The Terrorists of Irustan (26 page)

Jin-Li stood up. “Hong Kong was a terrible place for women. Centuries ago, when no Chinese family was allowed more than one child, girl babies were killed just for being female. For generations afterward, there weren’t enough women to go around. In the upper classes, women became precious. In the streets . . .” Jin-Li shrugged. “Working women are constantly at risk.” “And so you chose not to be a woman.”

“At least I had a choice.”

Zahra’s lips curved. “I have a few choices.” She extended her hand with the disc in it, offering it to Jin-Li.

“Onani will never know where it came from,” Jin-Li said. “I swear to you.” She came to take the disc. They stood together, Zahra slightly taller, Jin-Li a little stockier. Their hands brushed and Zahra pulled hers swiftly away, then laughed again.

“Silly, isn’t it?” she said. “Habit.”

Jin-Li looked at Zahra in the darkness for a long moment before her long eyelids dropped, hooding her eyes. “I must go, let you rest. Thanks for this. It could be a big help.”

“Jin-Li,” Zahra said, as the longshoreman turned to go.

Jin-Li looked back at her.

“I—I have to tell you—whatever you find—I wish I could help you. If I could do more, I would.”

Jin-Li nodded. “I believe that, Zahra. And if 1 can do anything for you . . .”

Zahra said, “I don’t need anything. Thank you.”

Zahra led the way back down the dark hallway, out through the dispensary where moonlight shone in elongated rectangles on the tiles. Zahra unlocked the street door and held it open.

The longshoreman hesitated in the open doorway her eyes on Zahra’s face. She put out her hand, Earther-fashion. Zahra stared at it for a moment, then put her long fingers into it. Jin-Li shook Zahra’s hand, once, and let go of it slowly, reluctantly. Zahra’s palm felt cold and empty when it had gone.

Exhaustion overtook her all at once. She locked the door after Jin-Li, and trudged up the stairs to her bed. Ishi was sleeping soundly. Zahra slipped under her quilt. Her muscles ached, but her mind raced. She lay looking up into the scattered tiny moons, seeing Jin-Li’s features, her long dark eyes . . . feeling the strength of that muscular hand, warm and hard, holding hers.

twenty-nine

*   *   *

Judgment is in the hands of the One. Men of Imstan, see to your words as well as your deeds, to your hearts as well as your minds. The labor is long, but the Maker is bountiful.

—Ninth Homily,
The Book of the Second Prophet

S
ofi B’Neeli
was small, her bones fine and fragile, as her mother’s had been. Belen B’Neeli brought his daughter to the clinic with his mother, Sofi’s grandmother. Diya admitted them. B’Neeli, without speaking beyond stating their names, sat down on the couch to wait, his arms folded, his heavy chin sunk on his chest. Diya slouched in the doorway to the dispensary, bored, irritated at being in the clinic instead of at the office with Qadir. Lili sat silent and unmoving behind the reception desk.

Ishi escorted the little girl and her grandmother into the large surgery. Sofi was new to the veil, and Ishi smiled sympathetically at her struggle to peer through her rill, to see where she was walking, to see who was leading her.

Once the surgery door closed, Ishi unbuttoned her rill to show the child it was all right. Sofi’s grandmother left her own buttoned and made no move toward the child. Ishi waited a moment before she said, “Kira, the medicant will want to examine your granddaughter. She can take off her veil now.” Stiffly, the older woman moved to the exam bed to unbutton Sofi’s rill and verge. As the layers of silk fell away, Ishi saw that the child’s eyes were huge above a thin arching nose and pinched lips. She undid her own verge to reveal her smile. “Hello, Sofi,” she said. “I’m Ishi.”

The girl’s eyes slid to her grandmother for permission to speak. Ishi pressed her lips together, just as Zahra might have done. By the Prophet, the poor child was afraid to breathe! The grandmother sat on a stool by the door, her hands folded beneath her drape, her eyes cast down.

