Steven Harper - Dreamer

“Kendi!” she shouted.

“It isn’t me!” he yelled back. “What the hell is-”

A pit yawned beneath him and he vanished with a shriek.

“Kendi!” Ara lunged for him, but he had already disappeared. A brown blur of movement leaped into the darkness. A moment later, the falcon, grown impossibly large, rose on laboring wings from the pit. Kendi hung by one arm in her talons. The ground vibrated, and clumps of earth dropped into the depths. Ara grabbed Kendi’s free arm and helped the falcon haul him to solid ground. The moment his weight left her, the falcon flashed back to normal size and fled to the skies with a defiant scream. The earth continued to rock and rumble under their feet, making it a struggle to keep their balance.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Kendi gasped. Ugly welts and scratches marked his arm. Psychosomatic memory would carry them over into his real body. If he had fallen into the pit, his body would have perished with his mind.

“Where’s Gretchen?” Ara asked. “Is she safe?”

“She’s that way,” Kendi gestured. Gretchen’s exact location instantly came from Kendi’s mind into Ara’s, even though the words she “heard” were vague and imprecise. Quickly she grabbed Kendi’s wrist.

“Mother, wait!”

But Ara had already moved them both. A wooden deck popped into existence beneath them. Cool, crisp air washed over Ara, filling her nose with the scent of salt and sea. White sails creaked above them. Beside her, Kendi’s Dream form wavered like a bad hologram, then snapped into focus. He fell retching to hands and knees. Ara looked around. Although the ship was moving steadily up and down, everything looked stable. Kendi continued to retch.

“You aren’t really sick,” she said. “It’s all in your head.”

“Thanks for the sympathy,” Kendi said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

“What’s going on?” Gretchen asked. She stood behind them at the helm, the giant spoked wheel held loosely in her grip. Gretchen wore a pirate shirt and sailor’s cap, as did Ara and Kendi.

“Are you all right?” Ara said.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Gretchen asked suspiciously. “I talked to some Silent on Rust, but they won’t say much. The Unity’s got them scared shitless. You aren’t checking up on me, are you? Because if you are-”

The tickle to return suddenly blew into full-fledged need. It was worse than having an overfull bladder. Gretchen was all right. The rest could wait.

“I’m leaving,” Ara said. “Get out of the Dream, both of you. That’s an order.” And she let go of the Dream.

THE DREAM

Kendi Weaver got to his feet, his stomach still lurching around his insides. His arm hurt, his drugs were wearing off, and he wanted nothing more than to call up hot, dry Outback. Gretchen’s mind pressed in on him, however, keeping the Dream ocean washing up and down beneath him. The motion worsened his nausea.

“Let’s go, Gretch,” he said. “I’m about done in.”

Gretchen caught sight of his arm and let go of the helm. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

“I’ll explain on the ship, Gretch. I have to go.” And he released the Dream.

Ship and ocean vanished, replaced by gray ceramic walls and a red spear under his knee. He disentangled himself and sank down to the narrow bed. Angry red scratches ran down his arm, and bruises were already forming. His shoulder was stiff, and faint pangs of nausea still oozed through his stomach. No matter how hard he tried, Kendi still couldn’t master instantaneous movement through the Dream. The abrupt change from one world to another was just too much.

Another small wave of nausea. Kendi took deep breaths until the feeling passed. Both the nausea and his injuries were in his head. If he could keep his Dream and waking selves more separate, as Ara was fond of reminding him, his mind would stop creating counterparts to injuries he sustained in the Dream. Most Silent only sustained slight discomfort if they were hurt while Dreaming, though actual death in the Dream meant death in the waking world no matter how finely-tuned a Silent’s control might be. This knowledge lessened neither pain nor nausea.

After a moment, Kendi pulled on a robe and went down the hall to the bathroom. He took a hot shower, sprayed his arm with disinfectants and painkillers, and swallowed an anti-inflammatory agent for his shoulder. Feeling better, he headed back to get dressed and found Ben at his door. Ben’s red hair was tousled as usual, though his purple tunic had been recently smoothed.

“Hey, Ben,” Kendi said. “I was in the bathroom.”

Ben turned. His blue eyes fixed on Kendi a moment before glancing away. “We’ve landed,” he said. “Customs will board pretty soon, and I’ve got some bad news. Jack downloaded the latest illegals for Rust. I guess your…uh…your…”

Kendi groaned theatrically and entered his room. Ben followed with a certain reluctance, like a puppy trying to figure out if it was welcome or would be shooed out the moment someone noticed it. Kendi thumbed the lock on his medicine chest and gathered ampules.

“I would’ve called on the intercom,” Ben continued, “but Peggy-Sue couldn’t find you. Poor thing’s old and full of bugs.”

Kendi, still gathering ampules, stole a glance at Ben over his shoulder. He was shorter than Kendi, and stocky. His build, muscular but not intimidating, filled out the trader’s tunic very nicely, and his face had an open, ingenuous look.

And so damned handsome, Kendi thought.

Kendi’s injured shoulder suddenly spasmed. Ampules scattered over the floor. Instantly Ben was at Kendi’s side, his hand on Kendi’s good arm.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Kendi grunted. “It’s all in my head, but it still hurts. Guess my mind is stronger than the painkillers.”

Ben guided Kendi to the bed, and Kendi let him. There was nothing wrong with his legs, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the gentle, familiar warmth of Ben’s hand. He sat down and Ben knelt to gather up the ampules. Kendi felt a little empty when Ben let go.

“Ben,” he said suddenly.

“No, Kendi,” Ben said without looking up.

“But-”

“I’m sorry, Kendi. Just ‘no,’ all right?” Ben’s knees cracked when he got up, his hands full of ampules. A slight blush colored his face.

“Ben, I just want to know why. I mean, you all but pushed me out the door.”

“Kendi, please don’t. Not right now.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ben,” Kendi said quietly. It was hard to keep his voice steady. “You’ve been avoiding me since I moved back to the monastery. This is the first time I’ve been alone with you, and even on this ship, that isn’t easy to arrange.”

Ben looked away, then nodded. “I don’t like avoiding you. I want to be friends, Kendi, but-well, we can talk later, I promise. Maybe we can be…” Then he shook his head and backed away. “Look, I’ll put these in the smuggling compartments in the engine room, all right?”

Kendi nodded. His heart beat fast and his mouth was dry. Ben trotted into the hall and the door slid shut.

“Maybe we can be…” Kendi repeated aloud. Elation filled him and he wanted to leap to his feet in a dance of joy. He forced the feeling down, however. ‘Maybe’ meant only ‘not no.’ Kendi lay back on the bed and sighed heavily. He could still see Ben’s blue eyes, feel his firm hand, hear his quiet voice.

If it is in my best interest and in the best interest of all life everywhere, he thought, please let ‘maybe’ mean ‘yes.’