Nightmare - A Novel Part 9

She blinked. "Wool-gathering again. Sorry. Did you ask something?"

"ZbeingChildciting?" Kite repeated.

"Is being a Child exciting? It depends on what you do," Ara said. "I do field work and recruiting, so sometimes I run into ...challenges." She laughed. "I have more fake IDs than most criminals. But I'm the exception. Most of us relay communication through the Dream or teach or do research. Once you get your degree, you can do pretty much whatever you want."

"Degree?" Willa whispered.

"Oh yes. You have to have a degree to operate in the Dream. Or you do if you want to work for us, anyway. The monastery will provide you with an extensive general education and you can choose a couple specialties."

"Like what?" Jeren asked.

Their food arrived. The server placed high-piled plates in front of them. Kendi had ordered a ham sandwich with french fries-some foods had apparently lasted across centuries and light years-and the salty smells that a.s.sailed his nose were delicious. The sandwich all but dripped with some sort of white sauce with a sweet, spicy tang to it. The fries were hot and crisp, and Kendi almost groaned when he ate the first one. French fries hadn't been on the menu for slaves at Giselle Blanc's frog farm and it had been years since he'd tasted them.

The server left, and Ara answered Jeren's question. "You can specialize in just about anything offered at a non-Silent university. Math, music, computers, genetics, piloting-"

Kendi all but bolted upright in his chair. "Piloting? You mean like s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p piloting?"

"Sure. We always need good pilots in the field. You can study anything you wish. As Irfan said, 'The greater your knowledge, the lesser your risk.' "

Kendi saw himself at the helm of a stars.h.i.+p, swooping through a field of enemy fire, dodging laser beams by the thinnest of margins. The science fiction sims had been his favorites when he was a kid, and he had always wanted to be the one in the pilot seat in every game. Not only that, as a pilot he'd have a better chance of getting out into s.p.a.ce and finding his family.

"Kendiareyouhey!" Kite s.n.a.t.c.hed back his hand but not before the jolt slapped Kendi all the way down to his feet. He rubbed his arm where Kite had touched him.

"Careful, guy," Dorna said. "Whenever you touch someone around here for the first time, you're likely to get jolted."

"Sorrykendi," Kite said.

"It's okay." Kendi continued rubbing his arm, and something occurred to him. "My mom is Silent. How come I never felt a jolt from her?"

"I imagine you touched your mother all the time," Ara said. "You probably got jolted at some point-most Silent start that up at about age ten-but since you didn't know what it was, you may have figured it was something like a static electricity shock and forgotten about it."

Kendi looked down at his sandwich piled high with tender ham and wondered what his mother was eating. Suddenly even the fries seemed less appetizing. "I'm going to find her, and the rest of them. They're out there, and I'll find them eventually no matter what."

"We'll help you," Ara said seriously. "The Children don't condone slavery-Irfan herself was dead set against it-and we work hard to get people out of it wherever we can."

The Children would help him? That made Kendi feel a little better. And it did make sense. After all, Ara had freed him him. But how long would it take before he could go looking, and how long would it take to find them?

"Irfan was the first Silent human, right?" Jeren said. "Everyone talks about her like she's some kind of G.o.ddess. Do you guys pray to her or what?"

Ara smiled. "The Children don't tell you who to pray to. But Irfan Qasad was an intelligent, powerful woman, and a lot of people call on her memory for guidance. She governed Bellerophon for a long time until she resigned to start the Children, and it was because of her that Silent communication became essential to the galaxy. It was that communication that allowed the invention of slips.h.i.+ps, in fact." Ara's voice was full of admiration.

"What happened to her?" Kendi asked.

"History is unclear," Ara said. "Most of her writings were lost or destroyed, and Irfan herself quietly vanished. Not even her own children seemed to know where she went-or they pretended they didn't. Some people say she went back to her husband Daniel Vik." Ara spat the name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. "But I'm not one of them. Irfan Qasad wouldn't be so stupid."

"Who was Daniel Vik?" Jeren said.

"A filthy man, one of the worst villains in history," Ara told him. "He hated all Silent and went literally insane when he discovered Silence among his own children. Why Irfan married him in the first place is a mystery. When she finally saw through Vik and demanded a divorce, he retaliated by kidnapping one of their sons and running off to the other side of the continent to what eventually became the city-state Othertown. Some people take the fact that he left as evidence that he wasn't actually the father of her children-or at least of the ones he abandoned. Vik a.s.sa.s.sinated his way to dictators.h.i.+p and declared his intention to start a genocidal war on all human Silent. Irfan barely managed to stop him, though she couldn't remove him from office. She worked the rest of her life to keep him from starting that war."

