Trickster (16 page)
"And how's Bedj-ka?" Lucia asked.
Harenn sipped cream-laden coffee with a faintly distracted smile. "He seems happy, as am I. Bedj-ka thinks it exciting to live on a slipship, and I find that it refreshes my own enthusiasm to watch him see things for the first time. He insists on assisting me with the engines and maintenance, and it is touching the way he tries so hard to help."
"Maybe he'll be an engineer like his mother," Lucia said.
"Perhaps." Her smile grew wistful. "He is certainly intelligent enough. He can already run four basic diagnostic programs and--"
"You sound just like my mother when she boasts about my brothers and sisters and me," Lucia interrupted with a chuckle. "Next you'll be whipping holos out of your pocket to show around."
Harenn's brown cheeks darkened. "I have already made several. Would you like to see them?"
Before Lucia could reply, Father Kendi set his data pad on the table and called for order. Lucia instantly gave him her full attention.
"Todd told us where the Collection is housed," he began, "so let's start there." Father Kendi tapped the pad and a hologram of the station sprang into being above the tabletop. "We got lucky. We're docked here--" one part of the station glowed green "--and the Collection is housed here." Another part of the station glowed red. "It's only one section over, so it's not hard to get to from our dock. The first thing we need is a basic recon. Todd gave me some information, but there was a lot he didn't know." More taps, and the view of the station zoomed in tighter, becoming a cutaway of a section of corridor.
"According to Todd, the Collection is almost completely isolated from the rest of the station," Father Kendi continued. "It's on a block that sticks out from the main structure, and the only way to get to it from the station itself is by this corridor. There are several automated checkpoints along the way, when a computer checks your face, your prints, and your identification holo."
"No retina checks?" Gretchen asked.
"Too easy to fake these days," Ben said. "An amateur can get your retina scan from a distance with nothing but a halfway decent camera. Same goes for infra-red heat patterns."
"Yes, Father," Lucia said. "The best prints will come from something smooth, like a glass or cup, but I can work with harsher stuff."
Father Kendi nodded. "Good. Ben, what about copying the keys?"
"I've been working on that, and I think I can do it." Ben held up a small silver box the size of a pack of playing cards. "I've been modifying one of the copycats. If I pull this off, all you'll have to do is connect the data port of the key to the data port on this. It'll copy the algorithms and I can make a duplicate key from them."
"How long will the download take?" Father Kendi asked.
"Not long. I'm guessing less than thirty seconds. The trick, like you said, will be getting the keys away from the department heads and then returning each one without anyone noticing."
"That's what I'll be working on," Father Kendi said grimly. "Once we have all the information we can glean, I'll get a plan together. Any questions?"
There were none. As the group rose from the table, Lucia swallowed a final bite of spicy sandwich and Ben put a light hand on her shoulder.
"Let's go play with some toys," he said.
Warmth. Softness. Voices. Whispers. Martina Weaver lay in shifting shadows and semi-darkness. Occasional colors flickered around her and she studied them with great interest. From time to time she felt like she was floating, and then she would be lying on something solid again. It was like trying to enter the Dream but being caught adrift in the moment before it solidified around her.
After what was neither a long nor a short time, the darkness began to brighten. Martina became aware that she was lying on a soft bed with a pillow under her head. The ceiling above her was the color of warm sunshine. A round-cheeked woman with a wide, smiling mouth, and a scattering of freckles on her face was looking down at her. She wore a dark green wimple over her hair and forehead. A high, white collar came all the way up to her chin, and her green robe reached all the way to the floor. Her hands were gloved in green. But for the color of her robe and the gloves, Martina would have thought she was a Catholic nun.
"Greet the Dream, Alpha," the woman said cheerfully. "Good to see you awake."
A dermospray made a familiar
thump
against Martina's arm and the room settled with startling abruptness. She sat up, fully awake and alert, and glanced at her surroundings. Sunlight poured into a window overlooking a tree-studded valley. Green plants hung about the room and stood in pots on the carpeted floor. A desk and chair sat below the window and a comfortable-looking sofa and chair made a little cluster in one corner. The room also had two sliding doors, both shut, and a wooden wardrobe. Martina shook her head. The last thing she remembered was finishing a series of assignments in the Dream. She had sketched for a while in her room and was thinking about asking if she could have some tea. And then
C
what? The memories were fuzzy. Had she undressed for bed? She looked down and saw she was wearing unfamiliar yellow pajamas. The silvery slave bands which had first been fitted to her fifteen years ago were still on her wrist and ankle.
"What is this place?" Martina demanded. "How did I get here?"
The woman smiled, making dimples in her plump cheeks. "We rescued you, praise the Dream. You and your compatriot."
"The other Alpha," the woman explained. "I think your oppressors called him Brad."
"I never met him," Martin said. "I heard DrimCom had bought a new Silent, but I didn't--"
"There are no slaves here," the woman interrupted firmly. "No owners, no buying or selling of people. The Silent are chosen, divine, and they can't be bought or sold like simple people."
Martina stared. "Are you saying I'm free?"
"No one owns you," the woman said.
"I can leave?"
The woman smiled her cheerful smile. "Not quite yet. You're just an Alpha, and you aren't strong enough yet."
