Текст книги "Trickster"

Автор книги: Стивен Харпер

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

"All right," Lucia said, "we have keys and prints for Security, Research, and Information Services. Just one left to go."

"Edsard Roon himself," Kendi said.

Ben Rymar howled like a wild thing. Storm clouds swirled in the sky above him and a few drops of rain spattered the dust at his feet. In front of him, the crude statue of Padric Sufur stared impassively at nothing. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Ben howled again and raised a fist. Lightning cracked down from the clouds and smashed into the statue. It exploded, sending stone fragments whizzing in all directions. The thunderclap smashed Ben's very bones. He flung himself flat on the ground, arms wrapped around his head. Shards rained down all around him and few stung the backs of his hands. After a moment, the rain of stone stopped. Ben uncurled himself and sat up. Where the statue had been stood a charred, blackened hole. Ben sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Still pissed at him, huh?"

Ben, still seated, twisted around. Sejal was standing behind him, his strangely blue eyes looking both amused and concerned.

"I didn't even feel you coming," Ben said, surprised.

"You were busy, and you're still new at this," Sejal said. "Besides, I didn't want to interrupt, so I kept quiet."

"You saw what I was doing?"

Sejal spread his hands. "I'm no fan of Padric Sufur, either. Looks like your interest in him is more personal, though."

"I hate him," Ben growled. "Mom died because of him."

Sejal nodded. "Lots of people's moms-and dads-died because of him. I don't know how he can live with himself."

Ben worked his jaw for a moment in an attempt to keep fresh grief from running down his face. It still hurt, no matter how many statues he destroyed. Mom was dead, gone forever. It had happened over six months ago, and it still hurt as if it had been last week. He remembered finding her body, shattered and broken, at the base of the talltree. He could still feel her ribs grate and shift beneath his hands as he attempted CPR, even though she was already growing cold. And it was all because of Padric Sufur. Whenever he thought too much about it, the rage overtook him, burned with terrible intensity, and Ben knew that if he ever met Padric Sufur face-to-face, he would kill the man without a moment's hesitation. But Ben kept most of it to himself. Some things were too raw to share, not even with Kendi. Kendi probably had some idea that Ben's grief was far from abated-Kendi's own pain was still an ongoing concern-but Ben doubted he knew just how deep it still ran.

Kendi. The con job. And Sejal was here. An idea popped into Ben's head.

"Sejal," he asked urgently, "where exactly are you these days?"

Sejal shrugged. "Around. Why?"

"We could really use your help. You can still reach through the Dream and possess non-Silent in the solid world, right?"

"Not as easily as I used to, but yeah." Sejal's tone was wary. "And before you ask, no, I can't pull people who've lost their Silence into the Dream. I've already tried."

"That's not what I was getting at," Ben said. "I meant that you could help us. God, with you on the team, we could get Kendi's brother and sister out of the Collection in ten minutes. All you'd have to do is possess the people on the project, and Martina and Utang could walk right out. How fast can you get to SA Station? Should we come and get you?"

Sejal shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not exactly able to go anywhere right now, Ben."

"What? Why not?"

"I'm sort of busy. I just popped into the Dream to take care of some stuff and I noticed you were in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd just say hello. I can't really go anywhere right now."

"But-"

"I'm sorry, Ben. Look, I have to go. I'll see you around, all right?" And Sejal vanished so abruptly it created a wash of Dream energy that almost bowled Ben over. Slowly he got to his feet. The anger, initially directed at Sufur, shifted toward Sejal. What was Sejal doing that was so important? He wasn't a Child of Irfan, took orders from no one except his parents as far as Ben knew. Kendi had saved Sejal's life, for god's sake.

Ben took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Sejal wasn't usually mean or thoughtless. Maybe he had a good reason for refusing to help. What it might be, Ben had no idea. In any case, it was obvious that getting assistance from Sejal would not be an option, and there was no point in expending energy getting angrier about it. He needed something else to think about. Ben waved a hand, banishing the charred hole in the ground and replacing it with the featureless, blank plain that was the default condition of the Dream. Faint voices whispered on the air, just barely audible. Ben closed his eyes and concentrated on what he wanted to see. Around him, the Dream shifted and shimmered, bending to his will. Ben opened his eyes and smiled.

