Lili bent to the floor to retrieve Mayas veil, smoothing it with her fingers, shaking out the wrinkles. She cast a wary glance at the locked door to the dispensary.
Zahra gave a short laugh. “Oh, yes, Lili,” she said. “The husband, B’Neeli, spent the night there. No coffee for him, mind you! We’ll just leave him on his own for a while.” She felt her mouth pull down, her lips thinning, and she supposed it made her look just like Nura, her teacher. Nura had never spoken of her feelings, but Zahra had read her teacher’s emotions as clearly as she interpreted the swiftly changing digits on the monitor. A brief, familiar surge of grief filled Zahra’s breast. She suppressed it, sighing and rubbing her tired eyes.
Quietly, hoping her patient might sleep a bit longer, she asked, “Has the director had his breakfast?”
“He’s having it now, Medicant.”
“Ah.” Zahra stood, straightened slowly and massaged her back where it had grown stiff against the thin cushion of the bed. Lili handed her veil to her. Zahra pulled it carelessly over her tumbled hair, but Lili clucked and tugged at it, tucking in errant strands, straightening the cap. Zahra buttoned the drape, but left rill and verge dangling. “I’m going to talk to Qadir,” she said. “At least wash your face,” the anah murmured.
Zahra glanced in the reflection of the monitor and saw that, indeed, she needed a wash, an entire shower for all that, but there was no time now. Qadir would be leaving any moment. She splashed a little water over her eyes, and drops flew across her veil, leaving a trail of spots. Impatiently, she twitched it out of the way. “Damn thing,” she muttered.
“Medicant!” Lili hissed.
“Yes, I know, Lili, sorry. Listen, will you stay with—um, her name’s Maya B’Neeli. We’ll need to transfer this family to my list. Will you sit with her until I come back?”
“Of course.” Lili, accustomed to such duties, brought Asa’s chair from the other side of the screen and sat down.
“Oh!” Zahra exclaimed, remembering. “I forgot Ishi!”
Lili straightened her skirts. “Oh, that one,” she said. “Well, Medicant, she was all for following me down here, to start her apprenticeship this very morning! She was none too pleased to have missed the emergency.”
Zahra was glad of a reason to smile. “Truly? She wanted to come here?” “Oh, yes. But I didn’t know—it could have been anything. I sent her off with Cook to sit with the director at breakfast.”
Zahra sobered, and looked down at Maya’s pallid face, her body bulky with dressings beneath the blanket. “That was a good decision. She’ll have time enough for the hard ones. Nura never allowed me to watch a surgery until I was a bit older.” She checked the buttons of her medicant’s coat, still having nothing but her nightshift beneath it. “Some girls, at least,” she grumbled softly, “might be allowed their childhood.”
Lili folded her arms. Zahra couldn’t see her mouth, but she knew by the narrowing of Lili’s eyes the stubborn lines that would be pulling at her plain face. “Every sacrifice is a leg oj the sacred journey,” Lili quoted.
Zahra wanted to say something cutting, but she thought better of it. She had chafed Lili enough this morning. She checked the monitor once more, and rested her fingers on Maya’s cool forehead. She liked direct contact with her patients. Nura had, too. Nura had seemed to transmit her own strength through her worn fingers. The medicator dispensed miracles through its syrinxes, but there was no drug that could supply what Maya needed. Zahra looked at the locked dispensary door, and her fingers curled, remembering the laser cutter.
Abruptly she repeated, “I must talk to Qadir.” She left the clinic, fastening her verge as she went. Her rill fluttered behind her as she walked briskly impatiently, toward the dayroom.
* * *
Qadir stared at her with eyes gone cold and dark in the mask of his face.
“Diya,” he snapped.
“Yes, Director.” The secretary came to Qadir’s elbow instantly. He was a slight man with thick lips and oily brown hair. His eyes slid to Zahra’s and away, not quite smiling.
Qadir said, “Call Cook, and tell her to take Ishi into the kitchen to finish her breakfast.”
His orders were followed without delay. Cook came for Ishi, and the girl went off with her, casting her eyes back over her shoulder at Zahra. Zahra stood as if hewn from the very rock of the mines as the door closed behind them. Diya resumed his post by the door, eyes carefully fixed on the floor, ears fairly twitching with interest.
