The Terrorists of Irustan

by Louise Marley

  Jin-Li’s chin came up. “Mr. Onani, a lot of Port Force goes offworld just to have some room.”

  He nodded. “I know. Elbow room, they called it in America. But I don’t know if that’s your reason.”

  “It is, in part.”

  “And the other part?” Onani suddenly smiled, showing small, even teeth very white against his black skin.

  It wasn’t an easy smile to resist. Jin-Li almost returned it, but said instead, “The other part was curiosity.” Onani waited, brows lifted, remnants of the smile creasing his cheeks. Jin-Li’s long eyelids lowered. “I wanted to study offworld societies, be an archivist,” Jin-Li said. “But university wasn’t one of my options. Port Force was. And Irustan interested me.”

  “Why not one of the other colonies? Nuova Italia, perhaps, or Crescent?”

  “Irustan is the strangest,” Jin-Li answered.

  Onani chuckled. The atmosphere in his office seemed to warm, to invite confidence, comfort. Jin-Li’s neck prickled.

  “Will you help us, then, Johnnie?” Onani asked. “Help me, and help the Irustani?”

  Jin-Li waited a long moment before saying, slowly, “I’m not a spy, Mr. Onani.”

  His expression didn’t change. “Nor did I think so, Johnnie.” He stood, and gestured to Jin-Li to follow him to one wall, where ceiling-high shelves held rows and rows of discs, some in sleeves of plastic, others in thin, metal boxes. A small reader was already loaded and waiting.

  Onani tapped in an instruction, and a page of names appeared. Jin-Li leaned to see them, read a few, tapped for a new page, read a few more. “Old.”

  Onani nodded. He looked grave now, his dark lips straight, his brow furrowed. “Two hundred and fifty years old,” he said. “The names have changed a bit, haven’t they?” He tapped in a new page. “ExtraSolar lost sixty percent of the first colonists. Eighteen hundred miners died horribly, and some of their families did, too. They’d all had the broad-spectrum vaccine before shipping out, but this wasn’t a virus. It took two years to identify the altered gene, another to develop the accelerated protease that deactivates the prions. Three years in which men, and some women and their children, went on dying.”

  “But now the inhalation therapy takes care of it.”

  “It should.” Onani switched off the reader. “There have been two deaths from the prion disease within the year.”

  Jin-Li startled. “Two? There was only one!”

  Onani was too close. No Irustani would have stood so close—a Chinese, yes, but not an Irustani. Jin-Li stepped back.

  “You knew, then,” Onani said, his eyes hard.

  “I heard.”

  “Well, there’s been another. A man named Leman Bezay died yesterday. He was old, like the first one, retired from the mines years ago. No one knows how he got the disease, or why.”

  Jin-Li could only stare at the black man. Ideas tumbled over and over themselves, questions, strange notions. And through it all, the suspicion that Onani knew something.

  Onani strolled to his big desk, leaned a hip on it as he folded his arms and gazed down at his vivid African rug. “For the sake of the Irustani, Johnnie, I’m asking you to help.”

  “How?” Jin-Li asked. “What do you think I can do?”

  “Leman Bezay may have been infected accidentally. Could have been iatrogenic, from medical treatment. But the man hadn’t seen his medicant since leaving the mines. His widow says he hated going, wouldn’t go near the medicant if he were dying . . . which he did, of course.” Onani’s smile this time was cynical.

  “You’re afraid of an epidemic?”

  “It’s possible. You deliver to the medicants almost exclusively. We want to know anything strange, anything odd.”

  “Mr. Onani, they sell leptokis down in the Medah. Anyone can buy one.” “I know. We’ll talk to the vendors, but they’re close-mouthed with Port Force. You, with your familiarity with Irustani customs—you might learn more. Find out if one of the medicants has bought a leptokis.”

  Jin-Li said with a shake of the head, “That’s doubtful. Women buy them, but the medicants don’t go into the Medah themselves. They’re too precious. They’re hardly ever out of their houses, and always heavily escorted.”

  “Find out for me, Chung,” Onani said. His voice had gone harsh. “Be my ears, my eyes. Something’s going on out there, I can smell it. I need to find out what it is without violating Irustani sovereignty.” He hesitated. “Do you understand?”

