CHAPTER FOUR
“You can only blackmail someone who gives a shit.”
—Daniel Vik
Lucia dePaolo rotated Kendi’s new data pad, the one Petrie had given him, and examined the holographic image from all sides. Her scarred hands were rock-steady above the kitchen table. Ben’s hands were clasped tightly in his lap, and his right leg bounced up and down. Kendi sat next to him, his face hard. Harenn poured herself a cup of coffee, laced it heavily with cream and sugar, and brought it to the table. It was the last of the coffee supply, but no one objected.
“It’s a good job,” Lucia said, pushing dark hair away from a her forehead. “But I’m sure you already know that.”
“Ben turned it inside-out,” Kendi said. “He couldn’t find any clues as to who made it. Same went when we tried to trace the message that sent it. The thing was routed through several anonymous accounts, including two scrambler services. Whoever did this knows Ben is a hacker supreme.”
“Obviously they know more than that,” Harenn said.
“How did they find out?” Ben blurted. “Who told?”
“I told no one but you and Lucia,” Harenn said. “And each time we discussed it, our circumstances were private. No eavesdroppers. Unless someone was hanging underneath your balcony yesterday.”
“A burglar with serendipity on his side?” Kendi said. “Doubt it. Lucia? I hate to be blunt, but the First Church of Irfan would kill to get information like this. Did you drop any hints? Maybe by accident at a service?”
“I haven’t breathed a word of it since Harenn told me back on the Poltergeist,” Lucia said. Her voice was low and serene. “Not a single time, and I swear by Irfan herself.”
“I know I haven’t mentioned it,” Kendi said with a guilty little pang at how close he’d come to telling Keith and Martina. “Ben?”
“Absolutely not!”
“I did have to ask,” Kendi said gently. “We’ll sort this out somehow. So who else knew about the embryos?”
“Grandfather Melthine and Mother Ara,” Harenn said. “But they died before we learned of the embryos’...origin.”
“What about the people who were on Mother Ara’s team when she found the embryos in the first place?” Lucia said. “They know the embryos exist.”
“It’s been almost thirty years since she was a part of that team,” Ben said. “They’ve probably forgotten all about them. Besides, they wouldn’t know the truth anymore than Mom did.”
“Maybe,” Lucia said. “But they’re a place to start.”
“Don’t forget Ben’s relatives,” Kendi said. “His aunt, uncle, and cousins know about the embryos, and they’re the most likely lot to pull something like this.”
“I hadn’t thought of them,” Ben said. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “God, it does sound like something Hazid or Zayim would try, though it doesn’t explain how they found out.”
“You don’t think Sil or Tress could be involved?” Harenn said.
Ben shook his head. “Sil doesn’t have the...she isn’t—”
“No need to be delicate, love,” Kendi said. “We all know Sil’s as bright as a wet matchstick. She’s a champion whiner, but blackmail is beyond her. Tress, on the other hand—”
“I don’t think it’s Tress,” Ben said. “She’s changed.”
“You only have her word on that,” Kendi pointed out.
“Right now, we can’t rule anyone out,” Lucia said. “I’ll put on my private investigator hat and check them all. My license is still active.”
“We’ll pay your usual hourly rate,” Kendi said. “What is it?”
Lucia pursed her lips. “Under other circumstances, I’d do this for free. But the PI business has been poor lately, and I can’t afford to turn anything down. I’ve already been forced to move back in with my parents.”
“Lucia! Why didn’t you say something?” Kendi said, shocked. “You’re going to be carrying one of our children. That makes you a member of this family, too. If you need a place to live or a few thousand freemarks to tide you over—”
“I won’t live on largesse,” Lucia replied firmly. “However, my full fee should cover my shortcomings. Five hundred freemarks per hour, plus expenses, with a ten thousand freemark advance.”
“Done,” Ben said.
“Then let’s get started. First, I’ll need the full names and addresses of your extended family, Ben. Kendi, does the monastery keep records of who went on what mission? I’ll need to track down the people on Mother Ara’s old team.”
“No problem,” Kendi said. “I can get you the information today.”
“Harenn,” Lucia said, “you ran the gene scans. Tell me exactly what you did and who else may have figured out what you were doing.”
“No one,” Harenn said. “I performed the first gene scans on the Poltergeist at Kendi’s request, and I told no one what I was doing. The procedure is straightforward. The computer scanned the DNA of the embryos and checked it against the monastery database.”
“How did you check the database?” Lucia said. “We were docked at SA Station at the time, and you couldn’t have accessed Children records from there.”
“I updated the Poltergeist’s medical computer just before we left. It contained the latest information from the monastery’s databases, including genetic records.”
“Why do you carry genetic records on a rescue mission?”
“Standard procedure,” Harenn said. “It allows me—the Children—to check mitochondrial DNA of rescued Silent slaves and see if they have any relatives on Bellerophon.”
“You ran the scans three times on the Poltergeist,” Lucia said.
“Yes. I thought the initial results were a mistake, so I ran the test again, and then once more. When I was absolutely sure of my data, I called you and Ben into the medical bay. You know the rest.”
“What about the files?” Ben asked. “The computer must have made a whole bunch of them.”
“Erased and scrubbed,” Harenn said. “This is standard procedure after a...a...” Harenn trailed off and her brown eyes went vacant.
“What?” Kendi asked.
“I am trying to remember if I scrubbed the backup files.” Harenn’s brow furrowed. “I do not remember doing it. On the other hand, I do not remember not doing it.”
“Another place to check,” Lucia said. “The team that refurbishes the ships would have access to those files. I’m not a computer expert, though. Ben, if you checked the Poltergeist’s system, could you tell...?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “Though I couldn’t necessarily tell who. Just when. Or if.”
“Let’s look there first, then.” Lucia rose. “Irfan willing, it’ll be a short hunt.”
Lucia and Ben headed for the door. Kendi and Harenn followed. Lucia halted.
“We don’t need all of you,” she said.
“I’m not staying behind,” Kendi said. “I want to know now.”
“As do I,” Harenn said.
