Deserter

by Mike Shepherd

“Gated communities that close to a major industrial plant. That doesn’t sound right.”

  “But that is what happened last year. The plant is behind a large berm. Its sounds and sight does not offend the community.”

  MY MAPS DO NOT SHOW THOSE COMMUNITIES AS GATED, Nelly said.

  ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES OF HIRING A MAN WHO KNOWS THE LOCAL CHANGES, Kris said, struggling to resize her problem. Going there was sticking her head in the lion’s mouth. Maybe she was overreacting to Nelly frying a guard at the smaller plant, but Kris had a very strong hunch this lion’s mouth would have a lot more teeth than the last. Gating whole housing areas. They didn’t want strangers around.

  “I want a look at that place,” Kris said, stabbing at the map. “You know a quiet place we can pull over and talk?”

  Two minutes later, they pulled into an empty parking lot at a small God’s Word Is the Bible church. “They are very full on Sunday and Wednesday evenings, but today is not one of them,” Abu said. “Maybe it is time that you stop protecting me. I cannot help you if I am in the dark.”

  Kris studied the man. The olive skin of his face was creased from years of working in the sun, but his eyes were clear and open. His offer was honest. It saddened Kris that all she had to offer him was coconspirator status. The man deserved better. She started slowly.

  “There are space docks above the beanstalk loaded with merchant ships, brought in suddenly, and in mass, for some kind of upkeep that does not require a lot of oversized additions to the ships. However, I have been watching just such oversized packages passing through the secure freight elevator. I don’t know what’s in those crates, and I would very much like to know.”

  Abu nodded. “I have been stuck in traffic behind just such shipments. They do come from that plant.”

  “Which will teach me not to ask questions.” Kris sighed. “So far, I have not involved you in anything but a conversation. If I say more, you may become indictable for crimes.”

  “Like industrial espionage. Yes, I know what we do to people who break that law on Turantic.” The cabby frowned. “What do you think is going on?”

  “Back when my Great-grandfather Ray was just leading a brigade, fighting for Unity, the Society of Humanity was playing catch-up. They made a Navy by adding reactors and power storage, lasers and ice to a lot of merchant ships.”

  “And you wonder if Turantic is doing the same?”

  “There haven’t been any profits here for three years. The money has to have gone somewhere.”

  “And what did I help you do at that last factory?”

  “I released nano reconnaissance drones upwind to ride the wind to and through the plant. They brought me pictures, mostly antimissile lasers for army use.”

  “Something I may be carrying next week. Hmm. What is the range of your nano spies?”

  So much for avoiding that word. “Nelly?”

  “About two kilometers,” the computer said.

  “We cannot get that close to that plant. Do you have any that could go farther?”

  “I could remake the nanos to a range of ten kilometers, but that would mean cutting their numbers by a third,” Nelly said.

  “Allah akbar,” the cabby muttered. “Your computer can do such a thing in the hour it will take me to drive across town?”

  “If Nelly says she can do that, she can do it.”

  “Nelly. The computer has a name.”

  “I most certainly do,” Nelly said. “I will not be bossed around by a ‘Hey, you.’ ”

  “She sounds like my wife. Be careful, young woman, or you may end up as henpecked as me.”

  “I think I already am.” Kris sighed. “Nelly, I want a homing device as well. Our hang time on the other side of that last plant was too risky. Let’s drop a homer and let the nanos close on it.”

  “I will do that.”

  “Now, wise cabdriver, how do you propose that we get around the security at that plant?”

  “There is a major road here, upwind of the plant. I think I may have car trouble there for a few minutes. Then, about seven kilometers downwind of your plant is a very swank restaurant. Too expensive for my blood, though they claim to serve food straight from the Levant of old Earth. My Miriam serves better food on her bad days. Anyway, that is just the place that a maid at a fine hotel might apply for a job to better herself. They are hiring, and I can download a job application. Would you like to see about a better job?”

  “Would I.” Kris grinned. “You know, this Princess stuff is not nearly what it’s cracked up to be.”

  “We should all have your problems,” Abu said dryly. But at least he was honest. Kris could count on one hand the people she’d met who would actually have said that to her face.

