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  "I'm Douglas Markovi," said the blond man. "What's this about? The computer said you were asking about one of my hands."

  "My name is Kendi Weaver and this is my associate Harenn Mashib," he said. "We have a problem that I'm hoping you can help us solve."

  Douglas Markovi sat in a tall leather chair behind his desk. He did not offer seats to Kendi and Harenn, though there were smaller chairs behind them. Kendi decided to remain standing for the moment. Although it made him look like an inferior, it did give him and Harenn a height advantage.

  "What problem would that be?"

  "You have a-a hand on your farm named Jerry," Kendi said. "According to public record, you bought him two weeks ago."

  "I may have," Markovi said. "We acquired several hands recently, but I don't know all of them."

  "He is my son," Harenn blurted out.

  Markovi raised a single blond eyebrow, a trick Kendi hated-the few people he knew who could actually do it invariably used it for sarcastic effect.

  "Jerry was kidnapped by his father as a baby and sold without Harenn's knowledge or permission," Kendi said. "This is a violation of Independence Confederation slave code and a violation of the slave codes set down by the Five Green Worlds."

  "This isn't the Independence Confederation," Markovi said. "And the FGW doesn't seem to exist much anymore."

  "You are correct, sir," Kendi said. He hadn't really expected a legal ploy to work. "However, I'm not asking you to hand Jerry over for free. I'm offering to buy him from you."

  "I just acquired him," Markovi said. "And spent a fair amount of time having him trained. Why would I want to sell him?"

  "Humanitarianism," Kendi said bluntly. "The chance to reunite a torn family. The chance to let a mother hold her own child again. And the chance to profit by it all. I'm willing to pay you twice Jerry's original purchase price, to reimburse you for your time and effort."

  "Jerry, Jerry." Markovi tapped his desk and a holographic computer screen popped into being. "Oh yes-the damaged goods. Our regular slaver bought him from a small communications company. Little Jerry was just starting to sense the Dream when the Despair hit. None of the company's Silent slaves were able to reach the Dream afterward, and the company wasn't big enough to survive long without Silent revenue. They went bankrupt right quick, had to sell off their livestock. Looks like we got him for a song."

  Harenn's hands were clenched so tightly Kendi was afraid her palms would start bleeding. "Triple price, then," he said, "to ensure it's worth your while. Hard currency."

  "Well, here's the thing." Markovi leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "The boy's seen a lot of our operation by now, and security around here's pretty tight. We can't sell off hands who might blab secrets to Venus's competitors."

  "How much could he have learned in two weeks?"

  "The chocolate business is cutthroat. You'd be surprised," Markovi continued as if Kendi hadn't spoken. "For all I know, you two work for Wexford Chocolate and Jerry is your mole. Wexford would love to know exactly how we do things around here."

  Harenn said, "I brought his birth certificate and genetic-"

  "Yes, yes, I'm sure you did," Markovi interrupted. "But I'm afraid that I couldn't sell the boy even if I wanted to. FGW law says only a slave dealer can sell hands less than a year after purchase. I sell you this Jerry boy now, and I'm in trouble for trafficking in slaves without a license. Sorry, but you understand where I'm coming from. No sale."

  "You just said the FGW doesn't much exist anymore," he said aloud, trying to keep his temper. "They aren't in a position to uphold-"

  "Sorry, Junior. Can't do it."

  "Five times the price," Kendi said tightly. "I might even be able to come up with six."

  "Wouldn't matter if you handed me a hundred and your associate here gave me a blow job," Markovi drawled. "Joe and Alex here will show you out now."

  Kendi turned. He hadn't heard the office door open, nor had he sensed the two heavily-muscled goons glide into the room. Harenn's eyes went wild. She lunged across the desk and grabbed Markovi by the throat.

  "You have to sell him to me," she hissed. "He is my son, you bastard! Give me my son! "

  "Harenn!" Kendi shouted. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her away. Markovi's eyes bulged and he made choking sounds. Joe appeared next to Markovi and pried Harenn's fingers away. The moment he broke her grip, Harenn balled up a fist and socked Markovi in the face. He stumbled backward with a yelp.

