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yawned beneath him and he vanished with a shriek.
    “Kendi!” Ara lunged for him, but he had already disappeared. A brown blur of movement leaped into the darkness. A moment later, the falcon, grown impossibly large, rose on laboring wings from the pit. Kendi hung by one arm in her talons. The ground vibrated, and clumps of earth dropped into the depths. Ara grabbed Kendi’s free arm and helped the falcon haul him to solid ground. The moment his weight left her, the falcon flashed back to normal size and fled to the skies with a defiant scream. The earth continued to rock and rumble under their feet, making it a struggle to keep their balance.
    “We’ve got to get out of here,” Kendi gasped. Ugly welts and scratches marked his arm. Psychosomatic memory would carry them over into his real body. If he had fallen into the pit, his body would have perished with his mind.
    “Where’s Gretchen?” Ara asked. “Is she safe?”
    “She’s that way,” Kendi gestured. Gretchen’s exact location instantly came from Kendi’s mind into Ara’s, even though the words she “heard” were vague and imprecise. Quickly she grabbed Kendi’s wrist.
    “Mother, wait!”
    But Ara had already moved them both. A wooden deck popped into existence beneath them. Cool, crisp air washed over Ara, filling her nose with the scent of salt and sea. White sails creaked above them. Beside her, Kendi’s Dream form wavered like a bad hologram, then snapped into focus. He fell retching to hands and knees. Ara looked around. Although the ship was moving steadily up and down, everything looked stable. Kendi continued to retch.
    “You aren’t really sick,” she said. “It’s all in your head.”
    “Thanks for the sympathy,” Kendi said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.
    “What’s going on?” Gretchen asked. She stood behind them at the helm, the giant spoked wheel held loosely in her grip. Gretchen wore a pirate shirt and sailor’s cap, as did Ara and Kendi.
    “Are you all right?” Ara said.
    “Why shouldn’t I be?” Gretchen asked suspiciously. “I talked to some Silent on Rust, but they won’t say much. The Unity’s got them scared shitless. You aren’t checking up on me, are you? Because if you are—”
    The tickle to return suddenly blew into full-fledged need. It was worse than having an overfull bladder. Gretchen was all right. The rest could wait.
    “I’m leaving,” Ara said. “Get out of the Dream, both of you. That’s an order.” And she let go of the Dream.

CHAPTER THREE
    THE DREAM

The best spy hides in open day, where everyone can see.
    —Kethan Majir, Letters from Prison

    Kendi Weaver got to his feet, his stomach still lurching around his insides. His arm hurt, his drugs were wearing off, and he wanted nothing more than to call up hot, dry Outback. Gretchen’s mind pressed in on him, however, keeping the Dream ocean washing up and down beneath him. The motion worsened his nausea.
    “Let’s go, Gretch,” he said. “I’m about done in.”
    Gretchen caught sight of his arm and let go of the helm. “Jesus, what happened to you?”
    “I’ll explain on the ship, Gretch. I have to go.” And he released the Dream.
    Ship and ocean vanished, replaced by gray ceramic walls and a red spear under his knee. He disentangled himself and sank down to the narrow bed. Angry red scratches ran down his arm, and bruises were already forming. His shoulder was stiff, and faint pangs of nausea still oozed through his stomach. No matter how hard he tried, Kendi still couldn’t master instantaneous movement through the Dream. The abrupt change from one world to another was just too much.
    Another small wave of nausea. Kendi took deep breaths until the feeling passed. Both the nausea and his injuries were in his head. If he could keep his Dream and waking selves more separate, as Ara was fond of reminding him, his mind would stop creating counterparts to injuries he sustained in the Dream. Most Silent only