by S. N. Lewitt
Rasidov tapped Lentzer's arm as another impassioned voice addressed the gathering the other side of the wall.
"He's saying that he does not believe it is proper to sell slaves to anyone but Moslems. He wants the Imam to order all the Faithful not to trade with off-worlders."
There came a third voice, this time interrupted by enthusiastic cheers of approval.
"What's that all about?" asked Lentzer when the cheers drowned out the speaker.
"He's in the other camp. It seems to be more popular," said Rasidov. "He thinks that selling slaves to those who are not Moslem is the better way because it erases the sin more completely. To sell slaves in expiation isn't enough unless they are sacrifices."
"Did they happen to mention who's buying the slaves off-world?" asked Lentzer.
"They did, but I didn't recognize the name," said Rasidov.
Lentzer turned to Tek. "What about you?"
The young Supplies/Tech lowered his voice still more. "It was too noisy. I'm sorry."
They stumbled out of the hidden staircase at the side of the house, near the hive-shaped ovens where bread was baked. The entire area was strewn with the refuse of the evening's feast, with more to come. It smelled dreadful and it squished underfoot.
"How are we going to find the resthouse?" asked Rasidov as they slipped and slithered toward the gate.
"My implant will do it," said Lentzer, already sensing the faint warmth of its activation. It was one of the few times he was glad to have it; most of the time the little device was more disorienting than it was helpful.
"What if someone notices us?" demanded the Nada Solis/3. "We're pogging conspicuous."
"It's feast-time," said Rasidov. "There won't be many people on the street, and most of them won't be likely to stop us." He looked over at Tek. "Do you think we can cover for all of us? If we're noticed?"
"Oh, I think so," said Tek. "If the Solis and the Group Leader will keep their heads down and act dejected."
"What?" cried the Nada Solis/1.
"Just do it," said Lentzer. "I'm going to." He worked the lock on the gate loose. "Ready?" he asked back over his shoulder. Much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to enjoy himself.
"I suppose so," said Tek.
"Fine," said Lentzer. "Rasidov, you first. We'll come in the middle, the Solis and me; and Tek will bring up the rear." He put his shoulder to the gate und eased it open. His head buzzed as the implant went to work.
They reached the resthouse without incident. As they entered the main room, a station Bunter hurried toward them. "Good evening, Group Leader, Navigator, Sub-Group Chiefs, Supplies/Tech. There has been apprehension on your behalf." It checked each of them out with a medical scanner, then stopped. "And where is the Mromrosi?"
"That's what we're hoping to find out," said Lentzer. "Do you have a scrambled hailer?"
"Yes. Naturally," said the cyborg, moving nervously. "I'll take you to the vid room at once."
"Thank you," said Lentzer. "As soon as possible."
"Oh," said the Bunter. "Yes. At once." Its duties were making things difficult for the cyborg. "What refreshments may I get for you?" it asked the little mission. "Food, drink?"
All three Nada Solis asked for restorative wafers. Tek said he could tend to his own food. Rasidov ordered a sammidge.
"Very good," said the Bunter, at last able to assist Lentzer. As it led the way out of the chamber, it inquired, "And for you, sir? Food? Drink?"
Lentzer surprised himself with his answer. "Just the hailer, thanks."
"Very good, sir," said the Bunter as it opened the door to the communications area for him.
It was four minutes later that Executive Officer Yuen answered the hail; for the next few seconds he struggled to adjust the scrambler, then his face appeared on the vid screen. "Lentzer. Old Hardy, we've been worried."
"So have we," said Lentzer, grinning. "And we're not out yet."
Yuen gave a worried glance over his shoulder. "Look, if you need us, we can find a way to pick you up with walkers. But it . . . There are complications here."
"Not the Line Commander," said Lentzer.
"Grands. Bombards. Yosinero," said Yuen.
Lentzer took a long breath. "Uh-huh," he said.