“Perhaps you’d rather wait in the dispensary, kira?” Ishi said to her.

The woman shook her head. “Belen wouldn’t like it.”

Ishi turned back to Sofi. “There’s not a single thing to be afraid of, Sofi,” she said. “See this machine? This is a medicator. It doesn’t hurt a bit, but it measures your blood and gives you some medicine to make certain you won’t get sick. Medicant IbSada will see you in a moment. I’m her apprentice.” Sofi’s enormous eyes followed Ishi as she reached for the master syrinx and patched it with gentle efficiency to the inside of the girl’s arm. The little click of the medicator broke the silence, and Sofi jumped. Ishi patted her shoulder. “It’s fine, Sofi, really.”

The girl shivered under her touch. Ishi frowned and withdrew her hand. The child was frightened half to death. “Now, Sofi,” Ishi said, smiling as warmly as she could. “You can lie back on this pillow and relax. The medicant is going to use this scanner”—she pointed—“to check you over. It doesn’t even touch you! So there’s nothing to worry about. All right?”

Sofi nodded. She still hadn’t spoken a word. Ishi took her hand. “I’ll just stand here beside you while the medicant does the scan. Would you like that?” Again, there was no answer.

Zahra came in a moment later. She, too, smiled and spoke quietly to the little girl, but received no response. As she ran the scanner over the length of the child’s body, one eye on the monitor, she spoke to the grandmother. “Do you take care of Sofi? Her meals, baths, so forth?”

“Yes. Since her mother died.”

Zahra’s eyes flickered, and met Ishi’s for the barest moment. “Does Sofi have a good appetite? She’s very thin.”

“She’s picky,” the older woman said sourly.

Sofis eyes followed the scanner as if it were some sort of weapon. Ishi squeezed the hand she still held, and was rewarded by feeling Sofi’s fingers tighten in hers.

“I’ll want her to take a supplement. I’ll send it home with you,” Zahra said. She frowned at the readout on the medicator, and swept the scanner back over the child. Ishi saw the look on her face, and glanced up at the monitor to see for herself.

“She’s been injured,” Zahra said.

Kira B’Neeli said nothing. Ishi, her heart full, looked down at the tiny, motherless girl. With her free hand, she stroked Sofi’s thin cheek.

*   *   *

Zahra had lain awake most of the preceding night, watching the moons tumble across the sky and debating with herself. The first time Maya had come to her, almost eight years ago, she had imagined herself frightening B’Neeli, threatening him with—what had it been? A laser cutter? She had longed to burst, armed and dangerous, into his presence. Then, she had been afire with anger, with righteous fury. The fire of her anger had cooled now, but her soul was forever marked by its flames. It had set deep in her bones like molten metal cooling and hardening. She felt as if she had become the laser cutter, rather than the one wielding it. Of course she could stop this, here and now. A tool could be used or it could be laid aside. Which would it be?

She had slept at last, and wakened undecided in the morning. Camilla believed she was going to do it. Zahra was not so certain. She looked over at Ishi, at her smooth face dewy with sleep, her hair scattered in rich brown strands across the pillow. How could the Maker create such beauty as resided in this girl, and yet tolerate the ugliness of a Belen B’Neeli?

B’Neeli’s latest victim now lay under her scanner. The monitor made no mistakes, but just the same, Zahra lifted the girl’s long skirts and ran her hand under each bony leg. The grandmother protested.

“What are you doing? Why are you doing that?”

Zahra shot a hard glance at the woman’s veiled face. She was aware of the harshness in her own voice as she said, “Sofi has serious bruising on her legs. Have you beaten her?”

The woman folded her arms and turned her head away. “No!”

“Well, then, it must be something else.”

The child trembled under Zahra’s hand. Zahra caught Ishi’s troubled glance, and looked away, back to the monitor.

