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return to your body, Mother Adept.”
    A dismissal. Ara bowed and knelt on the cushion. As she let go of the slave’s body, the Empress spoke again.
    “If you have trouble making this decision, Mother Adept,” she said, “think of this: what would happen if the general populace learned of a Silent who could control the unwilling and non-Silent?”
    Ara found herself back in her garden. The slight dizziness was accompanied by a terrible chill. The desire to return to her body was growing steadily, but that need didn’t shut out the Empress’s last words.
    What would happen...?
    Ara shivered. On most Confederation worlds, the Silent were either monks in the service of Irfan or slaves in the service of the Empress. On other worlds, the Silent were treated as potential threats and hunted down with ruthless efficiency. On still other worlds, the Silent were tolerated or even respected—as long as they kept their place. True, there were equally as many worlds on which the Silent were treated the same as other “normal” professionals, but even in these places, Ara always felt a measure of underlying mistrust.
    What would happen if the general populace learned of a Silent who could control the unwilling and non-Silent?
    Ara knew the answer. Riots. Witch hunts. Executions.
    It had happened before, had been happening since the time of Irfan Qasad. Ara had been lucky, and she knew it. On Bellerophon, Ara’s homeworld, Silence was considered a holy blessing, and most Silent ended up with the Children of Irfan. Their major striving was to train the Silent in the use of their gifts and to ensure that they followed ethical practices. Most stayed with the Children after completing their training. They taught or researched or administrated or performed the intersystem communication work that kept the order solvent.
    After the discovery of slipspace, they also recruited.
    Slipspace granted easy travel to non-Confederation worlds, letting the Children seek Silent who had been sold or were being persecuted or had remained ignorant of their gifts. Ara herself had bought and freed nearly three hundred slaves and outright stolen dozens of others.
    The tickle nudged her again. Ara was about to leave the Dream when something landed at her feet with a splat. It was a pear, one so rotten it had turned black. Several other dotted the ground.
    What in the world? Ara thought. She looked up at the tree above her. Every pear was rotting on the branch. So were the oranges in the other trees. She stared. The hunger to return to one’s body often interfered with the concentration necessary to hold a Dream world together, but she had never experienced anything like this.
    A roar boomed across the garden. Behind the wall rose a terrible monster with green skin and long fangs. It stepped over the wall with another roar and reached for Ara with a clawed hand.
    “Hello, Kendi,” she said amiably. “Did you do the pears, too?”
    The monster melted and vanished, leaving a wide-eyed koala bear in its place. Kendi emerged from behind a tree. He was wearing the linen shirt and trousers Ara usually conjured for him. The koala sniffed at the rotten pear.
    “Didn’t even faze you, huh?” Kendi said, reaching down to scratch the koala’s ears.
    “No. It was a good monster, though.” She nudged the pear with a toe. “Well?”
    Kendi looked down. “Not me. I noticed it earlier, though, and figured I’d better come back after my sister—” he gestured at the koala “—lead Gretch to the Rustic Silent.”
    Ara stared at the trees and concentrated. She expected sweet oranges and firm pears. This was her Dream, and by Irfan she would have them. Nothing happened.
    The ground dropped away. Ara lost her balance and fell several feet. Her breath slammed out of her lungs when she hit. The earth thundered beneath her and a thousand cracks tore the garden wall.
    “Kendi!” she shouted.
    “It isn’t me!” he yelled back. “What the hell is—”
    A pit