CHAPTER SEVEN

 

“It’s narrow thinking to see the customs and manners of other people as ridiculous and extravagant when they don’t resemble our own “

—Daniel Vik

 

 

“The newsfeeds are already calling us Tapers,” Kendi said with a laugh. “It’s become a nickname for the Unionist party.”

“What does Grandma think of that?” Ben asked.

“Dunno. I left the party before she could explode again. It was all over the feeds on the ride home, though.” Kendi picked up his data pad, the one he had left home by accident, and fiddled with it idly. “Grandma gets seriously scary when she’s pissed off.”

Ben shifted on the living room sofa. His posture held him inward and upright, as if he were balanced on the head of pin. Kendi wondered if he should ask what was wrong or let Ben come around to telling him.

“Grandma didn’t always used to be like that,” Ben said. “But then there was the Despair, and Mom’s...death. I don’t think she’s taking it well—being Silenced, I mean. She never wanted anything to do with politics before the Despair, and then she sort of threw herself into it.”

“Coping mechanism?” Kendi asked, setting down the pad.

“Maybe.” Ben shifted again and glanced toward the door. Kendi decided to go for it.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You’re nervous about something.”

“What makes you think I’m nervous?”

“Just say it, Ben,” Kendi said. “It’s been a long night, and I don’t think I can—”

“Attention! Attention!” boomed the computer. “Emergency message for Ben Rymar. Playing now.”

“What the hell?” Kendi said.

“Shush!” Ben snapped.

“Ben! Help me! I can’t...stand up. I’m about...about fifty meters from the house. Southwest, I think. Can you...can you come?”

Ben and Kendi were out the door before the message finished. Kendi almost crashed into Lars the bodyguard, who was on patrol outside the house for the night. The drawbridges on both walkways and staircases were up, further blocking their path.

“Come with us!” Kendi ordered Lars. “Friend in trouble.”

“Lucia!” Ben shouted. He slapped the scanner set into the balcony rail. “Lucia, can you hear us? Dammit, open sesame!”

The drawbridge ahead of him lowered itself. Ben sprinted across before it was completely level. Kendi and Lars followed, also shouting Lucia’s name. The darkness swallowed their voices, and dark houses glared accusingly at the way they shattered the peaceful night. Kendi’s nerves hummed like high-tension wires. His active imagination foresaw a dozen terrible things that could have happened to her. Ben ran beside him, his footsteps thudding on wood. Bulky Lars brought up the rear.

They found her struggling to stand in a puddle of moonlight. Ben sprinted ahead of Kendi and picked her up as if her lush body weighed nothing at all.

“Lie still,” he instructed. “We’ll get you home and call the rescue squad.”

“What happened?” Kendi asked. “Can you talk?’

“I’ll be all right,” Lucia said, though her speech was slurred. “Don’t call the squad. Please. I’ll have to explain my outfit.”

Belatedly Kendi realized she was wearing her camouflage jumpsuit. He tapped his earpiece. “I’ll call Harenn, then.”

“And no Guardians!” Ben said to Lars before the bodyguard could speak. “Let’s get back.”

He carried Lucia back to the house with Lars and Kendi trailing behind. Lucia held on as best she could, but it was clear she was in pain. Kendi looked for blood as they ran, but the moonlight made it impossible to see clearly. When they got back home, Ben laid her down on the couch. Harenn arrived moments later in a breathless swirl of billowing cloth. She had her medical scanner out and in motion before anyone could speak to her.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“I was hit from behind,” Lucia said. “A mugger, I think. Mother Irfan, my head hurts.”

“You have a concussion.” Harenn removed a dermospray from her kit, racked in an ampule, and thumped it against Lucia’s arm. “This will ease the pain and the dizziness. You should remain quiet for the rest of the evening and for tomorrow. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed the night here.”

“Lars,” Kendi said suddenly, “this is private business. Go back outside, please.”

Lars drew down bushy blond eyebrows and looked ready to argue. Kendi, however, leveled him a hard look he had learned from Ara and the younger man retreated without further discussion.

“Details, Lucia,” Kendi said. “Start from the beginning.”

“I—I’m not sure if—” she stammered.

“It’s okay, Lucia,” Ben said. “Go ahead and tell them.”

Kendi glared at him. “You’ve been up to something behind my back.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Ben said. “Tell him, Lucia.”

Lucia did. Kendi listened, open-mouthed, as she described breaking into the Day house, finding the file, discovering two dead bodies, and getting hit on the head.

“Everything becomes disjointed after that,” she finished. “I remember trying to send an emergency message to Ben. The next thing I knew he was picking me up off the walkway.”

“What if the Guardians do a DN” sweep?” Kendi asked. “Won’t they find out you were there?”

“The suit and mask prevent DN” leavings,” Lucia said. “Besides, DN” sweeps are ungodly expensive. The Guardians only use them in truly high-powered cases.”

“Speaking of expensive,” Harenn said, “where is the money sack? You said you found it.”

Lucia looked around, as if she expected to find it on the floor beside the couch. “I don’t know. I must have dropped it. Or the mugger took it.”

“I’ll go look for it,” Ben said, heading for the door.

“Take Lars with you,” Kendi called after him.

“So someone broke into the Days’ house just before you did,” Kendi said. “Whoever it was killed the Days, found the file about Ben, and started to delete it, but you showed up before they could finish the job. Do you think the killer was the person who mugged you?”

“I don’t see how it could be,” Lucia said. “I traveled quite a ways on the safety net before I came back up, and I didn’t see anyone following me. I’m trained at spotting a tail, even at night, and I’m sure I would’ve noticed something. Besides, if the killer did mug me, why just hit me instead of kill me?”

Kendi rubbed his temples. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s the disk?” Harenn asked.

Lucia fumbled in one pocket. A frightened look came over her face and she quickly checked her other pockets. “It’s gone,” she said.

“Oh, shit,” Kendi groaned. “Why didn’t you wipe the disk when you released the file?”