  "Get them the fuck out of here!" he howled, one hand over his nose. Blood trickled between his fingers.

  Joe grabbed Harenn's wrists and twisted her hands behind her. Kendi spun to face him. He was the man who had originally shown them in.

  "Let her go!" Kendi snapped.

  "Not until we're outside," Joe replied through clenched teeth. Harenn fought his grip, cursing and snarling. He pushed her firmly and none-too-gently toward the door. Alex put a heavy hand on Kendi's shoulder to escort him away as well. Kendi shook it off with a glare and followed Joe and Harenn out the office door.

  "Bitch!" Markovi yelled after them. "You'll never see your little brat again, I'll make sure of that!"

  Harenn renewed her struggles, and in the end it took both Joe and Alex to get her out to the parking lot. Kendi, not knowing what else to do, followed.

  "Get into the car, sir," Joe said. "Our security computer will take control of your vehicle and drive it from the grounds. If you try to come back-" he cracked his knuckles pointedly "-it'll involve a lot of broken bones."

  Kendi silently climbed in. The moment he closed the door, the groundcar rushed out of the parking lot and zipped up the driveway. The gates swung open just in time to let the vehicle through and they crashed shut behind it.

  "Thank you for visiting Sunnytree Farms," chirped the computer. Kendi punched the screen with his fist and it shut up. He turned to Harenn.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  "I don't know what to do," she whispered. Harenn pressed a hand against her window. "He is in there and he doesn't even know I am here for him. He doesn't even know."

  An unfamiliar, gasping sort of sound issued from her veil. It took Kendi a moment to realize that Harenn was crying. It was the first time he had seen her do such a thing. He found it unnerving, as if he were standing on a boulder that had suddenly shifted beneath him.

  "We aren't done yet, Harenn," he said grimly, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  "What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes red above her veil.

  "I promised you I'd get your son back and I will," Kendi told her. "I already have a plan."

  CHAPTER TWO

  "If wealth can't buy freedom, you have to steal it."

  - Collette Martin, Bethlehem Colony

  "Exactly what's supposed to be wrong with our system?" Markovi said.

  The blond woman shifted an impressive wad of gum from one cheek to the other. She wore a blue jumpsuit with matching cap and carried a toolbox. A holographic ID badge floating near her lapel proclaimed her an employee of Compulink, Inc.

  "Look, mister-how many times you want this explained?" she said. "Our programmers found a potential glitch in the programs we installed for your irrigation and fertilizer systems. Nothing has gone wrong yet, but something probably will and I'm here to fix it before it does. We're not even charging you, since it's our fault the glitch is there in the first place. What's the big deal?"

  "The big deal is that I received no authorization from the home corp to let anyone examine our equipment," Markovi said sharply. "There are a lot of spies in this business, and-"

  "Yeah, yeah. You want me to fix this thing or do you want fertilizer spraying every which way at noon on Tuesdays?"

  "I'll have to call the home corp first."

  "Sure, fine. What do I care? I'm paid by the hour."

  Markovi turned and walked into his office. Gretchen Beyer picked up the toolbox of computer equipment and followed. She was surprised at how calm she
felt. By all rights her heart should be hammering. There was no doubt in her mind that if Markovi learned who she was, her broken body would turn up in a ditch somewhere. Ben had uncovered a fair amount of information on chocolate companies, and it had turned out that these particular corps were more paranoid and secretive than many fascist police agencies. L.L. Venus had no public information officer, no press agents, and, since it was still a proprietary company, no stock market presence. According to an unauthorized biography of the Venus family and of the Wexford family, both corporations had surveillance and espionage departments dedicated to guarding their own recipes and stealing secrets from their rivals. And their security people had reputations for absolute ruthlessness. By all rights, Gretchen should have been nervous as hell-and she wasn't.

