While We Run

by Karen Healey

  “They don’t want me,” I said, managing not to sound annoyed at her assumption. “You didn’t call it the Save Abdi campaign, did you?”

  “But you don’t have Tegan’s problem with public speaking, and you’d be a valuable spokesperson for—”

  “Haven’t I given enough?” I demanded. My voice was too harsh, too loud. “Let me rest; let me go home!”

  “How much is enough when—”

  “Shhh, Bethari,” Tegan said. Her cheeks were flushing. “I’m sorry, Abdi. I didn’t think about it. I should have. Of course you want to see your family as soon as you can.”

  I did feel guilty. Tegan had been right back in the complex—she didn’t have a home anymore. She’d had Melbourne, but now Melbourne, past and present, was lost to her. Her family was long gone—her father before she’d died, her mother and brother afterward. Her first boyfriend had married the love of his life and died old and happy.

  And I would be leaving, as soon as I could, and if she meant what she’d said in the underground camp, Joph would come, too.

  And I hoped Tegan would come with us.

  In the kitchen, she’d said she’d like to come.

  No, my perfect memory for conversations wouldn’t let me get away with that. She’d said “I think I’d like to come.” But she hadn’t known I meant to go so soon, and she’d worried about Marie, who was watching me with hooded eyes and not saying a single word.

  Maybe Tegan and I weren’t meant to be happy together. Maybe there would always be those gaps between us—time and culture and belief. Maybe there were supposed to be oceans between us, too.

  How could I hope that the feelings I had, confused and shadowed as they were, were reason enough to ask her to go so far? I couldn’t promise that I could give her anything—safety, freedom, or love.

  And even if I could, how could I expect her to want those things from me?

  Bethari was pointedly playing with her computer. I wasn’t fooled that she’d given up on getting me to speak to her, though—Bethari wasn’t the sort of person to let an argument go. I sat back and tried to avoid looking at anyone.

  The next time we passed a rest stop, Zaneisha pulled over and parked under the bright yellow sign promising FREE CAFFEINE!! I could have used a jolt, but the pill dispensary attached to the sign looked unpromising. Either animals or less fastidious humans had gotten dirt all over it, and the dispensation slot cover had been wrenched off.

  “We need to discuss the presidential assassination attempt,” Zaneisha said, twisting in her seat so she could measure us all with the same level gaze.

  “But there won’t be an attempt,” Bethari said, patting the control unit in her lap and looking smug.

  Over her, Tegan said, “Would they really try without the EMP?”

  Bethari lost the smug expression.

  “It’s a definite possibility,” Zaneisha said. “Less chance of an ideal outcome, but no battle plan survives contact with the enemy. Lat might well recommend an attack, hoping to use overwhelming force in place of an equipment advantage. The risk may be judged worth the potential gain.”

  It would if Hurfest had anything to do with it. He was pushing for speed, hoping to ride the momentum of a swift political change.

  “Well? We know that there’s the strong possibility that the president will be attacked if he visits Bendigo, as planned. What will we do with that knowledge?” Zaneisha’s tone didn’t give away any clues on her own preferences.

  “We should warn him,” Joph said.

  I shrugged. “Let him die.”

  Joph stared at me. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Oh, I really do,” I said. But I also remembered the people packed into the rugby grounds. I could see how it would play out very clearly. They’d all gather to meet the president, and the assassins would hide among them. What would happen to the people when the attack began? I sank into my seat. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt, though.”

  “They will be, if the president is attacked,” Marie said softly.

  “We should warn him,” Tegan agreed. She looked about as unenthused as I did. “But if we do that, then we have to let Lat know.”

  Zaneisha nodded. “I was about to advise that. Once warned, the president may set a trap for those attempting the attack.”

  I focused on Bethari. “Can you set a call so that we can talk to Cox without it being traced?”

  She hesitated. “Talk, yes. Video, probably not. It’s too much data, makes it more difficult to—”

  “Set it up,” I said, and then amended with “Please.”

