Steven Harper - Trickster

Keith's Delta said something to him, and he smiled. Martina wondered what it was. A warning tingle from her shackles reminded her not to stare and she quickly turned her attention back to her sewing. How long were they going to do this? Dreamer Roon said in one of his lectures that hard labor drove away N-waves, bringing them closer to Irfan and making them more ready to enter the Dream without drugs. Martina had her doubts. She suspected it was make-work, but to what end? And why the weird sleeping and eating patterns? A way of reinforcing Roon's power over them? Martina had been a slave for most of her life and was used to obeying orders from her owner, so why did Roon need to establish dominance? It was a puzzle, something to think about during the interminable labors of the day.

A soft chime sounded. "Time," called Delta Maura. Martina tensed. She was taking a risk today, a small one, but a risk nonetheless. With a false sigh of relief, Martina set aside the half-finished robe, then surreptitiously pulled at her left glove, tightening it over her fingers and exposing the little patch of skin. The Alphas rose and stretched the kinks out of arms and legs. Keith neatly folded his work first. When Martina got to her feet, she swayed, as if dizzy. Immediately, Delta Maura was at Martina's side.

"Are you all right, dear?" Delta Maura asked.

With her left hand, Martina grasped Delta Maura's wrist just above her green glove and pretended to steady herself. The tiny patch of Martina's bare skin came into direct contact with Delta Maura's. Martina braced herself.

Nothing.

"Alpha?" Delta Maura said. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine," Martina managed. "I sometimes get a little head rush when I stand up too fast."

This was no lie and therefore didn't earn her a shock. Delta Maura nodded and stepped away, folding her hands in front of her. Martina's heart was pounding. She had felt nothing. It had been drilled into her from childhood that when two Silent touch skin-to-skin for the first time, they both experienced a physical jolt. The jolt was the physical manifestation of a newly-established psychic link that would allow the two Silent to find each other in the Dream faster and more easily than two Silent who had never touched. It was also a highly reliable test for Silence.

Delta Maura was not Silent.

Martina's head swam beneath this staggering concept. All the Deltas were supposed to be Silent, trained by Roon himself. But Delta Maura clearly wasn't. Was this true of all the Deltas?

It made a terrible sort of sense. Working Silent were rare these days. How had these people-she still didn't know what the group was called-found so many of them and re-trained them in the few months since the Despair? It was something Martina hadn't considered until now, but she had been dealing with strange food, sleep deprivation, and mind-numbing labor. Was this the reason for all that? So no one would ask too many questions?

One of the Delta's-Keith's Delta-cleared his throat pointedly and the Alphas fell silent.

"I need to announce," the Delta said, gesturing at Keith "that this Alpha has been doing exemplary work of late and is deserving of high praise. Very soon he will be promoted to Beta. All praise the Dream!"

"All praise the Dream!" everyone repeated automatically. Keith smiled, glowing at the kind words. Martina felt an unexpected wash of jealousy. Ridiculous. She squashed the feeling and filed it away as something to trot out during the Confessional.

"You may now return to your quarters for a few moments of free time," the Delta finished.

As the Alphas filed out of the sewing room, Martina managed to get next to Keith. "Congratulations," she said wryly without looking directly at him. He gave her a glance that was almost shy.

"Thanks," he said.

Now Martina did look at him. She had heard no trace of irony in his voice. Deciding on the direct approach, she said, "You like it here, don't you?"

"Of course," he said. "I don't have to worry about anything here. There are fewer N-waves in my brain, and I feel freer than ever. Didn't you hear? Pretty soon I'll be a Beta!"

Martina worked her jaw. How could he be buying into this place? Sure, she might be a slave, but she was Silent, and used to better treatment than this.

"I didn't like at first, either," said another Alpha, the plumpish man who had been the first to sit in the Confessional. "But now I'm thinking it isn't so bad. Out there-" he made a vague gesture toward the corridor walls "-we're slaves to the Dream. In here, we're free. No one can hurt us or look at us like we're freaks because we're Silent. Dreamer Roon cares about us. He's trying to help us get into the Dream without all those drugs. If putting up with some weird stuff now and then is part of the price, I'm willing to pay it."

Martina couldn't believe her ears. True, she had thought at first that the deal was pretty good-nice quarters, nice clothes, not having to put long hours in the Dream-but they didn't outweigh the other factors. Not even close. And now she had learned that at least one part of the whole place was a lie.

Martina threw a glance over her shoulder. The Deltas were following, doubtless listening in on the conversation. Best to play along. "I'm starting to think so, too," she said. "I do miss the Dream, though. Do you think they'll give us our drugs back and let us back in?"

"That will come when you are a Gamma," Delta Maura said from behind. "For now, you must concentrate on Dreamer Roon's teaching, dear."

"I'll try, Delta," Martina said with pretend disappointment.

"Do you hear the Dream whisper to you?" Delta Maura asked.

"At ni-just before I go to sleep," Martina replied, remembering at the last moment not to make references to time. "I used to hear it all the time, but ever since the Despair, I've only heard it a little bit."

"The Despair was a time of cleansing," Delta Maura said seriously. "It was a time when the unworthy were weeded out of the Dream. Those who were cast out had too much of Vik's evil taint about them, and they deserved their fate. You are all chosen by Irfan herself, and her blessings run strong within you."

Pride in herself welled up. Martina fiercely shoved it aside. The words were false praise from a fake Silent. No one knew why some Silent could still touch the Dream and others couldn't. The idea that it had anything to do with Irfan Qasad or Daniel Vik was ludicrous. But the words still made her feel special, part of an "in" crowd, maybe even a member of secret society or a cult.

Martina stopped dead in the corridor, causing the Alpha coming up behind to bump into her. She apologized and made herself keep moving, though her mind was whirling again. She entered her quarters and sat down on her bed, trying to fit her mind around another new idea.

The place was a cult.

Martina should have recognized it sooner. She had read about cults in her first owner's library, had heard about Silent who were members of such groups. Everything that had happened in this place, she realized, was part of an indoctrination process. The separation from society, the enforcement of strict rules, the sleep deprivation and low-carbohydrate diet-all designed to break down psychological barriers and force the "recruits" to embrace the cult itself. Martina was amazed that she hadn't seen it all earlier.

The question was, why go through all the trouble? Martina got up to pace the floor between her bed and the computer desk. She desperately wished she could go outside, get some fresh air and sunshine to clear her mind, but the closest thing to any of that was a stupid hologram on the wall.

Martina continued to pace. She was a slave, had been one for most of her life. She had been stolen away from her owners at DrimCom, but she didn't feel like a kidnap victim. From her perspective, one owner was pretty much like another, as long as she wasn't beaten or otherwise mistreated. None of her work in the Dream enriched her personally, so why did she care who paid for her services? Martina had no children, no husband, and no really close friends, so it wasn't as if she would be a prime candidate for running away after being bought-or stolen-by someone else. Why, then, go through the trouble of all this indoctrination?