Dreamer (16 page)

“Who the hell is Fen?” Gretchen asked.

“Attention! Attention! Hull breach in sections six and seven alpha. Atmosphere at ninety percent.”

“I’ll explain later,” Ara said. “Harenn, seal off the lower deck. We can at least save some atmosphere on the upper one.”

“I have already attempted this,”
Harenn’s calm voice replied.
“The doors are not responding. In addition, I have lost forty percent of main power, and emergency reserves are off line. I must shut down the gravity generators to compensate.”

“Attention! Attention! Hull breach in sections six and seven alpha. Atmosphere at eighty-one percent.”

Ara sealed her helmet, muffling the sounds from the bridge. Her own breathing echoed loudly in her ears. Suddenly the deck left her feet and she was falling. Gretchen yelped and snagged the storage locker door. Ara resisted the impulse to windmill her arms and instead grabbed the back of Ben’s chair. The velcro patch sewn there for exactly this purpose snagged her palm. Colors washed nauseatingly over the vid-screen, making Ara’s gorge rise. The view of slipspace made most humans ill, and Ara was no exception, especially in zero-gee. Gretchen pushed off and drifted over to her console, where she punched a few keys. The vid-screen went blank.

“Thank you,” Ara said. Gretchen shoved herself toward the door without replying. She still had to check on Sejal and Fen.

“Attention! Attention! Hull breach in sections six and seven alpha. Atmosphere at sixty-four percent.”

“Kendi,” Ara said, “suit.”

“Almost done.” He was panting. “We’ll be in normal space in less than two minutes.”

“You’ll be unconscious in less than one,” Ara said. “Move!”

Kendi looked like he was going to protest, then apparently changed his mind. He pushed out of his chair and swam to the storage locker. Ben waited until he had landed, then took Kendi’s place while Ara assisted her gasping ex-student into a suit. He was already in a half faint. His face was flushed from blood summoned to the surface of his skin by the low pressure. Quickly Ara sealed his helmet and heard the welcome hiss of oxygen from the tanks. Kendi’s breathing steadied and his eyes opened.

“I’m good,” he said over the suit’s communicator. “Thanks.”

“Attention! Attention! Hull breach in sections six and seven alpha. Atmosphere at fifty-one percent.”

“Take your console, Kendi,” Ara said. “Have Harenn check you for bruises and capillary damage later—you’re going to be sore.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Peggy-Sue, open intercom to Gretchen Beyer,” Ara continued. “Gretchen, is everyone suited up down there?”

“Sejal got his on,”
Gretchen replied.
“That Fen guy fainted, but Jack and I got him into his suit. Did you know Fen is Silent?”

“Yes. What about Trish and Pitr?”

“I have no idea. They aren’t down here.”

Kendi swam over to the pilot’s chair. “Take us out of slipspace, Ben. We should be safe by now.”

The ship shuddered and boomed.

“Attention! Attention!” Peggy-Sue said. “Hull breach in sections six, seven, and nine alpha. Atmosphere at thirty-eight percent.”

“We’re leaking like a sieve,” Ara groused. “Harenn, can you repair all that, or are we going to be wearing these suits all the way back to Bellerophon?”

“I am still assessing the damage,”
Harenn replied.
“I will report the moment I know more.”

Ara shoved herself into her customary chair and belted herself in place. The suit’s thin material was slightly rough, catching the chair’s fabric and preventing her from sliding off while she did so. Then she took several deep breaths to quell her roiling stomach. Zero gee had never been Ara’s personal favorite.

“Where are we, boys?” she asked to distract herself.

“No idea,” Kendi said. “I was concentrating too hard on getting us into slipspace to program any coordinates. There’s a K-class star within easy reach, though, if Harenn wants a power source.”

“Head for it.” Then Ara remembered she hadn’t checked on Trish and Pitr. “Peggy-Sue, open intercom to Sister Trish and Brother Pitr Haddis. Are you two suited up?”

“Suited up and heading down to help Harenn,”
Trish said.

“Pitr?” Ara said. No answer. “Pitr, please respond.”

Nothing. A chill slid up Ara’s spine.