Lucia sighed. “Father Kendi, I can’t work with someone staring over my shoulder. I promise we’ll call the moment we learn something.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Lu—”
The doorbell rang and the computer broke in. “Attention! Attention! Wanda Petrie requests entry. She claims she has urgent business with Father Kendi.”
“We’ll just nip out the back,” Lucia said, and vanished with Ben before Kendi could react.
“They settled that, didn’t they?” Harenn murmured.
“Attention! Attention! Wanda—”
“Irene,” Kendi interrupted, “tell Wanda Petrie she can come in. We’ll meet in her the living room.”
Wanda Petrie burst into the living room with a thunderstorm on her face. Her hard shoes slammed the floor with every step, and her sharp eyes looked ready to strike Kendi down. He took an involuntary step backward. Harenn withdrew to a corner chair and sat.
“Perhaps my instructions were not clear, Father Weaver,” Petrie snapped without preamble. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“About what?” Kendi said.
She whipped out a data pad and jabbed at it. A head-and-shoulders hologram of Kendi popped up. “You gave an unauthorized press conference this morning. You entered into a debate with Senator Mitchell Foxglove, and he made a right fool of you. We had to assign a team of five people to spin the damage.”
“It wasn’t a debate,” Kendi said. “We just—”
Petrie slapped the data pad on the coffee table with a crack. Kendi’s image bobbled. “Anytime you enter into a public conversation with a candidate, it becomes a debate. The fact that dozens of reporters witnessed the entire thing made it even worse.”
“I didn’t say anything that—”
“Three of the feeds caught and broadcast the phrase What kind of bullshit is that,” Petrie said. “You also called Foxglove’s remarks, and I quote, bloody nonsense. Then you confronted Foxglove about the lack of Silent on his campaign team.”
“The man is an asshole,” Kendi shot back. “He as much said that Silent weren’t human and that they should be shut away in their own little enclaves.”
“Your opinion of Foxglove doesn’t matter,” Petrie growled. “What matters is that you called him names in public and made a fool of yourself in front a pack of reporters. Thank god we haven’t officially announced that you’re supporting Senator Reza’s campaign. As it is, we’ll have to delay everything to let the situation calm down.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Kendi said.
Petrie closed her eyes. Her lips were pressed so tightly together Kendi half expected to see blood. “It is, Father Kendi. Very bad indeed. We scheduled a press conference for Senator Reza—after inventing a reason that had nothing to do with you—and arranged for reporters who are friendly to our cause to ask questions about you so she can make light of what you said. It won’t be an easy conference because you can bet Foxglove will do his best to make sure a few hostile reporters attend. You’re making her sweat in front of a planet, Father Kendi, and if you can’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll have to recommend you be pulled from the campaign. Right now, you’re more liability than asset.”
“My,” Harenn said from her chair.
Kendi sat in a chair of his own, feeling abashed. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Grandma, and that’s exactly what he had done. “Is there any way I can help clean up?”
“Not right now,” Petrie said, still on her feet. “It’s best if you stay out of the public eye for a few days. I’ve cancelled your first speaking engagement and rearranged your calendar. We’ll have to delay the workshop, too—the man who is supposed to train you is busy cleaning up.”
“For what it’s worth,” Kendi said, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t help Senator Reza.” Petrie took up an easy chair and crossed her legs at the ankle. Her skirt displayed athletic legs. “But your sentiment is noted. You have to change some behaviors, Father.”
“If you’re going to bawl me out on a regular basis, I think you’d better call me Kendi.”
“And I’m Wanda. I’m not entirely unsympathetic, understand, but my primary responsibility is to Senator Reza.” She cleared her throat. “I suppose I should have known better. Politics is a new arena for you.”
“I’ve played monastery politics for years,” Kendi said. “They’re just different. National elections are a new game, a con game, really, and I have to learn the rules. Then I can break them.”
Petrie looked pained, and Kendi flashed her a grin. “Joke,” he said.
“It was not,” Harenn murmured.
“I need to discuss another matter,” Petrie said. “With all that’s happened—and going to happen—I think it would be prudent for you and Mr. Rymar to take a security detail.”
Kendi froze. Did Petrie know about Ben? But she couldn’t. Not unless she was the one who was threatening blackmail. Was she playing Kendi along? He gave himself a mental shake. He was getting paranoid.
“What do you mean?” he asked instead.
“Senator Reza is receiving more and more attention, even though she hasn’t officially announced her intention to run for governor. That will mean more attention for you and Mr. Rymar—and your eventual children. It would be a good idea to have someone who can...interfere for you.”
“Guard us, you mean,” Kendi said. “We haven’t been bothered any more than usual lately. I’m getting the same number of weirdo messages and autograph hounds. Nothing’s changed.”
“Not yet,” Petrie said. “You haven’t officially endorsed the Senator’s campaign. Once that happens, people will seek you out even more. I was able to walk right up to your house, Kendi. Who knows what strange person would do the same?”
“Our address isn’t listed on any database,” Kendi said. “No one comes. The location of my office is public knowledge, but the monastery has pretty good security. Bodyguards would get in the way, especially since we don’t need them. Not yet.”
“Nonetheless,” Petrie said with more heat, “I’ve seen this sort of thing before. People think they don’t need bodyguards until something happens. The best kind of bodyguards are the kind that don’t seem to be needed. They take care of a situation before it becomes a crisis—before you even know something is wrong.”
“I don’t want someone in my house day and night,” Kendi said. “My privacy is invaded enough as it is.” And bodyguards might learn about the blackmail plot, he added silently.
“Kendi—”
“Drawbridges,” Harenn put in. As one, Kendi and Petrie turned to look at her. “This house is accessible by two walkways and two staircases. Convert them into drawbridges, and no one can get in unless they can scale a talltree. Doesn’t Senator Reza have such a system at her home?”
“That would help home security,” Petrie said, “but not public situations.”
“It’d be a good compromise,” Kendi said doubtfully. “But still a pain.”
“I’ll call a carpenter immediately.” Petrie rose. “And do consider taking on security detail, Kendi. It would only be until the election was over.”
“I’ll give it all appropriate consideration,” Kendi promised.
Petrie gave a delicate, bird-like snort. “That is the sort of answer you should give to people who try to engage you in public debate. I’ll be in touch.”
