“But why?” Kalen insisted. She leaned forward in her chair, tense as a tightly strung wire.
“Why do it, or why shut you out?” Zahra asked.
“You know what I mean!” Kalen snapped.
Zahra folded her arms and regarded Kalen for several moments. “If you can refrain from bragging, my old friend, you may escape the cells,” she said coolly. Kalen’s cheeks went as red as if she had been slapped. Idora’s tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. Laila, white and silent, looked down at her hands twisted together in her lap.
Zahra took a deep breath. She had planned what she had to say. She knew it wouldn’t be easy.
“My sisters,” she began softly. “We’ve each had very good reasons for everything we’ve done. But there’s no point in all of us being at risk.”
“Zahra!” Camilla breathed. “You’re not going to take responsibility for all of it!”
“I am,” Zahra said simply. “Kalen couldn’t have done anything, you couldn’t have done anything, unless I made it possible. The power was mine, the responsibility is mine. I knew what I was doing. And I knew the risks.” Kalen was speechless for once, her mouth open, her freckles standing out against her flaming cheeks. Camilla spoke for them both. “But we practically forced you! We’ll stand together in this, as in everything!”
Idora sobbed, “What are you talking about? Why are you saying these things? No one’s going to find out, no one needs to know!” Her nose began to run and she wiped it with her drape.
An emotion very like grief gushed through Zahra. She quelled it with an iron will. “If we’re very, very lucky, Idora,” she said, “no one will find out. You can pray to the One that it might be so.
“Listen. This was always about the children, our children, the children of Irustan. Belen B’Neeli’s little daughter came to the clinic, and she has scars and bruises on her legs, the marks of whippings, old ones smothered by new ones. I couldn’t bear to see it. I couldn’t bear to let it go on—to let him win.” Her eyes strayed to where Ishi and Rabi sat together with the anahs. She added, almost to herself, “And I had the power. It was right there, under my hand. I was able to do it, I wanted to do it.” A small, humorless chuckle. “So I did.”
Laila had said nothing yet. Now, her lips trembling in her small face, she said, “I think Samir suspects you, Zahra.”
“Oh, Prophet,” Camilla whispered.
Zahra leaned back in her chair. “Why do you think so, Laila?” she said. She was surprised at how even her voice was, how cool she felt, as if she weren’t really involved.
“He said . . .” Laila had to take a breath, her hand to her throat, before she could go on. “It was late, and he couldn’t sleep, and he said something was bothering him, something about an odd visit from one of the Port Forcemen. A longshoreman. He said he didn’t think about it at the time, but this man was asking questions, strange questions, and then the word came that Belen B’Neeli had died.”
“What else, Laila?” Camilla asked. Her eyes met Zahra’s, and for the first time, there was real fear in them.
“He said he felt sorry for you, Zahra,” Laila said in a breathless rush. “Because two of the men were on your clinic list, because you had to—look at them—when they were dead. Then he began to wonder, about why two were your patients, and why you were willing to do the ... to look at them ...”
There was a pause, and Laila’s eyes flickered from one to another of the circle. “Then he said, suppose someone could do this on purpose? Someone who knew how? Like a medicant.”
A chill silence settled over the five women. Camilla and Zahra stared at each other.
Kalen exclaimed, “We’ll have to take care of Samir, then! I’ll do it! You’ll have to let me do it!”
Laila cried out, wordlessly, and jumped to her feet. The rest of the dayroom fell silent, as every face turned to stare at the circle. Camilla forced a laugh, calling to the anahs, “Never mind! Never mind, all of you. Laila stubbed her toe.”
Gradually, the chatter resumed on the other side of the room. Laila stood before Kalen. Even seated, Kalen was almost as tall as she. Laila leaned close and hissed, “You listen to me, Kalen IhMullah.” Tiny drops of her spittle flew onto Kalen’s hot cheeks. “Listen to every word. If you kill Samir, you’ll have to kill me first. I swear it on my children’s lives.”
Zahra felt a wave of nausea. “No,” she said. “No. All of you, stop it!”
