Finally she realized the rain had stopped. She was sitting in a soft chair and Prasad was talking to a woman behind a desk. They were in an office, a large one with plush carpets and paneled walls. The woman was tidy and well-fed, seemingly immune to war and famine. A name plate proclaimed she was Kafren Jusuf, Vice President of Acquisitions. She spoke. Vidya tried to concentrate but simply didn’t have the energy. Prasad said something, and she nodded automatically.
Something pricked Vidya’s fingertip. Kafren Jusuf was standing beside her, holding a small med-comp. The lights flashed green. Kafren sat behind her desk again and passed Vidya and Prasad each a data unit. Vidya looked down. The screen showed a contract between Silent Acquisitions, Incorporated and Vidya and Prasad Vajhur.
“This is our offer,” she said. “We will provide you with food, housing, and medical care. You will receive the sum of fifty thousand kesh in three payments-ten thousand upon signing, twenty thousand at the birth of the first child, and twenty thousand at the birth of the second. You also agree to have penile-vaginal intercourse at least three times per week until pregnancy is established. You will use no birth control.”
“And if the children aren’t Silent?” Prasad asked softly.
Kafren leveled him a glance. “Any child born of you and Vidya will be Silent. It’s a medical certainty. Now, in section two, you’ll notice…”
Kafren droned on. Vidya stared down at the contract. She had known this was coming, had known it from the moment she had seen Prasad slip the medical data chips into his possessions, had known it the moment he had left her with his completely empty cart.
She felt a twinge of conscience, but it was brief. The children she might have were theoretical, mere dreams. What was real was Prasad beside her and the famine in his face.
Vidya’s eyes met Prasad’s. They were sunken, fearful, and uncertain. In that moment she knew that if she refused this contract, he wouldn’t fight her. He would starve without complaint or regret. Somehow, that made the decision easier. Vidya reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed twice.
CHAPTER ONE
PLANET RUST
Serenity is the slope down which the spirit flows into the Dream. Serene must you walk the paths, and serene must you ever remain.
“We have authorization!” Ara shouted. “I tight-beamed it ten minutes ago.”
The ship shuddered. Kendi Weaver slapped the override on the gravity regulators. “Peggy-Sue!” he barked. “Load maneuver Yooie-One and execute!”
“Acknowledged,” replied the computer. On the viewscreen, the stars yawed into white streaks. Everyone on the bridge leaned a hard left in their seat harnesses. Kendi’s stomach bobbed down toward his feet then leaped into his throat. A big red smear rushed by the screen and Kendi assumed it was the planet Rust. Then the stars straightened out and Kendi was able to swallow his stomach.
“Nice,” growled Gretchen Beyer from the sensor boards.
“Dammit, stop firing!” Ara yelled from her position on the floor. “We’re a Unity vessel!” She scrambled to her feet beside Kendi’s chair and leveled him a look that would freeze beer.
“Sorry,” he said helplessly. “It was all I could think of. If that charge had come closer-”
She waved him to silence. Ara was a short, round woman who could look Kendi in the eye if he was sitting. Her deep brown skin hadn’t paled much after two weeks of ship lighting, and it was almost as dark as Kendi’s. She had short black hair which displayed a round, open face with a hint of double chin, a face that looked like it should be smiling over a tray of fresh cinnamon rolls.
“Excellency, please respond,” Ara said to empty air. “This is the Post-Script. We are a registered vessel with the Empire of Human Unity. Why are you firing?”
Silence.
“Are we still transmitting?” she murmured to Ben Rymar at communication. He nodded. Ara raised her voice.
“Excellency,” she said, “we have no defenses against your firepower. I repeat-we are merchants come to trade. We received landing authorization via Silent courier fifty-five hours ago.”
Kendi, meanwhile, reset the safeties on the gravity, then carefully aimed the ship away from the planet. He held his fingers over the thrusters, ready to punch them up to full speed if the satellites orbiting Rust readied another volley.
Static crackled over the speakers. “Glory to the Unity,” said a different voice. “You did not transmit the codes.”
Ara’s neck muscles moved like a team of wrestlers. “Yes. We. Did. To whom am I speaking, please?” she added.
“Peggy-Sue, mute me,” Gretchen said softer than the communications system could register.
“Acknowledged.” A blue light winked at the sensor boards to remind Gretchen that her voice was currently screened from the communication system.
“They’re stalling, Mother Adept,” she told Ara. “I’ve snuck into their network, and they’re checking out our story.”
“This is Prelate Tenvar of the Empire of Human Unity Trade Commission,” crackled the voice. “We have received no communication from you. Transmit the proper codes or be fired upon.”
Ben’s mute light flashed. “They’re trying to track down the courier, Mother. I think I can jump ahead and drop a false transmission into their lines, but for now you’ll need to keep them happy with what I’ve already given them.”
Ara marched over to the captain’s board and punched up the codes Ben had spent hours forging. Her purple trader’s tunic rustled as she moved. Ara played the role of indignant trader well, and only the tightness around her mouth betrayed nervousness. Kendi’s own heart was beating hard and he swallowed dryly. Escape into slipspace this far into to Rust’s gravity well was impossible, and it seemed like he felt the Unity lasers and charges trained on their ship’s all-too-thin ceramic skin. Kendi goosed the thrusters a little and set the ship drifting casually away from the planet just in case.
Drift away, he told himself, but don’t look like you’re drifting away.
He stole a glance at Benjamin Rymar. Ben was bent over his boards. His bright red hair was disheveled and his trader’s tunic was rumpled even though he had just put it on. Ben always looked rumpled, even after a shower. Kendi wasn’t sure how he managed it.
“Got it!” Ben whispered. He tapped a button and raised his voice. “It’s done, Mother. I deleted their message before it was received and faked verification of who we’re pretending to be.”
“I just hope Tenvar isn’t a drinking buddy of your mark’s, Ben,” Gretchen said. “Otherwise they’ll fry us like an ant under a magnifying glass.”
Ben bent his head back over the boards, but Kendi saw his blush. Kendi’s fingers moved and the words Lay off, Gretch, or you can forget about trading duty shifts marched across Gretchen’s screen.
Teasing, she sent back. No need to snit.
Ara, meanwhile, settled into her chair and pulled the harness around her. “Prelate Tenvar,” she said, “I have transmitted our authorization. Again. Have you received it?”
Silence. Kendi held his breath.
“Prelate Tenvar, are you there?” Ara said, allowing a hint of exasperation to creep into her voice. “Prelate, please. I’ve transmitted our authorization four times to four Prelates. How long will-”
“Why are you travel traveling on a vessel built in the Independence Confederation?” Tenvar’s voice demanded.