He was standing in a large nursery. Eleven cribs lined the walls, each one different. Shelves stood filled with toys, and happy animals capered across the brightly-colored walls and ceiling. Gauzy curtains floated in balmy spring air that breezed through open windows. Ben admired it for several moments, trying to imagine what it would look like filled with babies and children. He snorted, knowing the answer. Toys would be scattered all over the room, some of them broken, while shrieks and cries bounced off the walls. Someone would be laughing, someone else would be crying, and yet another someone would be howling in indignation over some slight. Far from idyllic.

With eleven children, Ben knew, there would be days when he would wonder why he had ever thought having even one was a good idea. But he was equally sure there would also be days when he would wonder how he had lived without them. He was eager to experience both.

Then he sighed. It would be a while. First they had to free Kendi's brother and sister, and after that they'd have to find host mothers. Still, it was fun to dream and plan, especially when he knew that eventually it would all come true.

Assuming they didn't get caught stealing slaves from Silent Acquisitions. Assuming they could find host mothers. Assuming they could afford eleven children. Assuming the Children of Irfan didn't simply disappear.

Ben bit his lip. It was hard to imagine the Children of Irfan fading away. The monastery had always been there, a comfortable constant in his life. He knew every building, every walkway, every tree and balcony. He couldn't imagine them empty and lifeless, bereft of the people who had lived and worked there for almost a thousand years. As well imagine the sun going out. But when the current generation of Silent died, the Children would indeed die with them.

Ben gave himself a shake. Boy, you're in a mood, he thought. Go check on Kendi, see how he's doing.

And he let go of the Dream.

"You want a favor," Harenn said. "I can tell."

Kendi blinked innocently at her from the medical bay door. "How could you possibly know?"

"It is a psychic power found among all mothers. That, and you are holding something behind your back."

With an unrepentant grin, Kendi produced a star-shaped piece of equipment and set it on the counter. Harenn instantly recognized the object as a small cryo-unit, though very old.

"What does it contain?" she asked.

"Silent embryos. Ben's brothers and sisters, to be specific."

"Ah." Harenn picked up the cryo-unit and examined it with interest. "I have heard the story. I was unaware that Ben had… inherited the other embryos."

"We want to take them out and raise them as our kids," Kendi said, leaning one hip against the counter. "One or two at a time."

Harenn blinked at him. "You wish to become parents? Congratulations! I think Ben would make a fine father."

"Thanks," Kendi said. "We want to-hold it."

"And what is it you wish me to do?" Harenn continued with a perfectly straight face. "Be a host mother?"

"Nothing like that," Kendi laughed. "Though we'll have to address that issue eventually. What I'd like is a detailed gene scan. All we know about these embryos is that they're all healthy and they're all Silent. Ben says he and Ara never ran any other tests on them, but you could perform a few, couldn't you?"

"What sort of tests do have in mind?"

"See if there are any matches in the databases that might tell us who the parents are or where they came from. Or even how old they are. Whatever you can come up with."

"Genetic scans will not tell me their relative ages, unless the gene patterns are from an extinct group. Still, this is an interesting mystery. I will see what I can do."

Kendi thanked her and turned to go, then turned back. "Harenn, do you think I'm ready to be a father?"

"No," Harenn said.

"What? Why not?"

"No one is ever truly ready to become a parent," Harenn said with a small smile. "Even those who think they are. Parenthood is too powerful, too unique to each individual. So I do not think you are ready. But I think you will learn quickly and I think you will learn well."

"Oh. Thanks. I think."

"I will run your tests as soon as I have a chance," Harenn told him.

"Thanks for that, too." With a wave, he left. Harenn looked thoughtfully at the empty doorway for a moment, then stared for a long time at the cryo-unit.

A small snip, and a tiny hole opened in the fabric covering Martina's index finger. Martina held her breath, waiting for some kind of shock or even an alarm. Nothing. Martina set the scissors down with an internal sigh of relief and shot Keith a brief glance.

Martina was worried about her brother. It was hard not to stare at him over the pile of robes, even though staring at a member of the opposite sex created more N-waves and would earn her a warning shock. Keith was bent industriously over his work, the needle dipping swiftly in and out of the fabric. His depression seemed to have vanished entirely, which was why Martina was worried.