And she left.
“That was informative,” Harenn said. “And fascinating. You have not received a proper dressing-down for a long time.”
“I haven’t missed it one bit.” He picked up his data pad from the coffee table and called up the feeds. “Let’s see if everything’s as bad as she said.”
Harenn peered over his shoulder as Kendi sifted through text. He could have called up a live news report, but it was faster to read. A Child of Irfan named Carl Kirchenbaum had gone to the store for ice cream and not returned. Two Ched-Balaar researchers had discovered a new way to block pain without medication. And Kendi had gotten into a verbal sparring match with Mitchell Foxglove. The latter story appeared on several different feeds, Kendi came off looking foolish in all of them.
“Not the first time I’ve looked like an idiot in public,” Kendi said philosophically. “Ben’s going to love this, though.”
“How are things between you and Ben?” Harenn asked. “I have had no chance to talk with you in private except during frantic phone calls. I’ve had two of them in two days, come to that.”
“I think we’re fine,” Kendi said. “I groveled and he forgave me for being an ass. I don’t mind telling you it scared—scares—the hell out of me. It’s the biggest secret in the universe. I almost told Keith and Martina. I’m glad I didn’t. If this comes out, it would kill Ben.”
“Ben is stronger than you think,” Harenn said.
“And more breakable than you think,” Kendi countered. “Do you honestly believe the only reason I suck up the spotlight is ego and self-interest?”
“It had occurred to me.”
Kendi grimaced. “It’s all a front, Harenn. Ben hates being in the public eye. You didn’t see the panic attacks before the newsfeed interviews. You didn’t nurse him through the stress headaches, the nausea, and the insomnia. I think he was as relieved as I was when the Children gave us permission to disappear for two months to rescue your son and my siblings.”
“So you accepted the heavy burden of fame to distract public attention from Ben?” Harenn said. “How noble. I’m sure you hate every moment.”
“Fame does have its perks,” Kendi said, refusing to rise to the bait. “Fame also has its problems. I jump up and down and shout ‘Look at me!’ Then I give interviews, I handle offers to do books and games about my life, I read fan mail and death threats, I sign autographs and put up with interruptions in public places. Ben, meanwhile, gets to drop out of sight. The arrangement works.”
“I see.”
“My, we’re coming across all skeptical today.”
“It is a function of hunger,” Harenn said. “I have not yet eaten lunch. That, in case you missed it, was a hint.”
“There’s no food in the house,” Kendi said. “We can order from Maureen’s, though.”
Harenn went into the kitchen while Kendi called up a menu on his data pad. From the kitchen came the sound of cupboards opening and closing, followed by the noises of someone rummaging inside the refrigerator. Harenn gave an uncharacteristic squeak of dismay, and the refrigerator slammed shut.
“Sorry!” Kendi called. “Should’ve warned you about the vegetable drawer.”
“The two of you live like bachelors,” Harenn called back. “How do you expect to raise eleven children in a house with no food?”
“By means of a wonderful thing called take-away,” Kendi said. “Maureen’s chick-lizard sandwich is good, but the mashed potatoes are fake—shortage of real ones—so you might want to get the beet salad instead. I already ate, but I could do with a snack. Maybe some fried ben-yai leaves.”
Harenn emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You are completely unprepared for parenthood, do you know that? You cannot run a house on restaurant food. Not only is it less nutritious, it is also foolishly expensive.”
Kendi shrugged. “I don’t know what else to do. Ben can’t stand cooking, and I’m so rotten at it, I can’t even make morning coffee.”
“I will speak with Lucia,” Harenn said. “In the meantime, I believe I will order a sandwich and beet salad from Maureen’s.”
They ate lunch and busied themselves with small matters surrounding the implantation. Kendi, Ben, and Harenn had already worked out the legal aspects of Harenn’s surrogacy. Harenn had originally refused a stipend, but her job had disappeared into the Despair, so she had reluctantly agreed to take one. Bellerophon law allowed for more than just two parents of record, so all three of them would be the child’s legal parents, but Ben and Kendi would be awarded sole custody. Harenn would be granted “arranged access” to the child, meaning she could visit whenever she wanted as long as she called first—in theory. In practice she would be in and out of Ben and Kendi’s house all the time. Harenn—and Bedj-ka with her—already came and went without knocking, though Kendi couldn’t say how or why that had begun. It had just seemed natural for Harenn’s household to combine with Ben and Kendi’s. The arrangement had begun soon after Ara’s death, so maybe that had something to do with it—an ease of grief.
A small icon flashed at the bottom of Kendi’s vision and he shot to his feet. “All life, I forgot!”
“What is it?” Harenn asked.
“I’m supposed to meet with that sim-game bloke in my office at three o’clock. The hologram dumped it right out of my head.”
“It isn’t quite two-thirty. You have plenty of time.”
“I have something else to do first.”
Kendi left the house, rushed to the office building, and skidded to a halt in front of it. A knot of reporters was waiting on the wide balcony that ran the length of the building. Two Guardians, their silver medallions gleaming in the dappled sunlight, flanked the main doorway. The reporters stampeded forward and thrust questions at him—”Father Kendi, did you mean to condemn Senator Foxglove’s campaign with your remarks?” “Father Kendi, would you support Senator Reza for governor?” “Father Kendi, is it true you feel Senator Foxgloves positions are nonsense?” Kendi pushed through them, chanting “No comment,” until he could slip inside the office building. He stood in the foyer for a moment, resisting the urge to pant. It was post-Despair all over again. He had been hounded like this for weeks after word about his involvement had gotten out. Kendi would just have to get used to going through it again. At least this time he knew it would only last until the election.
The Initiate staffing the reception desk pressed his fingertips to his forehead in salute. “I called the Guardians when those reporters showed up, Father. We booted them outside. I hope that’s all right.”
“Yes, and thank you,” Kendi said. “Pray for a cloudburst.”
As he passed down the hallway to his office, a woman with graying mouse-brown hair stuck her head out of her own door and caught sight of him. “I thought that might be you, Kendi,” said Mother Bren. She had been Kendi’s history teacher when he was an Initiate. “I saw you on the feeds a little while ago. Quite the shouting match. Rumors are flying.”
