Nightmare (9 page)

  "WhendoeeriveBellephon?" Kite asked.

  Ara blinked as she straightened this out. "We arrive at Bellerophon in about an hour, I think. This is one of our faster slipships. We’ll get you settled in right away."

And maybe,
Kendi thought suddenly,
I can find Mom—in the Dream.

CHAPTER FIVE

We need to learn to speak through Silence. Even the dead have something to say.

—Irfan Qasad, Founder of the Children of Silence

  Mother Araceil Rymar do Salman Reza dropped her bags on the foyer floor with a sigh. It was a relief to be home again. The windows in the house were open, letting a pleasant summer breeze waft through the screens. Outside, the deep green leaves of the talltree that supported the house rustled, and far below came the roar of a dinosaur. The newly-rescued slaves were in the capable hands of Brother Manny, who would get them settled in for the night and thereby free Ara to go home for the evening.

  Then she heard it—a strange metallic clank. She frowned and stepped over her suitcases, following the noise. It came again and again in a rhythm that echoed off the hardwood floors and walls. Ara followed the sound, mystified, until she came to her son Ben’s room. The noise came from behind the closed door. She knocked once.

  "Ben?" she called. "I’m home."

  The noise stopped for a moment, then resumed. "Come in."

  Ara opened the door. Ben was lying flat on his back on a narrow bench amid a series of levers and pulleys. He was pushing a curved horizontal lever straight up. Behind him, a short stack of black metal weights rose into the air, then descended with a
clank.
Ben’s freckled face was shiny with sweat, and his flame-red hair was darkened with it. The veins stood out on his arms as he struggled to lift the bar again.

  "Hey, Mom," he grunted. "Good trip?"

  "Ben, what in the world?" Ara said. "What are you doing?"

  "What’s it look like I’m doing?"
Clank.
His voice carried a hint of annoyance.

  Ara’s gaze wandered about the room. As usual, the place looked like something had exploded inside a computer store. To make room for the weight machine, Ben had shoved his unmade bed to one side, crowding it against his desk. The overflowing boxes of computer parts that usually lined the walls were piled into an unsteady mountain in the corner. Ara was thankful to see that Ben had at least put rugs underneath the weight machine so it wouldn’t scratch the floor. The room smelled of sweat despite the open windows.

  "I meant, where did you get this from?" she said.

Clank.
"Bought it," Ben grunted.
Clank.

  Ara suppressed a sigh and felt tired. Talking to Ben lately was like trying to roll a square rock. He had always been reticent as a child, but lately things had gotten worse. Maybe it was a function of being fifteen. She was glad to see him, but a certain amount of exasperation was overtaking the feeling. Things had been so much simpler when he ran up to give her a hug whenever she picked him up from her sister and brother-in-law’s house after a recruiting mission. Ara had recently decided he was old enough to stay by himself during her shorter trips—with someone checking on him from time to time—but now she questioned the wisdom of that idea.

  "Who did you buy it from?" she asked. "And how did you get the money?"

  "Computer work," Ben said, referring to the occasional odd jobs he did on the networks. "Found a guy on the nets ..."
Clank.
"who had a gravity machine and was selling this one cheap."
Clank.
Sweat rolled off him and he paused long enough to wipe his face on his shoulder.

  "Well," Ara said uncertainly. "Don’t hurt yourself. Did you have dinner?"

Ben shook his head, straining heavily to lift the bar one more time. His arms trembled and Ara was seized with the sudden impulse to help him lift it. At last he managed to straighten his arms and hold the weight stack in place for a moment before all but dropping them with a crash. Ara was about to suggest he end the workout and take a shower when the computer chimed.

  "Attention! Attention!" it said. "Incoming call for Mother Araceil Rymar."

  "Put it through to my office," Ara said. She nodded at Ben and went up the hall.

  Ara’s office was done in the same decor as the house, with pale hardwood floors, wood paneling, and large rugs covering the floor. A leafy branch shaded one window while the other looked out over the long drop to the forest floor below. Outside, the sun shone in a golden summer haze. Ara’s desk was a moderate mess, but nothing like the sty in Ben’s room. That was another change. Ben had always been tidy as a child, but in the last year he hadn’t cleaned a thing unless Ara stood over him. She dreaded seeing the kitchen.

  "Eliza," Ara addressed the house computer, "open call."

