The Terrorists of Irustan

by Louise Marley

  Jin-Li’s apartment faced west, over the port, but she felt the pressure of the city, the Akros, the Medah, at her back. Onani was right. Something was happening there. How had she become responsible for finding out what it was? She slammed her fist against the railing. Damn Onani. Damn Port Force.

  “Johnnie?” came from next door. “What’s on? Everything okay over there?”“Yes,” Jin-Li said, biting off the words, turning away from the audience of stars. “Everything’s fine. Just fine.”

  It didn’t take long to assimilate the information on the discs. Binya Maris had been a team leader, and the disc detailed his promotions, his record, one heroic episode in the mines when he saved a man from being crushed to death by a collapsing stope. The two directors’ records were comparable. Education, service in the mines, promotions, work records. Addresses, office and home, wavephone numbers. Their teachers, their supervisors, their employees. Numbers and names and dates.

  Jin-Li found it hard to concentrate. The questions raised by Onani tumbled through her mind like water foaming over the reservoir spillway. Instinct threatened to overcome logic; and Jin-Li avoided the conclusions of instinct by rereading the dry facts in front of her.

  On her third perusal it struck her. The numbers and accounts began at age eight, when the men’s formal schooling started. And there was not a single woman’s name anywhere. No wives, daughters, mothers, sisters, anahs. None.

  Jin-Li’s instinct flared. This was the connection. It had to be. It was the signal her intuition had tried to serve up, and she had almost succeeded in avoiding it. She turned off the reader and went back to stare up at the stars and the moons until her eyes were dazzled. Then she went back into the apartment, unclipped the wavephone, and dropped it on the closet floor.

  * * *

  Zahra hadn’t needed to tell Camilla about B’Neeli. She wondered why she had. It made her feel justified, somehow, as if she had confessed in advance and been absolved by the circle. Well, not the circle—just Camilla. Kalen’s hysteria, Idora’s tears, Laila’s nerves—these distracted Zahra from her purpose.

  She held Belen B’Neeli’s disc in her hand, turning it over and over in her fingers, and thought about her purpose. Was it, as she had once said, to change Irustan for the better, for the women and the children who would come after her? Or was it—she had to face the possibility—was it only that she could?

  No. If she did this, it would be because it needed doing.

  The disc slipped into the reader under the decisive flick of her fingers, and the medical details of B’Neeli’s life, his deceased wife’s and his young daughter’s, flashed on the screen.

  It was late when Zahra stood to massage her stiff back. She turned out the lights, guessing it must be nearly midnight. Everyone in the house would be asleep. Zahra took the disc out and put it away, not wanting Ishi to notice and remember it.

  Zahra went to the dispensary to turn out the lights and lock the door. She was startled to notice a Port Force cart parked at the corner. She lifted the curtain just a bit to see better.

  Instantly, the door of the cart opened, and someone got out. Zahra pulled back instinctively, reaching for her verge. Then she leaned forward once again, the cool glass close to her cheek. It was Jin-Li Chung. Had Jin-Li been waiting all this time, watching, hoping someone might be here?

  Jin-Li moved quickly and quietly up the walk, and Zahra opened the door. When the longshoreman was inside, she shut the door and turned the lock. “My office,” she murmured, and Jin-Li turned in that direction. In the darkness, Zahra followed.

  Not until the door to her office was locked did Zahra turn on a tiny lamp above her desk. It cast a dim halo over her reader and the empty whitewood surface. Zahra went to her usual chair, and Jin-Li Chung sat in the other chair, leaning forward.

  “Medicant,” Jin-Li began.

  “Zahra,” she reminded.

  Jin-Li’s narrow lips curved in a brief smile. “Zahra,” the Earther said, placing both hands, palms up, on the desk. “I have a problem.”

  Zahra looked at Jin-Li over her verge for a long moment, seeing that the Port Forceman’s long, dark eyes were reddened, cheeks shadowed with fatigue. “What’s wrong, Jin-Li?” she asked quietly. She unbuttoned her verge and let it fall.

  Jin-Li leaned back heavily. “I’ve been keeping a secret.”

  “I rather thought so,” Zahra said mildly. “Are you going to share it with me now?”

  Jin-Li nodded. “I thought you might be able to help me.”

  Zahra pulled her cap off her head. Her long hair tumbled free, and Jin-Li watched it fall with an odd expression. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened,” Zahra said, “and then we’ll see if I can help or not.”

  Jin-Li took off the flat Port Force cap and tossed it on the desk next to Zahra’s cap and veil. “I don’t want you to think I deliberately deceived you, Medicant. Zahra. It was never my intention.” Zahra waited in silence, and Jin-Li gave a deprecating chuckle. “But perhaps I didn’t deceive you.”

  Zahra smiled. “Perhaps not.”

  Jin-Li looked into the shadows beyond the hazy circle of light. Zahra saw the way the light gleamed along the longshoreman’s cheekbones and jaw, how the short brush of hair was almost invisible in the darkness. A strong face, even a beautiful one. Quietly, as if speaking to no one at all, Jin-Li began to speak.