Qadir clicked the base of his fork against the table, little impatient taps. “Zahra, why do you ask me such things?” he demanded. “What an example to set for the child!”
Zahra felt her cheeks flame beneath her verge, and was glad, for once, that she had it on. Qadir would think she was ashamed.
“Qadir,” she began, and then glanced at Diya. “Qadir, can we talk alone? Please?”
Qadir stilled the tapping of his fork. Deliberately, he folded his arms, and then tilted his head to look up at her. The morning light reflected on the bare skin of his scalp and the deep lines around his mouth and his eyes. “No,” he said. “In matters of your practice, we rely on the Book for answers. Privacy is irrelevant.”
“Please, Qadir,” Zahra repeated. She tried to look penitent, placating. For Maya’s sake. “This girl—she’s so young, and there’s a baby at home.”
“A son?”
“No, it’s a girl. But, Qadir, he kicked her with his boots on! He broke her rib and it ruptured—”
Qadir slammed his fork down, making his plate jump. Coffee sloshed from his cup. “You forget yourself!” he snapped. “Would you insult me with your female practices? Are you married to a woman, now, set by the Maker to deal with such things?”
Zahra sucked in her breath. The verge over her mouth clung to her lips, and she slowly blew it out again. Careful. She must be careful.
Very deliberately, she raised her head to meet Qadir’s eyes. “Chief Director,” she said. Her voice trembled slightly. Would Qadir think he had frightened her? “I, Medicant IbSada, would like to lodge a protest with the directorate as regards the treatment of one Maya B’Neeli by her husband.” “Diya, send a message for the medicant,” Qadir said coldly. “Add it to her other protests. You may go and do that now.”
“Thank you, Chief Director,” Zahra said evenly. She heard Diya cross the room, and close the door behind him.
Qadir pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. His hands were relaxed now on the table, and his eyes held hers for a long moment. Then he began to smile. “Now, now, Zahra,” he chided. “Was all that necessary?”
For answer, Zahra lifted her rill across her eyes and deftly buttoned it. Qadir sighed. “I have real problems to deal with, Zahra, that go much deeper than the marital troubles of one couple. Pi Team is going to punish a thief today. I have to muster an audience, make it count for something.” Zahra said softly, “So a thief is going to lose his hand. What if Maya B’Neeli’s daughter loses her mother?”
Qadir shook his head. “Zahra, Zahra.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Come now, you know the law as well as anyone.” He came close to her and ran his hand down her back, smoothing the folds of her drape. “You are, after all,” he said softly, “the smartest of all women. My clever little medicant, Irustan’s best medicant! The Maker knew in whose hands to place you!”
Zahra stood without moving, suppressing a faint shudder as his hand passed over her. He patted her familiarly. She wanted to shriek at him. She almost groaned with the effort of controlling herself. It seemed he might even reach beneath her veil, but a light tap on the door signaled Diya’s return. “Chief Director, the husband of the medicant’s patient wants to take her home.” Diya stood waiting, his eyes on Qadir as if Zahra were not in the room. Zahra ground her teeth in fury.
Qadir’s anger was spent. He lifted his hand to Zahra. “We must ask the medicant,” he said. “The patient is hers.”
“She’s had ...” Zahra stopped herself. They didn’t want to know
what Maya’s treatment had been, or how ill she was. They only wanted an answer, so that they could go about their business. Real business. “She can’t go home for at least another day,” she finished.
Qadir nodded to Diya. “You heard the medicant,” he said. “Tell the husband to go home, and come back tomorrow.”
Diya cleared his throat. “Um—he—this B’Neeli—insists he can take care of his wife at home.”
Qadir frowned and turned away. “Well, then. If he insists, then he takes her, that’s all there is to it. I can’t force him.”
“Qadir!” Zahra cried. “He can’t—she cannot go home yet!”
He stepped to the table to pick up a slim, Earth-leather case. He snapped it shut with a decisive snick of metal against metal. “Do I need to quote the Book to you, Zahra?”
“She could die, Qadir!”