"What happened to him?" Kendi asked, fascinated.

"He was a.s.sa.s.sinated himself," Ara said. "A deserving end, if you ask me. Now who's up for dessert? The ice cream here is really good."

After lunch, Ara took them back to the monastery, where in a bright, airy room they took a battery of tests in a variety of subject matters. The tests, Ara told them, would give the Children an idea of what cla.s.ses each of them would need and what apt.i.tudes each of them might have. When the results came back, Kendi found he had scored well in math and poorly in everything else. Humiliation burned in his cheeks when he saw that his scores were the lowest in the entire group. Ara, noticing his discomfort, drew him aside and put an arm around him.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," she told him quietly. "You've been in cryo-sleep for nine hundred years and after that you were kept in ignorance on a backwoods frog farm. The principles of general mathematics haven't changed in nine hundred years, but everything else has. No one thinks you're stupid, Kendi. Certainly not me. Everything I've seen about you tells me you're frighteningly intelligent, and I think your teachers are in for a challenge if they want to keep up with you."

Kendi managed a nod. He still felt stupid.

"And look at this." Ara pointed to a section on the computer pad's holographic screen that reported his scores in dreadful red numbers. "You do have an apt.i.tude for piloting. When you're a little older, they'll want to start you on it."

Kendi's eyes went round. Excitement made short work of the humiliation. "You think so?"

"Looks that way to me. We'll have to see." She turned to the others. "It's getting on toward supper. Your clothes should have been delivered to your rooms by now. Why don't all of you go unpack and eat? The evening is yours to do as you like. There's a sim parlor on the bottom floor of the dorm if you're into that. Explore the place or laze around-whatever you want to do."

When Kendi got back to his room, he found a large box on his bed. His clothes had arrived as Ara had predicted. Humming to himself, he opened the package and froze. With an astonished whistle he reached inside and pulled out the suede jacket. The smell of fine leather instantly surrounded him. A paper note was pinned to the lapel. If you can't think of it as a gift from me, think of it as an indulgence from Irfan. Best, Mother Ara. If you can't think of it as a gift from me, think of it as an indulgence from Irfan. Best, Mother Ara.

Kendi hesitated, then pulled on the jacket with a wide, happy grin.

Ara strolled toward home, feeling truly good for the first time all day. Orienting new students was one of her favorite activities, and she particularly liked this group, Kendi especially. Maybe it was because he seemed so bright and open where her own son Ben was closed and reticent, or maybe it was because she could see he had goals set for himself and he firmly intended to see them through, a philosophy she admired. Or maybe it was something else. In any case, she liked him a lot and found the others pleasant company. The impulse to buy him the jacket had been one she had decided not to resist, though it also meant dodging back to the store during the testing to buy presents for the other three as well: a black silk s.h.i.+rt for Jeren, a fine-woven shawl for Willa, and a soft blue sweater for Kite. Ah well. She was a full Mother now and could afford the occasional impulse buy. The shopping had also taken her mind off the grisly murder.

At that, memories of the terrifying scene in the Dream slashed through her amiable mood. She felt heavy, as if the local gravity had increased. What kind of monster could do that to another human being? That he would do it again, she had no doubt. The problem was their lack of clues. The Dream left no physical evidence, and the Guardians hadn't found any at the murder site. How could they track a killer that left no traces?

Her stomach growled for supper and the walkway swayed gently under her footsteps. Ara shook her head. The investigation wasn't really her problem. She had been brought in as a consultant and she had done her job. Everything else was up to Inspector Tan and Inspector Gray.

Ara snorted. Tan and Gray. She hadn't noticed that before. Still, she couldn't get her mind off poor Iris Temm. The whole thing filled her with both anger and sorrow. Someone had to catch the man. Maybe she would check with the inspectors later and see if anything had turned up. Something they said might lend Ara an insight that would help them.

A shudder pa.s.sed through her. Did she want more details? She firmly pushed the case into the back of her mind and brought her thoughts back to the new students. Tomorrow they would register for cla.s.ses, and Ara would have to speak to Tos.h.i.+ about flying lessons for Kendi.

