Deserter

Chapter 15

An hour later Kris knew they were close to the factory. The surveillance cameras and Tow Away Zone—No Stopping signs told her.

''There goes plan A,'' she muttered.

Abu slowed down. ''What do you want me to do?''

''Drive the minimum speed limit,'' Kris said, lowering her window. It got windy. How are the nanos doing?

They are okay. What are you trying to do?

''I am at fifty-five. If I go slower, they will notice.''

''Roll down the window behind you, if you can.'' He did; the wind tunnel effect through the car got most pronounced.

MY NANOS CAN'T TAKE THIS! Nelly shouted in Kris's head. She had her finger on the window button; it was coming up even as the shout bounced around her skull. Abu had been paying attention; the rear window came up only a split second behind Kris's.

HOW ARE THE NANOS?

I CAN FIX THEM.

''What do I do now? Abu asked.

Kris rubbed at her shawl-covered head, trying to relieve the tension gripping her scalp. ''Plan A and B didn't work. We need a plan C.''

''I see,'' said the cabby.

Kris scowled at his joke; he tossed her off with a small grin. Kris glanced around, looking for an answer to her problem. She saw it. ''Stop at the next exit. I need a rest room break.''

Back in the cab, and a bit lighter, Kris pointed Abu to the route back into town. Window down, her hand wandered playfully in the wind as Nelly launched the spies on their long flight. Done, Nelly reported. Kris put up her window as Abu picked up speed in the acceleration lane.

''Now I take you where you can do some more of your magic, then I take you to the best place in town for real food, not that tasteless stuff infidels eat.''

''Ever eat Tex-Mex?'' Kris asked. ''We had this cook who said she was only three generations away from Texas back on Earth. What she did with jalapeños took your mouth a week to recover.''

''Someday I must take you home and have my Miriam serve you a meal. But this will do to open your eyes.''

Their next stop was The Great Khan's Caravansary, complete with two heavily laden plaster camels out front. The cars parked around it included several of Wardhaven's most expensive export models. Abu drove around to the entrance used by employees and deliveries. He parked against the back fence next to a sign giving the times for deliveries that blocked out the busy mealtimes. Kris got out; she spotted four, maybe five security cameras. At least two of them turned to examine her.

Abu handed her papers she took with visible reluctance. Taking a few steps toward the restaurant, she faltered, clutched her stomach and backed up. She ended leaning against the sign, fighting dry heaves. The homing beacon set, NELLY?

YES, I HAVE IT DELAYED FOR AN HOUR, THEN INTERMITTENT AND RANDOMLY JUMPING FREQUENCIES. I ESTIMATE IT HAS AN EIGHTY-SEVEN PERCENT PROBABILITY OF AVOIDING DETECTION EVEN AGAINST THE MOST DETERMINED SECURITY SYSTEM ON WARDHAVEN.

WHAT ABOUT PETERWALD AND IRONCLAD SOFTWARE?

YOUR HUNCH IS AS GOOD AS MINE, Nelly answered.

THAT'S YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE, Kris corrected. IF YOU'RE GOING TO START SOUNDING HUMAN, GET IT RIGHT

HOW MUCH OF MY LIMITED COMPUTATIONAL CAPACITY DO YOU WANT ME TO WASTE ON MIMICKING YOU? Nelly asked. Since Kris couldn't tell if the question was real or facetious, she ignored it.

''I can't go in, Abu, my stomach is too upset,'' Kris said as she opened the cab door.

''Maybe if we get some food in you, you will feel more courage. I keep telling my sister you need some real meat on those thin bones of yours.''

''The boys like me thin,'' Kris answered, not sure who she was playing for, but keeping up the patter.

Back on the road, Kris asked Nelly a question she wished she'd thought of earlier. ''Are all the security cameras monitored at a central location or by local security teams?''

''Good question, Kris. I have not looked into it and do not think you want me to just now.''

''You're right on that one,'' Kris agreed. ''But you must have looked into security for our visit to Katyville.''

''Yes. All the places of interest then had their own security systems. But hotels on the cheap side of town are one thing. Plants making military equipment are another, though I doubt I need point that out to a shareholder in Nuu Enterprises.''

''Quite a wife you have there,'' Abu said around a chuckle.

''Nelly, there is such a thing as tact,'' Kris said.

''And how much of my limited computational—''

''Never mind. Abu, where's that food you promised me?''