"If we leave, they'll follow." The Executive Officer made a harried movement with his hands. "We've been able to keep them here, but it's getting harder. Yosinero wants to buy his carpets and leave, but I think he wants us out of the way before he does."
"I can bet he does," said Lentzer.
"What do you mean?" An expression that was not quite dread and not quite hope crossed Yuen's features.
"Slavers, that's what I mean," said Lentzer. "Off-world slavers."
The Executive Officer's eyes grew large; when he spoke it was barely above a whisper. "You don't mean that . . ."
"Not for a fact, no," said Lentzer. "But I'll wager half my pension on it." He leaned forward. "Pog it, I'll wager all my pension."
Yuen jumped in his chair. "Get back here right now. If you're right, you are in—"
"Not quite yet," said Lentzer, interrupting Yuen. "There's a few things we have to tidy up here."
Once again Yuen's face grew guarded. "What things?"
"Well, for one thing, we have to get the Mromrosi back—" He paid no heed to the squack from Yuen. "And then I'd like to set a little trap for our ever-so-Grand friends."
The Friday mosque had four minarets, crystalline needles piercing the sky. Underneath was a dome and a walled enclosure. This was the main city mosque and it was huge.
Lentzer had never been in a mosque before. They entered through a courtyard arranged around a large central fountain. There were other fountains against the walls as well, the space between them paved with tiles laid out in a geometric pattern. The scent of orange trees filled the air.
In the dark the courtyard was a maze of shadows. The lighting had been designed for drama, and visibility had been sacrificed.
"Should we go in?" Tek asked.
Lentzer shook his head. "We're here. We're easy enough to spot. It's up to them to find us." He perched on the fountain ledge, looking like a tourist taking in the view. His face was perfectly composed.
"They won't like it so public," the Nada Solis/2 said.
Lentzer didn't comment. Ever since he had been informed that the Mromrosi was at the mosque, he had been busy weighing his options. There weren't very many of them, but he was determined to make the most of what he had. He was not stupid enough to move his own people into the shadows. A slight breeze rippled the water across the surface of the fountain. Fine spray wet Lentzer's face. He remained still as a stone.
At one time during his training he had been told that it was not impossible to negotiate with terrorists, only politically ill-advised. Most terrorists, he had been taught, were not suicidal or irrational unless pushed or threatened. But few of them could identify with their hostages, and most of them did not care if they died. And the longer the situation went on, the better for the negotiators, as long as some progress was being made.
He had been young then, and eager, thrilled to have passed the tests and be ushered into the secret world of the Alliance Intelligence Organization. He had enjoyed all the intricate and arcane subjects he was expected to master. Terrorism, not a major problem on most Magnicate Alliance worlds, was still on the curriculum for AIO trainees.
The instructor had been one of the crisis managers during the last Scare on Mere Philomene. There had been hordes of bogos about then, hijackings and hostages taken. Institutions were bombed. Alliance ships were sabotaged. Most people dismissed it as typical Mere Philomene, the losers acting up again. But the incidents of the Scare itself had been studied and analyzed and reinterpreted so that it was usable.
Or, as his instructor had explained, Mere Philomene was something of a laboratory of rebellion, sedition, and police action. "You have to say this about the Fils: they knew what they were doing."
The Voice
of the Hidden Imam probably didn't. That made them far more dangerous, in Lentzer's view. They didn't have generations of tradition about how to handle prisoner exchanges. Their traditions came from stealth, treachery, and absolutism. They were making the scene up as they went along, and Lentzer knew it meant trouble.
"Why do we have to wait for them to make the first move?" asked the Nada Solis/1.
"Because we do," said Lentzer. "That's the way it's done."
"I hate waiting," said the Nada Solis/3.
"Let me scout around," suggested Rasidov.
"All right," said Lentzer, against his better judgment. No doubt this was a bad move. He didn't like splitting their force up. It was already too small. If only they had more time. With more time Lentzer could appeal to the wisdom of the rest of Zamalahi. There had to be another way to close in on the group. The officials of the planet, the ulama and others, were responsible for the Mromrosi's safety too. And perhaps they had some experience with this fringe group, had dealt with them before.