“Attention! Attention! Hull breach in sections six, seven, and nine alpha. Atmosphere at thirty-one percent.”

“The intercom might be damaged,” Ben pointed out.

“Peggy-Sue,” Ara said, “where is Pitr Haddis?”

“Brother Pitr Haddis is in his quarters,” the computer replied.

“I’ll go down and check on him,” Ara said to Ben and Kendi in a carefully light voice. “He’s probably fine. You two stay here and figure out where we are.”

She unbelted herself and pushed toward the door. Pitr was fine. The intercom had just been damaged. He was not hurt, he was not dead.

So why was he still in his quarters?

“Attention! Attention!” the computer said. “Hull breach in sections six, seven, and nine alpha. Atmosphere at twenty-seven percent.”

Ara reached Pitr’s quarters and tried the door chime with a gloved finger. No response. The door, when she tried it, turned out to be locked. Abruptly, she’d had enough of being in suspense.

“Peggy-Sue,” she snapped, “captain’s override for the lock on Pitr Haddis’s quarters.”

“Voice print verified. Override accepted.” The door slid open, revealing a darkened room. Pitr, Ara remembered, always shut the lights off when he went into a Dream trance.

Ara floated in the hallway for a moment, then grasped the doorsill with both hands and hauled herself in. She immediately rebounded off something big and floppy. With a shriek, she shoved herself away from it. The motion sent her spinning, and she couldn’t see. Darkness swam past her faceplate. One of her arms connected with something solid, and she collided with a...wall? Ceiling? Whatever it was, it halted her. Her suit made a hissing noise as the fabric brushed the ceramic bulkhead. Ara finally got her bearings. She was pressed against the floor.

“Lights!” she hollered.

The room sprang into brightness. Ara turned. Pitr’s corpse, the thing she had rebounded from, drifted toward the ceiling. His arms floated outward from his body, his legs were splayed, and his face was red and bloated. Across the room, a dermospray flipped slowly end-over-end.

Pain and sorrow crushed her against the floor. Ara tried to hold back the tears. Crying in zero gravity was difficult enough—blobby tears gathered in the eyes, blurring vision until they broke free and drifted away. In a helmet, they splashed everywhere. But Pitr was dead. He had been in the Dream holding back the Unity when the ship started losing atmosphere. Trish had left the Dream in time, but Pitr’s body had probably fallen unconscious and he hadn’t made it to a suit. Now he was dead. What was she going to tell Trish?

“He died saving us,” she whispered to see how it sounded.

It sounded fake.

“Mother Ara,”
Harenn’s voice said,
“we have patched the breaches. We are venting no more atmosphere. Trish and I will continue to augment the repairs until it is safe to re-enter slipspace.”

“How long will that take?” Ara asked, surprised at how steady her voice was.

“Three or four days. Less if others help. After that I can fix main power and reinstate gravity.”

“Understood. Peggy-Sue, close intercom.”

Pitr’s body bumped the ceiling. Someone should secure him—it?—before the gravity came back on. It wouldn’t be right for the body to come crashing to the floor. And there would be funeral arrangements, and burial, and a Dream ceremony, and—

Pitr was dead, and he had died for her.

Zero gravity or no, Ara put her helmeted head in her gloved hands and cried.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SEJAL’S JOURNAL

DAY 4, MONTH 11, COMMON YEAR 987

My old journal got left behind when we left Rust, so I’m starting a new one on the ship. Everyone’s pretty upset around here, so I’m staying out of the way. That means I pretty much stay in my room and mess around on the computer like I’m doing now.

The ship’s called the
Post Script
and it’s pretty cool, though Kendi says it’s a piece of junk even when they have gravity. Being weightless made me sick as a dog for an entire day. It feels like you’re falling, but when you look around, the walls aren’t moving and you never hit anything. A tiny push sends you spinning, but it seems like you’re holding still while the ship spins around you.

At least I didn’t throw up like Fen did. He barfed in his helmet, and it floated around his head like chunky fog. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so disgusting. Gretchen—she’s big and blond and kind of pretty and she seems kind of familiar—turned on some kind of vacuum that sucked most of it away, but bits and pieces still clumped in his hair. He couldn’t take his helmet off to clean up, either. No atmosphere.