“Ben wanted the file,” Lucia said. “He thought he could take them to the Guardians as proof.”

“Proof of what?” Kendi asked.

“The blackmail plot. The markers on the file tell where it came from. Ben said he wanted to have a hold on the blackmailer, threaten to take the disk to the Guardians or the police unless they dropped the whole issue.”

“Blackmailing the blackmailers,” Kendi muttered. “Except Ben said he didn’t want the Guardians involved.”

“He doesn’t,” Lucia said. “But he said the blackmailers wouldn’t know that.”

Kendi gave a snort of admiration. “Sounds like something I’d do.”

The front door opened and shut. “No sign of the sack,” Ben reported. “Lars is still looking, but it’s gone.”

“Perhaps it was a simple robbery,” Harenn said. “The thief took the money and the disk without realizing what it is.”

“It’s possible,” Lucia said.

“The disk?” Ben said, face pale. “The disk is gone too?”

Lucia’s face reddened. “I’m afraid so.”

“So there’s a mugger out there who knows who I am?”

“Not necessarily,” Lucia said. “It would take a certain amount of reading and interpretation to understand what the file means.”

“Finn and Helen Day figured it out,” Ben pointed out.

“I have a theory about that,” Lucia said. She sat up with a slight wince and waved away Kendi’s offer of help. “I’m feeling better.”

“What’s your theory?” Kendi asked.

“Finn Day has—had—contacts with Foxglove’s Federalists, remember. I wonder if Foxglove used Finn and Helen to get access to the Poltergeist when we got back.”

“What for?” Kendi said, puzzled.

“Trolling for random dirt. It isn’t unheard of for politicians to dig around for scandal that might discredit their opponents. Ben is Senator Salman’s grandson, and he spent considerable time on the Poltergeist. What if Ben did something scandalous and left a record of it on the ship? It would have been worth it to look around and find out.”

“Seems like a real long shot to me,” Kendi said. “It’d be expensive to arrange, for one thing.”

“And Foxglove is poor?” Lucia said. “At any rate, it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to learn that Mitchell Foxglove arranged for Finn Day—one of his secretaries, remember—to be hired at the shipyard. It’s entirely possible Finn knew about the Poltergeist from his sister and put the idea to Foxglove himself. Helen had access to the ship, Finn had the computer knowledge. She sneaks him on board during the refit to look for dirt and he finds gold. But instead of turning the information over to Foxglove like they’re supposed to, they figure they can squeeze some money out of Ben with a little blackmail.”

“So Foxglove found out about it and murdered them?” Ben said. “That’s seems...extreme.”

“This is Bellerophon’s first gubernatorial election since it joined the Independence Confederation, and our first governor will be in a position to dictate policy and custom for centuries to come,” Harenn said. “There is considerable power at stake, and the murder of two low-level workers does not strike me at all extraordinary.”

“But why kill them?” Kendi said. “If Foxglove—or whoever he hired for it—were caught, it would destroy his campaign. “And they’re his own people. It’d make more sense to discipline them or fire them.”

“Not so,” Harenn countered. “The information they possessed would only hurt Foxglove if it were released—Salman’s popularity would increase if her grandson turned out to be Irfan’s child. If Foxglove angered the Finns, they might release the information just to spite him. Foxglove is better off with them dead.”

“So is Ched-Pirasku,” Lucia added. “It’s possible that Foxglove’s Federalists uncovered the information but Ched-Pirasku’s Populists worked to suppress it—for the same reasons.”

“The women in this room are certainly bloodthirsty,” Kendi remarked.

“The women in this room are realistic,” Harenn corrected. “Do you think Salman is any less so?”

“She’s my grandmother,” Ben said.

“Has your grandmother ever been a wrinkled old lady who bakes blue cupcakes for the “wakening Festival and spoils her grandchildren on weekend visits?” Harenn said.

Ben snorted. “Hardly. She’s been a Grandmother with the Children of Irfan for as long as I can remember. Her idea of a relaxing weekend was serving on only two committees instead of four. Sometimes I think Mom went so big on field work because Grandma was such a heavyweight at the monastery—it gave Mom a chance to do something Grandma wasn’t involved with.”

“So Salman is driven to succeed just like Foxglove and Ched-Pirasku,” Harenn said. “Bloodthirsty or practical?”

“This is all speculation,” Kendi said. “And it’s too complicated. I think someone mugged you, Lucia—possibly that girl you talked to—and took both the money and the disk. End of story.”

“Someone should tell the authorities about the Days,” Lucia said. “Anonymously. They live—lived—outside the monastery, so it’ll have to be the police, not the Guardians.”

“I will do so,” Harenn said, rising.

Kendi noticed Ben was still looking pale. He put an arm around him. “The mugger will just throw the disk away, Ben. I promise. We don’t have anything to worry about here. Really. Let’s go to bed and forget about it.”

They did. But Ben tossed for much of the night.

                                                                             

In the morning, Kendi woke with the feeling that he was forgetting something important. He sat up and looked down at Ben, who in the manner of insomniacs everywhere, had managed to fall asleep just before it was time to get up. His red hair was sleep-tousled and the sheet had slipped down from his upper body, displaying smooth skin and hard muscle relaxed in sleep. The bruises from Kendi’s rescue were already fading, thanks to Harenn’s ministrations, and he wouldn’t need the sling anymore. Kendi ran a dark finger along the underside of Ben’s raspy jaw. Ben didn’t stir, though his chest and stomach rose and fell with steady breathing. Kendi was going to have a child with this man. They were going to be parents. The idea filled him with—

Parents. Children. Ched-Hisak. That’s what he had been forgetting. Ched-Hisak’s children were Leaving today, and he and Ben were supposed to be there.

Kendi slid out of bed, wrapped a robe around himself, and headed for the bathroom. On the way he pressed an ear to the closed guest room door. Silence. Lucia must still be—

“She is fine,” Harenn said behind him. Kendi jumped.

