Steven Harper - Dreamer

“He is not Silent,” Vidya repeated with more heat.

— Careful, you two,~ Trish said ~I don’t like this.~

“Ms. Dasa,” Ara said, “we have…information to the contrary. We aren’t here to take him in as a Unity slave. I should tell you, though, that the Unity is aware of him, too. They just haven’t tracked him down yet. We can smuggle him into the Children of-”

“Sejal is not Silent,” Vidya hissed. Her hand came up holding a short rod she had pulled from the space between the cushion and the chair. A blue spark crackled at the end. “Leave my house.”

Ara drew back on the sofa. “What in-?”

“An energy whip,” Kendi supplied. “It annoys cows but might kill a person.”

“Especially when it is set to full power.” Vidya’s hand was steady. “I will activate this whip in ten seconds. Nine…eight…seven…”

— She means it,~ Trish warned. ~I’d get the hell out if I were you.~

With a wordless glance at Kendi, Ara rose and strode for the door. Kendi followed. Neither of them spoke until they had left the building and cleared the guard at the gate. People passed them on the street without a second glance.

“What was that all about?” Kendi burst out when they were a safe distance away.

“I don’t know,” Ara said, puzzled. In all the years she had been recruiting for the Children of Irfan, no one had ever reacted quite like Vidya. Most people were overjoyed to earn the attention of the Children. It meant a guaranteed career, even a certain amount of wealth. And for slaves it meant freedom. Vidya’s response made no sense.

“So what do we do?” Kendi asked. They were standing in the shadow of a crumbling building not far from the neighborhood wall. Cars buzzed up the street, leaving whiffs of ozone in their wake.

Ara thought a moment. “I want you to find Sejal when he goes out, see if you can catch him alone.”

“Find him how? I’ll bet you a hundred kesh that Sejal’s going to change his clothes and that bug Gretchen planted will be worthless.”

“You know what part of the market he hangs out in,” Ara replied. “Like you said, Sejal knows you, and if he feels he owes you, you may have better luck.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have lunch with an old friend.”

The restaurant was cheap and low-key, with food Ara had learned to tolerate, if not enjoy. Ara would have preferred to meet somewhere more upscale, but she had been forced to admit that such would have drawn unwanted attention to herself and to Chin Fen.

The menu scrolled across the table and Ara tapped what she wanted-plankton stew, fishtail salad (“fishtail” being a variety of Rustic kelp), and algae bread. Then she checked the calendar. Rust kept a ten day week, and today was the third day. By now, Ara had shared enough lunches with Fen to know his food choices never varied from week to week. Ara tapped in his order-brown rice, peat shrimp, and a salad made of seapad pulp. According to Fen, the calm, tranquil seas of Rust gave rise to plants with huge red leaves that floated on the surface and covered several square kilometers. Seapads were sturdy enough to walk on, and the pulp from their leaves was a major food source for the Rustics. The leaves and the rich plankton filling the seas around them were red, giving Rust its name.

Fen had also hinted broadly that he might like to take a walk with her across a seapad some time. Ara had fallen back on playing stupid, pretending to miss the implied invitation.

“Glory,” Chin Fen said, cheerfully sliding into what he termed “their” booth. “Did you order yet?”

“For both of us,” Ara said. “Glory.”

“Thanks. Did you get your friend out of jail?”

Oops. Ara had forgotten to update Fen. “Yes. I’m sorry-in all the stress and excitement, I forgot to let you know.”

“I understand. No problem.”

It was a problem, Ara could see it in his dark brown eyes. “I really am sorry, Fen. It’s been so hectic. That’s a weak excuse, I know. We couldn’t have gotten him out without your help. I really owe you.”

“I’m not angry, Ara,” Fen said. “Really. How could I get angry at you?”

Ara suppressed the desire to compress her lips. Fen was nice, but for all his aged appearance, he still reminded her of a young puppy-eager to please, frightened of alienating anyone, unable to deliver even a justified rebuke. It was a personality that annoyed her. She was also growing more and more certain that Fen was entertaining romantic ideas, but Ara had never been attracted to the short, spineless type.

“Well, I’m still paying for lunch,” she said.

“You always pay for lunch,” Fen said. “I mean, I think that maybe I should-”

Ara waved a hand to cut him off. “I need every tax deduction I can get. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sure, fine.” Fen swirled his water glass, leaving a glistening trail of condensation on the tabletop. “So how did your friend do? In prison, I mean.”

“It wasn’t pleasant for him,” Ara said, “but he won’t talk about it.”

A server brought their order, temporarily halting their talk. Once the food was tasted and proclaimed acceptable, Ara managed to steer further conversation away from Kendi and keep it light and meaningless, laughing at any even vaguely witty remark Fen made. She drew the line, however, at batting her eyelashes. When the timing felt right, Ara dropped her little bombshell.

“I need another favor,” she said.

Fen cocked an eyebrow, and Ara supposed he meant to look archly seductive. She sighed internally and wished Pitr or Trish could slip into his mind from the Dream and dampen his attraction to her. Fen, however, was Silent, if only half-trained, and would notice even subtle tampering.

“I need information on a woman named Vidya Dasa,” she said. “I’ve looked in the nets and can’t find anything on her but an address and the name of her son. Can you dig deeper?”

“I suppose,” Fen said. He pulled a computer pad from his shirt pocket. “What’s the son’s name?”

Ara gave it, along with Vidya’s address. “Thanks, Fen. Anything you can get will be a big help. It’s worth a dozen lunches and a big box of chocolate.”

“I don’t do this for the paybacks, Ara.” His fingers edged toward her side of the table. Ara picked up her fork and took a salty bite of plankton so he wouldn’t try to take her hand. The motion seemed to effectively spoil the moment for Fen and he reached for his water glass instead.

“What do you need to know for?” he said.

Ara leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s a secret. I can’t tell you right now, but I promise I’ll explain later.”

Gretchen would have rolled her eyes at the melodrama. Kendi would have made a smart remark. But Fen merely nodded pliantly. Ara began to understand why he had never been promoted.

The rest of the lunch passed without incident. Pleading a business meeting, Ara paid the bill and left before Fen could ask her to dinner. Lunch was business-like. Dinner had romantic implications Ara would rather avoid.

“Mother Ara,” came Jack Jameson’s voice over her earpiece, “I need you back at the ship for a minute. The buyer I’ve been negotiating with has agreed to a price on the dark chocolate and we need you for the finalizations.”

“On my way,” she sub-vocalized, flagging down a cab. It seemed like she was always involved in commerce of some kind or other. If she wasn’t dealing in information or humans, it was chocolate.

Ara had to admit she preferred the chocolate.

Kendi sucked up the last sweet noodle and thrust the bowl back at the vendor. “Again.”

The food seller gave him a wary look. “That was your third one,” he said. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”