neither Kendi nor Ben would ever be chefs, but they were no longer dependent on ordering out every day, and had managed to cut their food bills by more than half. And ever since Kendi had come up with a...creative new use for cheesecake batter, Ben had become much more receptive to spending extra time in the kitchen.
“So what’s on the schedule for Three Drink Night?” Ben asked. “It’s just next week, you know.”
“Three Drink Night?” Keith asked around a mouthful of bread. “What’s that?”
“Don’t you pay attention?” Martina said, gesturing at the living room. “I’ve been decorating.”
She had. Three large candles stood next to three silvery goblets on the coffee table. Three sketches of Irfan—done by Martina herself—hung on the wall next to a small shelf with three new books on it. Three talltree withes hung over the entrance to the hallway.
“It’s a party holiday,” Kendi said. “You do everything in threes—eating, drinking, gambling, and...um...”
“Sex?” Martina supplied. “Must be hard on the guys.”
“It’s a Ched-Balaar holiday,” Kendi laughed. “Things are little different for them.”
“Mom usually threw a party,” Ben said. “I think...I think I’d like to throw one, too. If Lewa will let us, that is.”
“Grandma’s throwing one,” Kendi said. “I’ll have to put in an appearance.”
“Then we’ll throw a little one here as well,” Martina said. “Just for an hour or something. That’ll make three parties.”
“I like that,” Ben said with enthusiasm. “We start here, go to Grandma’s, and end up at our house.”
They discussed plans for almost an hour. Keith volunteered little, though his eating may have interfered. At least, Kendi observed, his appetite seemed unaffected by his mood.
After a while, the rain lightened noticeably, and the gray sky visible through the window showed a few cracks of blue.
“We should get home,” Kendi said, rising. “This break in the rain won’t last long.”
Keith set his plate aside and brushed crumbs from his shirt. “I’ll go with you. After that meal, I’m suddenly in the mood for a brisk walk.”
They collected Lars from his waiting post in the kitchen, donned rain slickers, and headed out. The late afternoon air was chilly and damp but clean-smelling. Water glistened and dripped from every talltree leaf, pattering lightly on Kendi’s slicker. The foursome made their way over the walkways and staircases. Pedestrian traffic was light, and their footsteps thumped over the boards like muffled drumbeats. Lars walked just ahead of Kendi, eyes alert.
They were halfway to their destination when Kendi felt a sting on the back of his neck beneath his slicker. He slapped at it and spun around with an oath. Keith, walking behind him, had also turned.
“What the hell was that?” Keith said, looking over his shoulder. “I thought
I saw—”
Kendi collapsed to the boardwalk. Ben blinked down at him, uncomprehending. Lars shoved Ben aside and dropped to his knees. He rolled Kendi over, revealing a thin trickle of blood that flowed from the back of Kendi’s neck. Face set, Lars pulled a small metal dart from the wound, then yanked a kit from his under his slicker. Belated fear thrilled through Ben.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ben demanded. He tapped his earpiece. “Emergency! I need a medical emergency team right away!”
“We’re tracking your signal, sir,” said a calm voice in his ear. “A team is on the way. What’s your emergency?”
“It’s Kendi,” Ben said tersely. “He collapsed. He’s unconscious. I think it’s poison.”
Lars, meanwhile, opened the kit and produced a dermospray and a small suction unit. He ripped Kendi’s slicker off, pressed the suction unit to the wound, and set the dermospray against the skin beside it. The dermospray thumped and the suction unit clamped itself to Kendi’s neck.
“Is he breathing?” asked the voice.
“I think so,” Ben said. “Yes. But it’s fast and shallow and he’s sweating. Our bodyguard is giving him something. A broad-spectrum antidote.”
Lars took out a medical scanner and touched it to the suction unit. It beeped once, and text scrolled down the display. Ben read over his shoulder, surprised at how calm he felt. It was as if he were floating in a quiet pool of water, watching everything happen to someone else. A crowd was gathering, but Ben was too busy reading to notice.
