of countless billions. Given time, we could narrow it down, but that would take months, possibly years. Having Sejal would speed the process considerably.”
“How considerably?” Padric asked intently.
“Garinn estimates that if he could study Sejal, he could have a retrovirus that would bring the new batch of children into the Dream in three weeks, perhaps two. And there is another possiblity.”
“And that would be?”
“Sejal may be still carrying Garinn’s original retrovirus,” Say replied. “If that’s the case, the new batch could be ready in days.”
A slight tremor rumbled beneath Padric’s couch. He cast a quick glance at the roiling darkness, ready to marshal his concentration and leave the Dream. How ironic that the very nature of project he was funding made the project so difficult to complete. Already Padric had lost contact with his interests on half a dozen worlds, though he had been prepared for this. A fleet of courier ships stood ready to spring into action once the collapse began. Padric didn’t want to send them out yet, though. Reports had filtered back from ships that had gone through the real-world counterpart of the chaos. Several crews had mutinied. Captains and crew had committed suicide. Many others simply failed to report. One engineer had flooded her entire ship with plasma, killing herself and everyone on board. More deaths on Padric’s hands.
On the other hand, how many millions would die if the project failed? It was worth it to sacrifice a few hundred people to save millions, even if one of them was Nileeja Vo.
“I have Sejal,” Padric said calmly.
Her eyes widened and she stood up. “You do? When did you get him? How did you find him?”
“I have resources,” Padric replied. It was gratifying to see her startlement and surprise. “Give me a few days and he’ll be back on Rust.”
“But how can you-”
“That’s unimportant.” The iron in his voice silenced her. “For now, you need to go back to your lab and keep a close eye on the Dasa family. I’ll whisper if I need you.”
Dr. Say nodded once and vanished. Padric pushed his thoughts out into the Dream, questing, sensing, sorting through the hushed whispers. Eventually he found Sejal’s pattern. The boy was in the Dream. Good. That would make it even easier. Padric jumped off the chaise longue and sprinted away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE DREAM
Even the truth can lie.
The falcon soared over hot, dry scrub land, her back to the red-cracked darkness. The place made her sick, made her want to fly fast and far, though she had learned she couldn’t fly so far that it disappeared entirely.
Below her, the landscape changed. A ship with sails like clouds floated on undulating waves. The falcon’s sharp eyes picked out Gretchen at the helm. She made a rude sign at the sky. The falcon soared onward. A great mansion stood surrounded by tranquil pines. Black curtains were drawn across all the windows. Trish’s house. The falcon soared onward. She passed over a castle, a shack, a pool of water, a hissing cloud of vapor. Each one contained one or more Silent in varying shapes and species. The falcon soared onward.
Then a faint sound caught her ear, rising above the constant whispers in the Dream. The falcon banked and turned. There it was again. Flute music. She gave a chirrup of excitement.
The ground below was a seashore. A calm red ocean lapped gently at white sand which eventually gave way to trees. The falcon’s sharp eyes easily picked out Sejal sitting in the shade.
The falcon shot back the way she had come, wings clacking against the wind. The air grew hot and dry again, and she dove down to a naked, dark-skinned figure waiting patiently in the shade of giant rock. He put up an arm and she landed gently on it.
Kendi blinked as the falcon’s memories merged with his. So Sejal was back in the Dream at last. A twinge of excitement mingled with relief.
“Thank you, sister,” he said.
The falcon clacked her beak and leaped back into the sky. Kendi watched her for a moment, then took off running. As he ran, he released his expectations of what the world around him should be. The ground shifted beneath his feet, changing from sandy soil to a sandy beach. Gentle waves washed over his ankles, creating little splashes of warm water. A white shirt and blue shorts grew out of nothing to cover his body, and rubber sandals appeared under his feet. Ahead he heard flute music. After a moment, Sejal himself came into view. He was still sitting in the shade of a kind of tree Kendi didn’t recognize. His music was fast and light, his fingers almost a blur. Kendi slowed. When Sejal was a few paces away, he glanced at Kendi with ice-blue eyes then turned his gaze back out to sea. Kendi sat down in the sun.
Sejal played. Kendi waited, amazed at his own patience. He wanted to grab Sejal by the shoulders, ask him where the hell he was. Yesterday Kendi had been woken out of a sound sleep by Ara’s insistent call. Sejal, she had informed him, was gone. A frantic search of the dormitory and the monastery grounds had turned up nothing. Kendi did a quick check with the desk clerks who had been on duty the previous evening, and they reported that Sejal had picked up a delivery and left with an older human. The old man’s description matched that of the rude man from the monorail.
Not much later, the monks assigned to guard Chin Fen’s room were found bound and drugged in his room. Fen, of course, was nowhere to be found. Further, the spaceport reported that a slipship had taken off the previous evening without proper authorization. It wasn’t difficult to link the events together.
Sejal’s song slowed until it matched the leisurely pace of the red ocean waves. It was a sad song, full of disappointment, broken dreams, and tragic beauty. Kendi listened, enjoying the moment. Conflict was coming, but in this moment there was beauty.
Eventually the last note faded into the lapping water. Sejal set the flute down and hugged his knees. The silence stretched between them, and Kendi had to force himself to break it.
“Where are you, Sejal?” he asked. “We’ve been worried.”
“I’m on a ship,” Sejal replied without looking at him. “We’re in slipspace, though I don’t know where we’re going.”
“Have they kidnapped you, then?” Kendi asked urgently. “Sejal, we can-”
“I’m there because I want to be,” Sejal interrupted. He let go of his knees and drew musical notes absently in the white sand. “I work for Sufur.”
Kendi tried not to show his tension. “Who’s Sufur?”
“Some rich guy. He came and talked to me and I decided to work for him. He’s paying me a shitload.”
A small flock of seabirds coasted overhead with high, wild cries. Kendi brushed a bit of sand off his leg. Sejal’s sun was warm but not nearly as hot as Kendi’s.
“Is that why you left?” Kendi asked. “More money?”
Sejal drew a treble clef and added a pair of flat signs. “I was kind of hoping you’d be able to come with me,” he said. “But Sufur said you wouldn’t want to. I figured he was right.”
“Why did you go, then?”
“He told me stuff,” Sejal said. “He told me about Mother Ara’s meeting with the Empress and how she’s supposed to kill me. So fuck you all.”
The words smashed into Kendi like an icy brick. An almost physical pain wrenched him. His stomach felt like someone had poured hot lead into it.
“Sejal-” he began.