“I’m combat-trained, you know,” he growled. “I could have killed you where you stand, woman, mother of my child or not.”

“The male ego,” Harenn remarked, “continues to be a mystery. I have already checked on Lucia, and she is fine.”

“You went home last night, didn’t you?”

“Of course. But now I have returned to visit my patient—and make her a decent breakfast. One of you two bachelors must one day learn to cook.”

Kendi shook his head and wandered into the kitchen. He smelled toast, hot rice cereal, honey, and butter. Bedj-ka was sitting at the table, digging into a steaming bowl with a spoon. A data pad on the table in front of him showed a feed story about a boy who had gone missing on a solo nature hike. The boy was a few years older than Bedj-ka.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Kendi asked.

Bedj-ka swallowed a mouthful of cereal. “They’ve shortened the school week because of money. We’re supposed to study at home on the computer. I’m doing current events.”

“Are you going to study all day?” Kendi rummaged through the cupboards.

“Mom’ll make me,” Bedj-ka said. “It’s not fair. School gets canceled but we have extra homework.”

“Suffer, kid,” Kendi said heartlessly, still searching the shelves. “When I was your age, things were a lot harder. We didn’t have these sissy walkways and monorails to get to school. We had to swing from tree to tree on vines. In the rain. Against the wind. And we liked it.”

“If you are looking for coffee,” Harenn said behind him again, “we are out. The grocer also has none. Have some tea.”

Kendi groaned. “I wanted coffee.”

“Wow,” Bedj-ka said around a mouthful of toast. “You do have it rough.”

“Your son,” Kendi said, “is turning into a smart aleck.”

“He does not get it from my side of the family,” Harenn said. “How did you sleep, Bedj-ka?”

Bedj-ka shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I had a rigid dream! I was racing flitcars through the woods. It was like riding a roller coaster. I was dodging through the trees and branches and one time I almost crashed. When I woke up, I was shaky—way better than a sim-game.”

“Good. Then you will not miss the sims while you are doing your homework today.”

Bedj-ka turned morosely back to his cereal and Kendi took a quick shower. Afterward, he was heading back to the bedroom to get dressed when he ran into Lucia in the hall. Her complexion was back to its usual olive coloring and she managed a smile at him.

“I feel fine,” she said, forestalling his question. “Physically, at any rate.”

“Physically?”

“I’m still upset about losing the disk.”

Kendi patted her shoulder. “I’m not worrying about it. You shouldn’t either.”

“I’ll try.” She sniffed the air. “Did Harenn come over and make breakfast?”

“How do you know it wasn’t me?”

Lucia didn’t deign to reply and disappeared into the bathroom. Kendi entered his own room, and Ben stirred, only half awake. Kendi slid back into bed next to him and gave his ear a long, languorous lick. Ben shuddered sleepily and opened blue eyes. Kendi ran his hand over Ben’s warm chest and stomach.

“Once we have kids,” he said, sliding his hand even lower, “you’ll have to start sleeping in pajamas in case they walk in.”

A pause. Then Ben whispered, “Don’t start something you aren’t willing to finish.”

“How do you know I’m not willing?”

Kendi’s hand moved under the sheet. Ben gasped, then gently pushed him away. “Not with Lucia and Harenn in the house.”

“How did you know Harenn’s here?”

“I smell rice cereal.”

“Then we’ll have to be quick and quiet,” Kendi said roguishly. “Good practice for when we have kids in the house.”

Some time later, Kendi was dressing and Ben was rifling the messy closet, looking for his bathrobe. In the end, he gave up and pulled on a pair of shorts and an old shirt. His hair stuck out in all directions, giving him a rumpled, boyish look.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the Leaving this afternoon?” Kendi said.

Ben’s eyes widened. “God, I’d forgotten all about that. It’s today?”

“At noon. I’d forgotten, too.”

Harenn knocked on the door. “Even I cannot keep breakfast warm forever, gentlemen.”

                                                                             

A few hours later, Kendi stood with Ben outside the home of Ched-Hisak’s family. The house was larger than a human dwelling, and the corners were rounded. Other Ched-Balaar houses sat on the branches around them, connected by the ever-present walkways. The day was bright, sunny, and unseasonably warm. Ben and Kendi both wore short pants, sandals, and simple shirts in muted colors. Kendi’s had a tear near the collar. Ben carried an enormous loaf of bread stuffed with fragrant herbs—Lucia’s handiwork.

“So we don’t do anything special or different,” Kendi said.

“Right,” said Ben.

“Are you completely sure?” Kendi asked.

“I’ve lived on Bellerophon all my life,” Ben reminded him, “and I’ve heard about Leavings, even if I’ve never been to one. When Ched-Nel and Ched-Pek emerge from the den, act as if it’s nothing special. Talk to them as if you’ve met them before. Ched-Hisak and Ched-Miran will have shown them images of us, so they’ll know who we are. Remember, as far as we’re concerned, they’ve always been around. And for heaven’s sake, don’t say the word child. Not here.”

Kendi nodded. “I still feel like I should bring a present.”

“No! That would make it seem like a special occasion.”

“It is a special occasion.”

“Not one we’re supposed to draw attention to,” Ben said. “We can bring food because that’s for everyone, but we can’t bring anything that’s just for Ched-Nel and Ched-Pek.”

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Kendi said.

“It makes perfect sense,” Ben insisted. “The Ched-Balaar hide their children to keep them safe from predators or enemies. It’s probably an evolutionary thing that turned into strict custom. Now that the kids are old enough to join society, we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that the family can reproduce in case there are any other children still hidden away.” He shook his head. “You’re thinking too much like a human, Kendi.”

“A true failing,” Kendi said.

“And don’t forget about their names when we’re in their house.”

“I’m not a total ignoramus,” Kendi said. “I’ve lived on Bellerophon for a while, too, you know.”

“Sorry,” Ben said. “I just don’t want to make a mistake. Let’s go in.”

