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He ground his teeth. In the days before the Despair, another Child of Irfan would have entered the Dream to whisper into this man's mind. If the man had any inclination toward granting Kendi and Harenn an audience with his managerial majesty, the whisper would magnify it and make Kendi's job easy. But nowadays very few Silent could even enter the Dream, let alone reach out of from it. Even before the Despair, Kendi had never been good at reaching out or at whispering. Ben hadn't yet learned. Kendi would have to rely on his own powers of persuasion.
      The man resisted, and Kendi continued to work at him. His instincts told him offering a bribe wouldn't be effective, so he continued with a non-stop flow of persuasive talk while Harenn looked on. Eventually the man reluctantly led them to a tastefully-furnished waiting room with the curt promise that he would check with Mr. Markovi.
      They waited over an hour. Harenn sat like a statue the entire time. Kendi knew she was in agony, but he didn't dare speak to her--the waiting area was probably bugged. Finally the man returned.
      "Mr. Markovi has agreed to see you," he said with a certain amount of surprise in his voice.
      He ushered them into a large, airy office. A blond man with a prominent chin waited behind a castle-sized desk against a bank of windows. A potted cacao tree blocked some of the sunshine streaming in through the glass. The man's tunic was edged with silver, and he forced Harenn and Kendi to reach across the huge expanse of his desk to shake hands. His grip was iron-hard. Kendi gave a mental sigh. The negotiations were going to be rough.
      "I'm Douglas Markovi," said the blond man. "What's this about? The computer said you were asking about one of my hands."
      "Hands," not "slaves," Kendi noted. As if those people-- those children -- out there were interviewed and hired . He decided to try the direct approach.
      "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."
      Despite the fact that you give all of them your last name , Kendi growled silently. "Unfortunately," he said aloud, "Jerry is not actually a slave."
      "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