Authors: Mike Shepherd
Deserter (32 page)
“You gonna help her have her baby?” the Corporal asked as the Sarge went by him.
“What kind of a woman do you take me for?” she snapped.
The children cried; Tina let out a few intermittent shouts to hurry them on their way. In less time than most routed armies needed to cover the ground, the guards were gone.
“What do you think you are doing?” the tiny grandmother asked Tina as the old woman pulled the younger’s robe properly around her legs.
“Practicing,” Tina said, and let out another shout.
“That is not the way Milda taught you to breathe. And if you do, you will hurt a lot more than I did with any of mine.”
“But they do not know it,” Tina said with an imp’s voice.
The little woman swatted her granddaughter through her robe, then turned to Kris. “Allah has smiled on us this time. How much longer must we trust in His mercy?”
“We will try to remove her as soon as we can,” her son-in-law said, coming to her side.
“I need to be where I am going by six or seven,” Kris said.
“No doubt you must primp for a party,” the old woman added dryly.
“Yes, I have been ordered to be at a party tonight.”
That sparked low words among the women, but the grandmother only shook her head within her robes. “What kind of a party is it when you must be ordered to it?”
“Only the usual type that I go to.”
“Girls, do not envy this one. She has found toil where any of you would find joy.”
A young man hurried up the stairs. Without a pause he rushed to where Tina lay. Kris did not follow the language they spoke, but she could tell the fear and endearments that filled their words. Done, the man rose and turned to Kris without hesitation as to which robe hid her.
“A cab will call for you in five minutes. It is expecting a sick man who is going to the dentist. Here.”
The man began stripping out of his vest and gown. Kris started to pull the robe over her head, but the grandmother stopped her. “Wait until my grandson is gone.”
“But, Grandmother, she is an infidel. She has no modesty.”
“But I have modesty, and I will not have my granddaughter’s husband lusting after some infidel djinn.” Down to slacks and white T-shirt that passed for modest male attire on six hundred planets, the man shrugged and vanished back down the stairs.
Kris pulled the robe over her head, yanked down the girdle, and began working her way back into the transparent bodysuit.
“Why would a respectable woman wear such a thing?” the grandmother sniffed.
“Because it will stop a four-millimeter bullet at five paces,” Kris said without looking up.
“Oh,” came with surprise and maybe a hint of acceptance. “You fear the world so much that you need dress as this?”
“Do you not recognize her, Mother? Some of us saw her picture on the news yesterday.” When the old woman did not answer, her daughter continued, “She is the Princess Longknife, more wealthy than Ali Baba, more powerful than—”
“And running scared just now,” Kris cut in as she finished with the suit and wiggled into the girdle. “I cannot tell you how much what you have done for me today means.”
The tiny woman stood in front of her. “Is it true that you could not find it in your heart to give the vaccine to those dying people who needed it up north? That you, who have so much wealth, have allowed all of us to live in fear of it spreading because our government would not meet your demands for more money? If that is true, you truly live in poverty.”
“Grandmother, I swear to you by every breath my father and grandfather take for the rest of their lives that they would have given every drop of that vaccine to you and the people of this world and taken not one penny in return, if someone had not stolen it from our warehouse,” Kris said, staring into the gray mesh veil of the old woman’s gown.
The woman helped Kris on with the white robe, then stooped for the vest that her grandson had dropped. “I believe you. What blackened souls there must be in this world that they would steal from you and make you who are so powerful fear them enough to dress as you do.”
“And run around this city dragging people like you into the need to protect me,” Kris said, putting her arms in the vest.
“Here is your hat,” Tina said, handing it to Kris.
Kris took the moment to check on her antenna. IT WORKING OKAY, NELLY?
A BIT THE WORSE FOR WEAR, BUT GOOD ENOUGH TO KEEP UP WITH THE CLOWNS CHASING US.
As Kris settled the hat, woven from many colors, on the top of her head, the grandmother brought her a shawl. “May Allah bless and guide you,” she said, putting it around Kris’s shoulders and leaving a Princess feeling truly blessed.
Sorir appeared at the stair door. That sparked a discussion that Nelly explained was about the bad habits and lack of manners of the security people. This upper room was not the only place where the faithful had given them a good lesson in proper etiquette. What promised to be a long conversation was cut short when Sorir stepped close and gave Kris a small sack.
