Steven Harper - Dreamer

“Right,” Kendi said. He dashed across the market, dodging shoppers and bicycles and earning angry shouts from both. With a deep breath, Kendi plunged into the alley.

The alley was dark and smelled rancid. Kendi skidded on something slippery, caught his balance, heard a yelp of pain. Just ahead of him, the boy had been shoved up against one wall. The heavyset man held him there by the neck while the other two stood with their arms crossed. Snarling, the captor drew back a fist, and the boy squeezed his eyes shut.

Kendi flung himself forward. He barreled straight into the heavyset man. He went down, Kendi on top of him. Kendi leaped free and spun to face the other men who had already produced weapons. The boy’s eyes popped open. One man carried a blade that crackled and snapped. The other aimed a pistol.

Operating on instinct, Kendi dove for the ground. Energy spat through the air above his head. He rolled to his feet and came face-to-face with the crackling knife. An arc flashed in the air and something slashed Kendi’s arm. It went numb from shoulder to elbow. Kendi’s foot smashed the man in the groin. The knife clattered to the ground, but Kendi could feel the other man’s pistol trained on his back. Everything moved in slow motion.

Dodge dodge dodge, he thought. His legs pushed him sideways and warm, fetid air moved against his cheek. Kendi flattened himself against the alley wall, expecting pain to crash across his back. Nothing. He looked over his shoulder at the gunman. The man stood motionless, pistol in his outstretched hand. The heavyset man lay where Kendi had tackled him, and the man with the knife moaned on the ground. Kendi spared a glance for the boy. He was staring at the gunman. Puzzled, but deciding it would be best to take care of the immediate threat first, Kendi removed the pistol from the man’s unresisting hand. Kendi pistol-whipped him and he fell.

“Are you all right?” Kendi said to the boy.

The boy stared at Kendi. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I was going to ask the same about them.” Kendi gestured at the attackers. “What was that all about?”

The boy said nothing. Kendi stuck the pistol into his belt and tried to massage some feeling back into his arm. It was going to hurt like hell, he was sure. The man Kendi had kicked tried to get up. Kendi drew a dermospray from his pocket and pressed it against the man’s arm. There was a muffled thump. The man sighed and fell silent. Kendi turned back to the boy.

“Did you stop that guy from shooting me?” he asked.

Silence.

“Look, I just saved your life, and I think you saved mine. Did you?”

Still no answer. Exasperated, Kendi tried to grab the boy by the shoulder, but the boy backed away. “Bump off. Don’t touch me unless-”

“Hands in the air!” barked a voice.

Both of them spun. A man and a woman in the red and black uniforms of the Unity guard stood in the alleyway, pistols aimed and steady.

Behind them was a sleek patrol cruiser, the only type of ground car allowed in the market. Kendi raised his good arm. The boy raised both of his.

“I said, hands up!” the woman snapped.

“I can’t raise my other arm,” Kendi said. “One of those guys hit it with an energy blade.”

“Take the pistol out of your belt with your fingertips,” the woman ordered. “Drop it on the ground.”

Kendi obeyed. A pang shot through him as he remembered the dermosprays in his pocket. Even the most cursory search would turn them up. Tension made a cold knot in his stomach.

“These men attacked us, officers,” he said. “The gun belongs to them.”

The male guard snorted. His partner eased closer and kicked the gun away. Kendi saw sweat trickle down the boy’s face.

“Both of you put your hands on the wall,” the male officer said. “Now!”

Shakily, Kendi put his good arm on the wall. A dozen possibilities flickered through his mind and were just as quickly tossed aside. No fighting. Kendi had caught the boy’s attackers by surprise. The same approach wouldn’t work with alert Unity patrol guards. Running was out of the question. He’d be gunned down. He couldn’t even call Ara for help-wearing a communicator while making underworld contacts would have spelled his death.

Hard hands landed on his shoulders, feeling his back and moving down his sides.

And then there was a strange jumping sensation, as if the world had leaped to one side. A dizzy spell made Kendi glad he was leaning against the wall. The feeling was the same one he got after he’d been…been…

Shit! he thought. I was possessed! The kid possessed me! Did he possess the guards too?

A harsh grip spun him around and he looked into the face of the Unity patrol officer. The boy was nowhere in sight.

“What the hell did you do?” he snarled. “Where did your little friend go?”

“I don’t know,” Kendi said. “I swear!”

The man smashed Kendi’s face and he fell to his knees. A foot slammed into his stomach, and he vomited over the alley floor. Kendi wondered if Ara would find his body as pain exploded at his temple.

SEJAL’S JOURNAL DAY 4, MONTH 10, COMMON YEAR 987

I turned my first trick today.

There. I said it. Or I wrote it down, anyway.

I’ve never kept a journal before. It’s kind of weird. I’m typing because I don’t want Mom to overhear me talking to the terminal. It’s an old, clunky thing, and you have to talk loud to get its attention. We can’t afford a new one, though.

Okay, I’m not a virgin anymore. Or does this not count? It’s not like I let the guy screw me or anything. I’m not into men. Or does this mean I am? I don’t feel any different, and I don’t look any different. I’ll write it all down and maybe then I’ll know if something changed.

I’m kind of scared.

The voices haven’t gone away. I was hoping they would when I lost my virginity. I don’t know why I thought they might. Sometimes I think I’ll go nuts. They whisper and whisper and and I can’t quite understand what they’re saying. Grampy Lon says hearing voices is a sign of Silence, but I haven’t said much about that to Mom. Every time I bring it up, she changes the subject or just clamps her lips together. I know I had the test-twice-when I was little and that it came up negative both times. They take Silent kids away, so I can’t be Silent.

Anyway. I was talking about the other stuff.

I did it for the money. You don’t make much busking, that’s for sure, and there aren’t any jobs for a sixteen-year-old who can’t afford more school, not when slaves do the work cheap. No one gives a shit how many hours you spend studying on the nets, either. So I stood on the corner down by the kelp seller’s with my flute. I’ve been playing since I was six, ever since Grampy Lon decided to give me lessons, and I’m pretty good.

Okay. The kelpies are at the edge of the market, almost into the business district, and there were lots of bureaucrats skulking around under the tall buildings the Unity sprayed up after the Annexation. The traffic was heavy, with both groundcars and aircars. Between them and the people on the street, it’s almost claustrophobic-perfect spot for a busker, I thought.

I thought wrong. After three hours, my fingers ached and I had a quarter kesh — enough to buy lunch if I was careful. That was when Jesse wandered over.

I met Jesse six months ago at the market. By then, Jesse’d been tricking for almost a year. He’s not that good-looking-scruffy black hair, heavy eyebrows, pointy nose, pretty good build-but he doesn’t work for one of the houses, which means he’s cheap and he can usually find a jobber. I think he lives on the street, dodging slavers and goons from the houses. One time the house goons caught up with him and beat him so bad it gave him a permanent limp. He started sucking a lot more jay-juice after that, and I think he tricks to feed his habit.