"What do you mean?" Martina asked. "What's an Alpha? How did I get here? Who are you?"
"Everything in time, dear." The woman patted her arm with a gloved hand. "In the meantime, are you hungry?"
Suddenly Martina was. "Ravenous."
"Then you should eat." The woman tapped a panel on the wall and it slid aside, revealing a legged tray. Delicious smells of meat and gravy filled the room. The woman set the tray across Martina's lap. A generous portion of beef steamed on a plate, surrounded by garden vegetables and a salad accompanied by a small pot of tea. Martina ate quickly--the meat was perfectly done and tender.
"My name is Delta Maura," the woman said. Her voice was low and warm. "I'm your counselor, and I'll help repair the damage that's been done to you."
"Damage?" Martina said with her mouth full.
"The damage done to you while you were a slave." Delta Maura patted Martina's shoulder. "It must have been horrible, dear. No one should have to live through something like that."
Martina set down her fork. "Are you a Child of Irfan? Is this Bellerophon?"
"No, dear. You'll learn more about who we are when it's time. For now, you only need to rest. Enjoy yourself. You have computer access, including games and books. If you need something else, use the computer to send a note to the Personal Needs Adjustor." She patted Martina's hand, and Martina found herself growing annoyed at all the patting. "I have to leave now, but if you want to talk to me, just say so and the computer will let me know."
With that, she left. The door slid shut behind her, and Martina was sure she heard the click of a lock. Martina set the tray aside, got out of bed, and tried to open the door. It had no lock plate, only a slot for a keycard. Martina tried to push the door open. It didn't budge. Martina looked down at her feet. A slave band still encircled her ankle, just as it did her wrist. If she were free, why was she still shackled and kept in a locked room? She felt uneasy, and the meat she had eaten seemed to coagulate in her stomach.
First things first,
she decided, and set out to explore the room.
The window turned out to be a holographic display. Tapping it changed the view, and the choices ranged from ocean bottom to forest floor to desert dunes to lunar surface. She set it back on the original valley and opened the wardrobe. The clothes inside--none of them from her room back with DrimCom--consisted of several sets of loose yellow tunics and trousers. Two pairs of yellow slippers were on the floor. A set of yellow gloves hung from a hook. Martina changed out of her pajamas, though she didn't don the gloves. Feeling less vulnerable now that she was dressed, she opened the second door and discovered a well-appointed bathroom complete with toilet, sink, enormous tub, and separate shower. The cabinets contained a variety of toiletries.
Back in the main room, she learned that the furniture was comfortable and that the compartment Delta Maura had taken the food from seemed to be some kind of dumbwaiter. Martina put the food tray back inside it, closed the door, and heard a faint hum. When she opened the little door again, there was nothing on the other side but a blank wall.
The computer did indeed have a variety of games, but all of them were holographic or flat-screen. There were no virtual reality sims. The library was fairly extensive, but all the books were ones she had never heard of. There was no non-fiction. Nothing she saw contained any clue as to where she was or who owned this place.
It took Martina a moment to realize there was no clock in the room and no clock function on the computer. How long had she been drugged? She had no idea. It could have been a few hours or several days. Even weeks, for all she knew.
Martina perched on the edge of the couch, baffled. Was she a prisoner or a guest? Had she been kidnapped or rescued? She felt off-balance and uncertain. Abruptly she wished for her sketchbook and a pencil. Were her art supplies still at DrimCom? Would she ever see them again?
Martina wasn't worried about being in physical danger. If these people had intended to hurt or kill her, they would have done so already. Plus she was one of the few Silent left in the galaxy who could still reach the Dream, someone far too valuable to harm. If they gave her access to her drugs, she could even get into the Dream and shout for help. Even now she could hear the faint whispers around her, whispers she had begun hearing not long after she had been snatched from the colony ship and sold into slavery.
It was a part of Martina's life that she didn't like to think about, but every so often she had terrible nightmares about that terrible day, about someone snatching her out of cryo-sleep on a colony ship and hauling her, cold and shivering, into a smelly, tiny room aboard a slave ship. Her father and mother had been there, at least, as had been her older brothers Evan and Keith. All of them were descended from Australian Aborigines, but Aboriginal culture in Australia had been almost completely lost by the time the terrible droughts came and the Outback desert had spread even into the farmlands. In an attempt to rediscover their roots, a group of Aboriginal descendants had banded together to form the Real People Reconstructionists. Martina had only been four or five when her parents joined the group, and her early memories of the RPR involved long walks outside, meditation exercises, and eating really strange foods. Keith, her oldest brother, had gone for the RPR in a big way, even going so far as to change his name to Utang, which he claimed was an old Aboriginal word for "strength." Evan, her other brother, had hated every aspect of the RPR, but he had especially loathed the trips to the Outback when they all went on walkabout.
A few years later, the government had announced that it was sponsoring a giant colony ship to relieve Australia's population burden. The journey would take hundreds of years, but the colonists would spend the entire journey in cryo-sleep. The Real People Reconstructionists had petitioned to be included so they could at last rediscover the ways of the Real People on a new world, and the government had agreed. Keith--Utang--had been wildly excited. Evan had been furious. Martina, barely ten years old then, remembered being uncertain about going but feeling reassured that her parents and brothers would be there every step of the way.
