Steven Harper - Trickster

The answer, when it came, seemed obvious. Loyalty. Martina-and, presumably, the others-felt no loyalty toward any owner, present or past, and would happily run to freedom, given the chance. But fully-indoctrinated members of a cult were something else. Their loyalty to the cult and its leader ran strong and fierce. They invariably resisted anyone who tried to remove them from the cult's enclave. Roon's program was designed to create a group of absolutely loyal Silent who wouldn't dream of running away and who would do their best to return if kidnapped. In a universe where Silent were rarer than free-floating plutonium, such followers were worth a hundred times more than ordinary Silent slaves. A thousand times more.

And it was starting to work. Keith, already emotionally vulnerable, was clearly ready to buy into Roon's fictional world. So was that other male Alpha. Martina herself had begun to weaken, despite the fact that she had been suspicious of late and doing her best to resist.

A feeling of hopelessness washed over her. She had to get out of this place, and fast. She also had to somehow persuade Keith to come with her. But how? Her every move was watched, even when she was alone, and she was still shackled.

No. There was no such thing as a perfect security system. Security systems were designed and used by people, and people made mistakes. Martina sat down on her bed to think. How had her kidnappers managed to deactivate her shackles at DrimCom? They must have done so-otherwise they would have shocked her the moment she crossed the building's threshold. If they could do it, she could do it. And the cameras in her quarters could be foiled. An "accident" could cover them up or knock them off-line entirely. All she had to do was find them.

Martina nodded. It was a place to start and gave her something to think about, concentrate on during the mind-numbing labor. And in the meantime, she would have to play the role of good little Alpha, persuade the Deltas she was glad to be here. If they thought she was a willing participant, they would be less likely to watch her closely.

But how would she stop them from indoctrinating Keith?

Kendi looked up from the display holo as Ben entered their quarters and flopped down onto the couch with a heavy sigh. It was shift change at the Collection. The holographic screen showed the door scanning a steady stream of people-IDs and prints-in a ritual Kendi had seen dozens of times over the last few weeks. In about half an hour, another stream of people would emerge from the same door. Kendi assumed the people coming off shift had to brief the people coming on. Kendi wondered why the Collection needed all these employees, and he desperately wished they could hack the computer system to find out. The Collection's system, however, was still physically isolated from the rest of the station, and the only way to get access was from within. It was frustrating in the extreme, knowing the Collection and his family were so close, yet so untouchable.

It was also difficult because Kendi had only a vague sketch of a plan. He hadn't told anyone, not even Ben, that he had almost no idea what he was doing. Every instinct he had, however, told him that the department head keys were crucial to freeing his brother and sister. Kendi hated keeping secrets from Ben, but he didn't think Ben would react well if he knew Kendi was insisting on stealing the keys before he knew what to do with them.

And then there was the time limit. The Poltergeist had to be back on Bellerophon in eight days, no excuses or exceptions. If it came down to it, Kendi would happily end his career with the Children if it meant liberty for his brother and sister, but he didn't want to do that. For one thing, his parents were still out there somewhere, and they were next on his list.

"I take it you got nothing," Kendi said to Ben.

Ben shook his head. His red hair was dark with sweat. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear Roon was a saint. He doesn't drink, he doesn't touch recreational drugs, he doesn't visit hookers, and he doesn't gamble. He doesn't even seem to have a favorite restaurant. I thought today I might actually get something on him because he deviated from his routine and made an extra stop on his way home from work, but no dice." He ran a hand over his face and grimaced. "God, I need a shower. I'll give you the details when I'm done."

He got up and headed for the bedroom, shedding clothes as he went. Kendi watched the muscles of Ben's back bunch and move beneath smooth skin as he pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. Trousers, underwear, and socks followed. Kendi continued to watch Ben's naked form until it disappeared into the bedroom and, presumably, headed toward the bathroom. A few moments later, he heard the hiss of running water. Kendi drummed his fingers on the desk. He should watch the displays. He should look for an anomaly among the workers that he could exploit. He should look for subtle clues about what was really going on inside the Collection. He should- "The hell with this," he muttered.

Less than a minute later, he drew aside the back corner of the shower screen and stepped into the shower behind Ben, whose face was upturned under a luxurious spray. Water had drenched and darkened his hair and ran in rivulets down his back. Kendi felt an aching, heavy need to be close to Ben, become so close that their bodies would melt and run together like drops of water. He put both his hands on Ben's shoulders. Ben jumped and turned partway around.

"Need someone to wash your back?" Kendi asked, moving his hands lower.

"That's not my back," Ben pointed out with a grin and turned back to the shower.

"How about this?"

"Nope." Ben closed his eyes with a sigh. "You'll have to keep trying."

What started in the shower finished in the bedroom. Ben, still slightly damp, sprawled on his stomach next to Kendi, who was lying on his back but still pressed close to Ben. Kendi's skin was warm on Ben's. The soft light and lack of angles in the room were soothing and restful. The window showed gleaming stars against an utterly black background, and Ben could pretend there was no Collection, no SA Station-just a universe that was completely empty except for him and Kendi.

Ben shifted and winced beneath a slight twinge. Kendi's lovemaking had been intense, even a little rough, and Ben was sure he'd have a few bruises in the morning. He didn't care. Everything about Kendi had lately been more intense-and just plain tense-and Ben was glad to offer him some relief. Ben was just drifting off to sleep when Kendi spoke.

"So what happened today? You said Roon deviated from his routine."

"Hm?" Ben roused himself. "Deviated. Yeah, he did. It wasn't anything big. He gets off work every day at the same time-not during the shift change for the rest of the workers-and then he goes home. He takes the same route every single day, and once he gets home, he stays there. Except today."

"What did he do today?"

"He went to an art gallery."

"Art gallery?" Kendi rolled over and propped his head up on one hand. "Did you follow him inside?"

Ben shrugged. "Of course. I swear he looked at everything. Paintings, sculptures, holograms, sensories-you name it. There was a special exhibit on. He wandered around for more than two hours. Finally he bought a painting. He ordered it delivered and walked out. I followed him home, but nothing else happened."

"What was the painting about?" Kendi asked intently.

"Does it matter?" Ben said, surprised.

"It might. No detail is too small, you know that."

Ben closed his eyes and cast his mind back. Kendi, he knew, had the flawless short-term memory required for Dream communication work, and could faultlessly remember pages and pages of text for short periods of time. All Children were trained this way so that written communication could be transmitted word-for-word to other Silent through the Dream. But Ben hadn't gone through the mnemonic training, and he hadn't paid too much attention to the specifics of Roon's purchase. He hadn't though it would matter, though now he realized his mistake. He closed his eyes and thought.