by S. N. Lewitt
"What's going on?" Lentzer asked.
"I don't know. It's that other tent, the big one." He pointed it out, the farthest from the Broadswords. "I think something's going on."
"Any idea what?" Lentzer didn't expect an answer.
Rasidov shrugged. "It's not familiar to me. Sorry."
Lentzer drifted nearer, motioning his mission to follow him. It was all he could do not to yell "Snow!" and get them out of there.
They entered the large tent and took off their shoes. Then they took a basin and water jug and washed, splashing water on their faces, over their hair and over their feet. Lentzer stayed in the background.
Both Tek and Rasidov were up in the first row, behind the old Sheikh who was the leader. Abruptly the men all bowed, knelt, turned right and then left and then stood again. There was a murmur through the crowd, and Lentzer realized that he was watching them pray.
He slipped back through the flap, shoes in his left hand, and waited until he was outside to slip them on again. So the place wasn't deserted. Somehow-he wasn't really relieved. The stillness while there were people around made the situation even more unnatural and therefore suspect. He returned to the tent as the heat increased. Tek and Rasidov were both inside. Lentzer wanted to ignore it all, but he went over to Tek's place on the pillows anyway. The kitchen cleric was reading something with full concentration.
Lentzer cleared his throat. "Can you explain what's happening around here?" he asked, trying to sound calm.
Tek sighed and put down the reader. "It is Ramadhan, sir," he said. "We have come at a very bad time. No one will do anything until the holy month is over."
"Why the Old Hardy didn't Yuen tell us?" Lentzer demanded, keeping his voice low. Then he turned to Rasidov. "And if Yuen didn't, why didn't you?"
Rasidov turned red. "Didn't know, sir. The Arabic calendar is based on Old Earth Lunar and it doesn't coordinate with standard. The old Arabic months and even the prayer times are different on every planet. And the holidays . . . uh . . . drift."
Tek's face darkened. "Please, do not be concerned, sir. There are only three more days of Ramadhan to go, and then it is Id al-Fitr, the great feast. We'll be moving camp this evening, going into the village. Then they'll go on. The Sheikh is going to speak at the great mosque in Moustar. And he has asked me to join him, to speak about the Hajj."
Lentzer didn't want to know. But he reminded himself that this member of the group was not exactly trained for infiltration duty, and was doing a fairly decent job. "So our host is important enough to be invited to make a public speech at a major center at a major holiday?" he asked.
Tek's eyes lit up. "Oh, sir, we have been fortunate. The Sheikh is one of the members of the ulama of Moustar, the ruling body of this place. One of the legal scholars. Gregori spent some time with him after morning prayers, discussing fine points of Shari'a Islamic law. I did not know there was someone on our ship who was so well versed in these holy things. I myself am too ignorant. The Sheikh is teaching me." The boy tapped the reader.
"So this Sheikh is on the most powerful ulama on the planet? Does that make him a ruler?" Lentzer asked, trying to make sure he had it straight. "If he's an officer of the government, we were met exactly as planned."
"So our host is one of the leading jurists? That is most pleasant," the Mromrosi said. Lentzer had not heard it join them and its interruption startled him. "I always enjoy talking to jurists. What a quaint concept."
"But it doesn't get us anywhere with our mission," Lentzer insisted, feeling very bad-tempered.
"But sir, we can't do anything until Ramadhan is over," Tek said, his eyes pleading. "Everyone is daytime fasting and labor is forbidden. Just to be awake during the day for prayers is difficult."
"What?" the Nada Solis/1 interjected without moving from her position at the tent flap. "Fasting? And only awake at night? Please explain."
Tek sighed. "Ramadhan is the holy month of fasting. During daylight hours is not permitted to eat, to drink, to smoke, to make love. Only after sundown. So during the day everyone tries to sleep as much as possible and no one works. And at night people gather, eat, do the things they might do in the day."
The Nada Solis/3 joined her clone and snorted. "I'm not impressed," she said.