She hadn’t needed to ask the question. She knew perfectly well what the readout meant. The medicator was already administering regen to heal bruises from external trauma. A broom, a long spoon, straps from a miner’s equipment. It didn’t matter, and she’d seen it before. What did matter was the opportunity it presented to her. The only obstacle was Ishi.

“Do you see that?” she said quietly to Ishi.

Ishi nodded without looking up. She smoothed wisps of Sofi’s hair back under her cap, and straightened the child’s skirts where Zahra had disturbed them. Zahra would have to justify her actions to Ishi, but her reasons were now hard-edged and clear as shards of glass.

“Come with me,” she said to the grandmother. The woman hesitated, and Zahra said it again in a voice that few could have disobeyed.

In the dispensary, Zahra signaled to Diya to come and stand beside her. He complied, but slowly, with an insolent stare. Had he always been so open about his dislike? Lately it seemed more overt than ever. Perhaps she should speak to Qadir—but there was no time to worry about that now.

“Diya, please tell this man that his daughter is having a special treatment just now, a treatment for the blood.”

The grandmother started. She looked at her son, and then quickly at the floor. B’Neeli’s face was impassive as Diya repeated Zahra’s words. Zahra went on, “Sofi’s legs are severely bruised. You and Sofi’s grandmother must have the treatment, and some tests. If it’s a genetic problem it will go in your records.” B’Neeli’s eyes widened blankly at that. Zahra said, with relish, “The directorate tracks all genetic abnormalities.”

Diya repeated everything. Belen B’Neeli began to understand that he was to receive some medical procedure. His face paled. He shoved himself roughly to his feet. “I’m not sick! There’s nothing wrong with me!” Fear made his voice quiver.

Diya turned to Zahra. “Kir B’Neeli says he is not ill.”

“That’s for me to decide,” Zahra said. “If he refuses treatment, I’ll have to report it to his director.” B’Neeli’s mouth opened, closed. Zahra nodded. “As soon as the medicator has finished with Sofi, bring this man into the large surgery, Diya. Lili will stay with Kira B’Neeli until it’s her turn.”

Zahra turned with a swirl of her medicant’s coat. Ishi and Sofi passed her in the hallway. By the time Diya ushered B’Neeli into the large surgery, she had retrieved one of the little vials marked
Dikeh
from the CA cabinet. It was simple to exchange it in the medicator for a canister of enzyme supplement. She patched a tiny syrinx to B’Neeli’s thick wrist and ordered the medicator to begin. She was unmoved by B’Neeli’s frightened face, his quick breathing and perspiring forehead. She offered no reassurance, nor did she put her hand on his shoulder as she might have with another patient. Diya sat in silence on his side of the dividing screen. Zahra watched as the viscous liquid was fed into the syrinx and through the dermis to be taken up by the bloodstream. There wasn’t much of it. It didn’t take long.

“Fine,” she said. It was done. Done. She felt even less than she had with Binya Maris, no more than a small, chill laugh deep in her body. “Diya, please send Lili in with Kira B’Neeli.”

When Diya and B’Neeli left the room, Zahra quickly extracted the vial from the medicator, ripped the little syrinx right out of the machine, and thrust both into a biowaste bag. When Lili and the grandmother came down the short hall and into the surgery, Zahra was scrubbing her hands up to the elbows.

Lili helped Kira B’Neeli to lie down on the exam bed, and Zahra patched a fresh syrinx to her wrist.

“What is it?” the woman begged her. “What is it Sofi has? That we might have?”

“A disease of the blood,” Zahra said coolly, and not, she thought, all that untruthfully. “It could be leukemia, or it could be some kind of deficiency. We’ll leave all that to the medicator. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“But what if . . .” The older woman hesitated, and Zahra heard the dryness in her throat as she spoke. “What if we don’t have this thing, but you’ve given us medicine for it?”

Zahra looked down at her. “If you don’t have a disease, kira,” she said, very slowly, “then why would little Sofi have those terrible bruises?”

The woman shuddered, a ripple of silken layers, and said nothing.