Kendi. Ara let her hand trail along the ivy-covered cable that held up the walkway. It had been almost two years since she'd taken on a private student, and she hadn't had an actual apprentice in twice that time. Ara had little patience for cla.s.sroom instruction, but she greatly enjoyed small group and one-on-one teaching. Taking on students-and, later, apprentices-was also an unspoken requirement for promotion within the ranks of the Children. Ara was the youngest Silent to reach the rank of Parent, and at age forty-one she was within spitting distance of becoming the youngest Parent Adept. Murder investigation or not, it was time to take on another student.

And who better than Kendi?

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Would that my body could fly as do my thoughts. Unfortunately, genetic engineering can only do so much.

-Irfan Qasad

The cliff reached up to the sky. Atop it, Kendi spread his arms to the sun. Voices whispered at him, muttered in his ear, plucked at him with ghostly fingers of sound, but they didn't bother him. They were perfectly normal. The scalding sun felt good on his bare skin, and a hot breeze rushed past him, bringing the smell of dust and baking vegetation.

And then he heard his mother's voice. Kendi stiffened. He whipped his head around, trying to locate the source of the sound, but the whisper had already retreated. Had he heard it at all, or was he just imagining?

"Mom?" he said. "Are you there?"

The whispers continued to hover in the breeze around him, but none of them sounded familiar. Heated dust a.s.sailed Kendi's nostrils. He strained to listen, his heart pounding. Every fiber of his body ached for his missing family. He missed Utang's blue eyes, his mother's rich voice, his father's warm laugh, Martina's little fingers as she took his hand to cross the street. Kendi missed them like he might miss walking or breathing. In some ways it would have been better if he knew they were dead. It was somehow worse knowing that they were out there somewhere, but he couldn't talk to them, let them know that he was all right, find out if they were safe. It made him want to cry. It made him want to hit and scream and yell and jump off the edge of the cliff. Instead he stood and listened to the wind.

Just a word, he pleaded. All I need is a word. Are you there? All I need is a word. Are you there?

The whispering mingled with the breeze, but none of it sounded familiar. After a long moment, Kendi went to the edge of the cliff and looked down. The rocky ground lay some fifty meters below. Kendi wondered what would happen if he simply stepped over the edge. Would he feel anything when he smacked into the stones? Or were the stories true that you died of a heart attack just before you hit? He put a foot over the edge, then jerked it back with a little thrill of fear once, twice, three times. Then he stared down at the far-away ground with a hypnotized fascination. Finally he shook his head, turned around, and slowly lowered himself over the side. Finding hand- and footholds with practiced ease, he clambered down the sheer slope until he reached the base of the cliff.

A camel waited for him at the bottom. Kendi nodded to it. Camels weren't native to the Outback, but centuries ago someone, probably an opal prospector, had gotten the bright idea that they would make ideal pack animals for the Australian desert and had a bunch s.h.i.+pped in. Kendi gave a mental shake of his head. The idea of packing a herd of foul-tempered, biting beasts that spit and smelled onto a sailing s.h.i.+p and then putting up with them for a week or more during the voyage across the Pacific to Australia made Kendi laugh and shudder in alternating doses.

A hold full of seasick camels, he thought. Would that qualify as sadism or masochism? Would that qualify as sadism or masochism?

Inevitably a few camels had escaped and made their way into the wild, where they had adapted themselves remarkably well to the local ecology. The original Real People ate them as necessary, of course, and their bladders made excellent, if overlarge, waterskins.

"Sister, may I ride?" Kendi asked.

The camel spat something brown and foul and gave Kendi a look that managed to resemble a shrug. Kendi gave a great leap and landed on top of the camel's single hump with the grace of a gazelle, even though the camel was taller than Kendi. The moment he had his balance, the camel took off at a galumphing run. Kendi clung to the dusty, furry hump with hands and thighs, whooping as the camel sped over the rough terrain. Bright wind and sunlight rushed past him while rock and sandy soil blurred into a single brown ma.s.s. They came across a billabong, a muddy water hole surrounded by scrubby trees and bushes. Birds called to each other among the leaves. The camel came to a halt. Kendi leaped down as the camel changed into a crocodile, which slid into the water and vanished. Kendi waved good-bye to her.

~ ...evan ...~ Kendi jumped. This time he was sure he had heard it-his mother's voice. She wouldn't know his name was Kendi now, had called him by his birth name. She was here, somewhere. His heart came back into his throat and he spun around, trying to look in all directions at once. All he saw was the still billabong, the scrubby trees, and the endless Outback.

"Mom?" he called. "Mom, I can hear you! Where are you?"

