CHAPTER THREE

The only reason a frog feels happy in the muck is that it doesn’t know anything better.

—Irfan Qasad

The tomato frog’s eyes goggled and glistened like peeled grapes as it peered about. A cricket, lightly dusted with vitamin powder, leaped into view. The frog’s tongue snapped out. The cricket vanished, and the frog gave a satisfied croak.

  A white butterfly net flashed downward. The frog tried to leap, but only managed to tangle itself. It was hoisted high into the air for a moment, then popped into a covered basket containing ten other outraged red frogs. Lizard Blanc deftly untangled the net and cast about for another tomato. Four more would fill the order, and if he caught them quickly enough, he might be able to pretend it took longer and steal a catnap among the bushes by the tree dumpies.

  The thought of sleep made Lizard yawn again, and he had to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Overhead, the sun beat down through a thin haze of clouds that did little to blunt the heat and humidity. The water was blood-warm around his ankles, and the background drone of acres of frogs was such a constant in his life that he scarcely noticed it.

  Lizard caught sight of another tomato. He flicked the net down, but the frog saw it coming and leaped into the water with a plop. Lizard grimaced and untangled the net. He really wanted that nap. His mother said that all teenagers went through a phase of needing more sleep because they were growing, but Lizard knew that wasn’t the problem. It seemed like he got almost no sleep at night these days, and it was all because of the dreams.

  Another bit of red grabbed Lizard’s attention, and a moment later, another tomato frog joined its croaking brethren. Not long after he had turned fifteen, Lizard’s dreams had become steadily more vivid. In most of them, he was on walkabout in the Outback. It all felt so real—the bright, hot sun, the dry air, the rough rock and sandy earth beneath his feet. Usually it came as a surprise when he awoke to discover he was still on his pallet next to Pup’s. When he dreamed of the Outback, it was as if the last three years on the Blanc farm had been the dream, and he always woke up feeling restless and unhappy.

  "Hey, Lizard!"

  Lizard straightened to his full height. He had gained several centimeters since arriving at the farm, though his build was almost painfully thin. His skin was dark as oak bark from all the hours in the sun, and his hair, kept short, bleached from black to the same brown as his skin. He still wore the brown shirt and shorts of a mucker.

  Pup stood at the edge of the tomato pool. He had also grown considerably, though not as much as Lizard, and his build was stockier. His white-blond hair shone in the sunlight, and it contrasted sharply with his heavy tan. At the moment, his blue eyes were dancing with excitement.

  "Hey, Pup." Lizard turned his gaze back to the pool. "What’s going on?"

  "We’ve been summoned," Pup said eagerly. "Come on!"

  Lizard’s net flicked through the air and another frog went into the basket. "Summoned? Where? What are you talking about?"

  "To the house! Hurry up—we have to get ready. Forget the tomato order. Nater wants us!"

  That got Lizard’s full attention. He had seen the headservant maybe three times since he and Mistress Blanc had brought him to the farm, and then only from a distance. "He wants you and me up at the house?"

  Pup nodded. "I’ll explain on the way. Hurry up!"

  Lizard splashed to the edge of the pond with basket and net, sending a dozen bright red frogs leaping for the water. The two young men hurried toward the processing barn so Lizard could drop off his partially-filled basket.

  "So what’s going on?" Lizard demanded as they went.

  "Mistress Blanc’s giving a big party," Pup explained. "Huge! And a whole bunch of the staff is still down with yak-yak, right?"

  Lizard nodded. Yak-yak was the nickname of a flu strain that brought on severe vomiting. It resisted medication and kept its victims in bed plugged to an IV bag to prevent dehydration. Lizard had only come down with a mild three-day bout, and that had been enough for him. Pup had somehow escaped it entirely.

  "So Nater needs servers for evening. The mistress can’t cancel—it’s been on the calendar for months—and we’ve been called on."

  They reached the processing barn, another log-shaped building, and went inside. Cages, crates, baskets, and terrariums full of fearful, croaking frogs were everywhere. Lizard handed over his basket to the slave in charge and explained why he hadn’t finished. The slave, a brittle-looking older woman, pursed her lips but said nothing. Orders from the headservant could not be countermanded except by Mistress Blanc herself.

  "Why’d he choose us?" Lizard asked when they were outside again.