“I’ll bet. And if you’re fishing for information, Bren, you’re in for a long time on the lake. I’m under strict orders not to open my mouth in public anymore.”
Bren laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
In his office, Kendi checked the time. Fifteen minutes before his meeting with Tell Brace. He hummed to himself and made rustling noises around the desk for a few moments. Then, with a glance at Ben’s hologram, he suddenly said to empty air, “Father Kendi Weaver. Uh huh...You’re from which company?...Oh...Oh!...Well, I feel I should tell you I’m already in negotiation with HyperFlight Games, and I’m supposed to meet with them in a few minutes to—no. . . No, I haven’t signed it yet....Uh huh....Look, I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the deal with HyperFlight but—” He paused. “How much?...Well, you’ve got my attention. I suppose I could put off signing with HyperFlight until we talk. Should I tell him that you called me?...Why not?...I see. Okay....” He gave a small laugh. “Well, I won’t say anything if you don’t. How about we meet tomorrow morning at nine?...Great! See you then.”
Kendi drummed his fingertips on the desktop. This was going to be fun.
Thirteen minutes later, a chime sounded. “Father Kendi, a human named Tell Brace is here to see you,” said the Initiate’s voice. “He says he has an appointment.”
“Send him up,” Kendi called.
Tell Brace entered the office, looking breathless and windblown. Kendi rose and greeted him with a firm handshake.
“Right on time,” Kendi said without a trace of irony. He was pretty sure Brace had originally intended to be late, pushing Kendi further into the role of supplicant. Clearly Brace had changed his mind in the last few minutes.
Now why would he do that? Kendi thought smugly. “I hope the reporters outside didn’t give you trouble,” he said aloud.
“Not at all,” Brace said. “So you had the chance to examine the offer more closely?”
“I did, but...” Kendi put a sheepish look on his face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Brace, but I’m waffling again. Some other...factors just came up. I’m not ready to sign just yet.”
“Not another offer, I hope,” Brace said with a jovial grin.
“No!” Kendi said a little to quickly. “Nothing like that. It’s just that I’m nervous about putting more of my life on public display.”
Brace sucked at his teeth. “Perhaps we can alter the offer a bit,” he said. “Raise the advance to seven-fifty and up the royalties half a percentage point.”
“Really?” Kendi popped open his data pad’s display and made the changes on the agreement. “That’s generous, Mr. Brace.”
“But only if you sign today,” Brace said. “I’ll have to talk fast to the boss, but I think it’ll fly.”
Kendi deflated. “Oh. I can’t sign today, Mr. Brace. I’m really sorry. Is the original offer still good?”
“Yes, but...”
“But what?”
“I don’t know for how long. I mentioned before, Father, that I’m under pressure to close this one, and I hope you can help me out.”
Kendi bantered with Brace for almost an hour, pretending he was on the edge of signing before backing away. Then his earpiece chimed softly. When Kendi answered, Ben’s voice broke in.
“Meet me at home,” he said in a desperate voice. “Hurry!”
Kendi’s stomach flipped over. “What’s wrong?”
“Just meet me at home as fast as you can get there.” The call ended.
Kendi’s bantering demeanor vanished. He all but shoved the startled Tell Brace out of his office and ran all the way home. Walkways trembled and balconies thudded beneath his feet. Humans and Ched-Balaar alike snatched themselves out of his way, and twice he almost knocked someone over. Kendi’s lungs burned and his heart pounded like a snare drum. When he burst into the house, he found Ben, Harenn, and Lucia in the living room with a data display hovering over the coffee table. Their faces were tight and pale.
“Wha—what—” he gasped, trying to get his breath.
“Another blackmail letter arrived,” Lucia said. “Ben got the notification while we were investigating the Poltergeist.” She gestured at the display with a scarred hand. Kendi read, mouth dry.
Want your secret to stay secret? it said. Then give me some honey. Just pop ten thousand hard and happy freemarks into a plain cloth satchel (fashion nightmare, I know, but what are you going to do?) and take that little darlin’ to the walkway in front of the house at Ulikov 10832-15. At exactly two p.m. tomorrow, throw it over the rail. It’s a nasty neighborhood, sweety-pies, so wear your gangster repellent. Now I know you’re thinking of giving the cops a teensy little ringy-dingy, and that would be a really bad idea. My fingers are just itching to do the two-step over my keyboard and tell the whole world that our boy Benji has the most dysfunctional family since...well, since Danny and Irfan made the bed bounce. Looking forward to seeing you—and to counting the small fortune you’re dying to give me. —A friend
“What the hell?” Ben said.
“Unorthodox,” Lucia said, “but the meaning is clear. It’s certainly no surprise.”
Kendi tasted anger and bile. “So what do we do?”
“We pay it,” Ben said. “In hard, happy freemarks.”
“And what,” Harenn said, “would prevent this person—or people—from demanding money again and again?”
“Nothing in the world,” Lucia said. “Which is why we have to act. The address is Treetown, not monastery, so perhaps we should quietly alert the Treetown police and let them—”
“No!” Ben shouted. Everyone stared at him. He was on his feet, his face painted with a sheen of sweat. “If we bring the police in, they’ll want to know what the blackmail is about. We can’t afford to tell them—the more people who know, the more likely someone will tell.”
“All right, all right,” Kendi soothed. “But Ben—you know we can’t let them get away with this. Harenn’s right. It’ll only get worse.”
“The weak point in any anonymous blackmail plan is picking up the money,” Lucia said. “The blackmailer has to be in a certain place at a certain time, meaning someone can set a trap.”
Ben sank to the couch. Kendi sat down as well, and Ben leaned into him. Kendi put an arm around Ben’s shoulders and was surprised to find him shaking. Kendi wanted to wrap his body around Ben, shield him from the fear and pain. Hatred for whoever was causing this stormed over Kendi and he ground his teeth.
“What do we do to catch this bastard?” he said.
“Can you get your hands on that much hard currency?” Lucia asked.
“I think so.”
“Then we’ll use the tried-and-true. I will put tracer units on the bag and in the currency. You and I will set watch. When Ben makes the drop-off, we will grab the person who tries the pick-up.”
