She looked out of the open window towards the darkening sky and shuddered.
“I can't do anything else,” her father said. “All I can do is make the best arrangements I can for you. And pray.”
He gave her a hug, then stood up. “I’ll come back in an hour to take you to the Judge’s house,” he told her. He sounded almost as through her were pleading. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”
Sameena felt hot tears prickling at her eyes as he closed the door, leaving her alone. Her thoughts danced in crazy circles through her head. How could he do that to her? But what choice did he have? Abdul had ruined the whole family and her only hope of escaping the coming dragnet was to surrender to a lecherous old man. No doubt the Judge had struck a hard bargain. Everyone thought that merchants were rich, even when they weren't.
She picked up the purse and counted the coins silently. Nearly five thousand sultans – and, buried at the bottom of the purse, an Imperial Credit Coin. There were only a handful on the entire planet; whatever Imperial Law happened to say, Jannah rarely used any currencies apart from its own sultans. She doubted that she could find someone who would accept the coin, at least outside the spaceport. Mere possession of the coin would raise suspicions of spiritual contamination by off-worlders.
There was no formal law against women possessing such sums of money, but it was almost unheard of. Her dowry would go to the Judge; if he knew that she had the rest of the money with her, he would be within his rights to take it for himself. All that was hers would become his. She would have to hide it, somehow. And then ...
And then what? She asked herself. Her life was utterly ruined.
She heard a dull crash from downstairs. Worried, she stood up and opened the door very quietly. A harsh male voice echoed upstairs, demanding that everyone in the house present themselves for arrest and formal interrogation. Sameena felt her blood run cold as she realised that her father had been too late, after all. The Guardians of Morality had arrived to take them all into custody.
Her mother started to scream. There was the unmistakable sound of a scuffle and the screaming cut off, abruptly. They’d knocked her mother down, she guessed; how long would it be before they searched the house? She’d heard too many rumours to go gently into their custody, but there was no point in fighting. Even if she’d known how to fight, there were just too many of them.
She turned and scooped up the purse of coins and stuffed them into her pocket. At least she’d worn loose trousers rather than a dress; it would have been far harder to escape in one of her dresses, even if her mother did like seeing her in them. She picked up her headscarf a moment later – she normally didn't wear them in the house – and then slipped over to the window. Was that footsteps she could hear coming up the stairs? She couldn't tell, but there was no longer any time to hesitate.
It had been five years since she’d last scrambled out of her window and climbed down to the garden below, but her hands and feet still remembered where to go. She was heavier now, she realised, as one of the footholds almost broke under her weight and she slipped, thankfully only a few inches above the ground. As soon as she touched the ground, she turned and fled into the woods behind her house. There were no guards outside to catch her before she could escape.
She and her brother had used to play in the woods and she knew them like the back of her hand. If the Guardians of Public Morality came after her, they’d have problems ... she hoped. They’d played hide-and-seek before, but never with adults ... catching her breath, she looked back towards the house. No one seemed to be coming after her.
But they would, she knew. Everyone knew that the Guardians of Public Morality never gave up. Give them a day or two and everyone in the town would know that they wanted Sameena, dead or alive. No one would shelter her, not even the Judge. And going to him would mean swapping one kind of captivity and torture for another.
And yet ... where could she go?
A thought occurred to her. It wasn't something that she would ever have considered before, but what did she have to lose? And besides, the Guardians of Public Morality would never expect it, not of a girl.
And if it worked, she would be far outside their reach.
Chapter Two
Humans being what they are, considerable attention is focused on the handful of people who have successfully predicted the future of the stock markets. Those winners have made vast sums of money. It is generally ignored, however, that thousands of people have lost money by predicting the future ... unsuccessfully. The separation between winners and losers is as much a matter of luck as judgement. They, of course, would not agree.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Science That Isn’t: Economics and the Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire.
The call to prayer was echoing through the air when she reached the other side of the woods and paused, staring at the house ahead of her. It belonged to a very religious family, one that had two daughters who had been her friends before their parents had decided that a merchant’s daughter was an unsuitable companion for their children. They were so religious, Sameena knew, that everyone in the house would make their way to the local mosque for prayers, even the women and servants. The house would be left empty.
She waited in the woods until she heard the prayers begin, then slipped into their garden and walked over to where the clothes were hanging from the washing line. The family had a younger son who was about Sameena’s height; she took his shirt and tunic from the line, then found a turban that would cover her hair. Theft bothered her, but there was no choice, not with the Guardians after her. They could only kill her once.
Back in the woods, she pulled the shirt and tunic on, then wrapped up her hair inside the turban. Wearing clothes belonging to the other sex was asking for a whipping, but most people wouldn't look past the male clothes to see the girl underneath – or so she hoped. She bundled up her former clothes, glanced down at herself to ensure that she didn't look very feminine, then walked down to the road and headed eastwards, down into the town.
