It was Ben's part of the Dream.
Despite a thousand years of study, no one knew exactly what the Dream was, though the prevailing theory held that it was a plane of mental existence created from the collective subconscious of every sentient mind in the universe. The Silent--people like Ben and Kendi--could actually enter the Dream, usually with a boost from a drug cocktail tailored to their specific metabolisms.
In the Dream distance meant nothing. Two Silent who entered the Dream could meet and talk, no matter where in the galaxy their bodies might be. The Silent could also shape the Dream landscape, form it into whatever environment they desired. Some Silent--Sejal, for one--could reach out of the Dream and talk to Silent who were in the solid world. And a few could actually possess the bodies of Silent in the solid world. Ben hadn't learned to do any of this yet--shaping the landscape was as far as he could go--but he suspected it would come in time.
A few quiet voices whispered on the still air around the network. Kendi said the Dream used to be filled with thousands, even millions, of voices, but Ben had never experienced that. Ben had only been in the Dream once before the Despair, and then he hadn't been paying much attention to details.
Ben automatically searched the network--his turf--for flaws. Looked solid. He concentrated a moment. The Dream swirled, and a computer terminal coalesced into being, one with a crisp and sharp holographic screen. Ben flipped through a series of images, checking security cameras and anti-virus programs. Everything was in order, and Ben sighed with satisfaction. This was a good place. A bit unorthodox, but a good place. Every Silent had his or her own turf, full of comfortable or soothing images among which to work. Many Silent created idyllic landscapes or fantastic castles for themselves, but Ben found comfort in his network, a locale where everything fell into place and made perfect sense, where any and every anomaly could be tracked down and explained.
A transmission line glowed blue and disgorged a koala bear. It landed not far from Ben's feet, bounced twice, and skidded to a halt. After recovering its balance, it glanced around the network room with a small whuff of disapproval.
"Tough," Ben grinned. "This is my turf, not yours."
The koala grunted, then turned enormous brown eyes on Ben and held up its arms like a child demanding to be picked up. Ben laughed and felt some of his earlier tension ease. "I am not going to carry you," he said. "What are you, a little kid?"
In answer, the koala bear leaped straight into the air. Even as its hind claws left the ground, its form shifted like quicksilver and a blue-and-brown falcon flapped across the intervening space to land on Ben's shoulder. The falcon's talons gently pricked Ben's skin through the thin material of his shirt, and Ben had to force himself not to flinch. The little raptor leaned over and nibbled Ben's ear in what turned out to be a surprisingly suggestive manner.
"Knock it off, Kendi," Ben spluttered, pushing the beak away. "That tickles."
"But you taste so good," the falcon pouted.
Ben rolled his eyes. "Is this your attempt to be more impulsive?"
"Maybe."
A presence brushed Ben's mind, requesting permission enter his turf. At the same moment, a message flickered across the holographic screen: May I approach?
"Hey, Sejal," Ben said. "Come on in. Kendi didn't even bother to ask."
Another conduit glowed blue and Sejal Dasa slid into the room. He was a dark-skinned teenager, thin, with startling blue eyes and thick black hair that had a tendency to curl. He looked around the network and gave a low whistle.
"Pretty good," he said. "I hadn't seen your turf before."
"Thanks." Ben's reply was self-conscious. "I'm still kind of new to all this."
"Hey, you're one of the elite," Sejal pointed out. "Numbers are still coming in, but it looks like the early estimates were right--only about one Silent in ten can still enter the Dream these days."
Kendi shuddered once on Ben's shoulder. "I guess I should count myself lucky that I can get in at all."
"Any luck changing back into a human yet?" Sejal asked.
"No."
"So how are you guys doing?" Sejal said.
"Tired," Kendi replied. "When I'm not in the Dream, I'm in slipspace. The Order have kept us kind of busy in the last six months trying to track down other Children who were caught out in the field during the Despair."
Ben resisted the impulse to stroke Kendi's back. "How's the new government doing back home? Is my grandma still shaking things up?"
"Yeah." Sejal gave a wry smile. "She's fucking scary, you know that? She was three votes short in the election for Party Head, and none of the Senators who were voting against her would budge. So she talks to three of them. Private, right? And next thing you know, Senator Reza is Party Head. Just like that."
