Steven Harper - Nightmare

Tan maneuvered the ship closer, and a voice came over the communication system. "You are authorized to use Dock 14-212-C. Please follow the course outlined. For safety reasons, deviation is not allowed and will result in immediate confiscation of your entire ship. Do you understand? By answering affirmatively, you agree to waive all right to liability, damages, or indemnity to your ship, cargo, crew, and passengers."

"I understand," Tan said.

A live holographic image of the station appeared over Tan’s board with a bright orange line indicating the course she was to take. It dipped and swooped like a drunken piece of spaghetti, and Ara could only assume it was intended to keep them from colliding with other ships.

"For a small fee," the voice continued, "you can slave your navigation computer to ours and we will guide your ship in for you."

"No thank you," Tan said. "We’ll take it from here."

"As you wish. By proceeding further, you waive all right to-"

Tan shut the communicator off.

"Thank you," Ara said.

Tan grunted and turned her concentration to her flying. The station rushed up and down, swooped and turned. Other ships brushed the flight path but never quite came close enough to hit them. Eventually, the ship nosed against a dock and Ara heard the clamps thunk into place. She and Tan retrieved their carryalls and, glad to be freed of the cramped ship, hurried through the airlock and into the main station. Ara asked the local computer for directions and discovered that they were quite a distance from the office of Ken Rashid, Chief of Security. The computer offered directions and a map-for a fee. Ara sighed and paid for both after agreeing that the map was for informational purposes only and she would not hold Dreamers, Inc., responsible for any damages incurred as a result of following its directions.

"I begin to see how this corporation makes its money," Tan said dryly.

After some searching, they found a transportation center and hired a cab driver to take them where they needed to go.

"First time on the Station?" asked their driver, a small, weasel-faced man complete with scraggly, whisker-like mustache.

"No," Tan said, giving him the map. "Here’s where we need to go."

And that was the end of the conversation. The driver punched buttons, muttered to his on-board computer, and the little electric car shot forward, pressing Ara into the seat.

The interior of the station was as hodgepodge as the exterior. Tunnels ranged from high, wide spaces to low, cramped rabbit warrens. Decor rambled like a patchwork quilt. Through the cab windows Ara saw crowded streets, Greek architecture, a Chinese palace, lush jungle, and stark white hallway. Some areas were clearly residences of wealthy corp officers. Other areas were so dark and crowded, Ara quietly locked her door. Humans seemed to be the dominant species, but only barely. Everywhere Ara looked she saw a new alien race. They ran, hopped, slithered, glided, stomped, and squished their way up and down the corridors and streets. Some sectors, in fact, seemed completely devoid of anything humanoid. All of them were in some way connected to Dreamers, Inc., Ara knew, though not all of the people were Silent, just as it was back on Bellerophon.

It took over an hour to arrive at the main security offices. They were a series of blocky, unimaginative-looking buildings with thick columns out front. Tan paid and dismissed the driver, then headed up the high front steps with Ara close behind her. Groups of beings, both human and non-, were scattered up and down the stairs, their voices combining in a strange cacophony of sound. The station ceiling was at least a dozen stories up, so far off it looked to Ara like a smooth, cloudy sky. The air was odorless, dry, and a little chillier than Ara liked, and she was thankful she had brought a jacket.

The foyer was a big, echoing chamber with polished marble floors. The beings hurrying through it spoke in hushed voices. Ara consulted a directory and found that Chief Rashid’s offices was on the fifth floor and that the elevators were off to his left.

"He has an entire suite," Tan murmured as they moved toward them.

"I noticed," Ara said. "You know, Dreamers, Inc., is three or four times bigger than the Children. The post of Chief of Security for them would probably be something like the post of Secretary of Planetary Defense anywhere else."

"I was thinking the same thing," Tan agreed. "The fact that we talked to him personally in the Dream says something. So does the fact that we’re getting in to see him right away."

"What does it all say?"

"No idea."

The elevator took them straight to the fifth floor. An immensely tall human woman dressed in a pastel blue suit met them as they disembarked.

"Mother Araceil Rymar and Inspector Lewa Tan," she said, and it wasn’t a question. "I am Denisa Ral, Chief Rashid’s executive secretary. He is waiting to see you." She ushered them through a series of offices and corridors, all well-lit, lushly carpeted, and decorated with holographic windows that pretended to offer scenes ranging from mountains to forests to jungles to sandy beaches. Ara wondered how Ral had known who they were and that they were on that particular elevator, then laughed at her own naivete. Rashid had probably been keeping an eye on them since their ship slid out of slipspace.

Eventually Denisa Ral lead them to an immense set of double doors made of polished oak. They swung wide at her touch, revealing a huge office beyond. One entire wall was a window that looked out on empty space. At the bottom corner lay a portion of the planet, a blue crescent against utter black. The room was furnished like a wealthy person’s living room, with designer furniture, spotlessly shined woodwork tables, and even a fireplace. A hint of wood smoke on the air indicated that it was a real one. Ara was impressed-attaining the wood and disposing of the smoke would be expensive undertakings, not to mention the amount of oxygen a fire sucked up.

Set against the window was an enormous desk. Ken Rashid, his silvering black hair blending in with the scene behind him, came around it as Ara and Tan entered the office. Denisa Ral closed the doors behind them. Rashid bowed slightly to each of them.

"It’s nice to meet you in person," he said. "Forgive me not shaking hands, but in my current position I can only allow certain people the ability to locate me when I am in the Dream. If you are hungry or thirsty, refreshments are over there." He gestured to a table littered with an assortment of snacks and beverages. A wet bar stood in the corner. "Perhaps we should begin?"

"Yes. And since we’re being direct," Tan said, "I have to ask, Chief Rashid-why are you seeing us? Your schedule must be insanely busy. It would be easy enough to assign this to a subordinate."

Rashid’s expression went rigid for a moment and Ara thought Tan had offended him. Something flashed in his eyes, and Ara remembered the same thing happening when they had spoken in the Dream. Then Rashid passed a tired hand over his face and his expression softened.

"There were four victims here on Dream Station," he said. "Polly Garvin, Minn Araq, Riann Keller, and Liss Padel. Liss Padel was my wife."

"I’m sorry," Tan said softly.

He nodded. "It was a decade ago. I usually think I’m past it, then something happens to remind me of her and I learn I’m not. Usually what I feel is anger. The bastard that killed her is walking around free. I was removed from the case, of course-conflict of interest-but it didn’t matter. No more victims showed up. We never learned who did it. Ten years later, I get a message from an old friend that two monks from Bellerophon are looking for a killer who chops off fingers. I think you now understand how the Chief of Security for Dreamers, Inc., found time to see you." Rashid gave a wan smile. "But I’m being rude. Please come and sit."