Fatima's Kitchen was only a fifteen-minute drive from the fancy place, but it could have been on another planet. The streets here were narrow and winding, the houses built close together. Parking was tight, and people walked elbow-to-elbow on narrow sidewalks but had no problem carrying on conversations with people on the other side of the street. Several conversations at a time; the place was a madhouse.

''Welcome to what we call Little Arabia,'' Abu said with a proud smile. ''You passed no locked gate to get in here, but few doors are locked here, anyway. We live as Allah wills it.''

Abu found a place to park the cab with a whole ten centimeters to spare. Kris carefully arranged her scarf as she got out, then loosed the belt of her raincoat. Many women passing Kris on the street wore fashions she might have seen on Wardhaven, though the cut was uniformly loose-fitting with no waist. Several wore something more exotic, a covering that went from head to toe. While Kris was wondering how these women did anything, she got her answer. A young woman, from the shape of the arm that slipped from her wrapping to hold a basket, was shopping. Her other hand held up fruit or vegetables for a good look. That woman's compromise was not repeated by the older woman, from the sound of her voice, that stood next to her. Not even a finger escaped that woman's screen.

Abu came around to the sidewalk and led Kris toward a whitewashed shop that emitted delightful smells. A round woman in a shawl and loose dress greeted him at the door with a hug and a peck of a kiss. ''Are you hungry, Abu, and who is this woman with you? Should I call Miriam and tell her you are bringing home a second wife? Someone to help her with the kids, no doubt, because any woman so thin as this one surely is no cook.''

''What she is and is not is no business of yours Sorir, so you just show us to a table in a quiet corner and let me speak to the boss.''

Sorir swatted Abu. ''You are speaking to the boss, but I suspect you mean the man who thinks he runs my place.'' But she led them past tables where silent men drank coffee and through an alcove where women chatted as they drank tea or coffee to finally stop in a shaded corner at the rear of the place where couples sat quietly or families ate noisily. She pointed Abu toward a table behind a bamboo divider. ''That quiet enough for you?''

Abu settled Kris at the table, then went hunting for the man he wanted. Sorir gave Kris a quick smile, then followed Abu. The two of them ended up talking to a thin fellow standing in the door of what sounded like the kitchen. Their talk was mixed with glances Kris's way. She tried to look demure or whatever a young woman should look like in this culture that couldn't seem to decide what to do with its women—let them run things or just exist. Come to think of it, it didn't sound all that different from Wardhaven… or the Navy at times.

A young woman brought a pot of hot water to Kris's table and a bowl of green tea. ''Would you prefer coffee?''

''I don't know what Abu would prefer.''

''Oh, Abu is with you. I will bring coffee.'' And a steaming small cup of the thick brown liquid quickly appeared.

A moment later Abu returned, accompanied by Sorir and the man who was introduced as Abdul. ''You have stirred up the proverbial hornet's nest,'' Sorir told Kris.

Kris eyed Abu, but the cabby seemed content to let the women talk. ''What do you think I have done?'' Kris asked, not willing to give anything away, but not wanting to sound evasive.

''That I could not begin to guess, but this morning something tripped the alarms at a factory on the other side of town, and now all the security people at all the plants are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, looking for some kind of intruder and not wanting to be in the same kind of trouble that the plant people are in across town.''

''I suppose your uncle's sister's son works on security,'' Kris said dryly.

''Actually, no one will hire any of us for security,'' Abu said. ''We talk funny, and we stop to pray too many times a day.''

''Then how do you know—?''

''We are not the only people who talk funny and keep to old ways,'' Abdul said. ''Do those things, and you become a minority. Is that not so everywhere? Some minorities suffer one way, others another way, but we are all different, and that marks us for trouble when things become strange for the large herd of sheep and the dogs that keep them going where they should go.'' Kris greeted that with a puzzled look. She was no closer to understanding the situation than she had been when Abdul started.

''Several of our Jewish friends have sons working in security,'' Sorir explained dryly.

''Jewish?'' Kris said. She didn't think there were any minorities on Wardhaven—at least she hadn't before today. Still, she knew Dad had to be careful to invite his Jewish and Islamic supporters to different fund-raisers.

''The Temple Mount is far away from those of us who hold it sacred,'' Abdul said. ''And we live very close to those whose only gods are their belly. Here, we share what we may, Jew and Arab, and information is important anywhere.''