“You mean when I make the drop-off,” Kendi said, hugging Ben harder. “Ben doesn’t need to be involved.”
Ben sat up. “Yes, I do. I want to be there.”
“Are you sure?” Kendi asked. “You don’t have—”
“I’m sure,” Ben said.
“What about me?” Harenn said. “I can be present as well.”
“You’re going to be pregnant by tomorrow afternoon,” Kendi said. “The doctor’s going to tell you to sit home with your feet up for a few days, you know that.”
“All right then,” Lucia said before Harenn could respond, “let’s find the drop-off point.” Lucia called up a map of the area. Treetown surrounded the monastery like a lake surrounding an island. Technically the monastery was its own political unit, a city within a city with its own police force, governmental representatives, and municipal works. In practice, however, Treetown and the monastery tended to blend together. Both had the same postal service and utility companies, for example, and the monastery worked closely with Treetown schools and libraries to provide education.
The drop-off address was Ulikov 10832-15, and Kendi automatically split the number into its component parts. The first three digits indicated how high up the building in question was. The lowest anyone was allowed to build was a hundred meters above the forest floor. Every meter was a level, so 108 meant the house was on level eight, one hundred and eight meters up its talltree. The 32 meant section thirty-two on a grid arbitrarily drawn over Treetown and the monastery nestled within. Each sector had a name as well—Ulikov in this case—but the post office insisted on numbers. Ben and Kendi lived in Irvine—section six—which put them out of walking distance from the pick-up point. The last two digits were simply the house number. So 10832-15 was house number fifteen on level eight in section thirty-two. Lucia highlighted the spot with a stylus. It glowed an angry red that matched Kendi’s mood.
“I don’t know that part of town very well,” he said.
“I do,” Lucia said. “It’s a poorer section, with a lot of run-down apartment houses. It’s gotten worse since the Despair. I’ll scout it out and figure out the best layout for a trap. Then I’ll get back to work on the Poltergeist people.”
“Did you find anything out?” Kendi asked.
“I ran a check,” Ben said. “There definitely used to be a backup file. It was erased only a week ago.”
Harenn paled. “Oh, god,” she whispered. “Ben, I am so sorry. This is my fault.”
“Didn’t we dance to that tune already?” Kendi said. “You tried to take the blame for the way Martina and Keith disappeared. It wasn’t your fault then, and it isn’t your fault now. It’s the fault of the asshole who’s blackmailing us.”
“We did get a list of eight people who had access to the Poltergeist’s computer,” Lucia said. “As I said, I will follow up on it. I’ll also interview the spaceport staff. It may also be that someone who wasn’t supposed to have access broke into the ship, and the staff may have seen something suspicious. Leave it to me, Father Kendi. If there is anything to find, I will find it.”
Sitting there in his living room with her firm hands and serious face, Lucia came across as supremely confident and competent, and Kendi felt a bit better. He didn’t have to do everything himself.
“Thank you, Lucia,” he said. “But if you’re going to be carrying one of our children, I think you’d better call me Kendi.”
Lucia blushed slightly and looked less confident. “I...I will try. But it’ll feel strange.”
“Speaking of surrogacy,” Harenn put in, “perhaps we should put off my appointment tomorrow in light of everything that’s happened of late.”
“No!” Ben and Kendi said together, and Kendi managed a laugh. “I won’t interrupt our lives for this guy’s bullshit,” he said. “Besides, everything will be sorted out one way or another long before the baby is born. We shouldn’t wait.”
“Famous last words,” Harenn said, but didn’t disagree.
“We should call Vidya and Prasad,” Ben said.
“What? Why?” Kendi said.
“Well, what I really mean is that we should call Sejal,” Ben said. “Sejal didn’t lose his mutant Silence in the Despair. He can still possess people, Silent and not, willing and not. He’d be the perfect person to catch a blackmailer. And he won’t ask us questions if we tell him not to.”
“I should have thought of that myself,” Lucia said.
“Stressful times.” Kendi got up and tapped the wall. “The Vajhur family.”
“That was quite a press conference,” Vidya said on the viewscreen a moment later. She had long, silver-streaked hair and mahogany skin that showed stress and worry lines around the eyes and mouth. “You looked even more foolish than—”
“Thanks,” Kendi interrupted. “Is Sejal around? We need to talk to him.”
Vidya Vajhur’s face went blank. “Sejal is not here. He hasn’t been for quite some time.”
“Oh? Where is he?”
“Away. I do not know where, exactly. It is a secret he has chosen not to share with me. I only know someone has hired him for a ‘secret mission’ for which he is being well-paid.”
“Is this why he couldn’t help us rescue Keith and Martina?” Ben spoke up. “I talked to him in the Dream and asked for his help, but he got all evasive and finally ran off.”
“I imagine that is the case,” Vidya said. Her words were short and clipped, clearly angry. Kendi could understand why. Vidya had been forcibly separated from her husband Prasad and their baby daughter when she was pregnant with Sejal. As a result, she had raised Sejal alone in the roughest slums on the planet Rust in the Empire of Human Unity. Seventeen years later, the entire family had been reunited on Bellerophon. Vidya had just gotten her daughter back; Kendi couldn’t imagine it would sit well with her to lose her son.
“Do you expect him back anytime soon?” Kendi asked.
“I have no idea,” Vidya said.
They exchanged a few unrelated pleasantries, and Kendi disconnected.
“So much for the easy solution,” he sighed. “Now we play commando.”
The door slammed in Gary Kyle’s face. He stared at it for a moment, fuming, then picked up the baby carrier and turned toward the stairs. Mark didn’t stir from his nap, for which Gary was grateful. A screaming baby would make an already bad situation unbearable. Why did Pandora have to be so difficult? You’d think she’d be glad to have him take Mark on the weekends so she could have some Alone Time. That was what she always called it—Alone Time, complete with capital letters. Trouble was, two months ago Gary had discovered her spending Alone Time in company. A whole lot of company. It had ended their marriage.
Gary had kept the house, but he still couldn’t believe the court had granted Pandora primary custody of Mark. Wasn’t Gary the one with intact Silence? Didn’t he have the better income? Didn’t he spend his evenings and weekends at home? He checked the carrier. Mark snoozed peacefully under a yellow blanket.