  "Dunno. Probably your ma had something to do with it. He wants us washed and ready right quick."

  They reached the slave barn and headed for the showers. It felt strange to strip off his clothes and wash in the middle of the day. Pup and Lizard donned fresh outfits from the shelves and trotted up the familiar path to the main house. Lizard knocked at the kitchen door, and a moment later, Lizard’s mother Bell motioned them inside. Her hands, face, and hair were streaked with flour. It seemed to Lizard that his mom was always dusted with the stuff. Her talent as a baker had moved her quickly up the ranks in the kitchen until only two years after she and Lizard had arrived, she was in charge of anything floury that went into an oven. Bell was quieter now than she had been in the days before the slavers, but she and Lizard stayed close, or as close as time allowed.

  The kitchen was enormous, with long worktables running the length of the room. A trio of enormous multi-ovened stoves loomed against one wall, and another was taken up by a belt that conveyed dishes through an industrial dishwasher. Metal doors to walk-in refrigerators and freezers gleamed, as did a stunning array of huge pots, pans, kettles, and utensils. The place was alive with noise and bustle. Men, women, and children dressed in white cut, chopped, stirred, rolled, and mixed. The air was redolent of spices, fresh-baked bread, hot oil, and meat. Lizard’s mouth watered.

  "Hurry," Bell said. "You have to change clothes and then Tira will show you what to do. She’s the housekeeper and works right under Nater, so you watch yourself."

  Bell took them through a door and bustled them up a staircase. Soft red carpeting hushed their steps and felt strange under Lizard’s bare, callused feet. The walls were a soft white, and the hall itself was deliciously cool. Lizard had all but forgotten what air conditioning was like. Pup looked equally impressed, and a little nervous.

  "You boys need to do well tonight," Bell instructed in her quiet, clear voice. "If you do, Nater or Tira might get you promoted from mucker to house. Understand?"

  Pup’s eyes lit up and Lizard’s heart beat faster. A chance to get out of the ponds? That meant no more hot sun, no more slave barn, no more mosquitoes. He exchanged a look with Pup and saw he was thinking the same thing.

  They reached the top of the stairs, where Bell called out to another woman who was standing in front of an open linen closet counting white tablecloths. "Tira, I’ve got the boys."

  Tira straightened. She was a white woman with iron-gray hair, a heavy, stolid body, and steely eyes. She looked Lizard and Pup up and down. Lizard tried to look capable and competent.

  "They’ll need to wash off the mucker stench," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Come with me."

  "But we already—" Pup began, then shut up as Lizard trod heavily on his foot.

  "Yes, ma’am," Lizard said, though inwardly he bristled.

  Shooting him an approving look, Bell went back downstairs. Tira, who wore silvery bands identical to Lizard and Pup’s, took them up another, narrower flight of stairs to a large bathroom that resembled the one in the slave barn, except the shower area was divided into stalls with privacy curtains.

  "Scrub yourselves good," she ordered. "I want no trace of mucker stink on your bodies, see you?"

  Lizard bristled again. Just because he worked among the mud and frogs all day didn’t mean he had to shower twice to get clean. But house slaves were the elite, and muckers were at the bottom of the ladder. Bell, Lizard knew, must have called in some serious favors to get them selected and he wasn’t going to let her down. If that meant being overly polite to a bitch, he would be overly polite to a bitch.

  "Yes, ma’am," he said, and Pup nodded. "We’ll scrub ourselves good."

  "I’ll put some clothes outside the door." Tira glanced down and made a sound of disgust. "You’ll need shoes, too. What size? Never mind—you wouldn’t know. Just go. Hurry!"

  If showering in the middle of the day felt strange, it felt even stranger to do it twice, and in privacy of a single stall. The soap carried a light perfume and there was a separate bottle of shampoo, a far cry from the harsh brown head-and-body stuff they had down in the slave barn. Even the water felt softer. And the towels were real cloth instead of something resembling bleached burlap. Lizard’s earlier fatigue disappeared in all the luxury and excitement.

  Pup and Evan finished with the showers and shook out the clothes they found folded on the floor just outside the door. They each had a pair of heavy linen trousers, a white collarless shirt that was almost knee length, white socks, white leather shoes, and a heavy length of gold rope, the purpose of which baffled both of them. Pup donned the trousers and tried to tuck the shirt in, but it was too long. Lizard discovered that his shoes were rather narrow and they pinched just a bit. The pants fit, but he hadn’t yet tried on the shirt.