"Wow," Kendi said.
Ben nodded wryly. "That's Grandma. Heaven help anyone who gets in her way."
"Anyway," Sejal continued, "the new Bellerophon Senate is up and running, and the Independence Confederation of Planets is pretty much gone. I hear tell Empress Kalii just vanished--ran away or something."
"She was pretty popular," Ben said, surprised. "What happened?"
Sejal shrugged. "Got me. It's just a rumor I heard. I do know that the Children are raising their communication rates through the roof--so is everyone else who can still reach the Dream--and since almost nobody can talk between planets these days, everything's starting to come apart. The Empire of Human Unity's falling to pieces." This last came out with a certain amount of glee. "There's talk of recession all over the place. The galactic corps were really hard hit. Their Silent network for orders and money transfers and business communication--" he snapped his fingers "--gone in one shot."
"Any official numbers on how many Silent died during the Despair?" Kendi asked quietly.
Sejal shrugged again. " 'Lots' is the best I can tell you. If you go out there--" he waved a hand vaguely toward Ben's computer network "--the big thing going is trying to find out who survived and who didn't. It's depressing. I'm glad I didn't know anyone very well."
Kendi seemed to sense Ben's mood and nibbled lightly on his cheek in sympathy. Ara Rymar had been Kendi's surrogate mother as well as his teacher, and her death had hit him equally hard.
"Sorry," Sejal said, belatedly noticing the effect of his words. "Didn't mean to be a drag-down."
"We're not exactly bundles of sunshine," Kendi said. He adopted a more brisk tone. "So what's going on besides gossip, Sejal? Any good news?"
"Actually there is," Sejal replied. "That's why I wanted to talk to you."
"You've got more information about Bedj-ka?" Ben said. "We've just arrived at Klimkinnar, but a planet's a big place to search. We could use some more info."
"I've been trying. I mean, using the Dream to find people in the solid world is flipping hard these days," Sejal said. "I can reach out of the Dream and touch your minds pretty easy because I know you, but Bedj-ka's more difficult."
"I know," Kendi said. "I'm supposed to be one of the best Silent-finders ever, but these days I'm lucky to find Ben."
"Yeah. Anyway, when the Despair started up, I touched every Silent in the universe for a moment, including Bedj-ka. Talk about a major mind fuck." Sejal hawked and spat. "I told you about how I got a flash of the kid being on Klimkinnar, but I know that's not much to go on, so the last couple days I've been working on finding them again. If I listen really hard in the Dream, I can sometimes hear people who used to be Silent and track them a little bit."
"And?" Kendi asked tautly.
"I think Bedj-ka is in a country named Tiq. Does that help?"
Disappointment settled in Ben's stomach. He had been hoping for more than that. Still, searching a country would be a lot easier than searching an entire planet. They might be able to shave off a week, maybe even ten days if they were lucky.
"Tiq," Ben said. "Got it. Anything more?"
"He has a different name," Sejal told him. "That kind of goes without saying, I guess.
Most slavers change the names of their slaves."
"In Tiq and not named Bedj-ka," Kendi said. "Great. Any more?"
Sejal shrugged. "I'll keep looking."
"Then I guess we'll see you around," Kendi said, his own disappointment clear from his tone. "Let us know if you find out more."
"Okay." Sejal turned to go, then paused. "Oh yeah--something else. Bedj-ka's first name was changed to something like Terry or Jerry or maybe Kerry. And his last name is Markovi."
Ben's mouth fell open. Kendi froze, then puffed up his feathers in mock outrage.
"You little shit," he said. "Enjoy the remainder of your life on Bellerophon, kid, because you're dead when I get back."
Sejal laughed mischievously and vanished from the Dream. The network rippled for a moment and Ben felt an inrush of energy fill the spot Sejal had occupied.
"Little bastard," Kendi said happily.
Ben laughed. "Now you know how Mo--how the rest of us felt whenever you played a--"
"Don't," Kendi warned, "finish that sentence." His talons pricked Ben's skin menacingly.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Ben said, wide-eyed.
"Right. I'd better go tell Harenn." Kendi flapped to the ground and changed back into the koala.