Qadir tucked the case under his arm, finished his coffee in a long swallow, and set his cup down. “Zahra,” he said edgily. “If the rhodium doesn’t get mined, the ships will stop coming. I don’t want my people subsisting on olives and psar. I have one crisis after another in the mines and the offices, and I can’t spend energy on one clerk and his wife! That’s your job.” He nodded again to Diya. “Get the car, will you?”
The matter was closed.
Zahra spun about in an untidy cloud of veil, and stalked out. She slammed the door to the dayroom, and again the door of the surgery. Lili looked up, alarmed, at her noisy entrance.
“Lili, go to Ishi. She’s with Cook. I’ll come when I can.”
Lili stood. “Are you all right, Medicant?”
“Tired, but that doesn’t matter.” Zahra was opening the pharmaceuticals cabinet, stuffing things into a paper bag. “Maya’s husband insists on taking her home today.”
“Ah,” was all Lili said.
Maya stirred and mumbled something. Zahra paused, and went to check the monitor.
Lili sighed from behind her veil. She bent over the girl on the bed and smoothed her blanket as she whispered, “Another leg, sister. Just another leg of the journey.”
To Zahra she said, “Just think what would have happened to this girl if the Maker had not provided you, Medicant. Who else could have done what needed doing? Praise to the One whose face is never veiled!”
It was true enough. Who else, with Nura gone, did surgical procedures? Irustani medicants operated medicators. Port Force, of course, had doctors. Not Irustan.
Zahra began to swear under her breath. She cursed long and fluently, curses she had learned from suffering men patients, from boys injured in the mines, from the occasional offworlder. She consigned B’Neeli to the depths of hell, to an unending nightmare of work in the mines, to the vacuum of space, to the endless, trackless deserts that circled the planet, to the burning heart of the star. All the while her hands were busy, packing medicines, fresh bandages. Would they do any good?
Asa came to accompany her into the dispensary. B’Neeli lay on the long, low couch, the cushion from a chair under his head. He opened bleary eyes when they came in. He was heavyset, and came to his feet with difficulty when Asa spoke his name.
“The medicant is sending home some things for your wife,” Asa said carefully, indicating but not touching the carefully wrapped package in Zahras hands. “The medicant says your wife should rest, and use the—the items according to the instructions. The medicant has asked that your wife be allowed to rest for fifteen days, and be free of all her duties for another fifteen after that.”
B’Neeli squinted at Asa. Neither of them looked at Zahra at all. “Thirty days?” the heavy man grunted.
“This is what the medicant has recommended.” B’Neeli made a disgusted noise, bending to pick up his flat cap from the couch and put it on. Zahra put the package within his reach, but he ignored it. He turned as if to leave.
“Excuse me, Kir B’Neeli, there’s one more thing.” Asa held out a wavephone. “The medicant says your wife must not ride a cycle until she resumes her normal activities.”
“And is the medicant going to pay for a hired car?” B’Neeli growled.
Zahra scowled at him and muttered to Asa, “Tell this man 1 won’t permit his wife to leave unless he calls for a car.”
Asa repeated her words.
Sullenly, B’Neeli took the phone. Its tiny rhodium antenna quivered as he tapped the number and then spoke in a low voice. When he was finished, he handed the phone back to Asa and turned away. He stood with his arms folded, staring out into the morning glare. Zahra was certain that he would have piled Maya onto a cycle without a thought. She snatched up the parcel of medicines and went back into the surgery.
She found Maya groggily looking about her. “How do you feel?” she asked.
The girl looked down at her arm, where the syrinx was still supplying her with medicine. “I don’t feel much,” she said. “But I guess I will when that’s gone.”
“I’ve prepared a packet with the same pain medicine and regenerators the medicator is giving you. I wrote the instructions down. . . ."
Maya simply shook her head,
“Is there anyone to read them to you?”
Maya shook her head again. It was pointless to ask B’Neeli to read them to her. He wouldn’t do it, maybe couldn’t do it. In any case, the Second Prophet had said he shouldn’t.
An Irustani works the mines; the care of the body is his wife’s portion.
—Eleventh Homily, The Book of the Second Prophet
Zahra sighed. “All right, then, Maya, I’m going to tell you what to do. Can you remember?”
