Trickster. Part 27

She put the thought on her mental list of Confessions--I doubted Dreamer Roon's teachings. Impure!--and went back to telling herself it wasn't real. She could get out of here. She would would get out of here, and she would take Keith with her. A while ago--Martina couldn't measure time in days or hours anymore--she would have thought this impossible, but Martina now had something that might allow her to pull it off. get out of here, and she would take Keith with her. A while ago--Martina couldn't measure time in days or hours anymore--she would have thought this impossible, but Martina now had something that might allow her to pull it off.

Martina had a keycard.

She surrept.i.tiously touched the palm of her left glove. The little square of plastic was still there. She had spotted it on the floor on her way to this very ceremony. Most slaves learned a certain amount of sleight-of-hand in order to pilfer small treats or hide forbidden objects, and Martina was no exception. With a false grunt of annoyance, she had bent over to scoop the object up, then told her questioning Delta that her slipper hadn't been unfastened after all, so sorry for holding up the group. Her yellow robe had no pockets, but she had folded her hands together inside her sleeves and worked the little card into her glove for safekeeping.

Martina was dying to examine the key more closely. Did it work solo? Or did it work in conjunction with a print or retina scan? No, it had to work solo. She had seen the Deltas use keycards to access computer terminals and open doors, and they hadn't used any other scanners. Their prints, after all, were covered with gloves, and retina scans would take too much time for daily tasks like opening doors, especially since the Deltas all wore hoods or wimples that half-hid their eyes and would get in the way of a scanner. A security weakness, but a necessary one--the Deltas couldn't risk one of the Alphas touching them skin-to-skin by accident and learning they weren't Silent. This was Martina's chance, she knew it. The only problem was figuring out how best to use it.

"You are closer than ever to touching the Dream without the taint of drugs," Roon was saying on the stage. "And let your progress serve as an example to your former compatriots. I know it gets difficult, dear Alphas, but believe me when I tell you that it will one day be worth every moment of discomfort and tribulation. I enter the Dream whenever I wish, with no trancing, no drugs, and no time limits. You can be free, as I am. As these new Betas are close to becoming. As you will be."

Martina tried not to shift. Her knees ached, though not as badly as they had on that first day. Hours spent kneeling had hardened her to that simple discomfort. What she wanted more than anything was to grab Keith's hand and bolt for the door, and the thought filled her with unbearable restlessness. She called upon years of meditation exercises to slow her breathing and bring a measure of calm. At least she didn't have to keep her eyes down anymore. Roon had decided that the Alphas were no longer too impure to gaze upon his face.

"For the immediate future, Betas, you will continue to labor side-by-side with your former Alpha compatriots," Roon continued. "But your bodies are more pure, so you will receive even better food and more sleep."

"Soon we will begin the next stage of your training," Roon said. "Some of you will be selected to raise the next generation of Silent. You will be paired with an appropriate genetic match, though there will be no impure s.e.x. Insemination will be artificial. However, a selected few Alphas, women who are particularly impure, will be partnered with me so that my body can show yours the way."

A small ripple of emotion moved through the kneeling Alphas, quickly silenced by the Deltas. Martina stared, and her stomach wrenched itself into a knot. Was she hearing right? Either she was going to be impregnated with some stranger's child or Roon was going to rape her. Anger and fear fought for ascendency inside her.

Roon continued speaking, haranguing and motivating. The new Betas listened raptly. Martina snuck looks at remaining Alphas and guessed by their expressions and body language that despite Roon's little bombsh.e.l.l, about two-thirds of them were already willing followers of Roon's project and would strive to become Betas themselves. The remaining third were . . . less than enthusiastic. She made a mental note of these Alphas as potential allies.

After Roon's speech ended, he vanished out a side door. Alphas and Betas stood, stretched, and were allowed to mingle for a time, presumably so the Alphas could bask in the Betas' presence while the Deltas looked on. A small table to one side held munching food, though it was all finger vegetables and sugarless gelatin salad. Party voices murmured and swirled around the room. Martina managed to worm her way up to Keith and draw him aside.

"Congratulations," she said.