The other Alphas sat in a circle on the hard floor, their legs swathed in piles of yellow fabric. There was no conversation, just the rustle of cloth, the snip of scissors, and the occasional low murmur from a Delta pointing out flaws. The Alphas wore special gloves, thinned for the extra sensitivity required for sewing.

How long had she and Keith been here? Martina had no idea. Whenever she tried to keep track of the time, something happened to make her reckoning slip away. Sleep cycles were irregular. Sometimes Martina and the other Alphas were kept awake for so long, they were collectively ready to pass out on the floor. Some began to hallucinate. Other times Martina knew they couldn't possibly have been awake for more than a few hours before being sent to bed. Sleep time, when it came, was always too short. Martina had no way of knowing for sure, but judging from her level of fatigue, she and the others weren't getting more than five or six hours of sleep at a time.

Food was another problem. At first it had been fairly plentiful, if heavy on the protein. Lately there had been less, and mealtimes were also irregular. Martina was almost never full. Every so often, the Deltas handed out sweet snack cakes, and the unaccustomed sugar sent Martina soaring-until she crashed back to earth a few minutes later. She craved starchy foods almost constantly. Bread slathered with butter, mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, pasta peeking out from heavy tomato sauce, and even plain boiled rice danced in her dreams and made her stomach rumble.

Days-if they could be called that-were spent in a variety of ways. The Alphas spent a great deal of time in mind-numbing labor such as hand-stitching robes or scrubbing floors with stiff brushes or washing clothes in great tubs. Other times the Alphas sat through meditation exercises, though these came easily to Martina and the other experienced Silent. A certain amount of time was set aside for study, mostly of Dreamer Roon's book. The more Martina read of his work, however, the more convinced she became that the man had no idea what he was talking about. His stories about Irfan Qasad and Daniel Vik were ludicrous. True, no one questioned the fact that Vik was one of the greatest fiends in all history. After all, the man had been a blatant racist who had kidnapped his own child away from his wife, collaborated with terrorists, and done his best to wipe all Silent from the face of Bellerophon. But Martina seriously doubted that the taint of his genetic material coursed through the bodies of all Silent, causing their impure N-waves. For one thing, Martina herself had been born before the founding of the Bellerophon colony and couldn't possibly be touched by the "taint" of Daniel Vik. The same applied to Keith, for that matter.

And then there was the Confessional. Martina hated it. Every moment she sat in the chair listening to Alphas and Deltas shout "Impure" at her was pure torture. She told herself over and over that there was nothing wrong with her, that she was not impure, that the peccadillos they wrung from her were nothing more than normal human behavior. Lately, however, she left the Confessional feeling wrung out, exhausted, and filthy. If the circle was supposed to cleanse her, it was failing miserably. Martina had considered mentioning this to Delta Maura, but had almost as quickly decided against it. Something told her that confessing any such thing in this place would be a fatal error.

But Keith appeared to be loving it.

Through the little snatches of conversation she had managed to steal with him, Martina had gathered that Keith wasn't completely well on a mental level. His previous owners had apparently been hard on him, and there were… other factors.

Martina stole a glance across the sewing circle at Keith. His forehead was wrinkled with concentration as he worked. His Delta leaned down and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. Keith stiffened and momentary touch of fear crossed his face. The expression was familiar, and a long-buried memory stirred within Martina. All at once she was back on the slave ship, still shivering with cold leftover from cryo-sleep. A slaver named Feder was herding her family down a long corridor that smelled of cold metal. The Weavers-Dad, Mom, Evan, Keith, and Martina-were the last ones to leave the colony ship, and Feder stayed right behind them. The new slave shackles were heavy on Martina's wrist and ankle.

Feder, a dark-haired man with a long nose and thin lips, put his hand around Keith's shoulder as they walked. Keith tried to shrug him off, but Feder only tightened his grip. The smile that crossed his face made Martina feel cold and scared inside. She wondered how Keith felt.

"What's the matter, kid?" Feder asked. "You don't like friendly people?"

Before Keith could respond, Dad's hand shot out and grabbed Feder's wrist. "Don't touch my son," he said in a low, deadly voice.

Feder's free hand darted to his waist. Dad collapsed the floor, screaming in pain. His bands glowed blue. Mom dropped beside him, wanting to help but not knowing what to do. Martina stared with wide eyes, scared and uncertain. She had never heard her father scream like that. Evan began to cry, and Keith looked dazed. Dad's screaming continued for a long time, then abruptly stopped. The blue glow on his bands faded.