Anyway. Kendi took me to a room and set me up. He told me to stay in it until all the repairs were made. I do tricks in zero-gee and hunt through the computer database for stuff to read. We got atmosphere back a few hours after Harenn made basic repairs, though Fen still couldn’t shower. No gravity. As for me, between monkeying around with zero-gee and the computer, I haven’t gotten bored yet. I play the flute a lot, too. I can sit cross-legged in the air upside-down and play. And the room I’m in is a lot nicer than my room back ho—back on Rust.

I’m trying not to think of Rust as home. I don’t live there anymore. It’s weird. For years all I could think of was getting off Rust. But now I’m not so sure. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. Kendi says we’re going to a monastery on Bellerophon, which is in the Independence Confederation. They’ll train me how to use my Silence.

I’m Silent.

I said that aloud while I was typing it.

I’m Silent.

Those words make me feel so free! I hadn’t realized just how scared the voices and dreams made me until Kendi touched me in the restaurant and jolted me all the way down to my feet and told me I was Silent. The voices and the vivid dreams are all normal, he says. I’m normal! It makes me feel like I could fly, even without zero gravity.

I like Kendi. And not just because he saved my ass, what? Two times? Three? He
listens
to me, believes me. I don’t know about Ara, though.
Mother
Ara, I guess I’m supposed to call her. I mean, she was
stalking
me? And she has this way of looking at me, like she’s sizing me up. It kind of reminds me of the look some jobbers get, jobbers that make me want to run far and fast because they want something I don’t want to give them. Other times she seems nice and caring. When she’s like that, she reminds me of Mom.

I don’t know what to think of Mom. She dumped a lot of stuff on me just before we left, and there’s no way to talk to her about it. I want to know more. I mean, I have two brothers out there somewhere? And a sister who was kidnapped? And then there’s my dad. I mean, Mom always said he was “gone” whenever I asked, and I just kind of assumed she meant he was dead. But now I hear he (and my
sister!
) just disappeared one day. I’ve got a whole family out there somewhere, but now I’m leaving Rust, and I’ll never find out any more about them. How could Mom not tell me this stuff? And who the hell does she think she is getting mad when that bitch Harenn told her I was tricking? Like Mom has any right to be angry after she sold her own kids!

Sometimes I get so mad I want to pound something, but I’m not going to ruin anything for myself on the
Post Script
by flapping off. I’m even polite to that bitch Harenn.

I hope Mom found the money okay. I’m worried about her.

Anyway. The hull’s almost fixed. It broke open when we were running away from the Unity. I thought we were dead for sure, and I still get nightmares about it. One of the guys who came to get me when Kendi and I were at the spaceport—Brother Pitr was his name—died making sure we’d get away. I didn’t even know him, barely talked to him, but he gave up his life for mine. Mother Ara held a service for him and jettisoned the body into space. Then everyone who was Silent—Mother Ara, Kendi, Sister Gretchen, and Sister Trish—went into the Dream. Kendi told me later that they hooked up with a whole bunch of other Silent and had another service. Then they all went back to work repairing the ship.

Anway. Like I said, the ship’s almost completely repaired, and that’s good news. A red-headed guy named Ben helped get main power restored so they could turn the gravity back on. I felt heavy at first, but now everything feels normal again. Fen’s a lot happier, anyway.

I remember where I’ve seen Gretchen—Sister Gretchen—before. She bumped into me when I was getting out of a jobber’s car. Kendi said she planted a bug so they could follow me easier. When I got mad, he said they did it because they wanted to be able to keep an eye on me in case something bad happened. I still don’t know. I can’t get pissed at everybody. Can I? This whole situation is screwed up.

Anyway. I still like Kendi, I guess. He treats me like a younger brother. It’s kind of neat. He sits next to me at meals and cracks jokes that almost make me wet my pants from laughing so hard. And he knows what it’s like to be scared about being Silent.

He told me about the Children of Irfan, who they are and where they came from. Now I’m going to be one of them. I’m excited and nervous at the same time. And I’m normal!

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE DREAM

Poverty won’t force you to steal, and neither will wealth stop you.