  Of course, ever since the Despair, Gretchen hadn't been much in control of her emotional state. One minute she was so depressed she didn't care if the universe ended, the next she was so angry everything seemed tinged with red. Gretchen had been a reasonably skilled and powerful Silent, gifted in the Dream and easily achieving the rank of Sister among the Children of Irfan. Now, however, she was nothing. Sure, she still held her rank, but she couldn't do anything with it. The Dream was gone for her. She couldn't reach it, couldn't even feel it. Like every other Silent in her position, she hoped with fevered desperation that this was only temporary, that one morning she'd wake up and sense the familiar Dream around her again.

  She hadn't cried at Mother Ara's funeral. In her more despondent moments, Gretchen felt that Ara had it pretty good, had taken the easy way out during the Despair. Jump off a balcony, all the pain stops. Gretchen couldn't blame her for doing it, not when she knew exactly how Ara felt. But Ara had left an unholy mess in her wake, including the impact on Ben. Gretchen liked Ben, had even had a crush on him once, though now she sometimes found herself angry at him for gaining what she had lost. And then there was Kendi. He had once been her equal. Now he was her superior, both in rank and in the fact the he still had the Dream. She respected him, though she'd never say so except under extreme torture, but she was mighty pissed at him, too. That was the problem. Everything was mixed up, and every time Gretchen thought she'd figured out which direction was up, it turned out to be ninety degrees from reality.

  Better, then, to concentrate on the job at hand. Slavers and slave owners were a concrete problem Gretchen could handle. Besides, Gretchen had always felt that the best thing to do for a bad mood was to spread it around.

  Markovi strode to the office wall that held his main viewscreen. He was reaching out to tap it and call the home corp when the latches on Gretchen's toolbox gave way. Computer tools and parts spilled in a spectacular jumble across the carpet close to the wall.

  "Oh hell," Gretchen grumbled. "Hey, can you give me a hand here? I asked for a new toolbox, but nooooo… "

  Markovi gave a put-upon sigh and knelt to help her gather up the scattered materials. He didn't notice Gretchen palm a chip half the size of a fingernail and stick it to the wall just beneath the viewscreen.

  Once the mess was cleaned up, Gretchen thanked Markovi and he tapped the viewscreen. "HQ," he said. "Extension one three six."

  A moment later, a dark-haired man with a mole on his cheek appeared. Gretchen barely recognized Ben. Harenn, the resident makeup expert, had done a good job.

  "Doug Markovi at Sunnytree," Markovi said. "I have a computer technician here who says she's supposed to fix a glitch in our sprinkler and irrigation system. But I didn't receive any authorization for it. Can you confirm?"

  "I didn't get it."

  Markovi folded his arms. "Well it's not in order from my end."

  "Look," Gretchen interrupted, "it's getting close to lunch time and I don't want to be dicking around here all day. You don't want me to fix the glitch, I won't fix the glitch." She pulled a computer pad from her pocket and tapped at it. "Just thumb here to indicate you refused service. When your fertilizer system goes kaflooey, give Compulink a yell and we'll try to get someone down here, but since you refused the free repair, it'll count as an emergency call and you'll pay full emergency rates."

  "Not my call," Gretchen said. "Thumb here, please." She thrust the computer pad at Markovi.

  Markovi hesitated. "Look, I'm only-"

  "Just thumb it," Gretchen said. "I've got other calls to make today."

  "No, that's all right," Markovi said, putting his hands behind his back. "Fix the glitch."

  "You sure?" Gretchen said, waggling the pad. "Because I can be out of here in-"

  "Just fix it," Markovi snapped.

  Gretchen put the pad back into her pocket with a shrug. "You're the boss. Can you have someone show me where your equipment mainframe is?"

  Markovi nodded to her and tapped the viewscreen off without saying good-bye to Ben, who would deactivate the chip remotely from the Poltergeist. Then Markovi called a husky-looking man into the office.

  "This is Joe," Markovi said. "He'll show you what's where."

  Gretchen chewed her gum noisily and followed Joe out to the farm proper. The smell of mulch and damp moss assailed her, and the hot sun burned high overhead. Joe took Gretchen to what looked like a wooden barn. Inside, however, were no stables or animals. Instead, they entered a series of tiled corridors and equipment bays full of machines Gretchen didn't recognize. She hoped she wouldn't have to comment on any of them. Fans hummed and overhead pipes gurgled. The air was cool, and no slaves were in evidence. Gretchen glanced around as if in idle curiosity but was careful to memorize the route back in case she had to make a hasty exit.