"Thanks," he beamed. "I hope you get here soon. I feel freer of N-waves already. And soon we'll be parents!"

Martina ignored the last comment and lowered her voice. "Remember how we talked about . . . going elsewhere?"

"You mean . . . not here?"

Martina nodded. They both had to chose their words carefully, keep their meaning vague in case the computer in their wristbands interpreted their conversation as seditious.

"Why would I want to do that?" Keith said, clearly puzzled.

Martina tensed. "You like this place, don't you?" It wasn't a question.

"I feel at peace here," he said. "They love me and they're teaching what I need to know. I have no worries here. Look, if you aren't happy, we can talk to one of the Deltas, and--"

"No," Martina interrupted. Her throat felt thick. "No, don't say anything. Please. I . . . I want to try working it out on my own." She forced a note of sunshine into her voice, though her heart was twisting inside her. "Besides, how could I leave a place that makes my brother so happy? I'm going to work harder. Then I can be a Beta, too."

Keith nodded happily, then winced. A warning tingle shot through Martina's body. She had been talking to Keith--a man--for too long. She smiled a farewell at him and turned away. Abruptly her gorge rose and she had to swallow hard to keep it down.

"Are you all right, dear?" asked Delta Maura, placing a concerned hand on Martina's elbow.

"I'm tired," Martina managed, and wondered how it would look if she threw up on Delta Maura's green slippers. "Is it almost ti--I mean, are we near a sleep cycle yet?"

"Soon," Delta Maura a.s.sured her. "Though the ones Dreamer Roon selects for himself won't get much sleep." She said the latter sentence like she might say she was expecting a com call. Martina swallowed hard again and took a pair of deep breaths.

"Perhaps," Delta Maura said, noticing, "I should take you back to your room a little early. Just this once."

A few minutes later, Martina lay on her bed and stared at the yellow ceiling. The door would open any moment, she was sure of it, and Roon would enter. What would he do? Speak first? Make small talk? Just yank up her robe and shove himself inside her? Martina had been a slave for most of her life, but never once had she been raped. Her Silence--and the value it added to her--had protected her from it. Or maybe she'd just been lucky. Now her luck was coming to an end. She had to get out of here, and she was unfortunately and dreadfully certain that she wouldn't be able to take Keith with her. He had already fallen under Roon's spell.

Martina wanted to cry, wanted to shout and scream and throw something. She did none of it--cameras in the room recorded her every move. So far she had located five of them while tidying her room. It was a strain to act as if nothing were wrong, step naked into the shower every morning with hungry, invisible eyes upon her.

Who else knew about this place? Martina couldn't imagine that her disappearance had gone unnoticed. DrimCom would certainly have called the police. If they had figured out where she was, they would have done something, wouldn't they? Of course, for all she knew, DrimCom had found Roon and he had simply paid them for her. No, that couldn't be. She was far, far too valuable in a post-Despair universe. A place like this had to be a secret, or else it couldn't-- --couldn't function.

Martina sat up. She didn't have to get Keith out. She only had to get herself out. Once she was free, she could tell someone about this place, tell a hundred people, a thousand. The news that Roon had stolen two dozen functioning Silent would crash through the Dream like a thunderclap and bring down the wrath of governments, corporations--perhaps even the Children of Irfan. Roon would be shut down and Keith would be freed.

Now all she had to do was get out herself. She brushed the bit of plastic in her palm and thought long and hard.

CHAPTER TEN.

"Hate binds us to our enemies."

--Irfan Qasad

Ben pried up the access panel and, with another glance at the street corridor, dropped into the maintenance tunnel. It was dry and dimly lit, with dozens of pipes and color-coded cables pipes running in various directions.

"In," Ben said, and examined the dozens of wrapped cables. "Let's see. SA datalinks are coded in blue, so it has to be one of these." He brushed his hand across a thick clump of tiny blue cables bound wrapped with plastic bands and followed them down the tunnel away from Roon's house. In his other hand he carried a small tool satchel.