Lentzer was glad to see Tek ignore her. He didn't care much for religion, but he knew it was dangerous to criticize what people believed. And right now it was dangerous to the team, to the mission.
"So what do we do, boss?" the Nada Solis asked, her tone just a notch down from sneering. "Leave the natives alone?"
"We shut up until we understand exactly what is going on. Or in all your training in tactics didn't anyone ever teach you to reconnoiter?" Ignoring the stone-hard anger in the clones' faces, Lentzer turned to Tek. "So everyone is fasting now. Why did they serve us when we arrived?"
Tek blinked. "Because you are not Moslems. It is not required that you fast. Although the Sheikh asked today if you were all people of the Book. I said I thought so, all except the Mromrosi." Tek turned toward the alien and bobbed his head low with respect. "I don't now know if your people have a revealed writing from God, and if you follow it. I regret any error I have made."
"You did fine," Lentzer answered by rote. "And if we're expected to go through another night like last night, maybe we all should take a quick nap. Except our guard, of course. Wouldn't do not to have a guard."
The Nada Solis/1 and /2 glared at him in fury as Lentzer winked. At least the Nada Solis were easy to bait and posed no puzzling risk as the Colony might well do.
Aboard her Broadsword, Group Line Chief M'kaba remained impassive as Yosinero and his entourage arrived on the bridge of the Zuruchmasu. She was dressed in a Class One formal uniform, tasseled epaulets cascading over her shoulders and her mouth in a tight smile. Group Leader Gillam Rhys-Davies, Protocol Officer, and Navigator Varren Migh were splendid, welcoming the Strategy Marshal of the Grands as if Yosinero were Fleet Commodore.
Close up Yosinero was unprepossessing. He was shorter than M'kaba by a head and his face was amazingly ordinary, even bland. He said all the right things in a smooth, pleasant voice and when he smiled at the Group Line Chief his eyes were lost in the crow's-feet. If he thought it odd that the Line Commander had not received him on the Kinderkinyo, he didn't mention it. There was nothing at all about him that M'kaba could recognize as charismatic, although he had that reputation. Nothing that was hateful. Only a smallish, narrow man with graying hair and eyes that were everywhere at once.
"What a pleasant surprise to find Harriers, even Petits, in the sector," he had greeted them. "I'm sorry I won't be able to visit long, I have some private business on the surface that is rather time critical."
"In the islands?" M'kaba asked, making her almond eyes large and innocent. "I have heard they are amazingly beautiful, but I've never been there."
Yosinero ignored her flirtatious smile. "They are," he answered matter-of-factly. "Unfortunately, I have to go to Moustar instead. Dullest city in the Alliance, I think. Nothing there to do at all except look at pretty sunsets. But they make the most amazing carpets there."
M'kaba nodded. Carpets indeed, she thought. He'd come with nine Bombards. Which meant there was something more that M'kaba hadn't been told in the dispatches, for the Strategy Marshal of the Grands did not require nine warships to protect carpets.
"We were informed that there had been pirates in this sector. The Bombards are a necessary precaution." Yosinero bowed a little.
"Pirates." Suddenly M'kaba was disgusted with the whole thing. She hated being in charge of this reception. Lentzer was on planet, Yosinero was on her ship, the Line Commander was gone strange, and nothing was what it seemed.
"The Twelve recommended the Bombards," said Yosinero with false modesty. "Otherwise I would have used four Baslita-class ships. That would be more appropriate, I think."
"Certainly more usual," said M'kaba. With those nine Bombards Yosinero had his own troops to back him up,
and 270 Grands were too many for this Petit mission to handle. Which reminded her she had not heard anything from Lentzer. She hoped Yuen had warned him that Yosinero had arrived.
She moved away from Navigator Migh and Group Leader Rhys-Davies. They were the only people aboard she trusted to handle the Grand without increasing tensions between the two forces. She left the bridge just as the Senior Bunter announced high tea in the officers' mess.
Never underestimate the enemy, she thought to herself with lightly controlled anger. Her orders had done just that. Yosinero was no fool, and he might be on to her. Now that he was going to Moustar he could manipulate events without sending incriminating messages. Assuming he was part of the slave trade. Assuming there was slave trade on Zamalah. She feared she would have to confront him at Moustar.