  Bethari sniffed, to indicate what she thought of my belated courtesy, but flipped her computer open. It took several minutes of muttered commands and squiggly finger gestures before she was ready.

  “Who’s going to do the talking?” she said.

  I looked expectantly at Zaneisha. She caught my eye. “I’m driving. Dr. Carmen?”

  “I’d rather not.” There was an odd note in Marie’s voice, as if she were trying very hard to control herself.

  “Abdi,” Tegan said, sounding very definite. “You’ll be great.” Joph was nodding in agreement. Bethari looked dubious but didn’t say anything—besides she’d be too busy with her computer.

  Neither Marie nor Zaneisha objected. I took a deep breath and hoped my nervousness didn’t show. “All right,” I said, with the confidence I didn’t feel, and signaled Bethari to start the call.

  A woman answered. Her voice was nicely modulated, with an Australian standard accent. If she was surprised that there was no visual component to my call, it didn’t show in her tone. “Hello, president’s office, Charlene speaking, how can I help?”

  “Hello, Charlene. This is Abdi Taalib. I will speak to the president now.”

  There was a brief pause, while the woman on the other end of the line doubtless gestured at her colleagues and set a half-dozen tracking programs in motion. Bethari, grinning viciously, was waving at her computer as if she were conducting an orchestra. For now, at least, we had little to fear there.

  “I’m afraid President Cox is in a meeting, Mr. Taalib. May I ask what this matter concerns?”

  “It concerns whether he will be assassinated, Charlene. If he is not speaking to me within ten seconds, he will regret it for the rest of his life. Which will be short.”

  “I’ll see if he’s available! Please hold the line!”

  I waited, counting down while Tegan chewed her knuckles and Bethari watched her screen. My nervousness had transmuted to confidence, energy zinging around my body. I knew how this was going to go. At nine seconds, just as I’d expected, I got a response.

  “What’s this about?” a man demanded.

  It was certainly him—that smooth voice, as luxurious as melted chocolate, was unmistakable.

  “Mr. President,” I said. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening, Abdi. I don’t appreciate threats.”

  “I don’t appreciate being tortured for six months. We all have to put up with these little inconveniences.”

  There was a split-second hesitation, so brief I nearly missed it, and then he said, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Unseen, I bared my teeth. That tiny pause had told me everything I needed to know.

  Cox went on: “I can assure you that any irregularities in your treatment will be investigated, Abdi, by the proper authorities. Would you like to have me connect you to them?”

  “Oh, no. That was merely an aside. I regret to have troubled you with it.”

  Nathan Cox’s voice became fatherly, almost cloying in its concern. “Are you all right, Abdi? Your parents are very concerned; you gave them quite a scare. Is Tegan with you?”

  He was trying to control and redirect the conversation away from the topic he most certainly didn’t want to be questioned about. He must suspect that we were recording, of course—he’d have to be stupid to think that we weren’t.

  I thought this man
was many things but stupid wasn’t one of them.

  Bethari was making a rolling motion with her wrist. I cut to the substance of the call.

  “Don’t go to Bendigo tomorrow,” I said.

  “Are you threatening me, Abdi?”

  “Warning you,” I growled.

  There was a pause while he processed that, then the voice came back, smoother than ever. “I see. Your concern for my well-being does you great credit, young man.”

  “I don’t care about you.”

  He chuckled. “The feeling is not mutual, I must say. Look, Abdi, can’t we work this out? You and Tegan must be lonely, scared—”

  “Oh, we’re doing much better now.”

  “As you say. Tell me, is Bethari Miyahputri there? Incredible, really—once we went looking for people talking about EMP devices, we found so much discussion. We’ve been having some lovely chats with the most talkative people.”

  Bethari’s contacts—so much for trying to use them to find a safe hiding place or a boat.

  Bethari made a choked noise. Zaneisha frowned and pointed back at the screen.

  “Her mother had to be brought in for questioning by SADU, of course. Captain Miyahputri misses her daughter very much, and it’s so difficult to be sure what she might have known about Bethari’s less legal activities.”

