Steven Harper - Dreamer

It wasn’t just that the boy’s power had been proven beyond any doubt or that Ara would have to decide whether he should live or die. She was also worried about Kendi. He had spent two weeks in a Unity prison and it was clear the experience had been horrifying. And in behavior that came straight from a psychology textbook, he refused to discuss it.

And as Irfan said, “The real world becomes the Dream,” Ara mused.

Maybe Ben could worm it out of him. She’d have to talk to him later about it. Right now, she had a job to do.

Ara patrolled the market, quickly establishing a pattern. She would find a vantage point and examine passing faces for several minutes, then move on to another spot. After three hours of steady walking, she paused to wolf down something bland and crunchy wrapped in soft bread for supper. Her calves and feet ached from all the walking, and she was sure bruises were forming on various parts of her body from elbows and knees of passers-by. One of the disadvantages of being short was that people tended to run over you if you weren’t careful. It was also damned difficult to get a good look at faces without standing on tiptoe.

Her implant flashed for her attention. Ara jerked her head to the right, and her implant drew a red outline around a figure just up the street. She caught her breath. Facial features, eyes, hair. He was even slouching against a wall like Kendi had reported. Ara tapped her earpiece.

“I’ve found our friend,” she subvocalized. “I’m looking right at him.”

“Where are you, Mother?” Pitr’s voice replied in her ear.

Ara looked around. She had no idea. There were no street signs or landmarks. “Not sure. There are a lot of people selling clothes and cloth around here, and I just passed several electronics merchants. I saw a statue of the Premier a while ago.”

“Hold on,” Pitr said. “Let me link up with Ben so we can figure out where everyone is.”

“I was just down where you are now, Mother,” Trish piped up. “You’re about four blocks from the red light district. I can be there in twenty minutes, if the crowd lets me.”

“I’ve got you all triangulated,” Ben’s voice broke in from the ship. “Gretchen’s closest. Go to your ocular implant, Gretchen, and I’ll overlay directions for you.”

Brief pause.

“Got ‘em” Gretchen said. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Hold it,” Ara said. “He’s moving. Stay linked everyone.”

The boy meandered down the street, hands in his ragged pockets. Ara dodged around an old man with a basket and hurried after him. Her lips pursed with determination. She wasn’t going to let him out of her sight no matter what.

“You’re moving south, Mother,” Ben reported. “Gretchen, you’re coming in from the east. If you hurry, you might be able to get on the street ahead of him.”

“Dammit!” Gretchen snarled. Ara winced and put a hand to her ear. “One of those passenger bikes collided with a wheelbarrow. A crowd is gathering and I can’t get through.”

Ara twisted and ducked her way through the crowd and up the street. The boy had long legs, and his casual saunter was Ara’s brisk trot.

“You’re almost at the edge of the market, Mother,” Ben said. “You should be seeing regular streets soon.”

Ben was right. Up ahead, Ara made out ground cars zipping through an intersection. The boy reached the corner and stopped there. He took up his customary slouch against a wall. Ara halted as well and scrutinized the boy more closely. No electronic shackles clamped his wrists or ankles and he wore no collar around his neck. Ara cursed silently. Unless his master was extremely permissive, the boy was free. He would have to be persuaded, not bought.

A pair of guard marched by and Ara faded back. The boy seemed to ignore them completely, but she saw he was watching them from under half-closed eyes.

Ara tried to think. How should she approach him? She didn’t want to frighten him off, but she didn’t want to lose him, either. Two tiny transmitters nestled in her pocket and she could probably plant one by “accidentally” bumping into him. On the other hand, if he figured out what she was doing, it would probably destroy all hope of a working relationship. Maybe she should just try to strike up a conversation. But how?

Ara sighed. It was so much easier to do this in a slave market. You pointed, paid, and took the person home. It took a while to convince some slaves that the Children of Irfan were actually setting them free, but all in all it wasn’t that hard.

And how would Irfan have viewed this? she thought tartly. A Mother Adept whining to herself that the job will take some effort.

Chastised, Ara decided to simply watch the boy for a while to see if she could gain any clues about how to approach him. It would also give Gretchen and the others time to catch up.

A long, dark ground car drove up to the curb and one mirrored window lowered itself a few centimeters. The boy sauntered up to it. The window lowered further and he leaned inside. Ara noticed that his ragged clothes were definitely on the tight side and many of the rips seemed strategic.

“Uh oh,” Ara said.

“What happens, Mother?” Harenn asked. “I have met Gretchen and we are coming.”

“Ben,” Ara subvocalized hurriedly, “hack into the nets and find out who owns a ground car with registry number-” she squinted “-H14 dash 35J. Hurry!”

“On it.”

“What is it?” Gretchen asked.

Ara stepped up to the street. The boy was still leaning into the car and couldn’t see her, though she was barely three meters away. For a brief moment she considered trying to plant a transmitter on him and almost instantly decided against it. He might notice. Plant one on the car? No. Any car that expensive had disruption devices for just such an occurrence. She scanned the street instead.

“Ben, are there any cabs in the area?” she asked.

“I can’t check that and find the registration number at the same time, Mother.”

“Mother Adept, what’s happening?” Gretchen demanded.

“I think our boy is a…working lad,” Ara murmured. No cabs were in sight.

Harenn spoke up. “So pick him up and offer to pay for an hour or two. What is such a problem?”

The boy backed out of the window. The car door opened and he climbed inside.

“Shit,” Ara muttered.

“The car is registered to Melvan and Xava Yshidra,” Ben said. “Do you want their address?”

And then, by a miracle, a cab turned a corner and buzzed up the street. Ara waved frantically and it stopped. The other vehicle slid smoothly into traffic as Ara leaped into the cab.

“Glory to the Unity. Stay behind them,” she said, pointing. There was no way in hell she was going to say Follow that car.

The driver, a raw-boned woman with blond dreadlocks, obeyed without a word. As they drove off, Ara caught a glimpse of Gretchen and Harenn emerging breathlessly from the market.

“Do you want the address, Mother?” Ben repeated. “And do you still want me to find a cab?”

“Not yet and no,” she subvocalized. “Gretchen and Harenn, I’m in a cab and I’m following the boy. He’s in another car.”

“We saw,” Gretchen said. “What do you want us to do?”

“Stay where you are,” she ordered.

The electric engine on the cab was nearly silent, meaning the driver could probably tell that Ara was carrying on a quiet, one-sided conversation. However, she gave no sign she heard or understood. Ara liked that. She peered forward, never letting her gaze stray from the car they followed.

The car made a right turn, then another right, and another. Her quarry was going in a big circle. Ara imagined the car had a sound-proof partition between driver and passengers to afford a certain amount of privacy for their…activities. Ara wondered whether it was Melvan or Xava who was in the back seat with the boy. For all she knew, it was both.