"Touch me again, you bastard," Feder told Dad in a voice that carried up and down the passenger bay, "and I won't shock just you, hey? I'll shock your wife-or your kids. Now get up. No talking."

Mom and Dad slowly got to their feet. Martina's throat was thick and she stifled sobs. Around them, other slavers herded the other members of the Real People toward the large double doors at the other end of the passenger bay. Evan and his family were at the very end of the line. Bare feet shuffled and padded on the cool metal deck. Feder walked in front of Martina and her family with his arm draped around Keith's shoulders, as if the two were old friends. The look of helpless outrage on Dad's face mirrored the way Martina felt. Evan was obviously trying not to cry again, and Rebecca took his hand.

"I read some of your files before we woke you up," Feder said to Keith in a bright, friendly tone. "The whole ship is from Australia back on Earth, but you bunch call yourselves the Real People, hey?"

Keith didn't respond. The muscles on Feder's arm tightened. "Hey?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Keith said, barely audible.

"A great idea," Feder said. "Starting fresh on another planet, re-establishing tribal ways. Too bad it's not going to work out."

Silence. The arm tightened again. "I guess," Keith mumbled.

"What's your name, kid?"

Pause. "Utang," Keith said, giving the Real People name he had chosen for himself only a few months before the People boarded the colony ship. Martina rarely thought of Keith as Utang, even though Keith-Utang-used it regularly.

"Your ship's behind the times, kid," Feder said. "Now that we got slipships, these old slower-than-light heaps are just about junk. Barely worth salvaging. But people-now that's different. People never devalue, hey?"

"I guess."

"You wouldn't have wanted Pelagosa anyway," Feder continued. "It was colonized by the KLO Syndicate and the Freebanders four, five hundred years ago. They're not taking immigrants. But don't you worry-we'll find a good home for you. Might even buy you myself, hey? Boss gives us our pick at cost-and-a-quarter. Been saving up for a new cabin boy. What do you think?"

"I–I-" Keith stammered.

Martina's stomach churned. There had to be some way to help her brother, but she couldn't think of anything.

"You don't have to answer, kid," Feder said kindly. "Know why?" He clamped his arm around Keith's neck. Martina heard him gasp and choke. Dad looked ready to leap, bands or no bands, but Rebecca put a hand on his arm and gestured sharply at Martina. Martina felt a stab of guilt. Dad wasn't going to help Keith because he was afraid Feder would shock her. It was her fault Dad couldn't do anything.

"You don't have to answer because you don't have a choice," Feder said. He abruptly spun Keith around to face his family and grabbed Keith's cheeks from behind with one big hand. With a nasty grin, he gave Keith's ear a long, wet lick. Martina wondered why he would do such a thing. Then Feder gave Keith a shove that sent him sprawling.

"Now move your lazy ass!" Feder barked.

Keith waved off Dad's help and got up on his own, ankle and wristbands shining in the ship's harsh lighting. His face was hard, but Martina caught tears at the corners of his eyes. Feder herded them through the double doors into the corridor and from there into a tiny cell with two other families. The cell contained nothing but a few sleeping pallets on the floor and a single sink and toilet in the corner. It all stank of urine and fearful sweat. The coverings on the pallets had clearly not been washed in years. Two round portholes looked out into black, star-strewn space. Feder slammed the door shut, and it locked.

Martina looked out one of the portholes and by craning her neck was barely able to make out the colony ship. A stiff umbilical cord chained it to the slaver ship. The colony ship was a giant cylinder, gray and impact-pocked, and looked slow and clunky compared to what Martina could see of the slaver vessel, which was sleek and flat. The colony ship was spinning to provide gravity, and the slaver vessel had matched the spin, though from Martin's perspective, the stars were rotating around the two ships instead of the other way around.

"Do you realize," said Dad behind her, "that the mutants have enslaved us again? As they did our ancestors?"

Gary, the father of one of the other two families in the cell, shrugged. "They enslaved the other groups, too. And the crew."

"How can they get away with this?" his wife Anna cried. She held twin boys not even a year old on her lap. "We're not slaves. We never were. What about our records? Citizenship and all that?"