Ben pressed his hand against the door and waited for the computer to announce them. Then the door jerked open and they found themselves face-to-face with a female Ched-Balaar. Kendi blinked. The Ched-Balaar were much taller than humans, but this one was on a level with the two men. It felt distinctly strange to look one in the eyes without craning his neck.

“Kendi!” clattered the Ched-Balaar. “Ben! Come in!”

Ben recovered first. “Thank you, Nel,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

“We brought bread,” Kendi said lamely.

Nel dipped her head in acknowledgment and ushered them inside.

The air inside was damp, just as it had been in the Ched-Balaar restaurant. A large room opened in the center of the house with smaller rooms branching off to the side, rather like a forest clearing with smaller glades scattered here and there. Dark green moss made a thick blanket on the floor. Comfortable-looking pillows in muted colors were the only furniture. “bout a dozen Ched-Balaar moved gracefully abut the room, many of them holding drinking troughs or food platters. Four Ched-Balaar, all wearing bright orange head cloths, played a variety of percussion instruments in intricate rhythms augmented by tooth chatter. Several other Ched-Balaar were dancing to the music, rearing up on their hind legs, bobbing their heads, and adding their own clatter to the drumming. A curved table off to one side held a variety of food from fresh fruit and fried fish to steamed insects and poached slugs. Nel set the bread among the offerings.

“I’m glad you could come,” she said. “It seems like fewer and fewer humans visit Ched-Balaar homes these days.”

“If Foxglove has his way,” Kendi said, “we’ll all live separate lives.”

“That would indeed be a shame,” chattered a new voice. Mulaar, Salman’s running mate, dipped his head in greeting. “Our species have spent far too much time together on this planet to separate now, no matter what certain factions among us think.”

“It’s no fun to have a political discussion,” Kendi remarked, “when you agree with everything the other person says.”

“What also frightens me,” Mulaar continued, “is the way Ched-Pirasku ignores the problems that Foxglove and his supporters drum. If Ched-Pirasku wins the election, the separatists will gain momentum—the separatists will rally over their anger at losing the governorship, and Ched-Pirasku will refuse to stop them. He is too willing to compromise.”

“You’re drumming to the band, Mulaar,” Kendi said.

Ben craned his neck, scanning the room. “I don’t see Pek anywhere.”

“Over there,” Nel said. “Next to Father.”

Pek was hanging back, sticking close to his father Hisak, who appeared to be deep in conversation with someone Kendi didn’t recognize. Pek was the same height as his sister, with the same dun-colored fur and wide-spaced green eyes. It was interesting, Kendi mused, that custom allowed Nel to refer to Hisak as her father, but that he couldn’t refer to her as his daughter. Not that human customs always made sense. Mention the word “menstruation,” and most human males dove for cover.

“We should go over and say hello,” Ben said pointedly. “Right, Kendi?”

“Oh! Right!” Kendi said, jolted out of his reverie. He let Ben lead him across the room. Pek raised his head and blinked at them with enormous green eyes.

“Hisak,” Kendi said. “I haven’t seen you since that argument with Putan.”

“Ched-Putan,” Hisak corrected. “She is no member of this household. But I am glad to see your presence.”

“And Pek.” Kendi turned to the younger Ched-Balaar and offered his palms. “Are you in good health?”

“I am,” Pek said shyly, covering Kendi’s palms with his own. “It’s nice to see you, Ben.”

Kendi’s face warmed. It was a gaffe—Pek, who had only seen Ben and Kendi in images had gotten the two of them mixed up, thereby calling attention to the fact that they had never actually met. There was a tiny, embarrassed silence. Then Ben stepped in and nudged Kendi’s palms aside, replacing them with his own under Pek’s hands.

“Thank you, Pek,” Ben said as if Pek had been addressing him all along. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Pek bobbed his head. The four of them made further conversation about the weather and the upcoming election, and the momentary awkwardness was smoothed over. After a while, Ben and Kendi excused themselves to visit the food table.

“Nice save,” Kendi murmured to him.

“Second one this week,” he said. “And I didn’t sprain my shoulder this time. Hey! Bug salad!”

They ate and they mingled and even danced a little to the ever-present drumming. Nel and Pek, who would choose a second syllable for their names at a later date, did the same. Everyone acted as if there were nothing special about their presence, though Kendi had to force himself not to stare at the twins. They were so much shorter than the other Ched-Balaar, and a bit ungainly. Still, there were differences between them. Nel moved easily among the party-goers while Pek stayed close to Hisak or his mother Miran. Kendi wondered what it must be like, living in seclusion, only being allowed to come outside at night, with only a handful of people even acknowledging your existence, and then suddenly being thrust into full-blown society. It would probably be like living a lifetime on the sims, only to have someone shut the game off.

Eventually, however, Kendi got used to the twins’ presence, and in the end he decided a Leaving was actually pretty boring. It made sense not to draw attention to the youngest, least-experienced members of your herd, he supposed, and he guessed that Nel and Pek were enjoying their newfound freedom as full members of Ched-Balaar society, but it was a strain even for sociable Kendi to keep the conversation casual and light so that the two newcomers could join in as if they’d always been there.

After an hour or so, Kendi tracked down Ben and they bid their farewells, taking care to include Nel and Pek without calling too much attention to the fact.

“We’re leaving a Leaving,” Kendi said after they exited. “So after a Leaving is over, is it a Left? Do you have the Right to be Left?”

“I’m not listening,” Ben said, clapping his hands over his ears.

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it.”

“Not listening.”

“Hi, guys. What are we not listening to?”

Kendi pulled up short and Ben took his hands down. Sejal Vajhur was standing in front of them.

“Sejal!” Kendi shouted, and embraced him. “You’re back!”

“Your mom told us you were someplace secret,” Ben said, giving him a quick hug as well. “God, it’s good to see you. What have you been up to? What’s been going on?”

“Lots,” Sejal said in a voice that sounded much too serious for a young man of seventeen. “Let’s go someplace and talk.”