"Do you need me on the bridge right away?" Ben asked. "There are a couple things I want to do in here while Lucia lands the ship."
"Should be okay for a few minutes," Kendi said. "We've already got fake trader credentials, so we won't need a hacker at the ready to forge them for us. See you in a few."
Koala Kendi vanished, leaving ripples in the Dream. Ben watched him go, then turned back to his computer network. The matrices glowed, lights flashed, and a soft, empty hum pervaded the air. An empty hum for an empty Dream, thanks to Padric Sufur. Ben's slow anger neared the boiling point. He made a curt gesture and the entire scene vanished, leaving behind the flat, empty plain that was the default environment of the Dream. Another gesture, and the ground shifted. A stone statue rumbled up out of the ground. It was crudely-formed--Ben wasn't much of an artist--but it was recognizably the life-sized figure of a gangly, older man with hawk-like features. The man's stony eyes stared at nothing. Ben contemplated the statue, then held up his hands. The Dream shifted and he was holding a sledgehammer. Ben's fury flared into brilliance. With a sudden yell, he swung the hammer with the full power of every muscle in both arm and shoulder. Metal smashed into stone, and the statue's arm flew off in a shower of rock chips. Hatred filled Ben as he swung again and again, relishing the shock and crack of every hit. The statue's head went flying, then its other arm. Tiny bits of stone scored Ben's arms and one fragment slashed his cheek. The torso cracked into three pieces. Ben smashed the hammer into the statue's groin and the legs split away and fell apart. He yelled, screamed, shouted until his throat was raw. Ben's hammer fell again and again until nothing remained but fist-sized bits of rubble. At last Ben halted, barely winded from the exertion. He glared at the ruins, then set the hammer down and raised his hands. The rubble quivered, shivered, and reassembled itself into the statue again. Cracks fused themselves back together, leaving smooth stone. When the statue's last flaw had vanished, Ben picked up the hammer and swung.
Father Kendi Weaver shifted in the captain's chair on the Poltergeist's bridge. It felt right to be sitting there, somehow, and that surprised him. He had been under someone else's command--usually Ara's--for so long, he had assumed it would feel odd to be giving the orders himself. But that wasn't at all the case. Rather, it seemed as if everything he had gone through, including the Despair, had been preparing him for this very position.
"We've got permission to land, Father," Lucia said, looking down at her boards. "Tiq has a spaceport, and we'll be landing in about an hour, Irfan willing."
"Where's Harenn?" Kendi asked.
"She went down to engineering," Gretchen told him. "We're in tip-top, but she said it would be easier if she kept herself busy, even if it was make-work."
Kendi nodded. Like Harenn, no doubt, he felt the urge to get out behind the ship and push.
"Restless, Father?" Gretchen asked archly.
Kendi glanced down and realized he was tapping his feet against the deck plates. He forced himself to stop. "Just anxious to get started."
"Sooner started, sooner done, sooner outside having fun," Gretchen sing-songed.
"Enough, Sister Gretchen," Kendi said, emphasizing her title with a hint of steel. "Since we're in radio range, I want you to start gathering data on the current state of Klimkinnar's government. I know it was one of the Five Green Worlds, but that was pre-Despair, and no one among the Children has heard anything about the FGW since then."
"Yes, Father," Gretchen said with patently false meekness.
Kendi suppressed a sigh. Now you know how it feels, said the memory of Ara's voice, and he could almost hear her laughing at him, wherever she was. In that moment, Kendi would have given up everything--his promotion, this mission, even his limited ability to enter the Dream--to have her back in the captain's chair again while he flew the ship.
The view on the screen brightened as Lucia guided the Poltergeist into Klimkinnar's atmosphere. Lucia's entry was smooth, with minimal turbulence, but Kendi still had to bite back words of advice. He remembered how much he had hated unsolicited suggestions when he was at the pilot's board.
As they touched down on their allotted section of the landing field, the door slid open and Ben entered the bridge. Kendi blinked. A red line scored Ben's cheek and several small cuts marked his hands. Ben took the communication station and, without a word, began tapping keys.
"Are you okay, Ben?" Kendi asked.