  There was a sharp knock on the door, and Tira strode in without bothering to ask if they were dressed or not. She made another disgusted sound at their state of confusion.

  "The shirt stays untucked," she snapped. "The rope goes around it like a belt. Here—let me tie that. It isn’t a curtain cord, you idiot."

  In short order, she had them shod, shirted, and belted. The fabric was far heavier and richer than anything Lizard had worn in his life and he found he was carrying himself straighter and taller. He caught a glimpse of himself and Pup in the mirror and stared. They looked like completely different people. The heavy mucker tan made a pleasing contrast with the snow-white clothing, and Pup’s eyes shone like a clear sky beneath pale hair. Lizard stared at Pup’s reflection, mesmerized.

"What?" Pup said, noticing the stare.

  "Nothing." Lizard cleared his throat. "We’re looking good."

  "You look like dressed-up frogs," Tira growled. "But you’ll have to do. Come on. The guests will be arriving in less than an hour, and I still have to teach you how to serve."

  What followed was a whirlwind lesson in service and servant manners. Fortunately, Tira decided to put them in charge of one of the hors d’oeuvre tables in the main ballroom for the drinks and dancing portions of the party, and that meant mostly replacing empty trays with full ones from the kitchen and giving guests directions to the bar and bathrooms. Later, during the dinner portion of the evening, their sole duty would be making sure the guests’ water glasses remained full. Tira made both of them pour glass after glass from a crystal pitcher until she was satisfied with their performance.

  "It’s worth your hide if you spill one drop on guest or tablecloth," she warned, and bustled away. Lizard and Pup gave identical sighs of relief, then laughed. Lizard remembered his first night at the farm when he had heard Pup’s laugh. He still liked the sound, though he had never said so.

  A while later, the first guests began to arrive. Lizard stood behind the hors d’oeuvre table, exchanging nervous glances with Pup and trying not to fidget in his tight shoes on the hard marble floor. The unfamiliar clothes began to feel heavy and confining, and he had to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

Please please please, he pleaded silently, don’t let me screw this up.

  The ballroom was two stories tall and had a pale green marble floor shot with black. A balcony ringed the upper wall with two grand staircases at either end granting access to it. The guests were all human—Lizard hadn’t seen a single alien since the space station—and they wore a dazzling array of glittering jewels, bright colors, and rustling fabric. Several of the women were accompanied by an entourage of gems that orbited head and hair like tiny solar systems. Lizard managed not to stare and instead put what he hoped was a friendly, obsequious smile on his face. A tastefully small orchestra provided light music from the balcony, though no one danced—that would come after dinner. Lizard guessed there were well over a hundred people present.

  A steady stream of guests began to visit the hors d’oeuvre table, and Lizard found himself very busy. He and Pup alternated bringing in food trays from the kitchen, combining half-empty serving dishes, and whisking the dirty dishes away. There was, Lizard found, a certain rhythm to it, and once he got it down, it wasn’t that difficult. Once, Tira came by to inspect their work and grudgingly admitted they were doing "an adequate job." Lizard’s nervousness eased and he began to wish there were something he could do about his sore, pinched feet. He had hoisted yet another tray of empty serving dishes onto his shoulder and was heading for the kitchen when an old woman dressed all in black stopped him.

  "Where’s the restroom, please?" she asked with more politeness than most of the guests.

  Lizard nodded toward one of the staircases. "Directly through the doors under either staircase, Mistress."

"Thank you, dear." Before Lizard realized what was happening, she reached up to pat his cheek like a friendly aunt. Her bare hand touched his face, and a jolt slammed through Lizard’s body. Lizard gasped, and the room twisted around him. The tray fell from his shoulder with a ear-shattering crash of breaking crystal and ringing silver. After a moment the vertigo faded and he became aware he was on hands and knees amid shards of glass and scattered serving spoons. A ring of people had surrounded him. The orchestra had fallen silent. Tira’s angry face appeared among the crowd, and a part of Lizard knew that his chances of promotion to house slave had vanished like water on a hot stove.

  "Lizard?" Pup said beside him. "Are you hurt? What’s wrong?"