Laila turned on her. “I mean it, Zahra,” she said. Her piping, little-girl voice was as flat and serious as Zahra had ever heard it. “No one threatens Samir.”
“Of course not, Laila,” Zahra said. She held out both her hands, and Laila seized them with grateful intensity. “Now sit down, Laila. Listen to me. Kalen, Idora, Camilla. Listen.
“I’ve spent most of the night thinking this through. It may be that nothing will happen, that no one will figure it out. But if they do, what’s the point of more than one of us paying the price? You have children to think of, every one of you!”
“But you have Ishi,” Camilla said.
Zahra’s throat closed at that. She swallowed. She had already decided not to tell them about Diya. Not even Camilla. This last deed was to be hers alone. “Yes,” she said. “But I have almost finished training Ishi. And this was all about Ishi, anyway. About the women, and the children. About Irustan.”
“What about Qadir?” Camilla asked.
Zahra leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know about Qadir.”
* * *
Jin-Li didn’t sleep well that night. The cart, loaded and locked, waited in the parking area. Early the next morning, when the business of Irustan resumed after the Doma Day break, Jin-Li drove straight to the offices of the port director. The clerk at the reception desk said Director Hilel was out.
“Oh,” Jin-Li said, feeling slow with fatigue and worry. “Is there someone else, then, someone with a manifest? I have medical materiel . . . the shuttle ...”
The clerk said, in a confiding tone, “You know, Kir Chung, I think something’s going on. Director IbSada came to see Director Hilel, and they both went off to the port terminal! It’s very strange, don’t you think?”
Jin-Li stared at the man, mouth going dry, heart beating fast. “The port terminal?”
Another man came down the curving stairway from the upper floor. “Is that the longshoreman?” he called to the clerk at the desk. “I have a manifest for him.” He handed a little reader to the clerk to pass to Jin-Li. “I’m Director Hilel’s secretary. Could you look that over before you leave? The director didn’t have time to finish. Administrator Onani interrupted him. I did my best.”
“Onani,” Jin-Li repeated, looking at the reader without seeing it.
“Yes,” the man said. “Is something wrong with the manifest?”
Jin-Li scrolled quickly through the list of materiel and destinations. “No, no, it’s fine. Thank you, kir.”
His job accomplished, the secretary dropped his voice, as the clerk had done. “Listen, do you know anything about what’s happening? Both directors looked pretty worried. But they didn’t say anything. Not where I could hear.” Jin-Li could only shrug, and say through dry lips, “I’m just a longshoreman. Onani’s business has nothing to do with me.”
A long day stretched ahead, driving back and forth through the baking streets of the city, unloading, checking off, being polite to escorts. The cart was full of barrels and biobags and cartons and CA bottles, but there was nothing for Medicant IbSada. There was no excuse to visit the clinic behind Chief Director IbSada’s house. Jin-Li could only wait, and worry.
thirty-five
* * *
Pray, give alms, provide for your families. Leave all other concerns to the bountiful Maker, the all-seeing One.
—Fifth Homily, The Book of the Second Prophet
Qadir sent his car for Zahra in the middle of the day. Diya waited with arms folded, face dour, as Za
hra finished with a patient. When she was free, she removed her medicant’s coat and handed it to Lili. “What is it this time?” she asked impatiently. “Surely Qadir knows I have work to do.” Diya’s thick lips pursed as if he had tasted something bad. “I suppose he thinks your duty to your husband comes first.”
Zahra paused as she was buttoning her rill and looked directly into Diya’s pale eyes. Her lips curved, just a little. His eyes flickered and slid away from hers to the door. “The chief director’s waiting, Medicant. And Administrator Onani.”
Zahra gave some instructions to Ishi and to Asa. Ishi frowned. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, her head turned so Diya couldn’t hear. “What more can they want from you?”
“I don’t know yet, my Ishi,” Zahra murmured. “But I’m relying on you here. You can manage, can’t you?”
“Of course I can manage.” Ishi shot Diya a look of loathing. “But we do have a full schedule,” she said loudly.