                                                                             

They went to a coffee house and ordered tea. When Kendi remarked on the strangeness of it, Ben shrugged. “Coffee’s like gold these days,” he said. “You want to stay in business, you offer tea.”

The little shop was deserted except for the owner, who polished tea cups and rearranged tea jars behind the count. The trio’s booth lay in the back. Herbal scents hovered in the air, along with the smell of fresh-baked cookies. Sejal sat across from Ben and Kendi. He was a strikingly handsome young man, slender and wiry, with dark coloring and contrasting blue eyes that reminded Kendi of Keith. Kendi had, in fact, once suspected Sejal of being Keith’s son. Wrongly, as it turned out.

“What’s been going on?” Ben asked over a mug of raspberry tea.

“Senator Reza hired me to spy on Mitchell Foxglove in Othertown,” Sejal said. “Undercover.”

Has your grandmother ever been a wrinkled old lady who bakes blue cupcakes for the Awakening Festival?

“All life,” Kendi breathed.

“How long have you been doing it?” Ben asked.

“A little more than three months. It started right around the time you guys left to find Harenn’s kid.”

“Why you?” Kendi asked.

“Didn’t Ben tell you?” he said. “I talked to him in the Dream when you guys were up to your asses in some scam on S” Station.”

Kendi shot Ben a glance. “He didn’t say anything. Tell me what?”

In answer, there was a flicker. Kendi’s mug of tea blinked from its place in front of him to a spot closer to Sejal. It took Kendi a moment to understand what had happened.

“I moved that, didn’t I?” he said. “You can still possess people from the solid world.”

“I’m not as good as I used to be,” Sejal admitted. “The Despair, and all. And I don’t flash on people’s feelings much anymore. I can still make people feel things, though.”

“Handy abilities for a spy,” Ben said. “I hope you charged Grandma an arm and a leg.”

“She’d pay with someone else’s,” Kendi muttered. “What did you find out, then?”

“Short version? Foxglove runs that place like his own private kingdom. He owns fucking everyone. Cops, fire, local newsfeeds, even the school board. I caught Senator Reza’s speech during the whole Taper thing, and she was lying through her false teeth about getting votes in Othertown. I mean, there are rumors spreading around that when you identify yourself at the polls, his hackers will send a copy of your vote to his office. You don’t vote for him, and you’ll get a visit from the club ‘em and cleave ‘em committee.”

“He can’t do that,” Kendi sputtered. “That’s illegal. And impossible! Ben, he can’t do that, can he?”

“Any system can be hacked,” Ben said, “but there’s no way I’d try it, and I’ve hacked the Unity.”

“So fucking what?” Sejal said. “It only matters that everyone thinks he can do it. They’re too scared to vote for anyone else. I’ll be surprised if Senator Reza and Ched-Pirasku get more than six votes apiece from Othertown.”

“Does Grandma need Othertown?”

Sejal shrugged. “Not my job to figure that out. Hell, Kendi, the votes he can’t scare, he’s been buying. He paid for his party’s nomination with cold, hard freemarks. I’ve even seen him bribe individual citizens.”

“Awful expensive way to run a campaign,” Ben said. “Where’s his money coming from?”

“That I couldn’t find out. I didn’t dare manipulate the real higher-ups in his campaign in case they suspected something. I stuck with secretaries and flunkies.”

Secretaries. “Sejal, did you ever come across anyone named Finn Day? Or Helen Day?” Kendi asked.

“Nope. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“I still want to know where his money’s coming from,” Ben said thoughtfully. “It sounds like he’s spending money like water. Do you have proof of any of this, Sejal?”

“Nothing that would stand up in court,” Sejal said. “Like I said, I had to be really careful. He’s probably got sets of account books that would make a prosecutor juice his slacks, but I don’t know enough about computers to access them.”

“I might be able to find something out,” Ben said, “but I’d have to get hold of one of his computers, first.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get involved,” Kendi said.

Ben sat back. “I suppose I’m involved whether I want to be or not.”

                                                                             

The ground rumbled. Kendi stared into the talltree forest, made some adjustments to the controls, and the gravity sled rose to a position about eight meters off the ground. The ground cover surrounding the talltrees trembled as if in fear. Martina grabbed Kendi’s upper arm from behind.

“Are you sure they won’t hurt us?” she asked.

“Positive,” Kendi said. “I’ve done this dozens of times, and I’m still around to tell the tale.”

“How many people have died doing this?” Keith asked.

“No one that I know.”

“That’s not very encouraging.”

Kendi almost snapped that nothing could encourage Keith, but he bit back the words and peered into the shadows among the talltrees. Enormous forms moved in slow motion and eventually the first irvinosaurus plodded into view. It was enormous, a house that had sprouted legs and a tail. Its little head rose high into the air, high enough to browse the lower branches of the talltrees. Tiny, wide-spaced eyes peered sharply about, and it had a single nostril in the center of its receding forehead. Its tail didn’t drag the ground, but pointed straight backward and gave Kendi the impression it could smack a rear ambush with devastating accuracy. After a moment, a second, slightly smaller irvinosaur came into view, then a third and fourth. Three babies the size of Clydesdale horses were next, followed by more house-sized adults. Kendi adjusted the gravity sled down a meter and got a firmer grip on the tow rope tied to the front of the sled.

“Not the first one,” he murmured. “They’re all dumb as dishwater, but the alpha always has a few more brain cells.”

“Are you sure about this?” Keith asked, clearly awed. “I don’t know if—”

“Oh, Keith,” Martina said. “Give the morosity a rest, will you?”

“Morosity?” Keith said. “What the hell kind of word is—”

“Shush!” Kendi hissed. “They’re getting closer.”

The first irvinosaur was only a few meters away. For a moment it came straight at them, bearing down like half a dozen freight trains. Martina increased the pressure on Kendi’s arm. Then the dinosaur seemed to notice them. It turned aside and passed them by so close that Kendi could have reached out and touched it. The animal smelled of decaying grass, manure, and musk. The second irvinosaur followed the first, passing the sled by.