  "I don’t know." He let Pup help him to his feet. "She touched me, and—"

  "What’s going on here?" demanded a new voice. Giselle Blanc, dressed in a pale green gown, pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She took in the scene at a glance and turned to face the crowd. "A small accident. Thank you for your concern, my friends. Please return to your conversations. Everything is under control. Orchestra?"

  This last was clearly an order, and the music immediately resumed. The crowd drifted away, leaving Mistress Blanc, Pup, Lizard, and the old woman in black.

  "Get this mess cleaned up," Blanc snapped. "How could you be so clumsy?"

  "It wasn’t his fault, Giselle," said the old woman. "The boy is Silent. Didn’t you know?"

  Blanc blinked. "Silent? What do you mean? How do you know he’s Silent?"

  "I touched him," the woman said simply. "You should have him tested, of course, but the touch is never wrong."

  Blanc stood motionless for a moment. Conversation and music mingled on the ballroom floor behind her. Then she pointed at Pup. "You. Clean up this mess. You—" she pointed at Lizard "—come with me. Clara, would you mind?"

  "Not at all, dear."

  The two women turned and walked toward one of the exits without looking back. Bewildered, Lizard shot Pup a glance. Pup, who had knelt to gather up the debris, gestured at him to follow and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

  "What’s Silent mean?" Lizard hissed at him.

  "Go!" Pup hissed back. "And be sure you remember your friends later."

  More confused than ever, Lizard trotted away. He followed Mistress Blanc and the old woman named Clara out of the ballroom, along a corridor, and through a set of double doors into a large room paneled with blond wood. A huge silk rug covered the center of the burnished floor, and an enormous desk sat next to a stone fireplace. Shelves were crammed with bookdisks, and statues of frogs were everywhere. A wet bar occupied one corner. It was well after sunset, and the windows showed only a reflection of the room itself. Blanc motioned Clara to a leather easy chair while she opened a decanter at the bar.

  "Brandy?" she asked.

  "No thank you, dear," Clara said from the depths of the chair.

  Lizard wasn’t sure what to do, so he stood next to the door. His heart pounded like a hyperactive hammer and he was starting to sweat. Was he in trouble for dropping the tray? Doubtful—Pup had looked happy for him. So why was he here?

  Blanc splashed red-brown liquid into a glass the size of a balloon and took up a chair behind the desk. She swirled the brandy, sipped. "You say my slave Lizard is Silent."

  Clara gave a prim smile. "Of course."

  "I don’t understand how." Blanc set the snifter down and tapped her desk. A holographic screen winked into view and text scrolled across it. "It’s as I remembered. His papers state he was found on an STL colony ship that left Earth some nine hundred years ago."

  Lizard stood by the door in his tight shoes, feeling like some new species of frog that had caught Mistress Blanc’s eye.

  "So he wasn’t born into slavery?" Clara said.

  Blanc shook her head. "And I know what you’re thinking. Listen, someone else would have bought him and his dam if I hadn’t, and I treat my people well. He has a good home here."

  "Did you rescue him from a colony ship or the dog pound?" Clara asked mildly, echoing Lizard’s unspoken thoughts. A wash of anger flashed over him and he had to struggle to stay quiet.

  "At any rate," Blanc said, brushing Clara’s comment aside, "he left Earth long before Irfan Qasad started creating Silent babies."

  "Nevertheless," Clara said firmly, "I am Silent, and when I touched him, I knew."

  Lizard could keep quiet no longer. "Please, Mistress," he said, and both women turned their gaze on him, "what does it mean that I’m Silent?"

  "It means you’re worth a hell of a lot more than five hundred freemarks," Blanc muttered.

  "Silence is a form of telepathy, child," Clara said. "Once you’ve had proper training, you’ll be able to enter the Dream and communicate with any other Silent in the universe, no matter what species they are, what language they speak, or what planet they live on." She gestured at Mistress Blanc. "Some of the frogs on this very farm produce toxins that can be refined into drugs that aid the Silent in reaching the Dream."

  "How do you know that I’m Silent?" Lizard asked uncertainly. "I’ve never heard of it."