  “She didn’t know anything!” Bethari broke in. “Leave her alone!”

  “Shut up,” I mouthed.

  “Ah, she is there. Bethari, I do regret the necessity of keeping such a fine officer detained, but perhaps if you came and redeemed her in person—”

  Zaneisha grabbed the computer from Bethari’s hand and cut the feed.

  “That is an awful man,” Marie said. “What a horrible, horrible man. I’m so sorry I voted for him.”

  “Bethi?” Joph asked. She reached forward, but her ex-girlfriend pulled away.

  “Do you want to call Lat now, Tegan?” Bethari asked, her voice strained.

  “Um, in a second,” Tegan said cautiously. “Bethi, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, her breath hitching. It was an obvious lie, and I felt her pain twist at me. Brave, mouthy Bethari, beaten down by the government’s cruelty. To save her mother, she’d have to give herself up.

  “We could try for some safe-conduct guarantees,” I offered. “SADU probably isn’t that keen on us spreading stories of torture around.” I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to be a spokesperson, but if it had been my mother in danger…. “I could record what happened to me and Tegan. When you hand yourself over, you can give them copies of the recordings, and let them know that if we don’t get regular proof of life, we’ll release them.” I frowned. “I don’t think we can leverage that into much more, though. It’s the kind of thing they’ll be able to discredit too easily.”

  All three girls looked at me as if I’d grown another head.

  Tegan and Joph would hate to be separated from Bethari, especially after Tegan had only just been reunited with her friend. It was going to be hard on all of them, and they probably weren’t ready to start the planning. “Do you want me to start looking at options for a hostage-exchange site?” I asked. “Probably somewhere on the coast.”

  Bethari stared at me. “Do you think I’m going to exchange myself for my mother?” she asked hoarsely.

  I blinked. “You’re not?”

  I didn’t mean to sound quite so horrified. It just hadn’t occurred to me that she’d make any other choice. But the second I said it, I saw Tegan’s eyes flash and realized the depth of my mistake.

  “You ass,” she said. “She risked her life to save you! We just escaped from SADU and their mercy, and you want to hand Bethari over to them?”

  “I don’t want to. I just thought that she’d… I was trying to help!”

  “Help?” Tegan said, her voice filled with disbelief.

  “Well, excuse me for having a little family feeling,” I snapped.

  “It’s not the torture,” Bethari said. “I mean, I’d hate it, but you heard Cox—he wants me because I know how to put together the EMP. I can’t risk that knowledge getting to this government. And I need to be available to help the new movement.”

  I wasn’t imagining the emphasis on the I.

  “Oh, I see,” I said. “You have to leave your mother in SADU hands because I’m selfish enough to want to lay eyes on mine.”

  “This is a really important cause,” Bethari said shortly. “We can’t all run away at the first sign of trouble.”

  Joph looked alarmed. “We’re all tired and stressed,” she said. “Bethari’s just had terrible news. Let’s all—”

  I ignored her. “Excuse me, but I would hardly characterize escaping a brutal regime as running away,” I told Bethari, and looked significantly at her headscarf. “Besides, isn’t filial loyalty one of the principles of your religion? Not that you don’t pick and choose.”

  “Shut up, Abdi,” Tegan said.

  “You stay out of this,” I snapped.

  Marie gave me a sharp look. “Young man, if you can’t—”

  Bethari spoke over her. “Pick and choose, do I?” Her eyes were glittering, her cheeks suffused with blood.

  I knew where Bethari Miyahputri’s buttons were now. Faith, family, and the internal pressure that drove her to always do the right thing. And I was angry enough that I could press every one of them. “Oh, it’s fine to wear a hijab and kiss some girls,” I mimicked, my voice unnaturally high. “I can leave my mother to rot because I’m so important to the cause.” I dropped into my normal register. “I mean, I don’t care; do what you like! But at least don’t be hypocritical about it.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me how to practice my faith!”