  One wall blinked into a view screen. A silver-haired man with a kind, worried face appeared. He wore a soft brown robe. "Araceil. I’m glad you’re back."

  "Grandfather Melthine," Ara said warmly. "If you’re looking for a report on my trip, I just got back. I can—"

  "There’s been another death, Araceil," Melthine interrupted. "Like the others."

  She stiffened. "Oh no."

  "We need you to recreate the scene, and we have to move quickly," Melthine continued. "Before the echoes die away from the Dream. How soon can you be here?" He recited a monastery address which appeared across the bottom of the screen. The place was within walking distance.

  "Give me ten minutes, maybe fifteen." Ara was already reaching for a computer pad from her desk. She also snatched up one of her dermosprays and checked to make sure the drug chamber was full.

  "Every moment counts," Melthine said. "I’ll watch for you." The wall went blank.

  Ara dashed out of her office and poked her head into Ben’s room. He was sitting up holding a free weight, elbow braced on the bench between his knees.

  "Emergency investigation," she said. "Order supper if I’m not back soon, all right?"

  Ben grunted and lifted the weight, biceps straining. Ara didn’t know if he meant the sound as assent or if it was a general noise, but she turned anyway and rushed toward the door.

  Outside, she clattered up a set of wooden stairs to a walkway that ran above the house. Tiny flying lizards chirped and croaked in the leaves and the air was warm where the talltree shade didn’t reach. The overhead sky was clear and blue, and the breeze remained pleasant. Ara, however, was covered with goosebumps. Another murder, and she had been called to investigate.

  Ara hurried up the walkway which connected her neighborhood’s talltree to the next talltree over. The entire monastery—and the city that surrounded it—was built into the canopy of the massive forest. Each talltree was over a hundred meters high, with thick, spreading branches that made ideal foundations for houses safely above the pods of saurians—dubbed
dinosaurs
by the original Bellerophon colonists—that stomped over the forest floor. Each tree could support half a dozen houses or more, and flexible walkways made of board and cable connected them to each other. Fine polymer netting covered the space between the cable railing and the floor of the walkway to prevent people from falling through, though the netting was hidden from view by a thick growth of ivy. Ara moved quickly from one tree to another, passing several other people with only the barest of nods until she came to the address Melthine had given her.

  It was a small house, with a wide front deck and a gently-sloping roof that blended neatly into the talltree. A police officer in a blue tunic stood guard at the door, and a holographic stripe of blue light ringed the house at waist level. The words Do not cross by order of the Guardians were etched on the ring in yellow. Ara crossed the ring—it beeped at her in alarm—and held up the gold medallion that marked her a Child of Irfan.

  "Grandfather Melthine called for me," she said.

  The officer, a young man with pale hair and eyes, stuck his head inside the door and conferred briefly with someone Ara couldn’t see. Then he motioned her inside and shut the door after her.

  The sharp smell of relaxed bowel hit her. Ara swallowed, unable to see much in the dark interior after the bright outdoor sunshine.

What am I doing here?
she thought.
This is a real murder with a real corpse. I’m not even a detective. What if I throw up when I see the body?

  "Araceil!" boomed a voice from the gloom. Ara’s eyes finally adjusted and she recognized Grandfather Melthine. "Good. The body’s this way."

  "Who is it?" Ara said, following him into the house.

  "Sister Iris Temm."

  The name meant nothing to Ara, for which she was grateful. It was bad enough to know the woman was—had been—a fellow Child. Melthine took her into the living room. The sun dropped slanted rectangles of gold light on the floor, and Ara took in her surroundings. Easy chairs, sofa, upright piano—a real one, with strings—coffee table. Shabby, but comfortable, typical for someone on a Sibling stipend. A fainting couch lay off to one side, and the body of a woman reposed quietly on it. Her arms were crossed over her stomach as if she were asleep or in the Dream. Iris Temm had been a tiny woman, almost doll-like, with curly blond hair and sallow skin. Both her eyes had been blackened and her nose looked broken. Other bruises darkened her pale skin, as if she’d been beaten before dying. Ara’s eye unwillingly went to Temm’s left hand. It was crusted with dried blood, and the littlest finger had a ring of cross stitches around the base. The finger above the stitches was clearly not original to Iris Temm. As she feared, Ara’s gorge tried to rise, and she swallowed hard. Grandfather Melthine had told her about this aspect of the murders, though she had never seen it. Seeing it in person was very different from hearing about it.