  "I touched you," Clara told him. "The first time two Silent touch flesh-to-flesh in the real world, it creates a weak telepathic bond. If we were both in the Dream right now, we would be able to find each other much more easily than two Silent who have never touched. That first contact also creates a physical jolt that can be very disconcerting for those who are unprepared for it. Your Silence must be very strong, dear, for it to send you to your knees like that." She paused. "Tell me, do you have dreams that are so vivid—lifelike—that when you wake up you feel like this is the dream and your dream was the real thing?"

  Lizard nodded in awe. "How did you know—?"

  "Holy mother of god," Blanc gasped. "What if I have two of them?" She tapped something on her desk and a tone chimed. "Nater, send Bell into my office immediately."

  "Yes, Mistress." The reply came out of thin air.

  Lizard’s head swam and he desperately wanted to sit down, but it looked like no one was going to give him permission. Dreams. The Real People told stories of the Dreamtime, the place where everything began and ended. And there were all those meditations the Real People Reconstructionists did to re-learn head talk. Was it all real?

  "Who’s Bell?" Clara asked.

  "His dam. She was on the same ship. I’m wondering if she’s Silent, too."

  "It does run in families," Clara agreed.

  "But why wouldn’t the slavers have tested them for Silence already? It seems like they would have."

  "Why should they, dear? As you said, the ship was nine hundred years old, before the time of Irfan Qasad, and she was the first human Silent. Why should they spend the time and money to run a test that they thought would only come out negative?"

  A knock came at the door. There was a pause. Both women looked at Lizard, and it took him a moment to figure out that they were expecting him to answer it. Fumbling with the knob, he did so, and Bell stepped self-consciously into the room. She gave Lizard a worried look that said, What did you do?

"Bell, come here," Blanc ordered, and Lizard’s mother approached the desk. "Clara, would you ...?"

  "Of course." Clara got her feet, long black dress rustling. "Hold still, Bell. This won’t hurt."

  Lizard wanted to cry out a warning, but Clara touched his mother’s cheek before he could do so. She stiffened and gave a little gasp. Clara nodded and went back to her chair.

  "She is Silent as well," she said, "though not as strong in it as her son."

  "All life!" Bell said, a note of fright in her voice. Lizard wanted to go to her, but didn’t know if that was allowed. He stayed where he was.

  "Well," Mistress Blanc said, getting to her feet. The holographic screen vanished. "Well, well, well. This is welcome news. Lizard, you need not return to the slave barn tonight. I’ll tell Tira to give you a room up here. I’ll decide what to do about both of you tomorrow. Clara, I have to return to the other guests. Dinner will be served soon. Coming?"

  "Of course, dear." Clara rose and took Blanc’s proffered arm. The two of them strolled out of the office without a backward glance.

  "Son?" Bell asked. The slave bands wouldn’t allow her to call him Evan, but she had never used the name Blanc had assigned to him. With a small start he realized that he always thought of himself as Lizard now. When had that started?

  "Son," Bell repeated, "what did she mean? What’s happening?"

  Lizard explained what little he knew. "So it looks like we’re both Silent—and a lot more valuable. I don’t understand it all."

  "Silent." Bell looked at the leather armchair uncertainly, then apparently decided she had nothing to lose and sat in it. Lizard, greatly daring, perched on the arm. "Once in a while, I would hear the mistress or Nater mention a message that came via Silent courier. I always assumed that Silent meant classified or bonded or something. I never asked."

  "So what do we do now?" Lizard said. "I don’t think Mistress Blanc wants me back at the party, and she didn’t say—"

  Another knock came. Both Lizard and Bell leaped to their feet. Lizard opened the door cautiously on Pup. He slipped into the room and Lizard closed the door.

  "Is it true?" he asked without preamble. "Are you Silent?"

  Lizard nodded. "Mom’s Silent too."

  "Wow." Pup’s blue eyes were wide and round. "You both go right to the top. No more mucking for you."

  "All life!" Bell sank back into the chair. "What do the Silent do?"

  "You don’t know?" When they both shook their heads, Pup said, "They communicate. Slipships can jump into slipspace and get to other planets and stuff—Mistress Blanc wouldn’t have much business if they couldn’t—but regular communication only goes as fast as light. I hear tell it’d take hundreds of years for some messages to get where they have to go. But the Silent can communicate with other Silent no matter how far away they are. I don’t know how they do it, but they do. Ask Old Min about it. He says he has a Silent cousin, but I don’t half believe him."