“You don’t trust your medicant?” Zahra asked.

The older woman muttered something Zahra couldn’t catch. She leaned closer, said, “What was that?”

She heard, “You’re not my medicant.”

“Ah.” Zahra spoke to the medicator, and the pump stopped its gentle click. She removed the syrinx from the woman’s wrist. “In that case, I’ll just send a message to your own medicant. Who is it, please?”

There was a long silence. Zahra lifted the woman to a sitting position. Lili stood rigid, her arms folded under her verge, staring at Kira B’Neeli. Her disapproval of such rudeness was clear, even through the layers of her veil.

Kira B’Neeli tossed her head in Lili’s direction. “Never mind,” she snapped. “Just never mind.” Her stiff legs were considerably quicker as she hurried out of the surgery.

Zahra let Ishi, Diya, and Lili see their patients off. She went to her office and shut the door, leaning against it with her eyes closed and her teeth clenched. She examined herself for many minutes, searching for regret, for guilt. She found only the memory of Maya, and of Sofi’s frightened eyes, the layers of new and old bruises on her thin legs. Perhaps, if the serum worked quickly enough, Sofi would survive her tortured childhood.

Zahra had taken a terrible chance, infecting another man on her patient list. Camilla had suggested they let Kalen do what she wanted to do, as a distraction, a decoy, but Zahra’s refusal had been firm. Only killers would be killed. She had said those very words, and Camilla had gripped her hand so hard it hurt.

A knock sounded on Zahra’s office door, and she moved behind her desk and sat down. “Yes?”

Ishi came in, unfastening her verge. “Zahra, what happened there? What did you see on the monitor?”

Zahra’s veil was already open, and she rubbed her face with her fingers. “I saw what you saw, Ishi,” she said with a sigh. “Bruises, welts, old and new ones. The child’s been whipped with something hard, and more than once.” “But you said . . . you told them it was a blood disease!” Ishi dropped into the other chair and leaned forward, her hands on the desk. “I’ve never heard you say anything untrue before!”

Zahra took one of Ishi’s hands in hers. “Well, my Ishi,” she said quietly. “I did say it was a genetic problem, didn’t I? And so it is. B’Neeli is beating his daughter, as he beat her mother. And I suspect the grandmother is doing the same, though I can’t prove it.”

“What medicine did you give them, then?” Ishi asked. Her cheeks flushed with amazement. Zahra shrugged.

“The medicator can always find some deficiency to treat,” she said, deliberately negotiating around the truth. “But I can tell you B’Neeli was as frightened as if he really had a blood disease.” She let go of Ishi’s hand and stood up, moving to the little window to gaze out at nothing.

“Listen, Ishi. On the very night you first came to me—to us—a young mother came to the clinic. She was eighteen. She had been beaten and kicked by her husband. She almost died.”

Zahra turned her head to meet Ishi’s eyes. “We live in a difficult world, my Ishi. I protested to Qadir, and made an official complaint, but Maya was only another girl in a world where girls are property, to be treated by their owners in whatever way the owners see fit. Three years later, when you were about eleven, Maya was beaten to death by the man who owned her. Her husband, Belen B’Neeli.”

Ishi gasped and her eyes filled. Zahra bent and took her hands in a firm grip.

“Don’t cry, Ishi,” she said in a hard voice. She had never used that voice with Ishi. “Don’t ever cry. It doesn’t help.”

Ishi held back the tears, her little pointed chin trembling. “I don’t want to be owned,” she choked.

“I don’t want that either. Nothing in the world matters more to me than you,” Zahra said. Her own throat ached suddenly. “I want your world—your Irustan—to be better than the one Maya B’Neeli knew. I want Sofi, and Rabi, and Alekos, and all of Laila’s and Idora’s children, to live in a better place than the one I was born into. But such societies as ours are slow to change. And many people suffer in the meantime, boys and girls, men and women. I’ve spent a good part of my life trying to hurry the changes along.”