In detail, and at length, Zahra outlined the use of the pills and the ointment that would speed the healing of the surgical wound. She said everything twice. When she was done, she went into the storage closet for the wheeled chair, and helped Maya into it. She assisted her with her veil, buttoning the layers. When they went out into the dispensary, she could see that a hired car waited at the corner of the narrow street. The package of medicines she placed in Maya’s lap, and the girl’s white fingers clutched it.
Zahra watched from the window as B’Neeli lifted Maya’s veiled figure from the wheeled chair and settled her onto the wide seat of the passenger compartment of the hired car. He shut the door and got in next to the driver before they pulled away, turning toward the Medah, the heart of the city, where vendors and tradesmen and clerks and laborers lived. Asa limped out to retrieve the chair. Zahra leaned her forehead against the window, watching the car disappear.
“Can I do anything else for you, Medicant?” Asa asked.
“No,” she replied.
Asa replaced the chair, and went into the house while Zahra set about putting the clinic to rights.
She was about to leave the dispensary, to go back to her room for a shower and a change of clothes, when the bell beside the outer door rang. Zahra glanced about her. Asa had gone, and Lili was with Ishi. She was alone. “Damn!” she said softly.
Beyond the sheer curtains that masked the waiting room from the street, she saw that a Port Force cart was drawn up in front of the clinic. It was the driver ringing the bell. She needed her delivery, too, since the medicator had run out of accelerant three days before. Miners would be coming for their inhalation therapy, and the accelerated protease was the most essential part of that. It was hard enough to get them to come without asking them to reschedule.
Exhaustion dragged at Zahra’s body. Her arms and legs felt heavy, as if she were walking through deep water, and her thoughts fumbled wearily around the problem. “Damn,” she said again. She buttoned her rill, then went to the door and opened it just enough to see the man on the doorstep.
“Morning,” was the cheerful greeting of the man on the step. “Medicant IbSada? Longshoreman Chung, Port Force. Stuff for your surgery in my cart.” He touched his heart politely.
The man was almost exactly Zahra’s height, with square slender shoulders and lean, bare legs. His hair was cropped into a glistening black brush beneath his beige cap.
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“I’m sorry,” she said, “I have a problem.”
“No escort, Medicant?”
Zahra lifted her brows in surprise. No Port Forceman she had met before had been conversant with Irustani custom. This one had not only observed the formal greeting, but instantly appreciated her situation.
“Exactly,” she said, observing the man more closely through her veil. He pulled off the wide dark glasses all the Earthers wore, and she saw that his eyes were long and narrow, a deep brown beneath a sleepy epicanthic fold.
“Easy,” he said. His voice was light and rather pleasant, she thought, much like the voices of the young miners who came to see her, the ones still in their teens. This Chung looked older than that, though, closer to her own age. Traceries of lines followed the folds of his eyelids, exaggerating their sleepy quality. When he smiled, the lines deepened.
Zahra caught herself wandering, and tried to focus her weary mind on the difficulty. “I beg your pardon? What did you say?”
Chung held up a hand. “It’s easy, Medicant. I’ll bring the stuff in,” he said quickly. “No help needed. Don’t go, though, wait in your surgery, and when I’m done I’ll call. CA barrels here, need refrigeration right away.”
“Thank you, Kir Chung,” Zahra said. She was too tired to think of another solution. She swung the door wide, and stepped back out of the light as the Port Forceman turned to his cart.
Zahra went into the small surgery as the longshoreman had suggested, and closed the door behind her. The exam bed was freshly made, and she sat on its edge, looking down at the white, smooth pillow. Perhaps if she lay down for just a moment ... it would be cool against her cheek. What a blessing this polite, remarkable longshoreman turned out to be . . . she could just undo her veil, close her eyes for a bit, only a few moments . . . “Medicant?”
Zahra startled awake at the light tap on the door of the surgery. She sat up quickly, alarm flooding her, but the Port Forceman—Chung—didn’t offer to open the door. He called again, softly, but clearly. He was being careful not to attract anyone else’s attention. When had a Port Forceman ever been so considerate? More often, they caused terrible trouble for the medicants or any other Irustani women they encountered.
The Terrorists of Irustan Page 4