Ben didn't answer and continued tracing the cables. He came to an intersection, followed the cables to the right, and kept going. The tunnel ceiling was low, and for once Ben was glad he was short. His footsteps were m.u.f.fled by pipe baffling and the close quarters. A leaky pipe dripped a bright green fluid Ben declined to scrutinize, but otherwise the tunnels were pretty clean. He doubted this would be the case in the poorer sections of the station.

After a few more meters, the cables ended in a junction box with a card access slot. Ben studied the slot for a moment, then opened his tool satchel and extracted a card with a cord dangling from it. He attached the free end of the cord to his data pad, then slotted the card into the access panel. The pad beeped once and displayed a series of codes. Ben removed the reader card and pulled from his satchel what looked like a pack of playing cards. With deft fingers he shuffled through them, found the one he wanted, and slid it into the access slot. The box beeped once and released the lock with a clunk clunk.

"I've got access," Ben said. He opened the box and peered inside at the snarl of cables, hookups, and computer parts. The ceramic on one of the hookups gleamed more brightly than its compatriots, delineating its status as a newcomer. "We have a winner. Let me establish a link, then tell me what you see."

Ben clipped a shunt the size of a fingernail to the cable just before the hookup. The shunt would intercept signals that pa.s.sed through the cable, copy them, and transmit them to Lucia's terminal. The shunt had a range of less than a hundred meters, which was why Lucia and Gretchen were currently holed up in a hotel room a little ways up the street corridor.

"Security," he said with an ironic snort. "Wireless communication can be intercepted and piggybacked if you know the frequency. Roon probably figured anonymity was on his side. If no one knows about the terminal in his house, no one can look for the cable that hooks it up to the Collection. And even if someone managed to find out about the terminal--Kendi saw it, after all--they'd still wouldn't have his key and print. Or so Roon figured."

Ben climbed the short ladder to the sidewalk, half expecting to be met by a curious Security officer. He had a fake ID and work order in his pocket in case that happened, but no one accosted him. A few electric cars buzzed up the corridor, and foot traffic was limited to a few humans who didn't look twice at a workman climbing out of a maintenance tunnel. The corridor itself was lined with round doors. The owners--or, more likely, their gardeners--had planted trees and flowers and small gardens in pots, and ivy-framed windows looked out onto these little "yards." Far, far overhead, the corridor ceiling was painted sky-blue, and an artificial sun shuttled slowly back and forth. Birds sang in the trees, and a group of small children giggled their way through some mysterious game. Despite the homey touches, though, the area felt to Ben more like a shopping mall than a residential zone. He couldn't resist looking up the corridor to Roon's door, a bright red circle beneath a potted elm. The windows were dark.

Ben shut down the projector that created a holographic warning ring around the entrance to the maintenance tunnel, gathered up his satchel, and strolled casually away. When he was sure no one was watching, he ducked into an alley--it was clean and well-swept--and removed his coveralls. Beneath them he wore an expensive-looking suit. He sprayed the coveralls with disintegration enzyme, dragged a comb through his hair, and crossed the street, carrying his tool satchel like an overnight bag. A revolving door made of gla.s.s and gold spun slowly ahead of him, and a line of cabs stretched up the street waiting for fares. Ben nodded to the blue-clad doorman and entered the hotel. A few minutes later, he was knocking on one of the rooms. It opened a crack, and a blue eye peered suspiciously at him.

"What's the pa.s.sword?"

"Your mother," Ben said.

Gretchen opened the door with a sigh. "You're no fun," she grumped.

The hotel room was small, sporting a single room, small desk, and two wide beds. Lucia was sitting at the desk, which had a holographic computer display hovering over it. Four rubber thumbs sat nearby, each one a different color. Vidya and Prasad both lounged on one of the beds.

"Ta da!" Lucia said, gesturing at the display with one scarred hand. It said, Please insert key and scan print. "I figured you'd want the honors."

Ben nodded. "I'd better get started. Vidya and Prasad, I'll need you two in just a minute. Everyone be ready to run in case something goes wrong. Ready?"

"Get on with it, already," Gretchen said.