  “May Allah grant us all fewer problems soon,” Kris offered.

  “Not a bad prayer, for an infidel. Put on your shawl like a respectable woman.” Kris did, but not like a respectable woman, so Abu corrected her shawl before starting the long drive.

  The clouds showed enthusiasm for neither burning off nor shedding rain, so the day drew on, neither blue nor wet, just a gray weight. The cabby stayed quiet, and Kris accepted his silence. Nelly stayed busy, a gentle hum in the back of Kris’s mind as the computer shuffled smart molecules around. Kris studied the map, gnawing at the problems that might come her way and concluding that this spy job was a bit more complicated than the movies let on. No way was worrying a problem like this exciting or sexy. Who would waste money for a ticket to really get killed, drowned, or thrown in jail? No question about it, excitement was something horrible happening to someone else as far away from your own thin and delicate skin as possible.

  “Maybe I should ask Crossenshild for some training,” Kris muttered, thinking of the job offer from Wardhaven’s head spy.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Just making a note to myself,” Kris said. “Ignore me.”

  “With such a marvelous computer, I would think that you would have your, what do you call her, Nilli, remind you of everything.”

  “I am Nelly,” the computer snapped. “Nell, Nell, Nell.”

  “I apologize if I hurt your electric feelings,” the cabby said.

  “She’s a bit touchy since her last upgrade,” Kris whispered.

  “I am working hard. Do not distract me.”

  “Well, Nelly,” Kris said, “you might reduce your distractions by not listening to us mere mortals talking.”

  “But that would eliminate my situational awareness.”

  “What’s the matter, don’t you trust me to keep us safe?”

  “No,” Nelly said.

  The cabby raised an eyebrow over a widening smile.

  “Now you see why I don’t bother Nelly with minor stuff.”

  “Seems to me you may soon need a dumb computer to keep track of your day.”

  “Don’t let Nelly hear that.” Kris grinned, but she knew Nelly did hear that, and with her computer behaving so strangely, Kris could only wonder what she’d make of it.

  15

  An hour later Kris knew they were close to the factory. The surveillance cameras and Tow Away Zone—No Stopping signs told her.

  “There goes plan A,” she muttered.

  Abu slowed down. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Drive the minimum speed limit,” Kris said, lowering her window. It got windy. HOW ARE THE NANOS DOING?

  THEY ARE OKAY. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?

  “I am at fifty-five. If I go slower, they will notice.”

  “Roll down the window behind you, if you can.” He did; the wind tunnel effect through the car got most pronounced.

  MY NANOS CAN’T TAKE THIS! Nelly shouted in Kris’s head. She had her finger on the window button; it was coming up even as the shout bounced around her skull. Abu had been paying attention; the rear window came up only a split second behind Kris’s.

  HOW ARE THE NANOS?

  I CAN FIX THEM.

  “What do I do now? Abu asked.<
br />
  Kris rubbed at her shawl-covered head, trying to relieve the tension gripping her scalp. “Plan A and B didn’t work. We need a plan C.”

  “I see,” said the cabby.

  Kris scowled at his joke; he tossed her off with a small grin. Kris glanced around, looking for an answer to her problem. She saw it. “Stop at the next exit. I need a rest room break.”

  Back in the cab, and a bit lighter, Kris pointed Abu to the route back into town. Window down, her hand wandered playfully in the wind as Nelly launched the spies on their long flight. DONE, Nelly reported. Kris put up her window as Abu picked up speed in the acceleration lane.

  “Now I take you where you can do some more of your magic, then I take you to the best place in town for real food, not that tasteless stuff infidels eat.”

  “Ever eat Tex-Mex?” Kris asked. “We had this cook who said she was only three generations away from Texas back on Earth. What she did with jalapeños took your mouth a week to recover.”

  “Someday I must take you home and have my Miriam serve you a meal. But this will do to open your eyes.”

  Their next stop was The Great Khan’s Caravansary, complete with two heavily laden plaster camels out front. The cars parked around it included several of Wardhaven’s most expensive export models. Abu drove around to the entrance used by employees and deliveries. He parked against the back fence next to a sign giving the times for deliveries that blocked out the busy mealtimes. Kris got out; she spotted four, maybe five security cameras. At least two of them turned to examine her.