  The door began to open, and once again Bell jumped to her feet. Tira entered the office. Lizard’s heart lurched. He was going to be in trouble. He was—

  "Mistress Blanc told me to show you to your rooms," Tira said deferentially. "Would you like to go now?" While Lizard was recovering from his surprise enough to formulate a reply, she caught sight of Pup. Her tone and demeanor instantly changed. "What are you doing here?"

  Pup blanched. "I—"

"I summoned him," Lizard snapped. "Is that a problem?"

  "No, sir," Tira said, contrite. "I’ll show you upstairs now, if you like."

  She took them up to the second floor and into a pair of adjoining bedrooms, each with a wide, canopied bed and a well-appointed private bathroom. Tira stood in the doorway between the two rooms, hands behind her back, eyes on the floor. Lizard was amazed at the change. This was Silence?

  "Will you require anything else?" Tira asked.

  "Yes," Bell said from her room. "Supper for both of us. Bring a wide selection."

  "Yes, ma’am." Tira crooked a finger at Pup, who was standing in the corner trying to look inconspicuous. "Come along, you."

  "He’ll stay," Lizard said in an imperious tone, "and serve us our dinner."

  Tira blinked, then nodded and left. Lizard waited until both doors were shut before running into Bell’s room and throwing his arms around her. She laughed and hugged him back. Pup grinned like an idiot.

  "What’s this all about?" Lizard asked breathlessly. "What happens next?"

  "I don’t know," Bell admitted. "Look—our own rooms. They’re bigger than the entire apartment back in Sydney. Why are they giving us all this?"

  "You’re Silent," Pup reminded her. "You outrank everybody except maybe Nater. Even the managers have to be polite."

  They spent considerable time exploring their rooms. Lizard flung himself on the bed and found the sheets were fine, heavy linen with a raw silk bedspread woven in a purple pattern. It was the first time he had lain on a real bed in three years. The bathrooms were an equal treat, each with a whirlpool bath and a multi-directional shower that fascinated Pup no end.

  A while later, a knock came at the door and a slave Lizard didn’t recognize wheeled a large linen-draped cart into Bell’s room. The covered dishes on top rattled slightly, and delicious smells filled the air.

  "Thank you, Kip," Bell told him. "You can go."

  Kip left, and Lizard lifted covers. Although he didn’t recognize a lot of the food, he could see at a glance it was infinitely better than anything the muckers got, even on holidays. Bell gave it a critical kitchen eye.

  "It’s not the best," she said, moving the dishes to a nearby table. "But it’s better than what any slave gets."

  Pup stood uncertainly by the door.

  "Sit down and eat," Lizard said. "That muck about you serving us was just an excuse to keep you here. There’s more than enough for all three of us."

  Pup’s face cleared and they all three sat down. When Tira came to take away the dishes, Lizard told her that Pup would sleep at the foot of his bed in case he or Bell wanted something in the night. Tira accepted this without comment and withdrew again.

  "I don’t know how long we can keep it up," Lizard said, "but we may as well enjoy it now. Besides, the bed’s big enough for five!"

That night, Lizard lay awake in the deliciously comfortable bed. Pup had dropped off almost the moment his head hit the pillow, but Lizard found the silence kept him awake. The windows were shut, and he couldn’t hear the frogs, let alone the usual snores and sleepy mutters of the slaves in the barn loft. Soft moonlight slipped around the closed curtains, giving a dim illumination. Lizard turned on his side and watched Pup sleep. His near-white hair looked silver. The sheet had fallen away from his bare chest, revealing flat muscle and supple skin that moved with Pup’s steady breathing. He was a good friend, the best Lizard had ever had. And he was damned good-looking.

  Lizard blinked. Where did that come from? he thought.

  He watched the rise and fall of Pup’s chest and was seized with the sudden impulse to reach out and touch Pup’s hair, caress his forehead. Feelings churned inside Lizard, strange and unexplained. Pup was his best friend. Pup had been there for him from day one, had listened to him cry about his missing family, had conspired to avoid the managers with him. Lizard liked Pup a lot, didn’t know what he’d do without him. But what did that mean?

  Lizard’s hand stole outward and his finger lightly touched Pup’s cheek. It was warm. Pup shifted. Lizard snatched his hand back as Pup’s eyes abruptly opened.