Lucia vacated the desk and Ben took her place. His muscles were tense, and he had to force himself to unclench his jaw. Like the situation with the copycat, there was no way to test the print and key system. A mistake here, however, would bring consequences much more serious than being forced to hide under another bed. Taking a deep breath and trying to banish a mental image of Kendi's broken body being fed into a recycling vat, Ben pressed the red rubber thumb to the data pad's scanner and slotted Roon's key. Lucia murmured to herself and clutched the little icon of Irfan around her neck. Ben's tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth, and he found himself saying a quick prayer of his own.

The pad beeped twice and the display winked out. Ben tensed and Gretchen was already halfway to the door when the display winked back on.

Access approved, it said. Good afternoon, Mr. Roon.

"No vocal output," Vidya muttered. Her voice was perfectly steady.

"Maybe it annoys him. G.o.d." Ben felt limp as wilted leaf. " Looks like it worked, at any rate. Give me a few minutes."

With Lucia watching over his shoulder, Ben fiddled with the system, quickly familiarizing himself with file locations and downloading whatever caught his eye. Occasionally he paused to read.

"Roon has a private ship," Lucia said, pointing at the display. "It's heavily armed, too. Will that matter, do you think?"

"No idea," Ben replied. "I'll make sure Kendi knows, though."

A moment later, Ben came across a book in the file lists. He copied it to a small disk, which he tossed to Gretchen. "Take a look at this."

Gretchen caught it and slotted it into her own data pad. "A True History of the Dream, by Dr. Edsard Roon. What the h.e.l.l? Roon's a doctor?" by Dr. Edsard Roon. What the h.e.l.l? Roon's a doctor?"

"There," Prasad said. He was standing next to Gretchen. "The fine print says 'Dr.' stands for 'Dreamer.' "

"Roon isn't Silent," Lucia said. "We hacked his medical records first thing."

They continued to talk while Ben worked. First he called up personnel files--all the workers involved with the Collection, he noticed, were human--and found two men and a woman who had been recently laid off. He deleted most of their basic information and subst.i.tuted information on Vidya and Prasad instead--DNA sequences, ID holograms, and personal communication codes. He did the same for the third person, but uploaded an entirely different set of codes. Then he called over Vidya and Prasad so he could scan their prints and record their voices.

"Cross your fingers," Ben said. "I'm going to log off Roon and log on as Mallory in Security so I can b.u.mp up your clearance level."

But the blue thumb and fake key worked perfectly. A few moments later, Ben handed Vidya and Prasad a set of ID holograms.

"These will get you in and out of the Collection," Ben told them. "You were laid off, but in about half an hour you're going to get an automated message recalling you to work for this evening's shift."

"Who is that one for?" Vidya pointed at the third ID holo.

"I'm not supposed to say," Ben said, and slipped the holo into his pocket. "Next up--maps and diagrams from information tech."

The green thumb, which bore Elena Papagos-Faye's print, also worked as advertised, and in a few moments, Ben had a complete set of blueprints and diagrams for the entire Collection. Ben logged off the system, shut it down, and ran a relieved hand through his hair.

"We're done," he said.

"All that sweat to get keys and prints, and it only took ten minutes to get what we needed?" Gretchen said. "You didn't even use the yellow thumb."

"We don't need to access research and medical quite yet," Ben said. "Or so Kendi says."

Gretchen leveled a hard look at him. "You don't know the whole plan either, do you?"

"No. But Kendi will tell us what we need to know when we need to know it."

"I'm sensing reluctance," Gretchen smirked. "You're as ticked as I am. Admit it."

"I trust Kendi."

"Of course you do," Gretchen scoffed. "You're both still Silent and Kendi's still your G.o.ddammed--"

"Sister Gretchen!" Lucia interrupted, stepping in front of Ben and leveling a hard look of her own. "I think we're done here, don't you?"

Gretchen met her gaze and ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth with small smacking noises. After a long moment, she said, "Yeah. I think we're done. You do what you need to, church girl. I'm going back to the ship."

And she stomped out of the room.

"What was that about?" Prasad asked.

"I can't be angry at her," Lucia said absently. "She's lost too much."

Ben, who was struggling to keep his own temper, took a deep breath and nodded. "Agreed. I just hope she can finish her part in this."