  "Mainframe's in here," Joe said, opening a door and gesturing inside. He was a big man who bulged in places where nothing should bulge, and Gretchen wondered how many weapons he was carrying. Still chewing her gum and keeping her face bland, Gretchen peered suspiciously into the room. It wouldn't be impossible that Markovi was on to her and had somehow told Joe to bop her over the head or zap her with something nasty and lock her in some kind of prison cell. But the room beyond was full of computer equipment. A lone technician tapped at a keyboard. He glanced up as Gretchen entered. Joe shut the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Loud classical music floated from hidden speakers.

  "Hey," Gretchen said. "I'm Denise Fell with Compulink. Gotta fix a glitch before it becomes a problem."

  "Vince Mays," he said without turning down the music. "Systems operator. What's the glitch?" Gretchen cracked her gum and explained. Mays said, "There's a terminal over there. Do what you have to."

  Gretchen sat at the indicated keyboard. A single tap brought up the holographic screen, and she positioned herself between it and Mays so Mays couldn't read over her shoulder. Then she pressed a finger to her ear. The implant in her ear canal sprang to life.

  "Okay, Ben, I'm in," she sub-vocalized. Mays's music helped cover the sound. "You still have access to my eye implant?"

  " I'm with you," came Ben's voice. " Put your pad on the desk so the IR beam can link up with the mainframe. The program I put in it should hack you root access, just like a real Compulink tech would normally have. Sunnytree's equipment mainframe isn't linked to the outside, so their computer's security probably isn't all that great-they'll be figuring you can't hack what you can't get to."

  Which was why Gretchen had to show up with a wad of gum in her mouth and a toolbox in her hand.

  Gretchen set the pad on the desk and pretended to click computer keys while the pad did its work. She was getting nervous. Vince Mays could walk over and check out what she was doing at any moment, and getting her ass off the farm would be problematic if she were discovered. Gretchen shot Mays a covert glance, but he seemed more interested in his own screen than in hers.

  " Don't forget the copycat," Ben reminded her.

  Swearing softly, Gretchen fished a flat, black box from her toolkit. Red lights skittered around the edge when she pressed the activation button. After a moment, a small screen displayed the message, Two hundred fifteen local frequencies detec
ted, along with a list of numbers. Please indicate which frequency you wish to copy.

  Gretchen ran a stylus down the entire list to select all of them. Working, the screen said. Gretchen set the copycat back in her toolbox and turned back to the computer pad. It was still breaking into the mainframe. Her hands were shaking now and she forced them back into steadiness. She peeked at Mays. He was looking directly at her. Gretchen's mouth went dry around the gum.

  "What?" she asked.

  "Just wondering what you're up to over there," Mays said with a smile. "Will it take long?"

  "Shouldn't."

  "Maybe I can help." He started to get to his feet. Gretchen's heart leaped into her throat. If he got a look at her screen, he'd see she hadn't even logged in yet and would know something was up.

  "Nuh uh." She held up both hands, partly to indicate negation and partly to block his view of her screen. "Company policy. If I get help from someone who isn't a Compulink employee, the union will have conniptions."

  "Funny," Mays frowned. "I've helped Compulink people before."

  "New policy." Gretchen rolled her eyes. "You know how bureaucrats and bean counters get."

  "Around here everyone's a bean counter," Mays said with a grin. At Gretchen's blank look, he added, "Cocoa beans?"

  Gretchen forced a laugh, though she was ready to bolt for the door. "Guess I'm not very quick on the uptake today." She blew a gum bubble to cover the pounding of her heart. What the hell was taking Ben's program so long? "I better see what trouble I can get into on your network, then."

  She turned back to her terminal, pretending to work but actually holding her breath. Mays didn't come up behind her. After a moment, she snuck another peek. His attention was back on his work.

  At last-at last- the pad flashed. The holographic screen on the terminal flickered and Gretchen found she had root access.