—Padric Sufur

Padric Sufur peered carefully through the branches of the pear tree. The round-bodied Mother Adept sat on the lip of her fountain, hands in her lap. At her feet sat a cabana chair. A male human Silent reclined in it and a tall glass with a pink umbrella sticking out of it hovered within his reach. The Silent had blond hair and wore an arrogant expression. Padric swallowed his distaste and forced himself to pay careful attention. He needed to find out if his information had been correct.

Beyond the garden wall, a section of sky remained blacker than a thunderstorm. Occasional flicks of red lightning streaked across the darkness. Even from this far away, Padric could feel the misshapen-ness of it. The area had cropped up yesterday over the giant canyon, and Padric hadn’t dared get close to it yet. Silent everywhere kept a wary eye on it and speculated on what it meant in frightened whispers. Meanwhile, however, Dream business had to continue. Padric carefully settled his wings about his tiny hummingbird body and listened.

“It’ll take another day to repair the hull to Harenn’s satisfaction,” Mother Adept Araceil Rymar said in her harsh human voice. “After that, it should take us about ten days to arrive at Bellerophon.”

The Silent sipped his drink and said nothing. His eyes, however, carried the rapt concentration of a trained Silent bent on absorbing every word. Once he left the Dream, Padric knew, the man would recite every word Araceil had said into a recorder. Good Silent always had highly trained short-term memories.

“I have not yet evaluated Sejal’s...destructive potential,” Araceil continued. “As Brother Kendi predicted, he seems able to possess the unwilling and non-Silent, though the exact extent of this ability we don’t yet know. I’ll conduct more tests back on Bellerophon.”

Every nerve in Padric’s body snapped to attention and his feet clenched the pear twig so tightly the bark dug into his skin. So his information had been correct. It was suddenly very hard for him to sit still, and Padric forced himself to remain motionless only with great effort of will. Although the form he had taken was tiny, his slightest movement would send weak ripples through Araceil’s portion of the Dream and she might notice him.

Araceil shifted on the lip of the fountain. “In anticipation of your Imperial Majesty’s next question, I don’t know how long it will take to determine if Sejal is dangerous enough to require...elimination. However, I am prepared to—” her voice faltered slightly “—to follow through on your wishes and will keep you informed. End classified transmission.”

Padric almost blinked. Araceil had orders to kill this boy? But of course. Humans were all alike in so many ways.

“The message will be delivered,” said the blond Silent in a toneless voice. He and his chair vanished without another word.

Araceil stared at the spot where he had been. Then a long sigh escaped her. The expression on her face was full of uncertainty, and Padric wondered if she was going to burst into tears.

“Dammit!” she suddenly yelled, and smacked the fountain water with one hand. Liquid sprayed everywhere. “And damn
you!
Damn you to a hundred hells, you damned Imperial bitch!”

Padric watched tensely from the tree as Araceil conjured up a vase and hurled it against the garden wall. It shattered with what Padric assumed was a satisfying crash. A hot wind rose, fluttering the green leaves and waving Padric’s twig up and down. Araceil raised a fist, and a lightning bolt cracked down from the clear blue sky. It split an orange tree from top to bottom. The concussion thudded against Padric’s fragile bones, and smoking splinters flew in every direction. He smelled burning wood.

“Damn you!” Araceil howled.

Another lightning bolt destroyed another tree. Nervously wondering if his might be next, Padric shot out of the tree, wings blurring, creating tiny ripples in Araceil’s Dream fabric. It was a risk, but Araceil was probably too distracted to notice right now. Besides, Padric was good.

Padric was one of the few Silent who could change his shape in the Dream. He could take the form of something small and inocuous, such as a mouse or a bird. He had experimented with stones and blades of grass, but rocks and plants can’t see or hear, so he had instead concentrated on animals. In these other forms, Padric could creep into another Silent’s territory, eavesdrop on conversations or meetings, and creep back out again with none the wiser.

As far as Padric knew, his talent was unique. Other Silent were subconsciously and firmly attached to their shapes. They expected their own form in the Dream, and that’s what they got. The first time Padric had come into the Dream, however, he hadn’t been able to take a shape at all. He had hung about as an amorphous blob. It had taken his instructor KellReech several months to coax him into a shape, and he had early on taken to shifting forms like quicksilver.