  "What’s wrong?" he said in a sleep-blurred voice.

  Lizard’s wits fled and he couldn’t answer. Pup blinked and woke up fully.

  "What’s going on?" he said.

  "I thought ..." Lizard stammered. His heart beat fast. "I mean ...it’s nothing."

  Pup gave him a long look that Lizard couldn’t interpret. "Okay. Good night." He turned over and lay still.

  Lizard swallowed hard. What had he been thinking? What had he been doing? There was no answer that made sense to him. Lizard turned his back to Pup and stared at the wall. So much was happening, changing so fast. He’d never get to sleep.

  He fell asleep.

  The wind was hot and dry, carrying the scent of dry vegetation and sun-baked rock. Overhead, a falcon screamed, a high, free sound. Under his feet, the earth was hot, sandy, and full of sharp stones, but in this place, his soles were hardened and impervious to such problems. He spread his arms to the wind, let it blow over him. This place was solid. This place was real. This place was—

Child.

  He had never heard human voices in this place. These should have startled him. But he felt no fear. He turned calmly. Half a dozen people, men and women, stood beside him. They were as naked as he was, their dark hair bleached brown by the sun.

  "Hello," he said.

Our time here is short, they said, and their mouths didn’t move when they spoke. The words appeared in his head and in his heart. And there are things you must know.

  "What are they?" he asked.

  A collective sense of shaking heads came over him. You must learn them on your own. We can only send you in the direction.

  "What direction is that?"

The one within you. Follow your own self. The mutants are forcing your body down a path strewn with death and pain, but your mind remains your own. Draw strength from us. We are the Real People, and you are part of us. The mutants can take that from you only if you let them.

  And they were gone. No track or broken blade of scrubby grass showed they had ever been there. The hot, cleansing breeze continued to blow, and the falcon called again. He turned to look up at the sky and saw a white canopy.

  Lizard awoke, muddled and confused. He was in the wrong place. There should have been a hot wind, sandy soil. Or a lumpy pallet and frog calls? Either way, it was wrong. Everything was soft and white, and the light was dim. He heard a strange bubbling noise. Then Lizard remembered where he was and sat up. Pup’s place in the bed was empty, and the bubbling sound was coming from the bathroom. Lizard got up and stretched. Thin streaks of sunlight striped the floor around the curtains, leaving the room dim. Cool air drifted from one of the vents, and the carpet was soft on Lizard’s bare feet. He pulled on a pair of shorts, knocked once on the bathroom door, and pushed it open. Pup was sitting up to his neck in the whirlpool bath, which bubbled with white water. The room was heavy with steam.

  "This is great!" Pup said. "You have to try it! Lots of room—come on in."

  "Not the shower?" Lizard asked. For the first time in his life, he realized—truly realized—that Pup was naked in the bath. Memories from last night stirred, and Lizard found himself drawing back with uncertainty. Pup gave no sign that he remembered the previous night, but still . . .

  "Already tried that, too," Pup grinned, and he was beautiful. Lizard swallowed. "You coming in or what?"

  "I’ll wait until you’re done," Lizard said, and splashed a handful of warm water at Pup’s head to cover his consternation. Pup retaliated with a great gout that soaked Lizard from chin to waist. Laughing, he wiped his face on his arm. "Now I don’t need a shower or a bath."

  A few moments later, they had both finished washing up—Lizard opted for the shower—and had gotten dressed. Lizard actually had to dress twice because Pup found outside the bedroom door another set of clothes in Lizard’s size. These were a long tunic and trousers in a pale yellow, with sandals similar to the type the managers wore. Pup watched him put them on in awe.

  "Y’see?" he breathed. "Light yellow, and the managers wear dark yellow. You’re almost at the same level they are."

  "I guess," said Lizard. He held out the wrist with the metal band still encircling it. "But only almost."

  "You think they’d assign you a body slave to, you know, lay out your clothes and stuff?" Pup asked tentatively. "Even someone who was a ...a mucker?"

  His eyes were so wide and his voice so hesitant, Lizard felt his throat thicken. His best friend thought it would be a privilege to wait on him? In a fit of emotion, he grabbed Pup in a rough hug. Pup didn’t immediately return the gesture and Lizard felt him stiffen for a moment before hugging clumsily back. Lizard let go.

