Steven Harper - Dreamer

“For you and me both,” Fen laughed. “How long did you last after I left?”

Ara thought quickly. She’d have to remember whatever lie she told. Best to keep it simple. “Two years. Maybe three? I haven’t thought about the university in a long time.”

“It was a good time. You, me, Priss, Dello, and-what was his name? The guy who limped.”

“Benjamin,” Ara supplied with a small twinge.

Fen snapped his fingers. “Benjamin Heller. Wouldn’t let us call him Ben. Whatever happened to any of them? I never heard.”

In a split-second, nearly thirty years fell away. Claxons blared again. The eerily calm computer’s voice announced the hull breach. Benjamin shouted in frantic surprise.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I fell out of touch.”

The man behind Ara pointedly cleared his throat. Chin Fen took the hint.

“Maybe we can have dinner later and catch up,” he said. “What can I help you with right now?”

Ara drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Information. I’m selling chocolate, and I hear Rust is hurting for it.”

“We are,” Fen said with a small laugh. “I can’t remember when I last tasted the stuff. But we don’t carry trade info here. You want the Commerce Chamber.”

“I’m not worried about my current cargo,” Ara replied. “It’s the future I’m looking at. I have a couple of standing contracts for slaves, and I need to know more about Rust’s regulations. I tried to access the public terminals, but they won’t let me in without a code. The error message said I could get one here.”

Although it would be relatively easy for Ben to hack into Rust’s nets again, Ara saw no point in risking arrest over information that could be gotten legitimately with proper paperwork. Best to save Ben for the high-powered stuff not available to the public.

Fen’s face cleared. “Access codes I can help you with. I’ll just need to download your papers. And there’s a forty kesh charge.”

“Forty kesh?” Ara yelped. “I could open my own store for that.”

“Not on Rust,” Fen replied. “Sorry.”

Making a big show of grumbling, Ara paid the fee and let Fen download from her computer pad the identity papers Ben had forged for her. In the interest of keeping everything simple, he had used their real first names and falsified last names.

“I adopted my grandmother’s name after she died,” Ara breezed when Fen asked about the discrepancy. “I wanted to honor her memory.”

“Did you ever marry?” Fen used a small scanner to verify her retina and thumb prints.

“No.” She laughed. “Running a merchant vessel doesn’t leave time for romance.”

“It must be more interesting than working here.” Fen’s fingers flicked over his terminal. “All set. If your crew wants access, though, they’ll each have to come down here themselves. Tell them to bring a good book.”

“And a small fortune,” Ara groused.

Fen leaned across the counter. “I’m supposed to go on break soon. Let’s get something to eat, hey?”

Ara’s initial instinct was to make excuses. She’s have to watch every word she said and remember every lie she told. A moment’s thought, however, told her that this man was a friendly contact in unfriendly territory.

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” she said.

Chin Fen’s face lit up like a puppy in love, and suddenly Ara wasn’t so sure she’d made the right decision.

PLANET RUST, CITY IJHAN

Kendi Weaver wandered from stall to stall, pretending to browse and trying to keep the memories at arm’s length. Voices, colors, and smells swirled around him. He wanted to run all the way back to the Post Script. But the Silent on Unity worlds were slaves, and Kendi’s knack for worming his way into the underworld made the illegal slave market his most logical assignment.

The black market for slaves was, as usual, hidden in the red light district. On Rust, just like elsewhere, it was easy for black marketeers to tell inquisitive authorities that their merchandise was only for rent, not sale, and to pay the fines-or bribes-for violating anti-prostitution laws. It had taken two hours to find Ijhan’s red light district and four days of “shopping” to get a feel for who was selling what. During that time, he’d picked up rent boys from three different places, thumped some illegal dermosprays, and paid for time in bed so word would get out that he was customer, not guard. The antidote strips Harenn had implanted under his skin kept Kendi from getting high, but there was no way around the sex. Kendi hoped Ben didn’t find out.

Two of the rent boys had had red hair.

Kendi browsed the market. At first glance, the place looked like any other market near sunset. The area was closed to ground traffic, and stalls and booths were scattered up and down the street. Buyers crowded the sidewalk, and the street was full of bicycles and people pulling light passenger carts. Vendors hawked food, clothing, and cheap jewelry. Shouts and conversations mixed with smells of sizzling fat and human sweat. Signs and posters were everywhere, extolling Humans, Yes! Aliens, No! Love the Unity Like Yourself, and Our Children Are the Unity.

Kendi ignored all of this. He couldn’t shake the feeling that should hurry. His mind held no doubt that other Silent soon feel the strange child’s presence. When that happened, others would start looking too.

Some stalls were large enough to be living rooms. Others were actually entrances to what looked like apartment houses. Prostitutes, male and female, were draped inside and in front of these stalls. Most looked bored, some looked scared, a few looked seductive.

“Hey!” called a familiar voice as Kendi passed one stall. “Looking for more fun?”

Kendi turned to the speaker, a young man with a long face and thin lips. Kendi put a knowing grin on his face and entered the stall. It was carpeted with threadbare rugs. Three attractive young men were stretched out on the ground. They glanced idly at Kendi as he shook hands with their pimp.

“Your man was pretty good yesterday, Qadar,” Kendi said. “Worth it.”

“Mine are trained,” Qadar breezed. “These other places just throw someone into bed with you and take your money. I make sure my boys know what they’re doing. You want a drink? Or a refill on your dermos?”

“Don’t need the refill,” Kendi said, patting a brace of dermosprays in one pocket, “but I’ll take some wine.”

He and Qadar made further small talk while one of the rent boys brought Kendi a glass of wine. When the timing felt right, Kendi leaned conspiratorially toward Qadar.

“I’ve got a friend,” he said. “And we’re in the market for something…permanent, you know? Someone we can have whenever we want. But we don’t want to pay taxes and license fees and all that shit every year. You know anyone?”

Qadar hemmed and hawed until Kendi dropped considerable kesh on the table.

“Talk to Mr. M and to Indri. They’ll set you up,” Qadar said, and gave directions to their stalls.

Kendi winked. “I’ll be back. Gotta keep your men in practice.”

Out in the market, Kendi suppressed a shudder and paid to wash hands and face at a hot water stall. When he emerged, he stopped abruptly enough to earn an elbow in the side from an annoyed passer-by.

The boy was back.

Kendi’s heart lurched. The boy slouched against a gray aerogel wall half a block up the street. His clothes were ragged, even torn, but he was quite handsome, with tousled black hair and a swarthy complexion that contrasted sharply with a startling pair of ice-blue eyes. He looked fifteen or sixteen.