  "The finger," she said, amazed at the steadiness in her voice. "Did it belong to—?"

  "Wren Hamil." Another person, a woman of Asian ancestry, entered the room. She was Ara’s height, but with a whipcord build and long hair that twisted in an intricate braid down her back. Civilian clothes, sensible shoes. She thrust a hand at Ara, who took it automatically. A jolt crackled down Ara’s spine. The woman was Silent.

  "Inspector Lewa Tan—Guardians," she said. Her voice was oddly harsh and raspy, as if she were about to cough. "You the consultant in Dream theory?"

  Ara nodded.  The Guardians of Irfan were the legal enforcers of the Blessed and Most Beautiful Monastery of the Children of Irfan. The rank and file encompassed investigators, lawyers, judges, and other such folk, some of whom were Silent and some of whom were not. They had no jurisdiction outside the monastery, but Iris, like most Children, lived within its boundaries.

  "So the finger did belong to the previous victim?" Ara asked.

"On-site DNA test says so," Tan agreed. Her tone was clipped, her words succinct, as if she wanted to get her talking done as fast as possible. "And when Wren Hamil’s body was found—" she checked her computer pad "—eighteen months ago, she was ...’wearing’ the finger of a woman named Prinna Meg. Wish we could say Prinna Meg was the first victim, but we can’t. She was wearing the finger of another person. Someone we haven’t identified yet."

  "The bruises—"

  "Body’s covered with them. Medical examiner will tell us more."

  "Who found her?" Ara asked. She felt as if she weren’t quite there, like the world around her wasn’t real.

  "Boyfriend," Tan rasped. "Came over to pick her up for dinner and found her like that. My partner’s questioning him. Back deck."

  "Do you suspect him?"

  "Not seriously. Medical examiner’s on her way, but I did a prelim scan. Looks like Temm’s been dead an hour, maybe two. I registered heightened levels of psytonin in her brain. Means she was probably in the Dream when she died, just like Prinna Meg and Wren Hamil. Then we called you."

  What had Ara been doing two hours ago? Sitting at her desk on the ship filling out a report on the recent buy while the four slaves that were the subject of the report slept the sleep of the exhausted in their cabins. At one point Ara had looked in on them and found Willa tossing restlessly on her mattress. Jeren, in contrast, slept so soundly that Ara had to look carefully to see his breathing. Kendi and Kite snored in the bunks above him. All while a Silent sister was being murdered in the Dream.

  "Where’s her dermospray?" Ara asked. "I didn’t see it on the couch." It sounded to Ara like her own voice was coming from far away.

  "Bagged and tagged," Tan told her. "Possible evidence."

  "Time, Araceil," Melthine interrupted. "The Dream will move on."

  Ara started and came to herself. "Of course, Grandfather. Is there a bedroom I can use?"

  "Whole house is a crime scene," Tan said dubiously. "You just want a place to lie down, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Bed should be okay, then. We already checked it."

  Tan escorted Ara into Iris Temm’s bedroom, a small but comfortable place containing a double bed, high dresser, and two bedside tables that didn’t match. The curtains were drawn in this room, making it feel gloomy. Ara lay down gingerly on the bed. It smelled faintly of bath powder.

  "Need anything?" Tan asked.

  "Just some quiet. I’ll let you know what I find."

  "I’m joining you," Tan said. "Now that I can find you in the Dream."

Of course,
Ara thought. That was why Tan had made such a point of shaking Ara’s hand.

  "Yes, all right." Ara shut her eyes. "Just give me a few minutes to find Iris’s turf. It’ll be easier without another Silent mind around."

  Tan took the hint, for Ara heard retreating footsteps and the sound of the bedroom door shutting. Ara took out her dermospray, pressed it to her upper arm, and thumbed the release. With a
thump
and a hiss, it injected Ara with a tailored drug cocktail. Ara lay back on the soft pillow, then inhaled and exhaled, following a pattern perfected over many years of practice. Her heartbeat slowed. After a while, the darkness behind her eyelids shifted and slowly filled with swirling colors. They mixed and whirled until a vibrant white light became Ara’s entire universe. Her body fell away and she felt light and airy. The light brightened further, growing incandescent. Then it flashed in a nova burst and vanished, leaving Ara standing on a flat, featureless plain that stretched from horizon to horizon. Soft sound filled Ara’s ears, thousands of whispers that blended together like the delicate roar of a seashell.