She felt terrifyingly exposed as she walked down the street, catching sight of a handful of Guardians on the other side of the road. If they caught her ... women were not supposed to go anywhere, anywhere at all, without a male escort. Sweat was trickling down her back as she walked past the Guardians and headed towards the bus station in town. Getting caught meant that there would be nowhere left to run. But no one tried to stop her as she entered the bus station and climbed onto a bus. Four stops later, she was near the spaceport – and near Uncle Muhammad’s house.
Uncle Muhammad wasn't really her uncle, at least not in any biological sense. He had been her father’s partner, once upon a time, before they had separated their businesses and gone their own ways. Sameena’s father had told her enough for her to realise that he could not be trusted, but there was no other choice. Besides, it was quite likely that the Guardians would pick him up as well, unless he had enough warning to round up some political support from his allies. She hesitated, looking at his huge house, then walked forward towards the main entrance. There was no point in backing out now.
She pushed the bell and waited. Moments later, Muhammad’s son appeared and peered at her suspiciously. He’d been mentioned as a potential candidate for Sameena’s hand, she knew; it was quite possible that he would recognise her, despite the flimsy disguise. But there was no point in concealing herself any longer. She pulled off the turban, allowing her hair to spill down over her shoulders, and smiled at him. He looked utterly flabbergasted.
“I need to speak to your father,” she said, before he could say a word. “Now.”
He must have been shocked, she reflected, as he led her into the house. Normally, a man would grow stubborn at the mere thought of taking orders from a woman. She smirked inwardly as they walked down luxurious corridors and past artwork that would probably give the Guardians heart attacks, including several that were rather indecent. Uncle Muhammad seemed to believe that one should flaunt
the wealth one had, despite the Guardians. So far, his services to the government had been enough to keep him safe. Sameena hoped that was still true.
“I should fetch my mother,” Muhammad’s son said, as they reached his father’s office. “I ...”
“No need,” Sameena said. Her reputation was hardly a concern any longer. Oddly, the thought made her feel freer than she’d felt ever since she’d realised the difference between male and female. “I just need to talk to him in private.”
She ignored his doubting look and strode into the office, leaving him outside. Uncle Muhammad was a tall man, considerably overweight, with a neatly-trimmed beard that tried to give him an air of distinction. Sameena, who had been raised by a trader, knew better than to take him for granted. He would keep the letter of any agreement, but would have to be watched carefully to prevent him using any loopholes to his own advantage. No wonder her father had preferred to separate himself from his former friend.
“Sameena,” Uncle Muhammad said, carefully. “Why are you here?”
Sameena couldn't blame him for being surprised – and alarmed. It was almost unheard of for girls to travel on their own, certainly outside the towns ... indeed, it was quite rare for girls to travel at all, no matter what their husbands did. The Guardians believed that women should remain at home and enforced their beliefs on everyone they could reach. Her presence here, without her father or brother, spelt trouble.
“The Guardians came for my family,” she said, and outlined what had happened. “I need your help.”
Uncle Muhammad narrowed his eyes. “And if they’re prepared to arrest the Judge,” he said, “what makes you think that I can protect you?”
Sameena stared at him. “They arrested Judge Al-Haran?”
“He was taken away a couple of hours ago,” Uncle Muhammad informed her. “Your father was evidently unaware of how many enemies he had. Quite a few of the Guardians thought that he was too merciful to captured criminals.”
His eyes bored into hers. “And I ask again,” he said. “What makes you think that I can protect you?”
He was talking to her, Sameena realised numbly, as if she were a man rather than a woman. It would have pleased her under other circumstances, but right now ... she couldn't help wondering if the religious tutor who’d lectured on a woman’s place in the world had had a point after all. She would have liked to put the whole matter aside ... angrily, she shook her head. Denying reality wouldn't make it any less real. And she could only rely on herself.
“You have connections to off-worlders,” she said, remembering the credit coin her father had given her. “I want you to get me off the planet.”
Uncle Muhammad’s eyes went very wide. “You want to go off-world?”
“Yes,” Sameena said. “Where else can I go?”
He considered it for a long moment. Sameena knew what he was thinking. The Guardians would not stop hunting her – and she couldn't live on her own, not as a young woman. She could hide in Uncle Muhammad’s house, but that couldn't last forever – and besides, she wasn't sure that she would want to stay even if she could. She certainly couldn’t get married without announcing her identity to the clerics, who would alert the Guardians.
“The alternative would be to ... ah, marry someone without registering it,” Uncle Muhammad said, finally. “You would be safe and ...”
Sameena felt her blood run cold. She’d heard about such marriages – and about how they lacked the handful of legal protections offered to registered marriages. It was effectively prostitution, something she wasn't supposed to know about. But her brother had always talked too loudly and Sameena had listened carefully. Knowledge was power.
“No,” she said, flatly. “I am not a whore.”
Uncle Muhammad flinched, as if she’d struck him. “Getting you into space would be risky ...”
Sameena threw caution to the winds. “So will trying to sell me to a brothel,” she said, sharply. “I will go to the Guardians and tell them everything, all the details of your trade with the off-worlders, if you refuse to help me now.”