Mom shook her head. "We left Earth over nine hundred years ago. Even if any of those records survived, how would we access them? Telephone? Fax? I overheard some of the slavers talking, and it sounds like they do this all the time. The slavers find a colony vessel like this one, hit the crew with a surprise attack and enslave the whole lot. Who's to prove we aren't slaves?"

"We need to pool our knowledge," Dad said. "Compare notes about what we've all seen or overheard so we can form a plan of escape or rebellion or-" His bands glowed blue and he cried out in pain. Startled, Martina spun from the window in time to see her father writhing on the floor. Mom crouched near him, looking as helpless as Martina felt. After a long moment, Dad stopped squirming. His bands were no longer glowing. Martina bit her lip.

Once they had determined that Dad had suffered no permanent damage, Gary gestured at the walls. Listening devices? he mouthed.

"Probably," grunted Liza, the mother of the third family. She was a large woman, with heavy breasts and thighs. "Either they're eavesdropping or the computer is programmed to listen for certain words. They shock us if we talk about… anything important."

"We should still pool information," Dad said stubbornly. "Just don't use those words."

The adults did so, gesturing for Martina and the others to remain silent. Two shocks later, they knew that sometime in the nine hundred years since the Real People had left Earth, someone had invented slipships, which allowed for faster-than-light travel. The slower ships and their claims on habitable planets had either been forgotten or purposely ignored. These slavers were from a government called the Five Green Worlds, though the colony ship had been found in unclaimed space.

The cell grew close and stuffy. Martina did a quick count. Six adults, three teenagers, four pre-teens (counting herself and Evan), and two babies for one sink and toilet and maybe eight sleeping pallets. How would they– The porthole exploded into multicolored light. The quiet talk instantly died. Martina stared. The stars and darkness had vanished, replaced by psychedelic swirls of color. Martina's eyes felt as if something were twisting them, and nausea turned her stomach. She looked away from the porthole and felt a little better.

"I think we've entered slipspace," Gary said. He scrambled to the toilet and threw up.

They spent several days in slipspace, though the only way to mark passing time was by how often the slavers came by. Three times a "day" the door opened and someone handed in diapers for the babies and bowls of food, usually some kind of mush. No silverware-they had to eat with their fingers or slurp directly from the bowl.

There was nothing to do but talk, and even that was limited. Anyone who said a wrong words received a shock. They learned not to say "revolt," "escape," "run," "kill," "attack," "hurt," "organize," and a good dozen other words. The families also learned to sit with their backs to the portholes, since a single glance at the colors outside brought on violent headaches or nausea. Most of the time, everyone sat and stared at the walls, sunk into a dull apathy. Martina's skin itched and she wanted a shower. The cell smelled of unwashed people and babies that needed changing.

The adults took turns comforting each other and the children. Everyone went through at least one session of weeping despair. One time Martina wondered what had happened to the shell collection she had put into her suitcase, and the realization that it was probably now the property of one of the slavers choked her throat and made tears run down her face.

"It's just a stupid shell collection," she sobbed when Rebecca put her arms around her on the pallet. "Just some stupid shells." But she couldn't stop crying for a long time.

That night-which was night in name only, since the lights never dimmed-Martina lay on the crowded pallet with Evan squashing her on one side and Keith pressing her on the other and found herself wishing they would get wherever it was they were going, get it over with.

The next day was the worst. The door slid open not long after breakfast, and Feder stood framed in the entrance. The Weaver family gasped as one. Feder didn't say a word. Instead he crooked a finger at Keith. Keith flinched and Martina's heart pounded hard. Dad got slowly to his feet and stood between his son and Feder.

"No," was all he said.

Feder's hand went to his belt and pain tore through Martina's body. She screamed. Mom pulled Martina's writhing body to her, but there was nothing she could do stop the pain. The pain went on and on, ripping at her muscles and tearing at her head like hot knives. Dad flung himself at Feder, but before he could touch the man, his own bands glowed. Dad dropped to floor, face pale with agony. Martina continued to scream. The others stared uncertainly and the twins began to cry. Martina screamed and screamed. She couldn't stop herself, or even think. She wished she was dead.

"Stop it!" Mom cried. "Leave her alone!"