  "Sorry," he mumbled.

  "It’s okay," Pup said in the same tone he had used last night. "Just startled me."

  "It’s just—I’d rather have a friend than a slave. But if they want me to have a body slave, you know I’d get you out of the muck." Lizard paused thoughtfully. "Unless you’d miss that frog girlfriend you’ve been seeing."

  Pup snorted. "Well, your ma’s waiting list is too long."

  Lizard aimed a mock punch at Pup’s head. Pup ducked, and everything was back to where it had been before.

  "Speaking of Mom," Lizard said, and knocked on the door connecting their rooms.

  Bell, it turned out, had herself just finished dressing. Her new tunic and trousers were identical to Lizard’s. A moment later, breakfast arrived. They wheeled the cart over to a wide window and drew aside the curtains to let in golden sunlight. They ate and talked. It was a happy meal. Lizard saw the lines on his mother’s face had smoothed a bit, and she appeared much more cheerful. For a moment, it felt like a Sunday morning back in Sydney, in the days when there had been five of them around the breakfast table. The change had come because they were Silent. Lizard looked at his mother and knew the same thing was on her mind.

  "Do you think ...?" Lizard asked.

  Bell sighed and set down her coffee mug. "I don’t know. We can only hope, I suppose."

  "What?" Pup said. "You hope what?"

  "That the rest of our family is Silent, too," Lizard said.

  "Oh."

  "Do you ever think about them, Mom?" Lizard said.

  "Every day," she said quietly. "Every night I talk to your father, even though he can’t hear me. And then I pray that your brother and sister are all right."

  The door opened and Mistress Blanc walked in. All three slaves shot to their feet but kept their eyes on the floor. Lizard caught a glimpse of green robe and thought he recognized it as the one she had been wearing the day she’d bought him and his mother from the slavers.

  "I’ve been thinking about what to do with you," she said. "My interplanetary communication is fairly extensive but it’s not enough to justify the cost of training and maintaining my own Silent, and certainly not two of them. Therefore, I’ve decided to put you both up for sale."

  The words slammed into Lizard like bullets. Every drop of blood drained from his face and the room swayed around him. Mistress Blanc’s voice seemed to come from a long distance. Then he was sitting on the floor with his head between his knees and no idea how he’d gotten there. His hands shook and his face felt numb. The silver-colored band around his wrist gleamed in the golden sunlight. Gradually he became aware of an arm around his shoulder.

  "It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. All life, everything’s okay. It’s okay."

  The voice was his mother’s. There was an edge to it, as if one wrong word might send her falling into hysteria. Lizard forced himself to breathe evenly. The room stopped spinning. Eventually he looked up. Mistress Blanc was gone. Pup and his mother were kneeling beside him. Her arm was around him. Lizard stared at the band on Bell’s wrist. Bell, not Rebecca. Lizard, not Evan.

  "It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay," Bell repeated.

  Lizard slowly got to his feet, assisted by Bell and Pup, who hadn’t spoken. The three of them stood in silence. After a while, Pup cleared his throat.

  "Mistress Blanc said you need to go downstairs soon so you can leave," he said. His eyes, blue as the sky, were bright with unshed tears, and Lizard knew he didn’t want to shed them where people could see.

  "She bought us together," Bell said, edge still in her voice. "She bought us together. Someone will buy us together. They’ll have to. They’ll have to."

  Tira appeared at the door, her steely eyes hard. "Mistress Blanc is waiting downstairs." Her tone, while polite, made it clear that even Silent slaves were still slaves who needed to obey the mistress.

  "We’re going, aren’t we?" Bell said. "All life, we’re going."

  She moved toward the door in a daze. Lizard’s mouth was dry and his hands were still shaking. He turned and looked at Pup, and suddenly the thought of leaving him was more than he could bear. All of a sudden there was so much to say. He grabbed Pup’s shoulders.

  "Pup," he said, "Pup, I—"

  Pup’s body went stiff and a guarded look came into his eyes. "You what?" he said. His voice was wary. Something twisted inside Lizard and the words changed on his tongue.

  "I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to ...to be a body slave," Lizard said. He backed up a step and shook Pup’s hand.

  "Yeah. I’m sorry too," Pup said. "Really, I am."

  Lizard nodded once, then turned and followed his mother out the door.