Diya sniffed. Ishi tossed her head, making him frown at her. He looked particularly greasy, as if he had missed his shower today. Or maybe, Zahra thought, it’s just his nature to be filthy. She stalked out of the clinic, several steps ahead of him, forcing him to hurry to open the car door for her. She slid onto the seat without looking at him. They didn’t speak during the short drive to the port terminal.
The veneer of courtesy in Onani’s office was thin. Zahra saw immediately that Qadir was furious. Samir Hilel, looking wary, sat with Qadir. Qadir stood and held a chair for her.
“Chief Director,” Onani said, his voice dropped to a bass rumble that set Zahra’s nerves on edge. “Please tell the medicant what we’ve been discussing.” Qadir leaned close to Zahra. Perspiration gleamed on his scalp, and the muscles of his mouth were pinched white. He murmured, “The Port Force thinks there’s a connection between the four dead men. That they’ve been singled out—poisoned deliberately—because of things that they’ve done.” “Do they really believe that?” Zahra whispered. “Do you?”
Qadir’s eyelids flickered, but his voice was firm. “It’s preposterous. It couldn’t happen, not here, not on Irustan. They’re imagining some conspiracy, some Earther plot.”
Onani said, “May we know the medicant’s opinion?”
“Qadir,” Zahra said. “Tell Mr. Onani that of course I agree with my husband! What can I know of politics, or plots?”
Qadir smiled with bitter satisfaction, and repeated her words to Onani. He added, “You see, Administrator, how our society works. We protect our women from such unpleasantness.”
Zahra felt Diya’s gaze on her, and turned to find him staring, his face dark with hatred. She looked swiftly away. Surely, even through the silk of her rill, he would see the answering blaze in her eyes.
Onani was pressing Qadir. “Chief Director, something is happening here. Something is going on. These deaths can hardly be accidental! I don’t accept coincidence as an explanation.”
“Qadir,” Zahra whispered. He turned to put his ear close to her mouth. Beneath her drape his hand, strong and warm, sought hers and held it firmly. For the barest instant, the gesture made her hesitate. Then she breathed quickly and went on.
“Qadir, the pattern is inconsistent. Poor Gadil never hurt anyone. We knew him, we know his family. He never beat Kalen or Rabi, or abused his servants. Nor did Leman!”
Qadir nodded to her, but Samir Hilel leaned forward. “There are other kinds of abuse, Qadir,” he said in a low tone. “Remember that Gadil was going to cede his daughter to Binya Maris. My own wife was desperately worried about that, spoke to me about it. And why did Alekos, after Leman died, not go on to Delta Team as he was supposed to? And where is he now?”
Qadir was thoughtful for a moment. Zahra held her breath. Onani, a few meters away, was straining his ears, trying to hear their words. Diya, however, was only a step or two from Qadir’s chair. He heard everything quite clearly.
Qadir straightened, shaking his head. “Administrator Onani,” he said, “I think my wife is correct. There is no pattern. It’s true that the last two victims of this disease were not men Irustan might boast of. But the first two, both directors, were highly respected citizens, family friends of ours, free of any taint of scandal.”
Dr. Sullivan leaned forward, his ruddy face dark with anger. “Then how do you explain all this?” he snapped.
Zahra squeezed Qadir’s fingers and he turned to her. “Maybe there’s something wrong with the medicine,” she said softly. “With the inhalation therapy. The accelerated protease we use is fragile, has to be kept at the proper temperature at all times. Maybe it deteriorated on the space journey. Or on the shuttle.”
Qadir repeated that. Sullivan snorted impatiently and said, “Not bloody likely!” and Qadir bridled, sitting very straight and jutting his chin at the physician.
Onani held up his hand. “Please, Dr. Sullivan. It’s not necessary to offend the medicant after she has been gracious enough to come here.” He leaned back in his chair, black eyes glittering. He pressed his fingers together as he spoke. “I’m sure, Chief Director, that you don’t want any further occurrences like these.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll ask Dr. Sullivan to inspect all the medications used in the inhalation therapy. I’ll ask you, if I may—?”
It was a question. Qadir inclined his head in assent.
“I’ll ask you, then, to pursue any course you find appropriate to try to discover what’s happened here. These are, after all, your people.”