And then Keith stepped over Dad and stood in front of Feder, eyes downcast. Feder removed his hand from his belt. Dad and Martina's bands faded to silver and their cries stopped. The hot pain ended, but Martina's whole body still hurt. She whimpered in Mom's arms, glad to feel them around her. Feder took Keith by the shoulder and the two of them left. The door slid shut.

Martina sat in her mother's embrace, trying to stop crying. She had never felt so helpless. His brother was at this moment being… what? Beaten? Killed? Raped? Martina was only ten years old, but she had heard the older kids on the streets of Sydney talk about that kind of thing. Some of them took money for it. Martina didn't know for sure if that was what Feder had in mind for her brother, but she couldn't think of anything else he would want.

Everyone in the cell sat and waited like the family of a hospital patient expecting bad news. Mom and Dad looked like statues. Martina's soft cries were the only sounds. She felt bad, guilty. Something awful was happening to Keith, and it was her fault. If she had been able to stop screaming, stand up to the pain, maybe Feder would have left Keith alone.

A long time later, the door slid open. Everyone came quietly alert as Keith entered the cell. Martina caught a glimpse of Feder's smirk before the door shut. Keith made his way to a corner of the cell and sat down, his face a blank mask. Mom approached him, but he turned his back on her. He continued to shun all forms of contact for the rest of the day, and in the middle of that night's sleep cycle, Martina awoke to hear him crying softly. She didn't know what to do, so she did nothing. Eventually, the crying stopped and Martina fell back into restless sleep.

Martina forced herself to look down at the seam she was stitching so she would avoid looking at Keith. Feder had come for Keith several times before they reached the station where Martina and her family had been auctioned off. She had thought she'd forgotten that, buried safely in the bottom of her mind, but now it felt as if it had happened only a few days ago. Had Feder carried through on his threat to buy Keith as a cabin boy? Martina didn't know, though she also remembered a slaver-not Feder-coming for Keith at the end of the auction and taking him away. It could easily have been for Feder. Fury rose in Martina's chest and the yellow seam blurred before her. How long had Keith been abused by that man? And then, to top everything off, Keith had turned out Silent. Feder, or whoever had initially bought him, had probably sold him off at a healthy profit, just as Martina's first owner had done. He had doubtless been trained by his new master, learned how to enter the Dream-and then been wrenched away from it during the Despair. Martina herself had almost jumped off a building, and she hadn't ever encountered anyone like Feder. No wonder Keith was unbalanced.

Keith's Delta said something to him, and he smiled. Martina wondered what it was. A warning tingle from her shackles reminded her not to stare and she quickly turned her attention back to her sewing. How long were they going to do this? Dreamer Roon said in one of his lectures that hard labor drove away N-waves, bringing them closer to Irfan and making them more ready to enter the Dream without drugs. Martina had her doubts. She suspected it was make-work, but to what end? And why the weird sleeping and eating patterns? A way of reinforcing Roon's power over them? Martina had been a slave for most of her life and was used to obeying orders from her owner, so why did Roon need to establish dominance? It was a puzzle, something to think about during the interminable labors of the day.

A soft chime sounded. "Time," called Delta Maura. Martina tensed. She was taking a risk today, a small one, but a risk nonetheless. With a false sigh of relief, Martina set aside the half-finished robe, then surreptitiously pulled at her left glove, tightening it over her fingers and exposing the little patch of skin. The Alphas rose and stretched the kinks out of arms and legs. Keith neatly folded his work first. When Martina got to her feet, she swayed, as if dizzy. Immediately, Delta Maura was at Martina's side.

"Are you all right, dear?" Delta Maura asked.

With her left hand, Martina grasped Delta Maura's wrist just above her green glove and pretended to steady herself. The tiny patch of Martina's bare skin came into direct contact with Delta Maura's. Martina braced herself.

Nothing.

"Alpha?" Delta Maura said. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine," Martina managed. "I sometimes get a little head rush when I stand up too fast."

This was no lie and therefore didn't earn her a shock. Delta Maura nodded and stepped away, folding her hands in front of her. Martina's heart was pounding. She had felt nothing. It had been drilled into her from childhood that when two Silent touch skin-to-skin for the first time, they both experienced a physical jolt. The jolt was the physical manifestation of a newly-established psychic link that would allow the two Silent to find each other in the Dream faster and more easily than two Silent who had never touched. It was also a highly reliable test for Silence.