“Now!” Kendi said. He and Martina leaped off the sled straight onto the dinosaurs’ back. Keith hesitated. “Hurry, Keith! I’m not going to tow you.”

Keith jumped. He hit the irvinosaur’s back and lost his footing. His feet went out from under him and he fell, rolling, toward the animal’s flank. Martina grabbed him. He got to his feet, shaken and staring.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he wheezed. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

Kendi hauled on the tow rope and the gravity sled slid into a position behind them so they could get off later. “It’s fun, Keith. You have to let yourself go sometimes. Figuratively, I mean.”

Keith didn’t answer. Kendi drove a small stake into the dinosaur’s thick, pebbled hide and tied the tow rope to it. The gravity sled obediently followed. Kendi raised his hands and stretched. The dinosaur’s back was so broad it had only a slight slope to it. Talltree trunks moved past at a slow, steady pace. He could feel the creature’s huge muscles moving under his feet like boulders sliding around far below the earth. Behind came the rest of the herd, plodding steadily forward. Every so often, one of them gave a low, moaning call that the others answers. The sound vibrated Kendi’s bones and he felt a rush of exhilaration.

“Are you sure it won’t hurt us?” Martina whispered.

“Positive,” Kendi said. “It barely knows we’re here. Hey, if a fly lands on your back, do you even notice?”

“It’s just so...big. I can’t imagine how much it weighs.” She spread her arms wide and spun in place. “This is marvelous, Kendi. Breathtaking! A little slow, though.”

Keith squatted down and ran his hands over the heavy skin at his feet. “Wow.”

“Dinosaur riding is a big sport here,” Kendi said. “We’re trying the easy version.”

“What’s the hard version?” Martina asked.

“Smaller dinos who are more likely to notice you. And for the real danger-mice—carnosaurs. People have died trying that one.”

“Oh, god,” Keith said.

Another round of moaning cycled through the heard. The sound traveled up Kendi’s body in a low, almost delicious vibration. A flock of glider lizards slid overhead, squeaking like excited children. The herd plodding on as if the Weavers didn’t exist.

“You mean people actually climb on a wild meat-eater?” Martina said. “All life!”

“Yeah. And people call me insane,” Kendi said. “You’d never catch me trying to—”

“How can you do it?” Martina asked. “Is there a club or something?”

Kendi realized her eyes were sparkling. It made her look bewitchingly beautiful. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “You want to try—”

“I never imagined such things were possible before,” Martina said. “Not even in the Dream. I want to try them, Kendi. I want to try everything. Riding a meat-eater—that would be a real slice of life!”

“Long as you don’t let the life slice you,” Kendi said.

“I’m serious, big brother,” she said. “Look at me! “ll life, a month ago I was a slave and now I’m riding a dinosaur! I’ll have to work hard to top this!”

And she ran toward the dinosaur’s neck.

“Martina!” Keith shouted. “What are you—”

“I want a better view, guys. Come on!” She reached the base of the creature’s neck. It was as big around as a good-sized tree trunk, but Martina wrapped her arms and legs around it. With a wide grin, she shimmied upward, using her arms and thighs for purchase.

“Martina!” Kendi yelled.

The dinosaur didn’t react at first. Then it brought its head around, trying to see what was going on. Martina laughed and clung tightly as the animal’s neck swung and twisted beneath her. Kendi’s heart leaped into his throat.

“Martina!” he yelled again. “Get down from there!”

The irvinosaur made a low, rumbling sound Kendi didn’t like. Martina whooped one more time, then slid back down to the creature’s back. She trotted back to her brothers, breathless and laughing.

“That was the greatest!” she said. “All life, you have to—”

“Martina,” Kendi said with absolute calm, “move slowly toward the gravity sled. Now. Right now.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Do it!” Keith hissed. He grabbed her arm. “Come on!”

“Why?” she repeated. “I don’t see—oh.”

The entire herd had come to a stop. Half a dozen dinosaurs, including the one the Weavers were riding, had bent their heads around the siblings like strangely animated trees. One or two were chewing cud. They blinked and stared, clearly uncertain about these strange creatures riding their lead male. Kendi swallowed. Irvinosaurs were stupid and slow to react, but if they decided the humans were a threat ...

One of the herd let out a bellow that nearly blasted Kendi off his feet. The alpha female raised her head high in an aggressive posture. Her roar was echoed by the others.

“Run!” Kendi shouted.

Keith and Martina dove for the sled. The alpha brought her head down toward Kendi and he leaped aside just before it crashed into the spot where had been standing. The male they were riding roared in pain, anger, or both. Kendi scrambled aboard the sled and kicked the tow rope loose. Another dinosaur raised its head.

“Hang on,” he snapped, and punched one of the controls on the pedestal. The sled shot straight up. Kendi’s stomach fell into his shoes and the dinosaurs smeared into green-brown blurs.

“Watch it!” Martina yelped.

Kendi flicked another control and the sled stopped. For a split-second he was weightless and his feet left the surface of the sled. His head brushed something, then he came back down on the sled again. Keith looked queasy. A talltree branch stretched into the forest only a few centimeters above their heads. Another split-second and the sled would have crashed into it. Kendi’s knees felt weak, and he sank slowly to a sitting position. The irvinosaurs continued to bellow below.

“All life,” Kendi whispered.

Martina raised her arms and whooped. “That was great!” she yelled. “We are gods! Do you hear that, world? You can’t touch me!”

“Martina?” Keith said. “You’re scaring me.”

“You’ve been acting like an old woman ever since Kendi freed us, Keith,” she said. “Me, I want to live it up.”

Kendi peered over the side of the gravity sled. The irvinosaur herd had moved on, leaving a trail of trampled undergrowth. “Let’s go home and live it up there for a while,” he said. “There’s a staircase topside just over there.”