  “On Earth—in China, where I grew up—things were very difficult for my family. My father was gone before I knew him, and my mother raised the three of us alone. In certain parts of Hong Kong any woman is in danger. My sister was raped in the streets, and died of AIDS. My brother died early, too, and there was no one but me and my mother. My mother worked so hard, too hard, but things never got better. I decided early that to be female meant to be weak, to be vulnerable.

  “I studied martial arts. Judo, ken-do, shito-ryu. I’ve wanted to travel offworld since I can remember, but without university it was out of the question. Except for Port Force.

  “When I applied to Port Force I read everything I could about all the colony planets, and chose Irustan as the most unusual. It fascinated me—the culture, the religion, the society—so organized, so structured. I wanted to be an archivist, but again—it was a question of education. I had very little money, only what I made teaching in the dojo. I spent it, all of it, on a bribe.”

  “A what?”

  “A bribe. A payment, to get someone to do something illegal for you.”

  “Ah.” Zahra was entranced by this glimpse into an aspect of Earth she knew nothing about. Where were the beautiful houses, the open universities, the abundant wealth that all the discs showed?

  “I bribed the med-ex who approved me for longshoreman duty. Bribed her to make one small error on my record.”

  “Gender?” Zahra asked.

  Jin-Li nodded. “Male, not female. I knew on Irustan women in Port Force were restricted to port grounds, while the men moved freely. I lived as a man in Hong Kong, for my own protection—and I thought I could do it here.”

  There was a long pause, and Zahra waited. She knew it must be very late, but she felt no weariness now. She was engrossed by Jin-Li’s tale. She almost forgot that Jin-Li must be in some sort of trouble, that she had come seeking help.

  Jin-Li folded her arms now and gave Zahra a rueful smile. “You’re not angry, then?”

  “No. Of course I’m not angry. Go on.”

  “It seems that Mr. Onani knows my secret. He hasn’t said so, but he’s pressuring me to find out things for him. Implying that he knows.” Jin-Li gave a bitter laugh. “My bribe to the med-ex wasn’t big enough, probably. She knew how to make more money off me than that.”

  “And what is it Mr. Onani wants?”

  Jin-Li leaned forward and spoke in clipped Port Force fashion. “Wants to know why three Irustani contracted the leptokis disease. Not convinced it’s the mines, or the water tunnels. Onani sent me out to Delta Team, and to the Medah, to find some connection.”

 
Barely aloud, Zahra asked, “What did you find?”

  “It’s what I didn’t find,” Jin-Li said. “I have their directorate records, all their statistics. But no woman’s name on any disc, no wife, mother, or sister. Has to mean something.”

  Zahra had to look away. The Port Forceman—woman—had been so frank, had told her so much. Zahra wasn’t free to respond in kind. Putting aside her own safety, there were Kalen and Camilla to consider, and Laila and Idora by association. But she was moved by Jin-Li’s need. And one cool part of her mind whispered that here was an opportunity. Perhaps they could help each other—although Jin-Li wouldn’t know how she was helping Zahra.

  “I need to produce something, anything, for Onani,” Jin-Li concluded. Her expression was bitter. “He can send me back to Earth, back to Hong Kong. I would lose all Port Force benefits, all income, all privileges. And when I got home, there would be no one who remembered me.”

  Zahra waited just a moment, making certain Jin-Li had finished. Then she said, “I did know your secret, Jin-Li, or guessed at it. I knew you were different from other offworlders, other Earthers I’ve met. Certainly you’re different from your general administrator, and from your Dr. Sullivan.”

  Zahra felt no sleepiness at all, as if it were the morning rather than midnight of a long, long day. But her eyes had grown gritty and dry, and she rubbed them with her fingers. She was thinking hard, making a decision. “I’m tiring you,” Jin-Li said hastily.

  Zahra leaned her chin on her hand and looked directly into Jin-Li’s eyes. She smiled and said, “It’s not often anyone worries about tiring me.”

  “I’m sorry to burden you, just the same.”

  Zahra laughed. She put her hands flat on the desk and pushed herself up. “So far, my new friend, you haven’t burdened me at all. A secret or two is nothing new for a medicant to carry about.” Zahra reached up to one of the shelves lining the room. From a box she took a sleeved disc.

  “I can give you a little information, Jin-Li,” she said carefully. “It won’t give you any answers. I think you already know that only one of the men who contracted the prion disease was on my clinic list, although I did two autopsies. But perhaps it will be enough to satisfy Mr. Onani. Perhaps you can convince him you’ve tried. He doesn’t seem to be an evil man—only one used to wielding his power.”

  Zahra turned the little disc over and over in her fingers. “Women on Irustan are not citizens,” she said. Even she could hear the edge in her voice. “Women are in a class by themselves. They are considered a constant temptation to an Irustani to stray from the path to Paradise. They’re not allowed to run businesses, handle money, or make any decisions about their own lives. You’ll find no information in any system except the medicant’s clinic, because—officially—women don’t exist.”

  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

  Sofi 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?