  Jin-Li looked into his black eyes. “You mean do I know the word? Or understand what you want?”

  Onani chuckled again. “Both, Chung. Both.”

  Jin-Li sighed, turned away to the tinted glass of the window. The white buildings of the Akros gleamed with the morning light. The city was beautiful, its streets dipping and narrowing, leading to the heart, to the Medah. It was clean and spacious, the air sweet. It would be a terrible thing if its people should die. But if Jin-Li obeyed this command—couched as a request, but clearly an order—who would be betrayed?

  “Bezay was on this medicant’s list,” Onani said, holding out a portable.

  Slowly, Jin-Li returned to him and took the portable. Medicant Zahra IbSada.

  “You want me to spy on her.”

  Onani’s face was relaxed. He leaned back comfortably on the desk. “I don’t need to remind you, Chung,” he said, smiling, “that Port Force keeps a close eye on all its employees.”

  Jin-Li’s belly went cold. Onani might be guessing, or he might really know something. But how to know? Options. Once again, even light-years from Hong Kong, there were no options.

  Jin-Li said carefully, “I’ll try, Mr. Onani. But it would be better to do a formal investigation, examine the medical records, look around Bezay’s household.”

  “We’ll do that,” Onani said calmly. “Don’t expect much.”

  Jin-Li nodded. “I know.”

  “This will mean extra pay, Chung,” Onani said.

  Jin-Li pocketed the reader. “That won’t be my reason.”

  “I know,” Onani said, smile at full force.

  As Jin-Li left the office, Tomas handed over a tiny wavephone. “Here, Johnnie,” he said, his plump cheeks pinched with worry. “Clip it to your pocket on the inside.”

  It was small and gray, and lacked the circled star that branded every other piece of Port Force equipment. Jin-Li pocketed it, fastened the clip, and turned to go down the hall. Tomas said, “No, Johnnie, this way.” He walked past Onani’s office to an unmarked door, and spoke to it. It opened, and Tomas led the way down a narrow plain stairwell. Another anonymous door opened to the outside. Tomas stood in the glare of light, his face a picture of indecision.

  “Listen,” he said, abruptly. He leaned forward to touch the little phone through Jin-Li’s pocket. “There’s a tracker on that, a locator. He’ll know where you are. All the time.”

  Jin-Li’s eyes were wide open, voice warm. “Thanks, Tomas.”

  Tomas’s face pinched again and he straightened his rounded shoulders. He said, “See you.” Jin-Li went out into the blaze of afternoon heat.

  twenty

  * * *

  The Maker has assigned us differing tasks according to our abilities. On men it is laid to worship, to labor in the mines, and to discipline their households. Women are required to bear sons and raise them, and to be obedient in all things. This is the perfect order of the One. Order erases conflict.

  —Twelfth Homily, The Book of the Second Prophet

  Zahra heard it from Qadir. She was still dressing when he knocked on her door and burst in without waiting for an answer. “Zahra!” Perspiration dotted his brown scalp.

  Zahra touched Ishi’s shoulder. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” she murmured, and Ishi slipped out. Qadir appeared not to notice her.

  “Zahra!” he said again. “Leman—dead, he’s dead! I’ve had a call from City Power!” Qadir dropped into the chair opposite the unmade bed. “By the Prophet, Zahra, that’s two of them!”


  Zahra stared, uncomprehending. “What do you mean, two? And why didn’t I get a call if Leman was ill? What’s happened?”

  The lines in Qadir’s face deepened. “He was already dead when his houseboy found him yesterday. The leptokis disease!”

  Zahra went cold. She collapsed onto the stool beside her dressing table. “How do you know, Qadir? Who said that?”

  Qadir rubbed his eyes and swallowed, fighting the old revulsion. A vein throbbed in his forehead. Zahra reached for his wrist and circled it with her fingers. “Slowly, now,” she commanded. “Tell me only what you need to.” Qadir leaned back in the chair and breathed deeply. “Right. Sorry.” He turned his hand over to take hers, his fingers slippery with perspiration. “They tell me that Leman didn’t get up yesterday, but it wasn’t until his secretary called from the City Power offices that his houseboy went to his room. He was still there, and he was—was in a mess. It was like—” Qadir swallowed, and blurted, “It was just like it was with Gadil!”

