Dreamer by Steven Harper

parts of her body from elbows and knees of passers-by. One of the disadvantages of being short was that people tended to run over you if you weren’t careful. It was also damned difficult to get a good look at faces without standing on tiptoe.
    Her implant flashed for her attention. Ara jerked her head to the right, and her implant drew a red outline around a figure just up the street. She caught her breath. Facial features, eyes, hair. He was even slouching against a wall like Kendi had reported. Ara tapped her earpiece.
    “I’ve found our friend,” she subvocalized. “I’m looking right at him.”
    “Where are you, Mother?” Pitr’s voice replied in her ear.
    Ara looked around. She had no idea. There were no street signs or landmarks. “Not sure. There are a lot of people selling clothes and cloth around here, and I just passed several electronics merchants. I saw a statue of the Premier a while ago.”
    “Hold on,” Pitr said. “Let me link up with Ben so we can figure out where everyone is.”
    “I was just down where you are now, Mother,” Trish piped up. “You’re about four blocks from the red light district. I can be there in twenty minutes, if the crowd lets me.”
    “I’ve got you all triangulated,” Ben’s voice broke in from the ship. “Gretchen’s closest. Go to your ocular implant, Gretchen, and I’ll overlay directions for you.”
    Brief pause.
    “Got ‘em” Gretchen said. “Give me ten minutes.”
    “Hold it,” Ara said. “He’s moving. Stay linked everyone.”
    The boy meandered down the street, hands in his ragged pockets. Ara dodged around an old man with a basket and hurried after him. Her lips pursed with determination. She wasn’t going to let him out of her sight no matter what.
    “You’re moving south, Mother,” Ben reported. “Gretchen, you’re coming in from the east. If you hurry, you might be able to get on the street ahead of him.”
    “Dammit!” Gretchen snarled. Ara winced and put a hand to her ear. “One of those passenger bikes collided with a wheelbarrow. A crowd is gathering and I can’t get through.”
    Ara twisted and ducked her way through the crowd and up the street. The boy had long legs, and his casual saunter was Ara’s brisk trot.
    “You’re almost at the edge of the market, Mother,” Ben said. “You should be seeing regular streets soon.”
    Ben was right. Up ahead, Ara made out ground cars zipping through an intersection. The boy reached the corner and stopped there. He took up his customary slouch against a wall. Ara halted as well and scrutinized the boy more closely. No electronic shackles clamped his wrists or ankles and he wore no collar around his neck. Ara cursed silently. Unless his master was extremely permissive, the boy was free. He would have to be persuaded, not bought.
    A pair of guard marched by and Ara faded back. The boy seemed to ignore them completely, but she saw he was watching them from under half-closed eyes.
    Ara tried to think. How should she approach him? She didn’t want to frighten him off, but she didn’t want to lose him, either. Two tiny transmitters nestled in her pocket and she could probably plant one by “accidentally” bumping into him. On the other hand, if he figured out what she was doing, it would probably destroy all hope of a working relationship. Maybe she should just try to strike up a conversation. But how?
    Ara sighed. It was so much easier to do this in a slave market. You pointed, paid, and took the person home. It took a while to convince some slaves that the Children of Irfan were actually setting them free, but all in all it wasn’t that hard.
    And how would Irfan have viewed this? she thought tartly. A Mother Adept whining to herself that the job will take some effort.
    Chastised, Ara decided to simply watch the boy for a while to see if she could gain any clues about how to approach him. It would also give Gretchen and the others time to catch up.
    A long, dark ground car drove