“The first aid kit found polydithalocide in the wound,” he reported. “Oh, god. That’s a neurotoxin.”
Lars put another ampule in the hypospray and thumped it against Kendi’s neck.
“The rescue team is almost there, sir,” the voice said. “You should see them now.”
“They’re here!” Keith said, pointing upward and waving his arms. “Hey! Over this way!”
“n ambulance dropped from the sky like a stone and landed a few yards away. The backblast blew through Ben’s hair and sent a shower of water over everything. Two paramedics were on the ground before the ambulance had fully landed. They gave Kendi a quick examination and bundled him onto a hovering stretcher while a third paramedic asked questions. Ben answered as best he could, but Kendi’s ashen face and slack body were a terrifying distraction. Ben climbed into the ambulance behind the stretcher, leaving Lars and Keith on the walkway with the crowd. Several people in the crowd had cameras and other recording devices. Ben turned his back on them as the paramedics slammed the double doors.
The ride to the medical center was horrible for all that it was short. Ben pressed himself against the side of the ambulance while the paramedics worked on Kendi. They slapped IVs on his hands, and the tubules burrowed into his skin like worms. One medic injected more drugs. Then a shrill alarm sounded. Kendi’s heart had stopped.
Ben stuffed a fist into his mouth to keep from crying out and distracting the medical team. The first paramedic, a blond man, slapped a patch on Kendi’s chest—they had already cut his shirt off—and jabbed at one of the medical scanners. Kendi twitched, then lay still. The alarm continued to shrill. The paramedic jabbed the scanner again. Kendi twitched, but didn’t respond further. Another paramedic slipped a breathing tube into Kendi’s mouth, and it slid down his trachea like a long snake. Oxygen hissed. Ben watched, feeling cold, alone, and helpless. The paramedics ignored him and gave each other tense, terse orders.
Please, Ben pleaded. Oh god—please don’t let him die. I can’t lose him. Please, please wake up, Kendi. I can’t lose you like I lost Mom.
The blond paramedic slapped the scanner again. Kendi twitched once and lay still. Ben wanted to lay down and die. Ben’s children—their children—would grow up without their Da. They would never know him, never play with him, never take family trips or run through the park with him. And neither would Ben.
The scanner beeped once, then twice, and a third time. It took Ben a moment to realize it was Kendi’s heartbeat. His legs went weak and he slid to the floor. The paramedics continued their work. Why was it taking so long to get to the medical center? They should be there by—
The ambulance landed, and the paramedics whisked Kendi’s hovering stretcher into the emergency room. Ben hurried to follow, but an orderly blocked his way.
“I know you’re worried, Mr. Rymar,” she said, “but you need to give us room to work on him. The moment we have news, we’ll let you know. Do you have anyone you can call?”
Slowly Ben nodded. He turned and walked like a zombie into the waiting area, which was just off the main doors. A scattering of other worried-looking humans sat in worn chairs or paced about. The room smelled like floor polish and stale fried food.
A commotion at the main entrance caught his attention, and Ben turned to see what was going on. A bunch of people crowded the entrance, trying to push past a trio of security guards that barred their way. Cameras beeped wildly and a dozen voices shouted questions.
“Mr. Rymar, can you tell us what happened?” “Mr. Rymar, can you confirm that Father Kendi is dead?” “Mr. Rymar, was this an accident or an attempt at murder?” “Mr. Rymar—” “Mr. Rymar—” “Mr. Rymar—”
Ben fled. He shoved open the nearest door and stumbled into the hallway beyond. The door swung shut, cutting off the noise. It was too much. He couldn’t handle it. Already, he knew, pictures and holograms and live reports were cramming the feeds, feeding the relentless, hungry maw of a nosy public. The weight of it all pressed him down with a terrible weight, and he suddenly felt dizzy. He sank to the cold floor, put his head between his knees, and tried to slow his breathing. After several breaths, he sank into a stupor, staring at the white tiles without thinking. It was a blessed blankness.
A hand touched his shoulder. “Ben?”