As a teenager, he had used the talent for his own amusement, spying on Silent who came into the Dream to play or sculpt Dreamscapes or have private talks. As a young man, he had used the talent for personal gain. Overhearing a few privileged conversations had allowed him to make some very wise investments over the years. Very wise indeed.

Another lightning bolt crashed downward, splintering the pear tree Padric had been using for cover, and Padric decided he was far enough away to make a real run for it. Although Padric was as adept as any other Silent at teleporting from one Dream location to another, the abrupt lack of his presence would cause an inward rush of Dream energy, much like water would hurry in to replace a rock that suddenly disappeared, and that would definitely be noticed.

The hummingbird skimmed low over the ground and shifted into a small feline creature with orange-brown fur. Padric tore soundlessly across the ground faster than a groundcar, muscles bunching, claws extended for maximum purchase.

A distinct rumble emanated from the dark area behind Padric as he ran. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw more red lightning suffuse the strange blackness. Instead of vanishing, however, the lightning left streaks behind, as if the darkness were cracking. Padric skittered to a halt and stared. Around him lay a flat, featureless plain; he hadn’t bothered to create anything more specific once he cleared Araceil’s realm. He sat back on his haunches and stared some more. The red cracks glowed like lava. What was happening?

Padric spread his whiskers with a whiffing noise, uncertain what to do. After a time, he became aware that someone was trodding close to his Dream space. A feathery touch asked permission to approach his domain. It was KellReech.

“Approach,” he called. Although sprint-cats from Rothmar couldn’t make speech sounds, Padric managed it. His subconscious might continue to reject the idea of a rock that could see or a leaf that could hear, but an animal that could talk didn’t seem to bother it overmuch.

KellReech appeared next to him with a soft
pop,
and Padric felt the ripples in his Dream space. KellReech was a Villor, bipedal and short, perhaps a meter tall. Her skin was covered in a rainbow shimmer of greasy scales, and her face was flat, with a wide mouth and two small brown eyes. Her fingers were long and graceful as grass stems.

“Have you looked closely yet?” she asked without preamble.

“No.” Padric raised an orange-brown paw. “Shall we?”

KellReech wordlessly wrapped his paw in her graceful multi-jointed fingers. The Dream
twisted,
and they were standing at the edge of darkness.

The wail hit Padric first. His ears flattened on his skull and he gave an automatic hiss. The wail was harsh and discordant, raking Padric’s nerves. KellReech released his paw and he forced himself to look at the scene more closely.

It wasn’t just the sky that was dark. It was every scrap of earth and air. Everything ahead of them was three-dimensional blackness cracked by scarlet. It stretched from horizon to horizon. Inside the darkness, Padric could dimly make out movement but no exact shapes, not even the canyon that had opened below it. This place had no form, and Padric wasn’t strong enough to force one on it. He didn’t dare walk through it or even stab a claw into it.

The wailing continued. Other Silent in a range of races and species were scattered up and down the long boundary between the darkness and the Dream. Some conversed in pairs or groups. Others simply stared. No one crossed into the wailing black. Whispers murmured in the background, somehow still audible over the noise. The Dream was always full of whispers. Padric noted several humans among the Silent and carefully turned his head so he couldn’t see them.

“It grows,” KellReech murmured. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Has anyone tried to cross it?” Padric asked.

“I have heard nothing of such an attempt,” KellReech replied. She reached down to touch his head, unusual for her. “On the other side are nineteen planets with Silent. They are either surrounded by this or they are inside it. I can’t sense them, this much I know.”

Padric concentrated for a moment, but it quickly became obvious that he wouldn’t be able to sense anything beyond the boundary either. For a moment he thought he heard a faint cry under the wailing. He peered ahead, trying to see better. There was a brief flicker, like something flitting at the corner of his eye. Padric craned his neck. For a second he was sure he had seen a human woman amid the chaos. He caught a glimpse of long black hair and an impression of youth. She was...dancing? Then she was gone.

“Did you see that?” he asked KellReech urgently. “The human girl?”