  Abu handed her papers she took with visible reluctance. Taking a few steps toward the restaurant, she faltered, clutched her stomach and backed up. She ended leaning against the sign, fighting dry heaves. THE HOMING BEACON SET, NELLY?

  YES. I HAVE IT DELAYED FOR AN HOUR, THEN INTERMITTENT AND RANDOMLY JUMPING FREQUENCIES. I ESTIMATE IT HAS AN EIGHTY-SEVEN PERCENT PROBABILITY OF AVOIDING DETECTION EVEN AGAINST THE MOST DETERMINED SECURITY SYSTEM ON WARDHAVEN.

  WHAT ABOUT PETERWALD AND IRONCLAD SOFTWARE?

  YOUR HUNCH IS AS GOOD AS MINE, Nelly answered.

  THAT’S YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE, Kris corrected. IF YOU’RE GOING TO START SOUNDING HUMAN, GET IT RIGHT.

  HOW MUCH OF MY LIMITED COMPUTATIONAL CAPACITY DO YOU WANT ME TO WASTE ON MIMICKING YOU? Nelly asked. Since Kris couldn’t tell if the question was real or facetious, she ignored it.

  “I can’t go in, Abu, my stomach is too upset,” Kris said as she opened the cab door.

  “Maybe if we get some food in you, you will feel more courage. I keep telling my sister you need some real meat on those thin bones of yours.”

  “The boys like me thin,” Kris answered, not sure who she was playing for, but keeping up the patter.

  Back on the road, Kris asked Nelly a question she wished she’d thought of earlier. “Are all the security cameras monitored at a central location or by local security teams?”

  “Good question, Kris. I have not looked into it and do not think you want me to just now.”

  “You’re right on that one,” Kris agreed. “But you must have looked into security for our visit to Katyville.”

  “Yes. All the places of interest then had their own security systems. But hotels on the cheap side of town are one thing. Plants making military equipment are another, though I doubt I need point that out to a shareholder in Nuu Enterprises.”

  “Quite a wife you have there,” Abu said around a chuckle.

  “Nelly, there is such a thing as tact,” Kris said.

  “And how much of my limited computational—”

  “Never mind. Abu, where’s that food you promised me?”

  Fatima’s Kitchen was only a fifteen-minute drive from the fancy place, but it could have been on another planet. The streets here were narrow and winding, the houses built close together. Parking was tight, and people walked elbow-to-elbow on narrow sidewalks but had no problem carrying on conversations with people on the other side of the street. Several conversations at a time; the place was a madhouse.

  “Welcome to what we call Little Arabia,” Abu said with a proud smile. “You passed no locked gate to get in here, but few doors are locked here, anyway. We live as Allah wills it.”

  Abu found a place to park the cab with a whole ten centimeters to spare. Kris carefully arranged her scarf as she got out, then loosed the belt of her raincoat. Many women passing Kris on the street wore fashions she might have seen on Wardhaven, though the cut was uniformly loose-fitting with no waist. Several wore something more exotic, a covering that went from head to toe. While Kris was wondering how these women did anything, she got her answer. A young woman, from the shape of the arm that slipped from her wrapping to hold a basket, was shopping. Her other hand held up fruit or vegetables for a good look. That woman’s compromise was not repeated by the older woman, from the sound of her voice, that stood next to her. Not even a finger escaped that woman’s screen.

  Abu came around to the sidewalk and led Kris toward a whitewashed shop that emitted delightful smells. A round woman in a shawl and loose dress greeted him at the door with a hug and a peck of a kiss. “Are you hungry, Abu, and who is this woman with you? Should I call Miriam and tell her you are bringing home a second wife? Someone to help her with the kids, no doubt, because any woman so thin as this one surely is no cook.”

  “What she is and is not is no business of yours Sorir, so you just show us to a table in a quiet corner and let me speak to the boss.”