He looked up to see Lucia kneeling beside him. Harenn, Keith, Martina, and Bedj-ka stood beside her. He hadn’t even heard them come in.
“Is there news?” he croaked. His mouth was so dry he could barely move his tongue.
“None yet,” Lucia said. “Keith called us and we came right over.”
“I want to be with him, Harenn,” Ben said. “I should be there.”
“I know.” Lucia put an arm around him and he noticed her newly-rounded stomach. “The orderly said we can wait in that empty patient room over there. Can you stand up?”
Ben found he could. The group filed into the room. Lucia and Harenn sat on the bed while the others crowded along the wall. No one spoke. Ben started to take the only chair, then found he was too restless to sit.
“You probably want to know what happened,” Ben said.
“Lars and Keith filled us in,” Martina said. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“His heart stopped for a while,” Ben said dully. “But they got it started again. Now they’re doing other stuff to him, but I don’t know what.”
“Polydithalocide poisoning is treatable,” Harenn said. “And Lars acted quickly. I am confident Kendi will be fine.”
Ben tried to find hope in her words, but his mind kept shutting down. Bedj-ka, standing in the corner, was clearly fighting tears.
“The reporters were real assholes,” Keith growled. “A pack of vultures hanging around the—”
“Okay, Keith,” Martina interrupted. “We don’t need to dwell on that.”
“He’s my fucking brother,” Keith snarled. “I’ll dwell on whatever I—”
“Mr. Rymar?” A man in a white coat stood in the doorway. “I’m Dr. Ridge.”
Ben’s heart jumped. “How is he?” he demanded, wanting and not wanting to hear the answer.
“He’s going to live,” Dr. Ridge said, and a universal breath of relief sighed through the room. “It was touchy for a while, no question, but he’ll recover. The rain slicker prevented the dart from penetrating completely and he only got a partial dose of the toxin. Still, Father Kendi wouldn’t have made it if your bodyguard hadn’t adm
inistered those antidotes. You can thank him more than me.”
“I will,” Ben said. His throat was thick. “Is Kendi awake? Can I see him?”
“We’re transferring him to intensive care upstairs,” Dr. Ridge said. “He’s still unconscious but should wake up soon. You can see him when he does. He’ll be very weak and will have to spend several days with us.”
Ben thanked Dr. Ridge and accepted embraces from everyone in the room, including Bedj-ka. Almost everyone was wiping surreptitious tears from their eyes. Upstairs at the intensive care ward, the nurse on duty firmly refused anyone who wasn’t family to enter.
“Mr. Rymar and no one else,” she said. “Those are the rules.”
“I’ll stay here in the waiting room in case Ben needs me,” Martina said. “The rest of you should go home, especially the pregnant ladies. You need your rest.”
“I will need to speak with you first, Mr. Rymar,” said a new voice. It was Inspector Ched-Theree, her blue cloth tied neatly around her head and her silver medallion around her neck. She looked incongruous, standing in a low-ceilinged hallway designed for humans. The Ched-Balaar’s medical needs were vastly different from human ones, and they had a different medical center. “This was a clear attempt at murder, and I have many questions to ask.”
Ben swallowed. In all the stress and excitement, he had completely forgotten about that. Anger kindled inside him and overshadowed the fear. The bastard who had done this would pay. Ben wouldn’t rest until he had his hands around the asshole’s throat. If only he knew who had—
The thought struck him with absolute clarity. Sufur. It has to be Padric Sufur.
“I have already spoken to Father Kendi’s brother and to the bodyguard,” Ched-Theree was saying. “Now I will need your statement, Mr. Rymar. Perhaps we could sit in the waiting area.”
“Do you wish that we stay, Ben?” Harenn asked.
“No,” Ben said, forcing the anger back. “Martina was right—you should go home. I’ll be fine with Martina.”
The others left. Martina, Ben, and Ched-Theree retired to a small waiting room, where the Inspector had Ben go through the events. Unfortunately, Ben had been walking just in front of Kendi and hadn’t noticed much.
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