“Abdul has been sent home. Here is your maid’s uniform, purse, and raincoat. I have also included a proper shawl for your head. Sometimes we women wear the edge of it over our mouths,” she said, demonstrating. “Few would question even a maid for the Hilton who did that. May it help you today.”
She paused for a moment. “Has all of this been worth it?”
“Watch the news tonight,” was all Kris said. If she pulled off what she planned, even Sandfire couldn’t keep what was going on in the space docks a secret.
Then again, so far, only she and Nelly knew what was going on there above their heads.
Sorir pulled up Kris’s gown and used thick lengths of yarn to tie the dress and raincoat around Kris. “Now you begin to look like a man of substance. Here, let me add some lines to that face of yours,” she said applying Kris’s makeup pencil. By the time Kris headed downstairs, even she didn’t recognize herself.
But the grandmother had one more suggestion. “You are going to the dentist. You need an abscessed tooth. Chew on this wad of red yarn. If Allah wills it, you may even look like you are spitting blood.” Kris took it, a deep breath, and hurried down the stairs to face a day that might have finally decided to rain a bit. Fat raindrops slapped into her makeup, leaving her hoping her getup was waterproof.
But the older man was at her side, raising an umbrella. He guided her from the stairwell to the back door and into his rug shop. Hurrying her along, he talked in Arabic enough for two and had her out the front door before she had more than a second to see the piles of rugs on the floors or hanging from the walls.
A cab was blocking traffic, the young driver yelling and beckoning wildly as drivers behind him did the same while leaning on their horns. Kris had expected Abu, but there was no time to hesitate or argue. She was stuffed in the back, handed the umbrella, and the cab bounced off to more honking behind it.
The young man in the front seat seemed delighted to be moving. His windows were down, his radio blared something that might have some connection with his parents’ culture, but Kris doubted they would admit it. He chomped on a mouthful of gum, keeping time with the music. When a light stopped them, he beat the wheel as if it were a drum.
He did not ask Kris for a destination.
They had gone six blocks, turning at every corner, before the man turned his head. “None of those gray camel farts are following us. There’s a roadblock four streets up. You ready to crash it?”
“Crash it?” Kris said.
What kind of crazy have they given me this time?
What kind of crazy have they given me this time?
“You know, snake our way through this. Fake them out of their socks. I’ll play the music, and you be the snake. Get you back up high where you belong.”
“What do you say we don’t do anything that will get us noticed.”
“Not noticed. That’s the way you want it,” he said, going back to driving, but now beating on the wheel to the music even when they were moving. “That’s the way you get it, man of my man.”
The backup at the roadblock was two blocks long. Kris would have expected more, but there were a lot of cars parked beside the road, people with more time to spare than willingness to let the security folks paw around their vehicles. Kris leaned out the window, her head lolling against the back sill. Most cars passed the guards quickly. One or two got signaled to pull aside for a more thorough going over.
Kris ran a hand down her white gown, felt the bumps of the clothes she was wrapped in. She could not risk a pat down now any more than she could have earlier.
NELLY, DO YOU HAVE A FULL REPORT ON THAT PLANT?
DONE.
ANY PLANS FOR MESSENGERS IN YOUR DATABASE?
SEVERAL. I CAN MIGRATE SOME OF TRU’S SELF-ORGANIZING MATERIAL OUT TO THE NANOS. WITH A FEW MILLIGRAMS OF THAT STUFF, I CAN MAKE FOUR GOOD-SIZED MESSENGERS WITH HALF LEFT OVER. HOPE YOU WILL NOT NEED TO WEAR YOUR CROWN TONIGHT.
I CAN SKIP THAT. GIVE ONE MESSENGER SENATOR KRIEF’S PHONE NUMBER AND SEND IT NORTH. SEND THE SECOND ONE TO THE WEST WITH THE NUMBER OF THAT WOMAN REPORTER KLAGGATH LIKED YESTERDAY. ADDRESS THE THIRD TO MY SUITE AND SEND IT EAST. THE LAST GOES TO THE AMBASSADOR. SEND IT SOUTH.
ALL WILL GO TWO MILES AND FIND THE CLOSEST NET ACCESS, PATCH IN, AND TRANSMIT. SHOULD I HAVE THEM TRY TO RECOVER ANYWHERE?