  Zahra knew what they must have told him—the fouled bedsheets, the ghastly rictus, the smell. She withdrew her hand and jumped up to stride to her closet. “Qadir, why wasn’t the body brought here? Leman was on my list! I’ll want to do a postmortem, see for certain. This isn’t . . .” She paused, one hand on the closet door, trying to remember why she was there. She said, half to herself, “1 don’t see how this is possible.”

  She pulled a dress and a fresh coat from her closet, and stripped off her nightdress. Behind her, Qadir stood slowly.

  “Zahra—what do you think is happening? Port Force will want to see us again, will want to investigate. I’m out of my depth here, and there will be questions, a lot of questions.”

  “I won’t know until I do the postmortem. Will you have Diya call, see where the body is? And send Asa to the surgery—but not Ishi, not yet. And tell Diya we’ll need a car. Unless you want to drive me yourself?”

  Qadir stood shaking his head, staring at the floor. Zahra repeated her instructions, and he frowned. He nodded, but his eyes were glassy, and he left the bedroom with an uncertain step. Zahra dashed water over her face and brushed her hair hurriedly. Pulling on her coat as she went, she almost ran to the clinic. Her unfastened veil flew about her, and her feet caught in her long skirt. Her heart beat so heavily it was a wonder Qadir had not heard it. Her mind raced ahead of her, fearful, shocked.

  She went straight to the CA cabinet in the large surgery and threw the door open. She leaned in, rummaging on the lowest shelf, far in the back. A moment later, she sat back on her heels, staring into the crowded cabinet. It was still there. A brown plastic vial, middle-sized, innocuous-looking. Lethal. A dragging footstep sounded in the hall. She didn’t move.

  Asa hobbled in, leaning on his cane. “It’s there, isn’t it?” he asked, breathless.

  Her own voice was flat. “It’s there.”

  “Then she got it somewhere else. It’s not your fault.”

  “It is my fault.” Zahra shoved the door of the CA cabinet closed with unnecessary force. “I started this. However she managed this, it’s my doing and my responsibility.”

  “She did it for Alekos.”

  “I know.”

  The buzzer from the street door made them both jump. They heard Lili open and then close the door.

  “By the Prophet, Asa,” Zahra murmured. “What now?” She stood up too fast on trembling legs. The room swirled in a heady blur of silver and gray and black. She tried to take a step, but her muscles betrayed her and she swayed on her feet. Her legs rebelled, her knees folded, ignoring the commands of her mind.

  Asa cried out, trying to get to her, but his cane slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.

  Blindly, she reached out for something, anything, to hold onto. There was nothing. There was only the silver-gray blur, and she fell into it, slowly, slowly, knowing there were only the hard tiles to catch her.

  They came sooner than she expected, but they surprised her. They weren’t hard, but resilient, and surprisingly warm. She felt herself caught by them, turned and lifted up, comforted. She sighed, and gave in.

  * * *

  When Zahra opened her eyes and saw the face of the Port Forceman bending over her, strange and yet familiar at one and the same time, she gasped. Her hands groped for her veil, and she looked frantically around to see where she was, who had observed her.

  “It’s all right, Medicant.” Asa’s voice, from behind her, was calm, soothing. “It’s Kir Chung. It’s Jin-Li.”

  Jin-Li Chung smiled down at Zahra, and helped her to sit. Strong brown fingers assisted her with the panel of her verge, smoothing it over her nose and mouth, fitting the tiny button into its buttonhole. “There now,” Jin-Li said. “That’s better.”

  Zahra stared at the sleepy dark eyes, the short gleaming brush of black hair. In the wake of her reaction, she remembered that she had nothing at all to fear from this person. Unless—she looked around again. “Qadir?” she breathed. She was surprised at the weakness of her voice. She had passed out. Fainted! Something she had never once done in all her life.

  “The chief director is in the dayroom,” Asa murmured. “Kir Chung came with a manifest and Lili let him in just before you lost your footing in the surgery. A lucky thing. I’m too slow.”

  “Lili? Is she—”

  “No, Medicant,” Asa said. “I’m your escort.”

  Zahra passed trembling fingers over her eyes, her brow. She needed time, time to think, to understand. To decide.