Keith said he wanted to lie down, so they dropped the gravity sled off at the rental agency—Kendi caught Martina checking the place’s message board for notices about dinosaur riding clubs—and trouped back to the house Keith and Martina shared. It was a small house, and high up in its tree, where the branches were barely thick enough to support the platform. The house rocked perceptibly during strong winds. It had originally belonged to Ben, then to Ben and Kendi, then just to Ben again. Kendi had once observed that friends could update themselves on the status of his and Ben’s relationship by checking local housing records. With Ben and Kendi now living in the house Ben had inherited from his mother, the little house had stood vacant until Keith and Martina’s rescue from slavery. Kendi had offered to let them live with him and Ben, but both of them had refused.

“We can take care of ourselves,” Martina had said. “Besides, I like the idea of living in my own, separate house.”

Martina, still glowing from the ride, entered first, followed by her brothers. Keith went immediately into his room and shut the door. Martina checked the kitchen.

“I’m starved,” she said. “Want some lunch? I make a mean macaroni and cheese.”

“Sure,” Kendi said. He sat down at the tiny kitchen table. The place was scrupulously clean. A window looked out over a long talltree branch. Gloomy sky sulked in the spaces between green leaves. “Will Keith want anything?”

“He hasn’t been eating well lately,” Martina admitted. She set a pot of water on the stove and took an onion from the refrigerator. “He’s had a few good days since we got here, but they’re getting few and far between.”

“I know. I’ve been watching him.” Kendi ran a fingertip over the tabletop. “I could pull some strings, get him into a counselor.”

“He won’t do it.” Martina skinned the onion with deft movements and set to chopping. The sharp, sweet smell mingled with steam from the pot. “You can’t make someone see a therapist if they don’t want to. And anyway, getting him in would displace someone else, someone who was Silenced and who really needs a counselor.”

“You don’t think Keith should see someone?”

“No. I just think that other people—Silenced people—need it more.”

She went back to chopping. Kendi watched her for a while. “ll life, she had grown. She had been barely ten years old at the slave auction that had broken their family into bits. Now she was a fully-grown woman, able to cook and enter the Dream and ride a dinosaur.

“How was it for you?” he asked suddenly.

Chop, chop, chop. “How was what?”

“Slavery.”

“I’ve told you that.”

“No.” Kendi crossed his ankle over his knee. “Not slavery to the S” Station cult. I mean before that. When you were a...a regular slave.”

Martina smiled at him. She had a beautiful smile, Kendi decided, and a wave of affection flowed over him.

“Regular slave,” she said. “I like that. I was only a regular slave for a little while, though. A history professor bought me to work in his house. He wasn’t a bad guy, in his way. He didn’t molest me or beat me or anything like that, and he let me read in his library when my work was done for the day. But when my Silence surfaced—I think I was twelve or thirteen—he sold me for the profit to a company that trains Silent slaves and resells them. I stayed with them for...six years? Seven? Anyway, they sold me to a law firm, and they eventually sold me to DrimCom. I worked for them until that weirdo cult kidnapped me a few months after the Despair. Overall, I had it pretty good. You hear stories about slaves being tortured or beaten or”—she lowered her voice and glanced toward Keith’s bedroom door—”raped. But none of that happened to me. It took me a long time to get over being sold away from you guys and from Mom and Dad, but I eventually coped. No other choice, you know?”

She got chunks of cheddar and mozzarella cheese out of the refrigerator and started grating them. The cheeses made fluffy, pungent mounds next to the pale pile of onion.

“So how was slavery for you?” she continued. “You said you worked on a frog farm.”

“I hated it,” Kendi said. His stomach growled and he wondered if he could swipe a piece of cheese. “No surprise, eh? I was a mucker, the lowest of the low. We worked right in the ponds, catching frogs, reconfiguring the shorelines, digging new water holes. It was hard, filthy work, and the managers were always looking for an excuse to crack their whips.”

“But Mom was there.” Martina poured flour, salt, oil, and other ingredients into a small machine. It whirred busily, and a small heap of elbow macaroni tumbled out the bottom like soft, misshapen snowflakes.

“Yeah. They put her in the kitchen. She snuck me and Pup extra food when she could.”

“Pup?”

“Another boy my age. We became best friends after a while. Then a woman visited the farm. She was Silent, and she touched me. Pow! I thought she had socked me with a cattle prod. Mom turned out to be Silent, too, and Mistress Blanc—my owner—sold us for the profit. We were split up. I was lucky that the Children of Irfan bought me, but I never heard from Mom again.” Kendi’s throat grew thick and he cleared it hard. “Sorry. I’ve been looking for her and Dad ever since, but I’ve never gotten a lead.”

“I’ll help you look,” Martina said. “If Mom and Dad are out there, we’ll find them one day.”

“I hope so.”

“Hey, you found me and Keith.” Martina dumped the macaroni into the water and counted to twenty. She drained it, mixed it with the cheese and onions, poured in a little milk, and popped the dish into the oven.

“Bake medium, ten minutes,” she said to the computer, then sat next to Kendi at the table. “So was Pup just a friend or something more?”

“Just a friend,” Kendi laughed. “I think I wanted something more from him, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Too young yet. I don’t think Pup was interested anyway. What about you? Did you ever pair up with anyone?”

Martina’s eyes went flat. “Only once. He was sold away. I haven’t really been looking since then. Some slaves grab whatever love or sex they can, but me—I didn’t want to.”

“Too much to lose,” Kendi said quietly.

“Something like that.”

They sat in silence until the computer chimed, announcing that the macaroni and cheese was done.

                                                                             

“Father Weaver, I’d like to ask a candid question, if I could,” said Tel Brace.

“Shoot,” Kendi said, leaning back in his office chair. The holograms of Ben, Gretchen, and himself were lined up on his desk. Kendi had deliberately set them so that they seemed to staring up at Tel Brace.

“Are you in negotiation with another game company?”

Kendi’s eyes widened a tiny bit. “No!” he said a little too quickly. “I wouldn’t do such a thing. It might upset the generous deal I have with you, Mr. Brace. I’ve just been really busy with Grandma’s campaign and all and haven’t had much of a chance to look at the agreement.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Brace managed a weak smile and Kendi noticed a tiny line of sweat at his blond hairline.