As Gary carried Mark out of the apartment building and onto the walkway, he worked to clear his thoughts of anger. Mark was just a baby, but Gary was sure he could feel the tension between his parents, and Gary was determined that his child should be as unaffected by it as he could manage.
Unfortunately there was no doubt in Gary’s mind that Pandora would bad-mouth him to Mark once the boy was old enough to talk. A breeze stirred his brown robe, and Gary sighed. Maybe he could find some kind of evidence proving Pandora was an unfit mother. She took Mark into bars, for god’s sake. How could the court possibly—
“Excuse me, Brother. I seem to be lost. Can you direct me to the monorail station?”
The speaker was a blond man. A dark-haired woman stood near him, looking around and trying to get her bearings. It wouldn’t be easy to lose them—so many of the street lights were out these days.
“I’m heading for the station right now,” Gary said, glad of the distraction. “It’s not far. Just follow me.”
“Thanks,” the man said.
“What a darling baby,” the woman said. “Yours?”
“My son,” Gary said, unable to keep from smiling. “He’s nine months old tomorrow.”
“What a sweetie,” the woman cooed, bending over the carrier. Mark slumbered on. “And so handsome. But where’s his mommy?”
“Divorced,” Gary said shortly. “Look, if you want to catch the next train, we should probably—”
Something cold pressed against the back of his neck and Gary felt a thump. He spun in time to see the man lower a dermospray. Gary stared at him, uncomprehending. Then a wave of dizziness hit him. He barely had time to set Mark’s carrier down before he dropped like a stone.
In the morning, Kendi, Ben, and Harenn coasted in a gondola toward the medical center. Kendi usually loved the gondolas. The pulleys on the overhead wire were silent, allowing them to slide from station to station without a sound. It was like floating among the talltrees and houses in a balloon. The walkways and balconies hummed with human voices and Ched-Balaar chatter. Fresh-smelling spring breezes swirled gently around them, bringing the relaxing scent of flowers and bark and leaves. Today, however, Kendi felt unsettled. He and Ben had spent a restless night, neither able to comfort the other very well. Ben had wanted to be held, but Kendi found himself unable to lie still for long.
Today they were supposed to be excited. But Ben looked pale, Kendi felt tense, and Harenn worked her jaw. They spoke little. Ben held the star-shaped cryo-unit in his lap.
Dr. McCall was a round woman topped by a fluff of pale hair. Kendi and Ben stepped into the hallway outside the examination room while she gave Harenn a final check-up and got her onto the table and draped in a green sheet. Then Ben and Kendi re-joined her, standing near Harenn’s head. Her face was placid, her hair hidden by a surgical cap. The room was a bit chilly and smelled of antiseptic.
“Ready to become pre-parents?” McCall asked merrily.
“Ready,” Kendi said, and took Ben’s hand. Ben reached down for Harenn’s hand, and she gave him a small smile.
McCall touched a control on the cryo-unit, and the top slid aside. With a hiss of cold steam, a metal ring rose a few centimeters above the unit. Eleven cloudy ampules poked upward. Kendi peered at them, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything.
“The readouts say there are six boys and five girls,” McCall said. “Do you have a preference for sex or for which embryo you want implanted?”
“Let the universe decide,” Ben said. It was the same thing Ara had said on the day of Ben’s implantation. Kendi squeezed his hand and Harenn nodded.
“As you like,” McCall said. She plucked an ampule at random and closed the cryo-unit. The ampule went into an instrument that looked like a cross between a pistol and a syringe. “We just have to wait a few moments for the bio-implantation unit to thaw the—ah! We’re ready. Please relax, Ms. Mashib. You’ll feel a slight pressure but it shouldn’t hurt.”
Harenn took Kendi’s other hand and squeezed it. He grinned down at her, feeling like he should say something important but unable to think what. Harenn was being implanted with his child, his son or daughter. In nine months, he’d be a father. So would Ben. Harenn would be its mother, and Kendi liked that idea.
It would also be a child of Irfan Qasad and Daniel Vik. Kendi wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He was knowingly bringing into the world a child who, if the truth came out, would become instantly famous. Kendi had heard plenty of stories about famous children cracking under the pressures of celebrity and turning to drugs or theft or arson or worse crimes, and he swore a silent oath that this would never happen to his sons and daughters. Perhaps they deserved to know the truth when they were grown, but the world never would. Kendi looked at Ben’s blue eyes and knew that he was thinking the same thing.
“Done,” McCall reported, and stripped off her gloves. “You should avoid heavy lifting for the next forty-eight hours, but other than that, you’re fine.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Harenn said.
“Do you know for certain it took?” Kendi asked.
“Oh, yes. Miscarriage used to be a problem in these cases, but not any more. Barring accident, injury, or disease, Ms. Mashib will bear a fine, healthy child. Do you want to know the sex now?”
“No,” Ben said.
“Yes,” Kendi said at the same time.
“I thought we already talked about this,” Ben said.
“Talked about, yes,” Kendi said. “Decided, no.”
Harenn sat up as McCall took her feet from the stirrups. “I seem to recall,” she said, “that you had indeed agreed to keep the baby’s sex a surprise.”
“Hey!”
“You’re outnumbered,” Ben said.
“However, I feel I should point out,” Harenn continued, “that you could check the cryo-unit to see how many embryos of each sex are left.”
“Don’t even,” Ben warned.
“You’re a vile temptress, woman,” Kendi growled. “But a promise is a promise. Even if I don’t specifically remember making it.”
McCall helped Harenn down from the table, and Ben and Kendi took refuge in the corridor again so she could dress. Kendi swept Ben into a hug.
“Hey, Dad,” he whispered.
“Hey, Dad,” Ben whispered back.
They parted, and Ben said, “What are the kids going to call us? It’ll be confusing if we’re both Dad.”
“You can be Dad,” Kendi said. “I’ll be their Da.”
“Works for me.”
“That way,” Kendi finished, “all their first words will probably be about me.”
When Harenn emerged from the examination room, Kendi was cowering in a corner. Ben was pummeling him mercilessly.