  But Jin-Li Chung decided for her.

  “Medicant, I’ve come because General Administrator Onani has been asking questions.” Chung’s voice, always light in timbre, was low-pitched and confiding.

  “About me?” Zahra managed to ask, her voice a mere breath. “Questions about me?”

  “The deceased man was on your clinic list.”

  Zahra felt the faintness threaten again, but she took a sharp breath and fought it back. She forced herself to speak firmly. “Surely Mr. Onani is aware Leman Bezay hasn’t been to my clinic except when he came with his son.” “He is.” Jin-Li smiled, long eyes crinkling. “Matter of record. But Mr. Onani has a very curious mind.”

  Zahra slid from the bed and stood up. Her legs wavered and she willed them to hold. “Come into my office. Asa, you too.”

  Zahra waved Jin-Li into a chair and pushed hers around to the side of the desk for Asa. She herself stood, not giving in to her shaky legs. She leaned against the wall, looking out the little window into the sun-baked garden. For a moment the only sound was the monotone hum of the cooler.

  Zahra turned abruptly. “You know, Kir Chung ...”

  “Medicant, I’d like you to call me Jin-Li.”

  Zahra felt stronger suddenly, more in control of the situation. Her fear drained away, and she felt her accustomed energy, her determination, take its place. Leman Bezay had been a foolish and selfish old man. Who was there to mourn him? There was only Port Force to worry about, and they could deal with that. With Jin-Li’s help. If Jin-Li meant to help.

  “Yes, of course. Jin-Li.” Zahra regarded both Asa and the longshoreman, in control once again. “You know, I haven’t even had coffee yet. Asa, would you mind calling for some? Coffee, perhaps some fruit and bread? It’s going to be a long morning.”

  “Of course, Medicant.” Asa levered himself to his feet with his cane. “What about Ishi?”

  “Say that she should have breakfast with Qadir.”

  “Very well.” Asa hobbled from the little office.

  Zahra met the longshoreman’s eyes. “You know, Jin-Li, there’s nothing I can tell Administrator Onani. Who knows why the leptokis disease strikes where it does? I can only be held responsible for those who come to my clinic. 1 believe you understand that many Irustani men avoid that when they can.”“Just as I told Onani,” Jin-Li responded, and smiled again. It was a beautiful smile, Zahra thought. A beautiful face.

  Jin-Li began, “You should know, Medicant—
”

  “Zahra,” she said, without thinking. She added hastily, “At least in private.”

  Jin-Li nodded. “Thank you. Zahra.” The name sounded sweet in Jin-Li’s mouth.

  Zahra caught herself with one hand on her breast, her heart pounding again. It was the unaccustomed familiarity, she told herself, the breach of a lifetimes rules, that made her heart beat so fast. It couldn’t be the longshoreman’s long, heavy-lidded eyes, the way they lifted when she looked into them, as if in invitation—an invitation to know, to reveal, to share.

  The inner door of the surgery opened and closed, and they heard voices. “Our coffee,” Zahra said.

  Jin-Li stood, leaned forward with both hands on the desk. “Listen, you should understand that Onani intended this inquiry to be confidential. Not direct.”

  “Naturally,” Zahra answered. “But you . . . ?”

  Jin-Li flashed white teeth and laughed. “It’s clear to me that there’s nothing here that will answer his questions.” Jin-Li’s brown eyes narrowed, lids dropping. “In any case, Medi—Zahra—I didn’t come to Irustan to be a spy for Port Force.”

  “Why did you come, Jin-Li?” Zahra asked softly. The sounds of Asa’s slow progress down the hall came closer.

  Jin-Li’s smile faded. An ineffable sadness clouded the sleepy eyes. Zahra was moved to put her hand on the longshoreman’s where it rested on her desk. Her fingers lifted, poised to do it. But Asa appeared in the doorway.

  “Would you like your coffee in here, Medicant?”

  “Yes.” Zahra flushed, hastened to move several discs to make way for the tray Asa carried. Without his cane, Asa’s progress was painfully slow, and Jin-Li jumped up to help. Zahra watched the two of them. “Did you see Qadir?” she asked Asa.

  “He’s at breakfast with Ishi.”

  “And Lili?”

  “Lili too.”

  “Did they ask ...”