She winced at the thought. Yosinero knew Zamalah, he had allies there. The only possible support she might have was Jaanu Lentzer.
M'kaba wanted to disappear, fade away into the stars somewhere that Yosinero's long arm could not reach. Instead she went to her quarters and began scrambing a zap.
There was another tremendous feast in the Sheikh's camp that evening when the sun went down. When they were all groaning on the carpets, the Sheikh insisted on filling their plates once again; there were still mountains of food left and courtesy demanded gluttony. The same dark drink was served and there was more music. This time Lentzer had prepared and managed to stay awake.
During a lull in the festivities the Mromrosi, seated next to the Sheikh in the place of honor, began to speak.
"I was pleasantly surprised today to discover that your planet is ruled by a judicial board. I look forward to learning what your legal codes and the Emerging Planet Fairness Court have in common."
"Allah the All-Creative gives life to creatures, and their right is to obey His law," the Sheikh said softly, without rancor. "As it says in the Q'ran, the cow cannot help but follow God's law. It is only sentient beings who willfully reject their place in the universe."
"Isn't sentience, and therefore willfulness part of your Allah's law?" the Mromrosi inquired.
"It is given to man to master his willfulness," said the Sheikh.
The Mromrosi turned a violent shade of orange. "I fear I do not comprehend your theory." He faded to beige. "According to most legal codes of your species, it is not legal for human or human-descent to abridge the rights of any other human or human-descent, excepting children who are not yet of responsible age. This is one of the most important common ideas among your kind, is it not?"
"Abridge rights in what way?" the Sheikh asked, interested. "Those who enforce the law abridge the rights of criminals, but only when criminals have abridged the rights of their victims. Surely there are those whose fate it is to be deprived. Some people have accused us of interfering with the so-called right to choose a marriage partner, simply because parents will advise their children in the choice of a mate. It is well-known that parents certainly know more about what is necessary to create a proper family."
The Mromrosi turned a softer shade of pink. "Is it so?"
Lentzer hoped that the Mromrosi wouldn't say anything that would turn this occasion nasty. He wanted the mission over with. He wanted to get out of there.
In the background someone started up the music again. People were dancing, men and women, shaking their hips and moving in undulating counterpoint to the music. It was sensual and languorous. Lentzer did his best not to watch it, but could not often tear his eyes away. Gradually a circle formed around the dancers, with Lentzer in the front of the ring. People clapped to the music in the rhythm as primitive as heartbeats that came from the drums. Complicated and fast, the drumming and the clapping melded together. It was baffling and infectious.
Old people danced, and women with their oversized sleeves draped over their faces. Children danced, men swung their swords in a line. Lentzer found himself swaying and made himself stop. He remembered the night before and was determined not to be seduced to sleep now.
All three Nada Solis wanted to dance. They swayed on the sidelines, each making the same movements, following what those in the circle were doing. Lentzer's sense of danger suddenly increased. The three Nada Solis were all away from their post. Some of the older women, giggling, were trying to teach them without words. A hand here, a demonstration of a step, a finger on a shoulder guiding. Lentzer knew with certainty that all he could do was watch with frozen horror.
Their hats and visors removed, the Nada Solis' identical faces were exposed to the crowd. And everyone watched.
Furious hisses and whispers and spat-out words rippled through the crowd. There was a single cry of outrage. One of the older women picked up a stone and threw it at the clones.
The three Nada Solis were not genetically engineered for diplomacy. As the stone landed harmlessly in the sand, /3 lunged at the veiled woman who threw it.
Lentzer yelled, jumping between the fighting clones and the old lady.
The Nada Solis froze, then all three of them backed off. They lined up and faced the whole camp from behind Lentzer's back. Tek, the Mromrosi and Rasidov were all with the Sheikh, who had risen in alarm. The crowd parted for him as he came toward Lentzer and the three Nada Solis.