A shadow flickered in the courtyard. Tek noticed it, pointed. Lentzer nodded. He'd seen it clearly, alert the way he hadn't been in fifteen, twenty years. The hunt was on. The icy breath of challenge bathed him and everything heightened. Time slowed. Lentzer could just see Rasidov in the break between the orange trees. He signaled the others to come closer.
There were other men in the courtyard now, most of them making their way into the mosque itself. For an instant Lentzer was distracted.
And then a hood dropped over his eyes.
For a moment only he was angry. He hadn't been expecting that. He cursed himself for such a stupid, stupid error.
Hands gripped him firmly but not uncomfortably. They did not seem to intend pain. Yet.
"This way," a carefully neutral voice said in accented Standard Huble. "We are sorry for the inconvenience, but you understand our position?"
Lentzer made himself answer in the affirmative. In a hostage situation it was always better to acknowledge every question. The kidnappers always wanted to be in control. The whole issue was one of power. Let their captive think they had it. He couldn't afford to anger them now.
"We are going to take you with us," said the same voice. "All of you. If any one of you fails to obey us, all of you will be disposed of."
"Do what he tells you," said Lentzer at once, knowing that the Nada Solis were anxious to fight.
They were led behind the trees into the porch of the mosque itself. Lentzer recognized the smell of the trees, the smoothness of the pavement, the shallow steps up to the door. He wondered if he should take off his shoes.
Then they were led through a side gate and back onto the street. At least it sounded like the street, and the paving was rough like an alley. He could hear the shuffling behind him and tried to count. They must have all the Nada Solis. Otherwise they would have battled in the courtyard. And Tek? Did they have him, as well? He tried to make out their footsteps but the sounds were too indistinct to reveal much.
He was pushed and prodded into something and then pushed downward. "Sit," his captor said, and he bent his knees gingerly.
The seat was padded and upholstered and the guard fastened a belt across his lap. Then the thing took off, lurched, and rose rapidly. It felt like it was flying heavy, although Lentzer knew that could well be his imagination.
The flyer rolled, dove, rose again. It turned quickly right, then right again. That was when Lentzer lost track of their direction. He was suspended in darkness, piloted by someone who was either an expert at disorientation or an aggressive adolescent.
Not only direction, but time too became distorted. Lentzer couldn't say whether he'd been in the flyer for ten minutes or half an hour.
Then the flyer bounced hard, jarring his knees, and the belt was unsnapped. The hood was removed from his face before he was told to leave.
The Nada Solis were there, and Tek. But Rasidov was missing. Lentzer was relieved. If anyone could find them it was Navigator Rasidov.
When they left the flyer it was dark. Lentzer could make out the interior of a cave, which was not very helpful, since most of the population lived in caverns. There was some utilitarian furniture. Their captors wore checked triangular cloths tied across their faces so only their eyes could be seen. Their dress was typical of Zamalah, the long concealing robes and sandals. It was only because of bare darkened toenails that Lentzer realized one was a woman. All of them held weapons trained on the Harriers, and all the weapons looked to be well cared for and in excellent condition.
And across the room, sitting under a dim light, was the Mromrosi. It turned a soft pink color.
"The alien will be released to the Semper Alpha Cygnis," a disembodied voice informed them. "It will be taken directly there, off the planet, so as not to confuse the people. The rest of you will remain here."
Lentzer was immediately on guard. How did they know about the Semper Alpha Cygnis? Only government agencies would have access to information like that, and even then only when there was a need to know.
This was not some group of amateurs playing local games, Lentzer knew. There was something else under it all, something that gave a group of fanatics information they should never have possessed. And all the while he was being diverted from their mission, seduced away from the real purpose of this whole charade.
"Absolutely not," the Mromrosi said.