"I'm fine, Father," Ben said. "Give me a minute and I'll access Klimkinnar's network. I should have--"
"What happened to your hands?" Gretchen asked bluntly.
Ben's face reddened. "I had . . . an accident in the Dream. The cuts are just psychosomatic carryover. I'll be fine. They aren't even bleeding. Did you tell Harenn what Sejal found out?"
"She knows," Kendi said, wondering if he should press the point about Ben's hands or just let it drop. Let it drop, he decided. For now.
Ben's console chimed. "It's customs," he said, a little too briskly. "They said they'll inspect the ship in about an hour. No one can enter or leave until blah blah blah."
"Get the bribe money ready," Gretchen said. "Klimkinnar's on the unstable side right now. That means government officials don't know when--or if--their next paycheck will be coming, and they'll be looking for ways to supplement their income."
"What else did you learn?" Kendi asked.
"Klimkinnar's almost completely cut off from the Five Green Worlds," Gretchen said, glancing down at her screen. "Their local FGW ruler is called the Planetary Governor, and she's been trying to hold things together, but it's hard going. Some sectors--countries, if you like--are trying to assert their own sovereignty, and the Governor's working overtime to keep them in line. Klimkinnar also does a lot of farming and not much manufacturing, and their economy is dependent on selling food to the rest of the FGW. This means that a lot of imported manufactured goods--read, most of them--are going to get expensive until the shipping corps figure out how to operate without Silent communication. The local big corps are also taking advantage of the situation to consolidate some of their own power--surprise, surprise. It all adds up to recession, recession, recession."
"Jerry," Ben said.
"What?" Gretchen said blankly.
"Bedj-ka's name is Jerry," Ben explained as text crawled across his boards. "Names of slaves and their owners aren't privileged information on Klimkinnar after all. I found a slave boy, nine years old, named Jerry Markovi who's registered as belonging to a farm run by one Douglas Markovi. Jerry was a recent purchase, so the records were new and easy to find. Markovi's farm is about forty klicks away from the spaceport. Take us about half an hour to get there if we rent a groundcar."
"Praise be to Irfan," Lucia said. "Good job."
; Ben shrugged. "A kid could've done it."
"Don't say it, Sister," Kendi said. Gretchen snapped her mouth shut. "It's still good work, Ben. If we play this right, Harenn'll have her son back after lunch and we'll be popping into slipspace before dinner."
"You want me to tell her?" Ben asked, reaching for his console.
"No," Kendi said quickly, and Ben halted. "Not one word. We still have an hour before customs arrive, and who-knows-how-much time for them to inspect. I'll try to speed things along with the magic of bribery, but it'll still be a while. No use making it worse for Harenn by telling her Bedj-ka's within shouting distance. Just say you're on the networks and have some high hopes."
"High hopes for what?" said Harenn, coming onto the bridge.
"For finding your kid," Gretchen said with utter blandness. "Red over there's already tracking leads while we wait for customs."
"I have money," Harenn said, "if you need to bribe them for more speed."
"There's plenty in the kitty," Kendi told her. "But I'll keep that in mind."
Harenn nodded. Her face, still hidden behind her customary blue veil, was unreadable, but her every movement was taut and filled with controlled tension. Kendi marveled at her discipline. If he had been this close to any member of his own family--
He banished these thoughts. Right now they had to concentrate on helping Harenn. Then he could pursue his own agenda.
An hour later, the customs inspection team arrived. Because the Children of Irfan were known in some circles as slave-stealers and because the crew wasn't here to conduct official (read, "above-board") Child business, Kendi removed his medallion and ring, ordered Gretchen to do the same, and presented the inspector with carefully-forged documentation that identified him as a simple trader, the most common guise adopted by the Children of Irfan. He explained their lack of cargo by claiming they'd just finished a one-way delivery run to an outlying station. The customs inspector, a small, dark-haired man with a toothbrush mustache, lost interest in Kendi's story once a certain amount of freemarks found their way into his hands. The inspection itself--perfunctory in the extreme--only lasted twenty minutes. Once he was gone, everyone assembled in the galley, a tradition started by Ara. ("What better place for a briefing? Room to sit and close to the refreshments.")
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