''And the information we have,'' Sorir cut in, ''says that security is more upset than a sheepdog herding cats. Oh you men, you take all day to say nothing. It would be most unwise for Abu to return to Khan's dispenser of poor food.''

''I have to get back there,'' Kris said.

''We understand such a return is of the highest import to you,'' Abdul said. ''We are arranging it even now. So, since you can do nothing for the moment, why not share a meal with us.''

The meal was a procession of dishes demonstrating many of the thousand ways to fix rice, cheese, barley, mutton, and goat. Sorir named each dish, explained what it was and how it was prepared, and laughed when Kris asked, only half in jest, if the meal would be followed by a test. One thing Kris did not have to worry about was showing delight; the food was fantastic. The portions were small, and each dish was shared with Abu and Sorir. Overeating herself into a nap was not a risk.

Sorir and Abu kept up a kind of running commentary on both the food and Turantic. It was a good planet to raise children on. Or at least it had been. The conversation skirted anything that could be taken for treason by an eavesdropper until the last dish was laid out, a multilayered crust drowning in honey.

''Why should you care about what happens to us on Turantic?'' Sorir said through veiled eyelashes as she cut Kris a slice.

Kris took the offered morsel. As her fork cut a bite, it sliced through scores of layers. ''Humanity is like this dish. You can't cut one layer. If one is sliced, all are going to be cut.'' Sorir eyed the dish and nodded. Kris went on.

''What happens to you will happen to my people on Wardhaven. And it may be in store for a lot of other planets as well. We can't let you face this alone. I serve in Wardhaven's Navy. A woman I serve with was beat up last night. It was done because she serves Wardhaven. Now, reporters talk of some Wardhaven people attacking Turantic people or something else entirely different.''

''It is very confusing,'' Sorir said. ''I do not like it.''

''And very worrisome,'' Abu added.

''And if I can't find out what's going on here, I can't begin to figure out what will happen to my people. And if things fall apart, I'll be stuck on a ship in a fight that I may not want… and may not even be necessary.''

''And I may be on a ship shooting at you,'' Abu said. ''Sorir, she is risking much. Should we not risk a little to help her?''

''It is my brother and his sons,'' Sorir said, rising from her uneaten desert, ''who I am asking to risk much. I had to know it was worth it. Come, Kris of the courageous knife, the security cameras at the Khan showed a cabby and a woman dressed as a maid this morning. They cannot see that again. Am I correct that you, yourself, must go there?''

As Kris rose, she balanced her own risk against trying to teach someone how to handle Nelly, then threw in her own feelings about letting the strangely behaving Nelly out of her sight. ''Yes, I have equipment others could not operate.''

YOU CALLING ME EQUIPMENT?

I'M GOING TO CALL YOU THIN-SKINNED IF YOU DON'T STOP BUTTING INTO MY CONVERSATIONS.

''But it would be better if you were not seen again by the same security cameras. Come with me.''

Kris followed the woman through the kitchen to a storeroom. Sorir pulled pants and a shirt from behind a shelf of canned goods. ''Put these on. A girl started something at the Khan. A boy will not be noticed.'' As soon as the door closed, Kris undid the waitress uniform and became a rather tall person in ratty pants and a torn cotton shirt. As she finished, Sorir looked in. ''The shoes must go, and you must wash that makeup off your face,'' she said, tossing Kris a damp towel. Kris scrubbed as she stepped out of her shoes. Sorir dropped a pair of well-worn loafers on the floor, and Kris stepped into them.

''The right one hurts. It's got something in it.''

''Good, you will walk favoring it. And hunch your shoulders over. That should keep the usual pattern recognition programs from identifying you too quickly. But that face of yours.''

''The makeup's off,'' Kris said.

''But the nose isn't. It's big enough for you to be one of us, but software will match you in three scans. Hmm. We need to change that and your hair. You may have noticed, we tend more to raven black like mine, and you need not say how much white now streaks my youthful pride.''

Kris didn't. Sorir left, and Kris took a few steps, trying to find a gait that hurt less. The woman returned with a wig. ''Put this on, then put these pads in your mouth.''

The wig fit over the bun her own hair was in, giving her the shoulder-length, messed-up hair some kids liked. The pads tasted of plastic and puffed out her cheeks. ''Can I talk through them?'' she muttered, and proved that she could… barely.

''Better yet, don't talk at all. You are a good Moslem boy. You hear. You obey. You do not talk. And keep your eyes down. You may be working for my brother, but it is not what you want. Sulk. Surely you know how to do that.''

