Steven Harper
Nightmare
PROLOGUE
Sometimes bad things happen to good people.
Sister Prinna Meg stretched her Dream body and yawned beneath her rowan tree. It had been a long shift. Time to go. Her drugs were wearing off in any case, and if she didn’t leave the Dream soon, she would be yanked out of it instead, an uncomfortable possibility at best.
Prinna’s Dream landscape was a sun-dappled glen with green grass, yellow flowers, and a pair of rowan trees. The breeze was sweet and light, as in late spring. Prinna inhaled appreciatively of her own creation. Bellerophon was currently undergoing a rainy stretch, and the overhead sun, Dream though it may be, felt wonderful. Perhaps she could eke out her stay for a few more-
A heavy footfall jarred her to the core. Startled, Prinna looked around. Someone was encroaching on her Dream territory without asking permission first. It was an unpleasant presence. When Silent like Prinna wished to confer with another Silent in the Dream, they had to decide between them who would shape the landscape of their meeting place. Treading on someone else’s turf without permission was like someone running an uninvited hand over that person’s face.
More jarring footfalls. The intruder-Prinna sensed it was a man, a human like herself-was stomping toward her without regard to her landscape, forcing bits of his own impressions on this part of the Dream. It was the mental equivalent of a stranger slapping a loaf of new-risen bread dough, leaving it partly collapsed with a handprint in the center. This went beyond rude.
Prinna drew herself up, gathering her brown robes around her beneath the rowan tree. She was a brown- haired, blue-eyed woman in her third decade, not really pretty but not unattractive either. A silver ring with an amber stone graced her right hand, indicating her rank as a Sister among the Children of Irfan. Prinna put her hand on the front of her robe to ensure ring and rank were visible. Overhead, a small flock of birds wheeled and twittered in the blue sky.
'Who is that?' she demanded.
Silence. Then another footfall. Maybe she should just let go of the Dream, go back to her body. Her work was done. What did it matter if a rude lout was stomping around? The glen would disappear when she did. Then the teacher in her, the part of her that had tutored half a dozen Silent students, came to the fore. If no one told him what he was doing was wrong, he would keep on doing it. It was her duty to let him know he was breaking with etiquette.
'Who is that?' Prinna said. 'Show yourself! Stop stomping around like a half-grown bull.'
A figure emerged from behind the other rowan tree and took several steps toward her. Prinna had been right-a human man. He was quite a lot bigger than she was and she found herself wanting to take a step backward. Then she realized she was being ridiculous. In the Dream, the only that mattered was willpower and mental strength. Physical size meant nothing at all. She held her ground. A small part of her noticed that his feet had left empty earth where they touched down on her grass and flowers.
'You’re pretty,' the man said. 'Did you like the poems?'
Prinna blinked, confused. What was he talking about? Uncertainty tinged her again. 'I don’t read poetry,' she said, clutching the front of her robe. 'I don’t care for-'
The man raised his head to the sky and howled like a dog. Fear tanged Prinna’s stomach. Her cue to leave, thank you. Someone else would have to teach this weirdo some manners. She closed her eyes to gather her concentration so she could let go of the Dream. But before she could finish, something cold wrapped itself around her waist. Her eyes snapped open, her concentration destroyed. A rowan branch was holding her prisoner, squeezing hard enough to choke the air from her lungs.
'You don’t care for poetry?' The man was right in front of her. She could smell his sour breath. 'But I love you.'
The glen changed. Grass and flowers withered and died. Night-black clouds blew across the sun. The ground rumbled, and blackened, evil trees without leaf or blossom twisted out of the ground and formed a tormented forest. A chorus of voices wailed on the wind. Terror suffused Prinna Meg. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t… 'I love you, you stupid bitch,' the man said.
Prinna Meg’s pain began.
CHAPTER ONE
You can sell a body without consent, but never the soul.
The slave auction took place in a room big as a school gymnasium. Evan Weaver, hands shaking, shuffled forward with the rest of the colonists as the slavers herded them forward. A silvery metal band encircled his left wrist, and a similar one bound his left ankle. The auction room floor was gridded with green squares, each a meter on a side, with yellow pathways painted between them. The air smelled stale, as if poorly recycled.
'Pick a square and sit!' ordered a slaver in blue coveralls. 'Move!'
The colonists slowly scattered themselves across the floor. Mystified, Evan picked a square and sat. His mother, father, older brother, and younger sister did the same. The moment Evan sat down on the floor, his square turned red. The plain white tunic he had been given to wear did little to blunt the chill of the hard floor. More and more white-clad people from the colony ship arrived and were told to take up squares. Green squares steadily changed color until nearly all of them were red. Voices rumbled and echoed around the huge room until a computer tone announced the PA system was active. The colonists instantly fell silent, already knowing from experience that talking during the PA announcements resulted in instant pain.
'The auction will be starting soon,' announced a harsh voice. 'When the buyers come in to look at you, do what they say, but don’t leave your square. Any question the buyers ask, you answer, and you better say ‘master’ when you do. Otherwise keep your mouth shut. It’s a silent auction, so you won’t see who’s bidding.'
The PA snapped off. Evan’s heart was pounding again. Martina, his ten-year-old sister, whimpered and reached for their mother. When her hand crossed the boundary of her square, her silver bands snapped blue. Martina screamed and snatched her hand back. Rebecca Weaver started to reach for her daughter but stopped herself barely in time. Rhys Weaver’s jaw worked back and forth, his dark skin mottled with helpless anger. Evan’s brother Keith, who at fifteen was three years older than Evan, stared at the floor. Around them, the other colonists also looked at the floor or whispered to each other in frightened voices. Evan’s mouth was dry.
Then the floor shifted. Evan tensed as all the squares, including his, rose slowly upward until they were about a meter above floor level. They locked into place with a bone jarring