“I saw her,” KellReech replied, her hand still on his head. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“I will go consult with others.” KellReech took her hand from Padric’s head and vanished without another word. Padric backed further away from the red-streaked darkness, then gathered his concentration. Obediently his mind conjured up a picture of a spartan stone hall with pillars and a satin reclining couch. He was
here
but he wished to be
there.

A small wrench, and he was standing in the pillared hall, exactly as he had imagined it. The blackness was far away, a smudge on the horizon visible through one glassless window, and from this distance he couldn’t hear the painful wail. Padric forced himself to set thoughts of the ongoing disaster for the moment, knowing KellReech would tell him of anything she found. There were other things he had to consider. He jumped onto the satin couch and worked at the soft cloth with his paws.

So his information had been right—Mother Adept Araceil was a person to watch and it had been worth every moment spent spying on her. Another wave of excitement washed over Padric and he actually began to purr. He had heard the rumors of a powerful Silent, of course, and his information had told him the boy was on a planet within the Empire of Human Unity. However, the idea of a Silent who could control the unwilling and non-Silent was...well, it was a dream come true.

A thought struck him. Was the boy responsible for the black place? He considered the idea for a moment. Doubtful. The disturbance had the feel of many minds, not just one. Was it his project, then? Padric would have to get hold of Dr. Jillias Say on Rust and find out quickly. Meanwhile, it would be best to get his hands on the boy. It would it spell disaster if the Unity got hold of—

Padric was sinking into the couch. Startled, he tried to stand up, but the cushions pulled him down as if they were made of quicksand. He panicked for a moment, then struggled free of the couch with a sucking sound and flopped ignominiously to the cool marble floor. Beside him, the couch melted into black mush. Padric scrambled to his feet and leaped away from it, claws scrabbling on the smooth floor. The remains of the couch hissed and bubbled like a pitch cauldron, spreading dark ooze across the floor. The ooze ate into the floor, chuckling to itself as if it were alive. It threw up a dank, moldy smell redolent of rotten vegetables.

Then came the screams. A dozen, perhaps a hundred voices, all in pain, all wailing like a cold wind. It came from every direction, tearing at skin and nerves. Padric had to leave the Dream, and quickly, but the screams made it hard to concentrate. A column pressed cold against Padric’s side. He leaned against it, trying to take in its solidity and ignore the chuckling that oozed steadily toward him. The horrible wail keened louder. Suddenly Padric was back in the camps, hearing the screams of the other inmates, their cries for help and mercy. He flattened his ears again and yowled in sympathy.

The column shifted against Padric’s fur. He jumped away with a hiss and spun to face it. The white stone bulged with odd shapes. Distorted human forms moved within the rock, stretching and twisting in impossible directions. Eyes bulged and contracted, skin and muscle contorted. An arm broke free with a wet sound and reached for him. Padric scrambled backward. Cold slime washed over his hind feet, oozed between his toes. Padric tried to leap free, but the blackness held him fast. Still chuckling, it crawled up his haunches. A tendril snapped upward and wrapped around his shoulders like an icy snake.

Padric shut his eyes. He was not in danger. He was not going to die. He was Padric Sufur, and he was a master in the Dream. The ooze climbed, engulfing his front legs. Padric forced himself to shut out the horrible keening, the cold slime crawling up his body. It reached his chest and shoulders. Padric inhaled deeply, ignoring the rotten smell and the fact that he couldn’t feel his feet. He was calm. He was in control.

The icy ooze rushed over his head. Padric automatically tried to inhale and choked. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t—

Padric Sufur’s eyes snapped open and he sat up with a gasp. He flailed wildly about his bed for a moment before realizing that the slime was gone, the wailing silent. He had successfully left the Dream.

Padric wrapped long, thin arms around his chest, acclimating himself to his real shape. It was bony and inefficient. KellReech had a lower center of gravity and more dextrous fingers. Chipk had many legs and eyes and soft brown fur. Padric’s body was mostly hairless and his hands were awkward. His face was lean, unlined, and hawk-like, with a long nose and thin lips. His body was equally lean, with long limbs and hands. Out of the Dream, Padric had allowed a few wrinkles to creep across his face to remind him that, despite appearances, eighty-eight wasn’t young even for a human.