He clenched his fists. She realised, suddenly, just how easy it would be for him to crush her neck. They could bury her in the garden and make sure that no one would talk. Perhaps the Guardians would realise that there was a connection between Uncle Muhammad and Sameena’s father in time, but it would be far too late to help her.
“I also know a few details of my father’s business that you need to know,” she added, lowering her voice. “They will be yours.”
Uncle Muhammad muttered a word she didn't recognise, then glowered at her. “What do you want?”
Sameena fought to keep her face expressionless. “Get me onto a ship leaving the system, with something I can use to support myself,” she said. She didn't want to admit to having the Credit Coin, not if it could be avoided. “And then I will be out of your hair for good.”
“And you will tell me what I need to know,” Uncle Muhammad said. He paused. “I should warn you that the Guardians patrol the spaceport quite heavily. You’ll need to be smuggled onboard and that could be risky.”
Sameena surprised herself by smiling. “I have made it here,” she said. Few women on her homeworld could have done that, even if it was a bare fifty kilometres from her hometown to the spaceport. “I understand the risk.”
“I will take you to the library,” Uncle Muhammad said, standing up. “I’ll give you pen and paper; you will write down everything you know that I might need to know. In the meantime, I will make the arrangements to get you onto a freighter. After that, you're on your own.”
He could still betray her, Sameena knew, as he led her down the corridor and into the library. Or simply kill her outright. But there was no other choice. She had to trust that he would do as he had promised.
“Here,” Uncle Muhammad said, shoving a piece of paper at her. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Sameena watched him go, then looked around the library. It was crammed with books, ranging from the standard textbooks on Islamic thought to a number of volumes that would thoroughly displease the Guardians, if they found them. Several of them, she realised, were on off-world science and cultures, a number clearly imported rather than produced on her homeworld. But that wasn't surprising, she knew. Her father had told her, more than once, just how many restrictions there were on printing new books. It could be very hard to gain permission to publish a book.
She took the piece of paper and wracked her brains, writing down almost everything she could remember that she thought Uncle Muhammad would like. Her father would be angry, she knew, if he knew ... but he would never be released. Nor would anyone else in her family ... they’d want to make a horrible example of her brother, just to ensure that no one else dared to question the religious tutors. Sameena felt tears welling up in her eyes, now that she was somewhere relatively safe. She wanted to weep for her family.
Uncle Muhammad took almost an hour to return to the library. When he did, he was accompanied by his third wife, a thin-lipped woman who gave Sameena a stern look that would have promised trouble, if she’d just made a normal visit. Sameena ignored her and looked directly at Uncle Muhammad, no longer caring to remain demure and downcast. It wasn't as if she could get in more trouble.
“I have made some preparations,” he said, shortly. “You will be transported into a cargo pod that will be shipped into orbit and loaded onto a freighter. After that, you will be on your own. I trust that you speak Imperial Standard?”
Sameena nodded, wordlessly. Her father had insisted that she learn along with her brother, although Imperial Standard wasn't something that women – or men, for that matter – were encouraged to learn. Talking to off-worlders risked contamination, the Guardians insisted – and besides, there were few opportunities to practice. But she knew how to speak to the off-worlders if necessary.
“Good,” Uncle Muhammad said. He gave his wife a sharp look when she began to splutter in disbelief. “Now, you n
eed to take a careful look at these.”
He pulled a set of sealed plastic bags out of his pocket and dropped them on the table. “Most of our trade goods are impossible for me to obtain on such short notice,” he said. “These, on the other hand, will be worth a considerable sum of money off-world. I suggest that you treat them with considerable care – and don’t let anyone know what they are, at least until you’re sure that you can trust them. I've attached a set of instructions for using the berries and producing more.”
Sameena picked up one of the bags and frowned. Inside, there were a dozen berries and seeds, just waiting for soil and water. What were they?
“Sunflower Berries,” Uncle Muhammad said, seeing her puzzlement. “They’re almost worthless on this world, but off-worlders are very fond of them.” He tapped the set of instructions. “I think you would be able to grow new ones, if you tried. Is gardening one of your skills?”
Sameena shook her head.
“Don’t worry about it,” Uncle Muhammad said. He nodded to his wife, who scowled at Sameena. “My wife has taken the liberty of preparing some additional clothes for you, as well as food and drink. However, I honestly don't know what will happen once you’re in orbit. You may end up staying in the cargo pod for days before the ship reaches its destination.”
He looked back at Sameena. “You could stay here,” he added. “I would hide you.”
Sameena saw the look on his wife’s face and knew that wouldn't be safe. Uncle Muhammad wasn't her real uncle, after all; there would be no legal objections if he wanted to marry her, particularly if he didn't register the marriage. And she had no strong male protector to help her escape. The Guardians would probably thank her for betraying her new husband right before they killed her for daring to try to escape them.
But she knew next to nothing about life off-world. There were stories and rumours, but nothing concrete, nothing she could trust. She might starve to death in the cargo pod, or be caught and killed by the freighter crew, or ... the only thing she could trust, really, was that there would be no Guardians. She would be well away from them.
The Empire's Corps: Book 05 - The Outcast Page 2