“Speaking of the contract,” Kendi said, “I had a question about one part. This clause states that you’ll own the exclusive rights to use my image in any capacity. I’m not so sure about that one. The other—I mean, I’ve heard that other game companies don’t run things that way. I need to appear in the game itself, obviously, and in ads for the game, but I might need to use my own image somewhere else once in a while, you know?”

“Well, maybe we can pare that back a little.” Brace tapped his data pad, then beamed a change to Kendi’s pad. “I like your data pad, by the way. New?”

“A gift,” Kendi said.

“There. How’s that? Game and ads—that’s it.”

“Better,” Kendi said. “Where’s my stylus? I can probably sign right—oops! You forgot to take out the word ‘exclusive.’ “

“Sorry. Just strike it.”

Kendi took out his stylus, touched the tip to the agreement, then paused. “When’s the deadline for this, anyway?”

The sweat on Brace’s forehead became more pronounced. “Er, it’s not firm yet. We hope to start beta testing next year.”

Kendi nodded, though inside he was grinning wide. Brace was lying through his keen, white teeth. Ben had spent a little time on the gaming boards and uncovered plenty of rumors that “Dream and Despair” was actually almost ready for beta testing now. That meant HyperFlight had made the enormous mistake of starting production on the game before all the contracts were signed. Kendi, Ben, and Gretchen were in a position to stall the release indefinitely and cost the company millions of freemarks.

“You know,” Kendi said, toying thoughtfully with the stylus, “three percent royalty seems a little low. I know I’m not doing any of the actual writing, but it is my story. Ben did some research and found out that the—that other companies pay four percent.”

“Only for really famous celebrities,” Brace said. His eyes never left the stylus.

Kendi gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Sometimes I swear my name is a household word, Mr. Brace. But if HyperFlight doesn’t want to do that, I can understand. Times are tough. You can take the agreement back and ask your bosses about it, I guess. I’ll be out of town for a couple of months on the campaign trail, and maybe we can talk again when I get—”

“I think we can handle four percent,” Brace said.

“And raise the other rate, too?” Kendi asked. “Five point five percent on every copy sold after the first two million? Though I read somewhere that the breakpoint for books is the first million. I don’t suppose that—”

“Five point five after the first million,” Brace said recklessly. “And we’ll raise the advance to one point five million freemarks.”

“And make the same offer to Ben and Gretchen.”

“They’re minor characters,” Brace countered. “Half a million advance to each of them, royalties at two and two point five.”

“Three quarters of a million to Gretchen. Ben stays at half.”

“Done.”

Kendi signed with a flourish. “Thank you, Mr. Brace. I’m sure Ben and Gretchen will sign without a problem.”

Brace got up, shook Kendi’s hand, and moved toward the door. He seemed to be in a daze. Kendi picked up Ben’s hologram by the base and turned it over. The movement caught Brace’s eye and he turned in time to see Kendi scrape a tiny, translucent button off the bottom and crush it with his fingertips. Brace winced and his hand rose to his ear. At the last moment, he scratched his temple instead.

“Speck of dirt,” Kendi said. “I look forward to playing this game when it comes out, Mr. Brace. Do you think I’ll choose Gretchen or Ben as my love interest?”

“I really have no idea,” Brace said in a faint voice. He left Kendi’s office and quietly, carefully closed the door.

                                                                             

Jolanda Rondeau double-checked the pheromone tanks. Full. The motor on the ultralight purred like a contented lizzie-bat. Her mechanic made a final adjustment and gave Jolanda a thumbs-up.

“Thanks,” Jolanda said, and put on her helmet. “Tell Frank I hope he’s feeling better.”

“Will do,” the mechanic said.

Jolanda boarded her craft. The ultralight looked like the skeleton of a tiny airplane, one just big enough for a single pilot. Ahead of the craft stretched a fallen talltree trunk, which was so massive the top formed a nearly flat surface. The bark had been sanded off and platforms hung off either side. At one end, the monstrous roots made a tangle that reached three stories above the trunk. A small hangar had been built there. At the other end, the branches had been cut off, leaving a long, smooth expanse that made a fine runway. The fallen tree left open a strip of open space that would let small aircraft slip unhindered into the sky.

Jolanda goosed the motor and started down the runway. To her left she caught sight of the mechanic. He was a dark-haired man with bland features. Jolanda had never seen him before, but it wasn’t unusual to have a substitute mechanic now and then. She put him out of her mind and turned her attention to flying.

The takeoff was smooth, as it always was, and her stomach dropped as she grabbed fast altitude. Jolanda inhaled in the crisp, clean-smelling air that rushed over her face. Below her, the tops of the talltrees made a green carpet that stretched all the way to the horizon. Jolanda loved it up here. She could pretend she was the only person in the entire world, with nothing but sunlight above and leaves below.

Jolanda checked the navigation computer and nosed around until she was pointed in the right direction. Then she tapped a button. Behind her, a thin, steady stream of mist jetted from the pheromone tanks. The pheromones would disperse and spread, keeping the more dangerous carnosaurs away from Treetown. Jolanda checked the tanks and went into a grid dispersal pattern. Once she had flown this route twice a week. Now she did it twice a month. The city couldn’t afford any more than that. The irony was that tent cities had sprouted like mushrooms beneath the city, meaning more people walked the forest floor than ever. The inhabitants erected their shelters well away from the stomping grounds of the big herbivores, but the carnivores wandered more. Jolanda wondered how long it would be before a carnosaur chomped down some hapless homeless person.

The ultralight’s motor cut out. Jolanda froze, then hit the restart. Nothing. A tinge of fear thrilled through her. The ultralight went into a long, gliding dive. Jolanda hit the emergency anti-grav generator. A red light told her it was malfunctioning. The fear blew into full-blown panic. A scream tore itself from her throat as the ultralight skimmed over the trees and dropped down into the forest.