He strained to listen. The endless whispering continued, but Rebecca Weaver's voice wasn't in it. Kendi closed his eyes, trying to sort through the babble of soft voices. She had to be there. She was was there. It hadn't been a mistake or his imagination. there. It hadn't been a mistake or his imagination.

The breeze died around him and the whispers began to fade. Kendi kept his eyes tightly shut, staring into the darkness behind his eyelids, listening with every iota of his being. But the whispers grew softer still.

"Mom?" he said in a small voice. No answer.

He opened his eyes and stared at a blank white ceiling. Kendi blinked at it. What the h.e.l.l? What the h.e.l.l? The air was a bit chilly, and he was lying down. It took him a moment to figure out he was lying in a comfortable bed in his new room at the monastery of the Children of Irfan. He sat up, a little dazed. Was the dream the Outback? Or was the dream this room? The air was a bit chilly, and he was lying down. It took him a moment to figure out he was lying in a comfortable bed in his new room at the monastery of the Children of Irfan. He sat up, a little dazed. Was the dream the Outback? Or was the dream this room?

The Outback, he decided, and lay back again with a sigh. The Outback dreams were coming with more intensity and reality of late, but they were nothing more than a symptom of Silence. The monastery was reality, as was his room and his bed. At least it was a pleasant place, one he was beginning to like. The intense longing he had felt for his family faded until it was bearable, though it didn't vanish entirely. He suspected it never would.

Outside the window, Kendi could see the sky had lightened only barely. Awake before dawn again. For a moment he lay in his warm bed on the comfortable mattress, luxuriating in the fact that he didn't have to get up. He tried to drift back to sleep, but his mind was broadly awake. There was a whole alien planet out there, with a monastery and a city to explore.

And he was free.

Eventually he gave up sleep as a lost cause and pushed the covers aside. After a quick shower, he pulled on his-his!-new clothes, including the suede boots. He was reaching for the jacket and found himself hesitating. Should he wear it? Mother Ara's note said it was a present, but it had been a terribly expensive one and he didn't quite know how to react. No one had ever given him anything like it before. Should he write her a thank-you note? Thank her in person? Pretend it had never happened? For a brief moment he wished she hadn't given it to him, creating this whole dilemma. Then he flashed on one of his family's interminable visits to the Outback and the words of a woman who called herself Firestarter.

A true gift doesn't put any obligation on you, she said. she said. Say thank you once to be polite, and then use the gift however you want. Say thank you once to be polite, and then use the gift however you want. She had then given him a set of fire-starting tools. They had been among his things on board the colony s.h.i.+p, though they had doubtless been ejected into s.p.a.ce three years ago, along with anything else the slavers had decided was garbage. The thought made Kendi angry. All his possessions and those of his family-stolen or tossed aside, with no way to recover them. Irreplaceable family holograms and photographs, mementos, his favorite s.h.i.+rt, the journal he had kept for a year when he was in grade school-all gone forever, along with the three years of life Giselle Blanc had taken from him. She had also taken his mother. The anger grew until Kendi's hands hurt and he realized he was clutching at the suede jacket so hard his knuckles had gone pale. He made himself relax his fingers and stretch them, wincing at the pain. The anger remained. He wanted to get back at the slavers and at Giselle Blanc, find them and somehow make them understand what they had done to him, make them pay for it. She had then given him a set of fire-starting tools. They had been among his things on board the colony s.h.i.+p, though they had doubtless been ejected into s.p.a.ce three years ago, along with anything else the slavers had decided was garbage. The thought made Kendi angry. All his possessions and those of his family-stolen or tossed aside, with no way to recover them. Irreplaceable family holograms and photographs, mementos, his favorite s.h.i.+rt, the journal he had kept for a year when he was in grade school-all gone forever, along with the three years of life Giselle Blanc had taken from him. She had also taken his mother. The anger grew until Kendi's hands hurt and he realized he was clutching at the suede jacket so hard his knuckles had gone pale. He made himself relax his fingers and stretch them, wincing at the pain. The anger remained. He wanted to get back at the slavers and at Giselle Blanc, find them and somehow make them understand what they had done to him, make them pay for it.

Not that he ever could. Giselle Blanc was wealthy and on a planet far away from Bellerophon. And who were the slavers? He didn't even know their names, let alone how to find them. He was stranded here on Bellerophon while his family lay scattered across thousands, perhaps millions, of light years. The longing returned full-force, mixing with the anger until Kendi's skin felt itchy and too tight.