"Abomination," people hissed. And although Lentzer spoke not one word of Arabic or the language of Zamalah, he understood the intent. He didn't move, hardly dared breathe while the Sheikh slowly made his way through the mob to see what had angered his people so.
As he reached the Nada Solis, the Sheikh faltered. His face was unreadable. And then he shook his head sadly. "The evil," he said softly, "is in the hearts of those who create abuses of nature. On them be the blood."
"Abomination." The whispered word fluttered through the crowd.
Lentzer didn't bother to yell "snow." If he could have yelled at all. One of the rocks had struck his chest and left him breathless.
The Sheikh raised his hand. "The ulama will judge who is responsible for bringing these devils," he said firmly. "There has never been such a case on Zamalah, not of three female devils. In Moustar we will consult those who are most knowledgeable. If anyone disagrees with this judgment, let him say what he will. The devils are to be guarded until the ulama has decided what is to be done. They are not Allah's creatures, we are. We wait in submission to Him."
The grumbling died down to whispers as the Zamalahi broke camp. Tents were furled and folded and packed on two oversized tractor-sledges. Armed men escorted the Petit Harriers to an open wagon and herded them in.
"I hope someone on the Kinderkinyo notices we're gone," said Rasidov to Lentzer.
"So long as it's not the Line Commander," said Lentzer.
They rode under the chill starlit sky for most of the night. A water bottle was provided and they made at least one stop for a quick meal.
"To keep their strength up," Tek explained, with an uneasy glance at Rasidov.
When daylight rose, the camp was set again and the Petits crawled into the inviting shade underneath the wagon to sleep.
They arrived in Moustar just at sunset of the Id al-Fitr, the perfect time to see the city at its most beautiful, with light glinting from facades of rose quartz. Above the warrens of the deep ravines, crystal towers stretched for the sky, always upward and splendidly ornate, above the squalor at the base of the cliffs.
High on the towers Lentzer could see people on narrow ledges, many of them carrying children and packages, preparing for the holiday. The long narrow ravines distorted sound, making it hollow and either too distant or too near, so here in the heart of the desert the city roared like the sea.
The caravan made its way through the tangle of streets. If people had not backed out of the way from respect for the Sheikh it would have been impossible for them to get through the crush of people and buildings.
Most of the people were dressed in multihued garments, and many of them were driving lambs before them. Tonight every family that could afford to do so would kill an
d roast an entire sheep, and there would be more food on each table than most families saw at one time for the rest of the year.
Since the Mromrosi was not tall enough to be seen over the sides of the wagon he was allowed to travel uncovered. Next to him the three Nada Solis were bound and their visors were in place. The Sheikh agreed that it was best not to display their perfect similarity too openly.
"Moslem though I am, I still don't like this," Rasidov muttered to Lentzer as they rode beside the captive clones. "Too many people. And you see how they feel about clones. We'll be lucky if we get the Solis out of this alive."
Lentzer grunted. Little as he liked the Solis, they were still his responsibility. If anything happened to them, he would answer for it. If he survived long enough to be charged.
"It would be safest if you and the Mromrosi stay in my family's dwelling," said the Sheikh with obvious distaste. "I will post a guard on those devils, so that they will not be harmed until judgment is rendered."
Lentzer demurred. "There's an Alliance resthouse here in Moustar, isn't there? They'll put us up and they'll take the Nada Solis, if you like. That way you won't have to be burdened with them."
The Sheikh looked at him. "How would we reclaim the devils, if you did that?"
Lentzer took advantage of the opening. "Perhaps it would be just as well if the three Nada Solis were removed from Zamalah. There would be no more problem, and no retaliation for a judgment the Alliance might not approve." And the Petit Harriers would have to find some other way to investigate the slave trade on Zamalah.
"You mean that the abominations would be gone and these people would accept their departure?" The Sheikh swept his arm out to include all the people around him.
"Perhaps it's not the most elegant solution, but no one would be hurt; not Zamalahi or Petits." He gave the Sheikh a little time to consider the implications. "We'll leave quietly."