“A fine pair of role models, the both of you,” Harenn said.
“That’s why we have you,” Kendi grinned, straightening. Ben gave him a final thwack. “Shall we go?”
The gondola ride home was a little more cheerful, despite a stop at the bank for the blackmail money. Kendi couldn’t take his eyes off Harenn. She looked the same—dark skin, pretty face, brown eyes, blue head scarf—but she also seemed different, and it went beyond the fact that she longer veiled her face. When Harenn had first been assigned to Ara’s team years ago, Kendi hadn’t liked her much. Her verbal barbs and readiness for violence had put Kendi off. It wasn’t until much later he had learned the source of her cynicism—her ex-husband had kidnapped their baby son Bedj-ka and sold him into slavery. The knowledge had changed the way he’d seen her. Harenn had stopped being a bitch and became more like a crusty maiden aunt. Later, when Kendi took over command of Ara’s team and headed out to rescue her son, Harenn became something like an older cousin who worked in the family business. Now she was...what?
“Did I grow a third eye?” she finally asked. “Perhaps an extra nose?”
“You’re going to be our child’s mother,” Kendi said. “I guess I’m rearranging how I see you.”
Harenn put a hand on her stomach. “You will see plenty more of me soon.”
The hiss and thump of resin guns greeted them when they got home. A team of human carpenters were swarming over Ben and Kendi’s house. The two staircases leading to the building—one up, one down—lay in pieces, and a carpenter was running a measuring scanner over the walkways. Another worker pulled a sonic cutter from his pocket and with a quiet zip cut a board neatly in two. Pieces of electronic equipment littered the area, along with pulleys, cables, and other objects Kendi couldn’t identify.
“I’d forgotten all about this,” Ben said. “Why does everything have to happen at once around here?”
“We’d get bored otherwise,” Kendi said, shifting the satchel slung over his shoulder.
“You’d get bored,” Ben corrected.
They talked briefly with the supervisor, a brown-haired woman with sawdust in her eyebrows, before going inside. Smells of rich tomato sauce, sautéed chick-lizard, and fresh-baked bread assailed them.
“Attention! Attention!” said the computer. “Lucia dePaolo used her access code for entry.”
“In the kitchen,” Lucia called.
“I’d guessed that,” Kendi called back, inhaling appreciatively.
The kitchen had transformed into a domestic scene. Thick, spicy smells bubbled from a large pot on the stove. Meat sizzled in a pan next to a kettle of boiling pasta. Golden-brown rolls heaped a serving bowl. Lucia was grating pungent Parmesan cheese into a pale mound.
“I thought I’d test your kitchen,” Lucia said, “to see if it still worked. And I needed to release some stress.”
“I’m too nervous to eat,” Ben said, dropping into a chair.
“What do you know, Lucia?” Kendi asked, tossing his money belt into a corner next to an anonymous-looking canvas satchel.
Lucia brushed the parmesan into a bowl. “Not much. After we got the blackmail note, I went back to the list of technicians. Eight of them had access to the Poltergeist’s medical computer, and I ran checks on them all. No histories of criminal activity, no questionable background checks, nothing. I’ve interviewed five so far, and—”
“What did you tell them?” Ben interrupted. “They had to be curious about why you needed to talk.”
“I only said we were trying to track down a missing file,” Lucia said. “At any rate, the five I talked to claim they didn’t take anything away from the ship, and they didn’t see anything suspicious. They could be lying, of course. I’ll talk to the other three and keep digging. Would you set the table, please? I’m nearly done here.”
“What is the plan?” Harenn asked as Kendi got out plates and glasses.
“Very simple.” Lucia stirred the sauce pot, tasted, and sprinkled in green herbs. “The satchel is in the corner. I take it the money is in that belt? Good. After lunch, we’ll put the cash in the satchel, which also has a bug in it. The blackmailer wants you to toss the money off the walkway in front of that house in Ulikov district, so it’s a good bet someone will be waiting at the bottom of the talltree to catch it and run. I’ll be waiting down there, too, wearing a heat-and-light camouflage outfit. It disguises both me and my heat signature, in case they’re equipped with infra-red seekers. Irfan willing, I’ll be able to follow and catch the blackmailer.”
“So why the bugs, then?” Ben asked.
“The bugs are there in case I lose our friend. I’m there in case our friend loses the bugs.”
“What about us?” Kendi asked. “What do we do after we toss the money?”
“Go home,” Lucia said. “I intend to tail the culprit and find out if more than one person is involved.”
“And I?” Harenn asked.
“You’re pregnant,” Lucia said. “You will stay here.”
“No heavy lifting,” Kendi said. “I’m sure that applies to sprinting after blackmailers.”
“And since it seems your kitchen does work, despite many years of neglect,” Lucia said, “we will eat lunch.”
Although the food smelled delicious and Kendi tried to keep the talk light, no one ate much. Ben barely made a pretense of picking at his food. Kendi forced down a few forkfuls of delicious chick-lizard parmesan and found he didn’t want more. He tried not to worry but couldn’t help it. Any number of things could go wrong with the plan. What if the blackmailer got away and released the information? What if the blackmailer had a weapon and Ben or Lucia got hurt? His chest felt like someone had poured sand and glass into it. Harenn and Lucia ate slowly. The clock said it was barely noon.
They passed the next hour discussing and rehearsing the plan. Lucia changed into the camouflage outfit. It looked like an ordinary green form-fitting jumpsuit, though it had a hood, gloves, and belt.
“How will that hide you?” Kendi asked.
Lucia smiled and tapped one cuff. The suit swirled into a leafy design. Another tap, and it shimmered into desert coloring. “The hood has a one-way mask on it, so I don’t even have to wear make-up,” she said. “I’ll leave now so I can find a good vantage point.”
“Are you licensed for a weapon?” Kendi asked.
Lucia patted a belt compartment. “I can carry a neuro-pistol, stun-level only. I will see you down there.”
“Actually, we won’t see you,” Kendi said. “I hope.”
“Yes.” Lucia touched her collarbone, the place where she usually wore a small figurine of Irfan. “Mother Irfan will bless us, Fa—Kendi.”