  “Don’t you tell me how to live my life! You as good as told me that going home was cowardly.”

  “I didn’t say that!” she shouted. “But, hey, now that you’ve brought it up, it sure is! We’ve all risked a lot to get you out, my mother is in jail, and you just want to run? There are larger issues at stake!”

  “My family is not a small issue!” Ifrah, who was confident and forthright; Halim, who could fix any broken machine; Sahra, who listened to my music collection and wanted me to play my favorites again and again for her. And my mother and father, who had talked to me every week when they had to know every word out of my mouth was a lie. I had to return to them as soon as possible. Anything else would be a betrayal, a further pain to inflict on them with my foolish choices.

  “I’m not saying that family isn’t important, but if you’d just think about those poor refugees—”

  My brain ignited. “Oh, I can’t manage that much thinking. I’m just a stupid thirdie. Please, firster, ma’am, tell me what I should do to help out them other unfortunate thirdie scrappers—”

  “Be quiet,” Zaneisha said. She didn’t speak very loudly, but her voice resonated through the car.

  “But he—”

  “She said—”

  Zaneisha slammed her hand against the steering wheel. “Shut up!”

  We obeyed. For the first time since the shouting had begun, I glanced at Tegan, who had her face turned toward the window, her shoulders set. Marie’s hand was pressed to her mouth. Joph was looking at Bethari and me wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen us before.

  For a moment, I saw myself through her eyes, and I didn’t like the image at all.

  “I have a limited tolerance for adolescent squabbling, and you’ve both exceeded it,” Zaneisha said, her voice measured. “If you cannot speak civilly to each other, don’t. If you can, now would be a good time to apologize.”

  Bethari’s cheeks were still flaming, but this time with embarrassment, not rage. I met her eyes, glanced away, and made myself look again. “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Me too,” she said.

  “Well, it’s a start,” Zaneisha said after a moment, and started the car. “Don’t do it again. I need to concentrate.”

  “We still need to get a m
essage to Lat,” Tegan said, ten minutes down the road.

  I scowled. I mean, she was right, but did she have to sound so concerned?

  Zaneisha didn’t miss a beat. “A text version will do. Bethari, I’ll dictate. Send the message to one of the dead drops.”

  She composed the message in brisk military speak but signed off “Washington.” No rank. The army would have stripped her of it, declared her a deserter, or perhaps even a traitor.

  I looked at Bethari, hunched over her computer screen and resolutely not making eye contact with anyone.

  I didn’t feel much like conversation myself. I leaned back and closed my eyes, going over the incident in my head. Slowly, in the strained, cramped atmosphere of the car, I eventually figured out that I hadn’t actually been shouting at Bethari.

  Well, my resentment at her telling me to think about the poor refugees was genuine. But the bits about Islam hadn’t been about Bethari, but about growing up a nonbeliever in a country where most people believed as easily as they breathed. Tegan’s religion didn’t bother me quite as much, because Catholicism, ridiculous as it was, wasn’t the religion I’d had to resist for most of my life. And I’d been angry at the suggestion that I should delay going home in order to help the Save Tegan movement, because at least part of me wondered if I should. If I was really a good person, wouldn’t I offer to dance on the string, for at least a few more months? Wouldn’t I chalk up the pain I’d cause my family against the pain I could save others from suffering, and make the decision to stay?

  Perhaps Bethari had reacted badly to my assumption that she’d trade herself in for her mother’s freedom because she thought that a good daughter would do just that—regardless of her own safety or the higher cause she served.

  We’d been yelling at ourselves, not each other.

  It was disconcerting, to recognize that I might have more in common with Bethari Miyahputri than I thought.

  But what I didn’t have was her impulsiveness. Her tendency to act without thinking, to make sacrifices without blinking—that was something I hated. And almost envied. If I’d ever had that ability, it had been trained out of me from the time I was four. Now I calculated every move before I made it and pushed people to the places I needed them when it came time for plans to become action.