Samir Hilel moved uncomfortably in his chair. Zahra looked sidelong at him, not turning her head. He looked extremely unhappy, but he kept a loyal silence.
Onani stood up. “Thank you for coming, Chief Director, Director Hilel. Please thank the medicant for me as well.”
Sullivan glowered from his seat. Zahra kept her head demurely low, her hand on Qadir’s arm as if for support. His expression, as he led her away, was triumphant.
In Qadir’s car, Zahra sat in the back with Diya. The two directors sat in front, conversing in low, intense voices. Zahra felt Diya’s eyes on her. She kept her face turned away, watching the utilitarian shapes of the Port Force buildings as they passed.
They dropped Samir at his office and went straight home. Qadir came into the house with Zahra and Diya. Zahra turned toward the clinic, but Qadir stopped her with a gentle hand.
“My dear,” he said. “Come to my rooms, will you? I want to talk to you.” She searched his face, but she found only a vague sadness there. “Of course,” she said, and followed him down the hall.
His room was neat, the bed made, the desk clear. He indicated the extra chair, and he sat behind his desk. She undid her rill and her verge, and he smiled at her.
“I was proud of you today,” he said with a slight huskiness to his voice. “Of course I know little about medicine, but I would say you are a match for their Sullivan in every way.”
Zahra felt her cheeks color, and she put her fingers to them, surprised. Qadir laughed softly.
“You’re blushing like Ishi,” he said. “It’s becoming. You look just like the bride I met for the first time, at our cession. So many years ago now.” “Qadir . . .” she began, confused. He held up his hand.
“I have something to tell you,” he said. She sat back, wondering.
“I’ve told Diya,” Qadir said, “that I will find him another bride. Someone else. I’ve told him you feel Ishi has too far to go with her studies, that you have too much work to do together for her to be ceded to him or to any other man. He’s not happy about it, but he’ll adjust.”
“Oh,” Zahra said faintly. “Qadir—thank you! Bless you!”
He made a small, deprecating gesture. “I don’t want you to think this was because of today, because of that damned session with Onani,” he said. Zahra felt a smile warm her face, and her whole body felt soft and joyous. “It was because it matters to you. And you—you matter to me, my Zahra. It occurred to me that if you don’t think Diya i
s right for Ishi, then perhaps he’s not. I have to admit, I was thinking of Diya more than of Ishi, and I promised you long ago I wouldn’t do that.”
Zahra stood up, slowly, and walked around the desk to Qadir. She bent over him, the layers of her rill and verge falling free to brush his cheek. For the first time in years, she kissed him willingly, purposefully, and when she straightened she was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “Why, Qadir,” she exclaimed softly. “What is it?”
He shook his head, squeezing his eyelids closed. When he opened them his eyes were clear, and he laughed shortly, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said. “This was very difficult for me today. I hate being summoned to the Port Authority like . . . like a servant, like a . . .”
Like a woman, Zahra thought, but she refrained from saying it.
“And,” Qadir added, smiling now, catching her to him, “I do love you, my beautiful Zahra, very much.”
Zahra and Qadir spent the afternoon together, something they had not done since the early days of their marriage. When Zahra emerged at last from Qadir’s rooms, she found Diya waiting at the end of the corridor. She smiled as she passed him. Qadir had saved Diya’s life, but neither her husband nor his secretary would ever know it.
thirty-six
* * *
I, the undersigned, do hereby affirm and assert that I understand the foregoing rules, regulations, and requirements of Port Force employment. I do further affirm and assert that I understand that the penalty for violation of the foregoing is immediate retransfer to Earth, with the loss of all rights and privileges afforded to Offworld Port Force employees.
—Offworld Port Force Terms of Employment
Jin-Li sat alone in the meal hall with a light supper of fruit and soy cheese. Jin-Li toyed with a fork, not eating.
“Hey, Johnnie!” Tomas approached with a laden tray.
“Hi, Tomas.” Tomas’s smile was tentative. Jin-Li summoned an answering smile and gestured to an empty seat. “Please.”
The Terrorists of Irustan Page 31