If he had grown a full li and done a Yerba Buena dance it wouldn't have surprised Lentzer any less.
All eyes were on the alien. Even their captors were shocked, their attention held.
"No," the alien repeated itself. "I refuse to go as long as any sentient being is held in my stead."
Lentzer could imagine it. The thought horrified him. The Mromrosi could ruin everything.
And everyone else was as horrified as he was. Even with their faces covered, the terrorists' eyes were wide and glassy. Their weapons had swung automatically to cover the Mromrosi. And they forgot the Nada Solis altogether.
"Think what you are saying," one of the terrorists shouted.
"I always think about what I say." The Mromrosi was bright, sugary yellow. "The Emerging Planet Fairness Court is not party to coercion of any kind."
The clones had always bragged about being perfect. They were. They caught the break in concentration and used it to slip quickly behind the three captors who were furthest to the back. It took very little effort and almost no noise for the clones to hand-drop the guards with quick double blows to the temples. They held their victims so there was no sound at all as the unconscious terrorists sank to the ground.
By the time the terrorists came groggily back to consciousness, the clones already had them covered. "Drop your weapons and sit down," the Nada Solis/3 ordered.
The kidnappers complied meekly. Lentzer glued their palms together so they made a circle. The Mromrosi watched everything, and Lentzer watched him. The Nada Solis removed the ammunition from the weapons. Tek was checking out the flyer.
"Do you think we can get back to our ship from the resthouse?" Lentzer asked the Nada Solis when he was finished securing the prisoners.
The Nada Solis/2 rolled her eyes. "No problem," she announced. "Why? What about you?"
"I have to find Rasidov," said Lentzer.
Back at the resthouse the Nada Solis were explaining every move to the Mromrosi.
"But will they be troubled, all glued together like that?" Mromrosi asked.
"As long as they don't move they'll be fine. In ten hours the bond will dissolve if no one finds them before then. As long as they stay calm no one will be hurt," the Nada Solis/2 said very reassuringly.
"But what if no one comes?" the Mromrosi persisted.
"That's very unlikely," Lentzer said, interrupting the Nada Solis/3 who was clearing her throat before making a presentation. "They had a complex plan and a leader. They knew the identity of our Semper ship. They're a lot more sophisticated than we anticipated. I'd bet they won't have to wait long enough
for any of them to get hungry."
The Mromrosi accepted that. "Then something else bothers you."
"Yes, it does," said Lentzer. "This whole Voice of the Hidden Imam thing. They're a lot more professional and organized than anything we were anticipating. And a lot better armed, too. Those stunners were new-style, expensive and not available on the open market. For another, I don't like it that all three Broadswords were effectively immobilized by nine Grands Bombards. That's too much convenience for someone." Frowning, he retired to his own quarters.
There was a coded zap waiting for him, one that was keyed to his AIO implant.
He straightened his back and placed his palms flat on his thighs the way he had been taught immediately after the implant was put in place. Then he started slowly with the breathing. And then the pain began in the back of his head, but he ignored it. He thought about his heart rate, about the blood going to the brain, about his brainwaves getting longer and longer—
He had to force himself to open his eyes, to look at the words on the screen. The implant took over, and the words melted in front of him and recombined in kaleidoscope patterns, revolving until they finally came to rest.
The new words pounded in his head. In decryption state, he was unaware of their meaning. He whispered them harshly into the speaker and saw the right patterns on the screen.
He came back to awareness slowly. The first thing he noticed was that his shirt was damp with sweat and that he stank. Then he felt the drained, dizzy aftermath. Great pogging Morjis, he was out of practice. His mouth was parched and he was too tired even to call for water.
The dizziness steadied and the weakness passed. Lentzer summoned the Bunter and requested Boreas sehap broth and some real courberries.
Then he stared at the decoded information. He read it through three times, wondering as he did so whether perhaps the implant had atrophied and he had bungled the decryption. But all the other signs were there intact, the series letters and the syntax.