He flung the jacket on his bed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The doors in the deserted lobby were wide open, and the air was a bit chillier than it had been yesterday morning. Tendrils of fog floated in the twilight among the branches beyond the wide balcony. Kendi thought about going back for his jacket, but didn't feel like turning around. Still fuming, he went down to the cafeteria, dumped a handful of rolls onto a plate without really paying attention to them, and sat down at one of the long tables. An abandoned tray sat across from him, and he shoved it aside, slopping the dark remnants in the coffee mug over the side. Kendi tore a sticky chunk off one roll and stuffed into his mouth, chewing without really tasting.

"What happened here?"

Kendi looked up sharply. Another student, two or three years older than Kendi, was looking down at the skewed, coffee-strewn tray in confusion. He held a croissant in one hand.

"That's my tray," the student said.

"Yeah, well, it looked abandoned to me," Kendi all but snarled. "You shouldn't have ...have ..." Kendi trailed off.The other student had brown hair and a broad build, with large hands and impressive biceps. Wide hazel eyes looked out over a square jaw and an undeniably handsome face. Kendi swallowed and felt a flush spread from the top of his head all the way down to his toes.

"I mean ...I mean you should've left a note or something," he finished weakly. "Sorry. I thought you were done and gone."

"No big deal," the student said in a light tenor voice. "It's not like there isn't more food. I'm Pitr Haddis." He held out the hand that wasn't holding the croissant. Kendi automatically shook it. Pitr's grip was dry and firm, but before Kendi could register anything more than that, electricity jolted his spine. Kendi almost yelped. Pitr winched at the touch but didn't let go of Kendi's hand.

"Pretty strong Silence," Pitr commented, sitting down and looking ruefully at his tray. The coffee had sloshed everywhere, mixing with crumbs from the remainders of Pitr's breakfast.

Kendi shrugged uncertainly. "That's what they tell me. Look, why don't I get you some more coffee? I forgot to get some for myself anyway."

"You don't have to," Pitr said amiably. "I probably shouldn't-"

"Hey, I insist." Kendi managed to flash a grin. "Be right back."

Before Pitr could say anything else, Kendi left the table and hurried back to the food bay. Several silvery urns with spigots at their bases stood in a row next to a tray of coffee mugs. They reminded Kendi of the ones he had seen as a child in the church bas.e.m.e.nt back in Sydney in the days before his family had become involved with the Reconstructionists. Coffee self-service, it seemed, hadn't changed in a thousand years. Kendi drew one mug and was reaching for the second before he remembered that he hated coffee. He hesitated, then decided to go ahead with it. Otherwise he'd look the fool in front of Pitr.

Kendi put the mugs on a tray, dumped a handful of sugar packets and cream containers next to them, and headed back to the table where Pitr was munching his croissant. He accepted the mug without comment.

"What did you say your name was again?" Pitr asked as Kendi sat down across from him.

"I didn't-sorry. It's Kendi Weaver." He frowned briefly at his coffee mug, then started opening sugar packets and stirring them into his coffee. "I'm new here. Like I said, I'm sorry about your tray."

"I was pretty much done eating anyway. Just wanted one more croissant." Pitr looked at him quizzically. "You gonna drink that coffee or eat it?"

Kendi looked down. He had emptied almost a dozen packets into the mug. His face grew hot with embarra.s.sment. "I guess I'm kind of out of it this morning," he muttered.

Pitr laughed, a bright, free sound that made Kendi smile and set his heart to pounding.

Quit it, he admonished himself. He's just being friendly. He's just being friendly.

But his heart pounded anyway. He pushed the mug aside as Pitr drained half of his in one long swallow. Kendi watched him covertly, trying to seem nonchalant. The silence felt heavy.

Say something, dummy. "Um, so you've been at the monastery for a while?" "Um, so you've been at the monastery for a while?" Oh, good one. Maybe you should have called yourself Mr. Smooth. Oh, good one. Maybe you should have called yourself Mr. Smooth.

Pitr put down the mug. "I was born on Bellerophon. My sister and I are both Silent, and there was no question about us going into the Children. I'm a student now, but I'll be apprenticed pretty soon. Where are you from?"

Before Kendi could answer, two more trays landed on the table. Jeren and Dorna took up seats on either side of Kendi.

"Morning," Jeren said.

"Hey, Pitr," Dorna said. "You know Kendi?"

"We just met." Pitr drained his mug and got up. "But I was about done. I should go. Stuff to do before cla.s.s."

"See you," Jeren said. Kendi watched him go.

"So what's up with you this morning, guy?" Dorna said.