And she left. Kendi and Ben waited half an hour, then followed. Outside, the carpenters had finished the staircases and were dismantling the two walkways. Susan Bayberry, the brown-haired supervisor, called out an apology.
“We should be done in a few hours, sir,” she said from across the gap. The polymer mesh underneath held a few dropped pieces of wood and a resin gun. Visible through the mesh were leaves, branches, and lower walkways. One of the carpenters drew a small pistol from his belt and aimed it downward. An orange beam of light touched the resin gun, and it flew upward. With a practiced motion, the carpenter shut off the beam and caught the errant gun. A sticky bead of resin clung to the end like a bit of liquid amber.
“Do you want me to show you how to use the stair bridges now?” Bayberry asked.
“Later,” Kendi said distractedly. “We should be back soon. Leave instructions if you don’t see us.”
Without waiting for an answer, he and Ben trotted down the stairs which wound around the talltree. Ben carried the bag over one shoulder. Dirty gray clouds dragged across the sky, pushing ahead of them an omen of cold rain. Tree lizards chittered and chirped in a cheerful counterpoint to Kendi’s mood. A brown bark lizard hissed indignantly at them, then scampered up the talltree with a flick of its tail.
On the front balcony of the house below, an older woman built like a hickory walking stick was scooping soil from a sack into a large pot. A flat of sky-blue blossoms waited nearby. The house itself groaned with plants and flowers. Hanging baskets spilled vines over their sides. Window boxes burst with bright colors. Ivy crawled up the walls. Pots of all sizes boasted a rainbow of flowers and greenery. Kendi tried to slip past the woman without attracting her attention, but she looked up and caught sight of the two men. Kendi tried not to grimace. He liked his neighbor, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to be rude.
“Grandmother Mee,” he said, pressing fingertips to forehead.
“Father Kendi,” she replied. Dirt smudged her cheeks. “And Mr. Rymar. Is all that hammering up there for you?”
“We’re having some work done,” Kendi replied. “I hope they didn’t disturb you. They should be done soon.”
She waved a brown hand. “No bother. It’s something different to wonder about. Now that I’ve been Silenced, all I have are my flowers and neighborhood gossip.”
“We’re in something of a hurry, Grandmother,” Ben said, shifting the satchel.
“Off with you, then,” she said to Kendi’s relief. “But stop back and tell me what’s going on in the Dream sometime, would you? I miss it.”
“I will, Grandmother,” Kendi promised, and let Ben lead him away.
The monorail station was a wide platform supported by the massive branches of the talltree and partly supported by thick cables drilled into the trunk itself. A pair of tracks snaked away through the leaves and branches for trains that ran in opposite directions. About a dozen people, both human and Ched-Balaar, awaited the next train. According to Kendi’s ocular implant, it would arrive in the next three minutes.
“How are you holding up?” Kendi murmured to Ben.
“I’m upright,” Ben said. “That’s the best I can do right now.”
Kendi wanted to smash something. Instead he turned and looked up the track to see if the train was coming. It wasn’t, of course.
“Excuse me, aren’t you Father Kendi?”
Three people at the monorail station—two human and one Ched-Balaar—asked for his autograph. A fourth tried to convince him to buy into an investment program for a fried chick-lizard franchise, and Kendi had to snarl at him before he would go away.
“Maybe we should get our own flitcar after all,” Ben said as the train finally whooshed into the station like a silent dragon.
“Just filling out the forms will take months,” Kendi replied sourly. “Though I’m starting to think the same thing.”
They boarded and found seats in the section for humans. Ched-Balaar sat on the floor and hooked their front claws into footholds designed for that purpose. Two of them chattered quietly to teach other, arms waving as one of them made a point. Kendi automatically sat next to the window, and Ben took the position next to the aisle. This cut down on the number of people on the train who might see and recognize the famous Kendi Weaver, and when had sitting like this become a habit?
Ben wound a leg through one handle of the bag and set it on the floor. The train slid forward, then put on a smooth burst of speed. The trees outside smeared into a green-brown blur. They changed trains and finally arrived at the Ulikov station. As Lucia had said, this part of Treetown was more run-down. Tall, beehive apartment houses drooped among the talltree branches. The leaves here were thinner than elsewhere, letting in more gray sky, and some of the platforms creaked ominously as Kendi walked across them. The people were more shabbily dressed, and they didn’t accost Kendi or Ben except to give them furtive stares. Kendi saw no Ched-Balaar at all. This was no surprise—this part of Treetown was known to harbor groups with anti-Ched-Balaar sentiments. The Human League, a group more paranoid than the rest, claimed that the Ched-Balaar had caused the Despair in order to force humans out of the Dream. Kendi wondered if they were the ones who had uncovered the information about Ben. The Human League was probably short on cash these days, and blackmail made a good fund raiser.
“Spare a freemark for a fellow human?” asked a gray-faced, unshaven man. Kendi shook his head in refusal, then caught sight of the satchel hanging over Ben’s shoulder. The money in that bag would feed a family of four for months, and Kendi was quibbling over a lousy freemark? He dropped a handful of coins into the man’s palm and kept walking.
The pair crossed several walkways and went down a set of stairs to another balcony in front of an abandoned house. Graffiti sprawled across the door: Fuck Reza. Ben, face still pale, checked his data pad. “This is it.”
“What time is it?”
“Two minutes before two.”
Kendi peered over the rail. The mesh below was rent and torn like a fish net that had trapped a shark—storm damage or vandalism that the neighborhood couldn’t afford to repair. Leaves and bark descended into shadow. Who was waiting down there? Ben unslung the satchel.
“Are you two in place?” came Lucia’s whisper over Kendi’s earpiece. He tapped it.
“We are that,” he murmured.
“Do you see anyone?” Ben asked, also in a murmur.
“No, but they may be hidden as I am. Make the drop in five...four...”
“Is anyone looking?” Ben asked.
Kendi checked. A few figures moved in the distance, but the nearby balcony and walkway leading through it were currently deserted. “Nope.”
Ben took a deep breath and held the satchel out over the balcony. Kendi leaned over the rail to keep on eye on it. When Lucia reached zero, Ben opened his hand.