  Sorir swatted Abu. “You are speaking to the boss, but I suspect you mean the man who thinks he runs my place.” But she led them past tables where silent men drank coffee and through an alcove where women chatted as they drank tea or coffee to finally stop in a shaded corner at the rear of the place where couples sat quietly or families ate noisily. She pointed Abu toward a table behind a bamboo divider. “That quiet enough for you?”

  Abu settled Kris at the table, then went hunting for the man he wanted. Sorir gave Kris a quick smile, then followed Abu. The two of them ended up talking to a thin fellow standing in the door of what sounded like the kitchen. Their talk was mixed with glances Kris’s way. She tried to look demure or whatever a young woman should look like in this culture that couldn’t seem to decide what to do with its women—let them run things or just exist. Come to think of it, it didn’t sound all that different from Wardhaven . . . or the Navy at times.

  A young woman brought a pot of hot water to Kris’s table and a bowl of green tea. “Would you prefer coffee?”

  “I don’t know what Abu would prefer.”

  “Oh, Abu is with you. I will bring coffee.” And a steaming small cup of the thick brown liquid quickly appeared.

  A moment later Abu returned, accompanied by Sorir and the man who was introduced as Abdul. “You have stirred up the proverbial hornet’s nest,” Sorir told Kris.

  Kris eyed Abu, but the cabby seemed content to let the women talk. “What do you think I have done?” Kris asked, not willing to give anything away, but not wanting to sound evasive.

  “That I could not begin to guess, but this morning something tripped the alarms at a factory on the other side of town, and now all the security people at all the plants are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, looking for some kind of intruder and not wanting to be in the same kind of trouble that the plant people are in across town.”

  “I suppose your uncle’s sister’s son works on security,” Kris said dryly.

  “Actually, no one will hire any of us for security,” Abu said. “We talk funny, and we stop to pray too many times a day.”

  “Then how do you know—?”

  “We are not the only people who talk funny and keep to old ways,” Abdul said. “Do those things, and you become a minority. Is that not so everywhere? Some minorities suffer one way, others another way, but we are all different, and that marks us for trouble when things become strange for the large herd of sheep and the dogs that keep them going where they should
go.” Kris greeted that with a puzzled look. She was no closer to understanding the situation than she had been when Abdul started.

  “Several of our Jewish friends have sons working in security,” Sorir explained dryly.

  “Jewish?” Kris said. She didn’t think there were any minorities on Wardhaven—at least she hadn’t before today. Still, she knew Dad had to be careful to invite his Jewish and Islamic supporters to different fund-raisers.

  “The Temple Mount is far away from those of us who hold it sacred,” Abdul said. “And we live very close to those whose only gods are their belly. Here, we share what we may, Jew and Arab, and information is important anywhere.”

  “And the information we have,” Sorir cut in, “says that security is more upset than a sheepdog herding cats. Oh you men, you take all day to say nothing. It would be most unwise for Abu to return to Khan’s dispenser of poor food.”

  “I have to get back there,” Kris said.

  “We understand such a return is of the highest import to you,” Abdul said. “We are arranging it even now. So, since you can do nothing for the moment, why not share a meal with us.”

  The meal was a procession of dishes demonstrating many of the thousand ways to fix rice, cheese, barley, mutton, and goat. Sorir named each dish, explained what it was and how it was prepared, and laughed when Kris asked, only half in jest, if the meal would be followed by a test. One thing Kris did not have to worry about was showing delight; the food was fantastic. The portions were small, and each dish was shared with Abu and Sorir. Overeating herself into a nap was not a risk.

  Sorir and Abu kept up a kind of running commentary on both the food and Turantic. It was a good planet to raise children on. Or at least it had been. The conversation skirted anything that could be taken for treason by an eavesdropper until the last dish was laid out, a multilayered crust drowning in honey.

  “Why should you care about what happens to us on Turantic?” Sorir said through veiled eyelashes as she cut Kris a slice.

  Kris took the offered morsel. As her fork cut a bite, it sliced through scores of layers. “Humanity is like this dish. You can’t cut one layer. If one is sliced, all are going to be cut.” Sorir eyed the dish and nodded. Kris went on.