NO, TELL THEM TO DISSOLVE TOTALLY. NO EVIDENCE. BUT HAVE THE AMBASSADOR’S MESSENGER ONLY GO ONE MILE.
THEY ARE GONE.
Now, if the rain just holds off a bit longer.
The line moved slowly; several more cars were hauled out and sent for closer inspection, one with its passengers at gun-point and hands up. The air was muggy, heavy with fumes. One car tried to back out, but a gray uniform from the roadblock came running and ordered the driver back in line.
“But I need to go potty,” came in a high-pitched plea.
The child got no mercy from the Sergeant. “Use a bottle.”
Kris’s driver turned up the music and added his palms to an already pounding bass. Still five cars back, he drew frowns from the gray-clad inspectors. Kris’s moans were no longer fake. Her teeth rattled in her head, and her skull was ready to split.
Then again, her mouth was no longer dry. She hawked and spat; it came out red on the street beside her.
NELLY, HOW SOON CAN THAT CALL GO OUT TO THE AMBASSADOR?
THE MESSENGER WAS WORKING CROSSWIND. IT MAY TAKE A WHILE.
The music pounded on. The traffic moved in fits. Along the line, other cars jacked up their music, everyone on a different station. Kris leaned her head against the car door and quickly yanked it away. The door vibrated like an overheated laser.
The car ahead pulled away with a screech of tires. The cabby edged forward. The man in gray scowled down at him, then bent over and snapped off the radio. “I’ve been wanting to do that for half an hour.”
“Hey, boss. Why you do dat? Dat fine music. Relax my nerves,” the cabby said, still pounding his palms on the wheel to the now-silenced beat.
“Where you going?”
“Dentist downtown. Old fart in back, bad tooth. Hurting bad. Said he’d pay me double if I went fast. Dat before you guys made me park. You cost me, boss.”
“It’s gonna cost worst if we don’t find who we’re looking for. Let me see your license.” The cabby grabbed for his papers but fumbled getting the license out of the protective plastic envelope that kept it displayed for passengers. As he muddled on, there were shouts between the two security cars and the black-and-white parked beside the roadblock.
NELLY?
THEY HAVE INTERCEPTED ONE OF THE MESSAGES.
INTERCEPTED OR JUST COPIED?
I CANNOT TELL. BUT THEY KNOW THAT A MESSAGE IS OUT THAT THEY DO NOT WANT OUT . . . AND THEY KNOW WHERE IT CAME FROM.
The cabby finally fished out the license, but the guard only glanced at it, dividing his attention between it and someone shouting at him from one of the cars. “What’s your name?” he said, handing back the paper and directing the question at Kris. The black-and-white took off south.
“Old fart don’t speak the English good like me,” the cabby said and fired a stream of Arabic at Kris. She groaned, held her hand to her swollen mouth, and mumbled. Her words were lost as the first car full of SureFire Security gunned by, following the black-and-white.
“Saeed ab Towaan,” the cabby said.
“Move along,” the man in gray said as he turned and ran to the last car left, hurried along by shouts from a Corporal.
“Wait for them to go,” Kris whispered.
“I was planning on that,” the driver answered, his English suddenly as good as Kris’s. He waited until there was no cross traffic, then accelerated away smoothly . . . and punched the radio for a different station, one that Kris actually liked, once he dialed down the volume.
Several cars whizzed by them, trying to make up time for the traffic stop. The cabby settled into traffic, then glanced back at Kris. “So, where do you want to go?”
“The elevator,” she said, spitting out the wad of yarn.
“One quick trip to the beanstalk coming up,” he said, signaling to change lanes. “I assume you know what that was all about.”
“I probably do,” Kris said.
“But Uncle Abu said you probably wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“If I were you, I’d listen to your uncle,” Kris said, fidgeting out of her vest and pulling her arms out of the gown’s so she could untie the raincoat and maid uniform.
“Yeah, but old farts are always scared. When you’re young, you got to live a little.” He was smiling as he said that.
“Take some advice from a young fart. Pay attention to the old farts, and you may get to live a little,” Kris said as she lay out her brown uniform and began wiggling out of the gown.
“So it is that bad,” the fellow said, but his seriousness didn’t stay long. “Hey, you’re the first gal to strip in my cab. Abu told me it had happened to him, but I thought he was just spinning a tale. Hold it, you’re ruining the view,” he said as Kris slipped off the seat, hiding in the foot well.
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