Steven Harper - Dreamer

“What room is the hustler in? The kid with blue eyes,” he snapped.

“Uh-”

“There’s a raid right behind me,” Kendi said. “What room?”

The clerk was already heading for the back door. “Room one-oh-two,” he called over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

Kendi dashed for the hallway. He had reached the door to the first room when the front door smashed open and armed guard poured into the lobby. “Everybody freeze!” one shouted. Kendi kept on moving.

Room 102 was only a few steps further up the hall. Without stopping, Kendi rammed his shoulder into the door. The cheap plastic gave with a crack like a gunshot. Kendi stumbled into the room. Inside, Sejal jumped away from the woman he had entered the hotel with. They were standing next to the sagging bed. The woman’s blouse was open, and she yanked it shut with an outraged screech.

“The guard’s right behind me,” Kendi gasped. “We have to get out!”

Without a word, Sejal rushed to the grimy window. It wasn’t made to open. Footsteps and shouts rumbled from the hallway.

“Who the hell are you?” the woman demanded. She was in her thirties, with brown hair and eyes. Kendi ignored her and snatched up a lamp, intending to smash the window with it.

“Freeze!”

Two guards framed the shattered doorway, one leveling a pistol, the other pointing a camera. It flashed just as Kendi flung the lamp at them. The guard fired just as the lamp struck his arm. Energy cracked through the air and burned a hole in the wall. The smell of burnt aerogel filled the room. Sejal didn’t move. The guard with the camera abruptly balled up a fist and socked his partner on the jaw. With a startled grunt, the man went down. The woman screamed again.

Still operating on autopilot, Kendi kicked the window as hard as he could. The tough plastic cracked. One more kick and it shattered. Sejal dove out of the room. Kendi followed. If the woman wanted to follow suit, that was her business. Kendi refused to worry about her.

The alley behind the hotel was dark and smelly. Kendi wondered if every alley in the Unity was the same as he and Sejal scrambled to their feet and sprinted for all they were worth. They emerged from the alley and threaded their way through the market crowd. After a few meters, Kendi grabbed Sejal’s shirt.

“Slow down,” he hissed.

Sejal obeyed, and the crowd obligingly closed around them. Without hurrying or looking back, Kendi strode briskly up the street, towing Sejal with him. After he was sure they weren’t being followed, he hauled Sejal into a restaurant and sat him down in a booth.

“Hey!” Sejal growled. “Just who the hell do you think-”

“I think,” Kendi growled back, “that I saved your ass. Twice. And I think that means you owe me some of your precious time. Or do you want to complain to the guard?”

Sejal said nothing.

“All right.” Kendi settled back into his chair, trying to get his pounding heart back under control and folding his arms across his chest so his hands wouldn’t shake. He had acted purely on impulse, and only now were the possible consequences catching up with him. If he had been caught, he’d have been thrown back into Unity prison. The memory of a writhing figure and a muffled scream flashed through his mind, and he shoved them away.

“So what do you want?” Sejal asked warily.

“A beer,” Kendi muttered, and punched up the table’s menu. He ordered the first alcoholic beverage that appeared under his fingertips, and sweetened kelp juice for Sejal. “Look, Sejal-”

“How do you know my name?”

“We talked to your mother.”

Sejal leaned across the table. “You stay the hell away from my mother,” he hissed. “Lay one finger on her and I’ll cut off your-”

“Hey, I’m on your side,” Kendi interrupted. “Look, let’s cut the tough street kid act. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you flashed a knife at my balls, all right?”

Sejal grudgingly leaned back again.

“All I want to do is talk,” Kendi continued. “I have some questions.”

“Like what?” Sejal asked warily.

“Did you possess those cops in the alley? And the one in the hotel?”

Sejal’s blue eyes shifted. He didn’t answer.

Kendi sighed. The kid was distrustful, but probably with good reason. He glanced around. The booth afforded them a certain amount of privacy, and there weren’t any other patrons within hearing range.

“Look,” Kendi said, “I’m not a Unity guard or a spy or a slaver. My name is Kendi Weaver. I’m a Child of Irfan.”

“Who’s Irfan?” Sejal asked.

“We’re an order of monks.” Kendi met Sejal’s gaze square on, willing himself to look trustworthy and honest. “We find people who are Silent and we train them.”

A strange looked passed over Sejal’s face. “I’m not Silent. I was tested for it at birth.”

“Sejal, only the Silent can possess other people like-well, not like you do, but similar to the way you do.”

“I’m not Silent,” Sejal repeated stubbornly.

“Listen.” Kendi leaned forward. “Do you sometimes hear voices whispering at you? Voices you can’t quite hear?”

Sejal’s eyes went wide. “How did you know that?”

“When you dream at night, is it sometimes so real, you wake up and it feels like you’re still dreaming?”

“Yes,” Sejal almost whispered.

“You’re Silent.”

Sejal bit his lip. The shifty arrogance had left his face and he looked like a frightened twelve-year-old instead of a streetwise teenager. “The Unity ran tests when I was born. If I was Silent, I’d be a slave right now.”

Kendi held a hand out over the table. “Try this,” he said.

Looking even more bewildered than ever, Sejal took Kendi’s hand. A jolt banged through Kendi’s arm and crashed down his spine. Sejal gasped and yanked his hand away. Kendi sat stunned. A serving tray scuttled up to the booth and placed their drinks on the table. Both Sejal and Kendi ignored them.

“What the fuck?” Sejal said hoarsely.

Kendi shook his head. It felt as if every vertabra in his spine had fused for a split second. He had never felt a jolt that strong before.

“What the hell was that?” Sejal demanded.

Kendi cleared his throat. “The Silent touch,” he said. “It happens when you touch flesh-to-flesh with another Silent old enough to reach the Dream.”

“Every time?” Sejal asked, eyes wide.

“The first time,” Kendi clarified. “And once you touch another Silent, you’ll usually be able to find them when you’re both in the Dream.”

Sejal stared. “That’s being Silent? That and the voices?”

“That’s part of it,” Kendi said.

Sejal blinked hard and remained quiet for a moment. It took Kendi a second to realize that Sejal was holding back tears. Kendi’s chest welled with sympathy. Poor kid. His childhood had obviously been hard, he’d been selling himself on the street, and now Kendi was scaring the life out of him.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Kendi soothed. ”Being Silent is a gift. We can teach you-”

“It’s not that,” Sejal said in a thick voice. “I’m relieved. God, it’s a fucking relief.”

Now Kendi blinked. “A relief?”

“About six months ago,” Sejal said, swiping at his eyes with quick fingers, “I started hearing voices whispering in my head. Some days they got so loud I couldn’t even hear myself think. I couldn’t tell anyone-they’d think I was crazy. I thought I was. Now you pop up and tell me-show me-that I’m not.”

“You’re not crazy,” Kendi said with an emphatic nod. “But you are Silent.”

“So if I’m Silent,” Sejal emphasized the two words as if he were tasting them, “why didn’t I show up on the Unity gene scans?”