Sulking was never, ever permitted in her father's house, but that was more than Sorir wanted to know about being a Longknife. Kris muttered, ''I can do it with the best of them.''

Sorir presented her with a ball cap for a local Turantic team. They always lose, Nelly pointed out. Kris stripped the pom-pom off the beret. It came easily, dangling its lead-ins. Kris put it on top of her head, and it stuck. Once she got the lead-ins reattached to Nelly's wire, she slowly settled the ball cap on her head. HOW'S THAT WORKING?

i DO NOT KNOW. THERE IS LITTLE ACTIVITY TO MONITOR IN HERE, BUT I CAN TELL THEY NEED A NEW MICROWAVE OVEN. IT IS WASTING HALF OF ITS ELECTRICITY.

I'LL TELL THEM THAT IF I GET A CHANCE, Kris said and let Sorir lead her back into the kitchen. A short, rounded man in dark pants and shirt was talking with Abdul as two thin young men carried in the frozen carcasses of goats and sheep.

''Nabil, my brother, I have a favor to ask of you.''

The man fixed his sister with dark eyes, and Abdul checked the two frozen carcasses off a notepad in his hand and sent the young men back to the truck.

''You have not made your delivery to the Khan's yet?''

''It is next, sister.''

''I ask you to take this extra helper, my nephew, with you to that place.''

''Why?''

''It would be better for Father if you did not know. Let anything that comes of this fall on my head.''

The man studied Kris, eyed his sister, then studied Kris again. He shook his head. ''These are bad times when a younger sister will not tell her older brother what she wants him to do.''

''And when have we known better?'' his sister chided him.

''Not since you were born. I swear, a djinn stole my little sister at birth and gave Mother a lump of camel dung to raise.''

Sorir swatted her brother. ''And who even now dreams of finding the fabled hiding place of many thieves.''

''I may have to, after whatever you are getting me into,'' he said, waving at Kris. ''Come, sister's nephew, we have work that another back will make lighter.'' Kris followed; the sky still threatened rain but held back as if the weather, along with everything else, was balanced on the sharp edge of uncertainty.

''You need not bring the boy back here. Just drop him off, and we will find him,'' Sorir called after them.

''Harrump,'' Nabil said, calling his boys from the back of the truck where they were slamming doors. They scrambled for the front, shouting, ''I get the door.'' A look told Kris the seating was tight; no wonder they didn't want to be mashed in the middle.

''He has the door,'' Nabil said gruffly, pointing at Kris. ''And none of your backtalk. We have more deliveries to make, and traffic goes to hell in an hour, so let's make this quick.''

The boys crowded into the middle, the farthest over trying to stay out of his father's way as he put the truck in gear. Kris closed the door on her side and tried to be very small, for once grateful for her narrow hips and nonexistent breasts. She hunched over so that she didn't tower over the others.

''What's your name?'' one youth asked.

''Why you working with us?'' said the other.

''He is my sister's nephew. She asked me to give him a try. He stutters, so he doesn't talk much. Leave him alone.''

The boys accepted that. Kris was glad for the cover but had to wonder who thought it up, Sorir or Nabil, or was everyone, like Abu, a quick study at story spinning. Then again, when you were few among a mass of strangers, camouflage must be as critical to them as to a chameleon. The streets had seemed tight for the cab; they looked impassible for an elephant like the truck. Yet Nabil maneuvered cleanly, resorting to shouts and raised fists no more than twice a block. He was answered with the same, but all in good nature. It took twenty minutes to make his way to The Great Khan's Caravansary. Only as he drove into the parking lot did he glance at Kris and say, ''Where?''

Kris had already spotted the sign. She pointed and risked a ''Th-th-there.''

A car had Abu's spot. The truck parked right behind it. ''Let's make this fast, boys. We've got two more to go,'' Nabil said as he dropped out his door. Kris was already opening hers, but not fast enough for the young men. There was good-natured pushing and shoving. And as Kris dropped onto the pavement, the oldest boy pushed the youngest into her. She didn't have much for breasts, and an armored bodysuit was holding them in, but what softness Kris had, the kid got a handful of.

''You, you're…'' Now it was his turn to stutter.

Kris had seen a DI stop a squad of officer trainees dead in their tracks with just a stare. She'd grown up with Harvey, an ex-Sergeant, who could be as nice as a fairy godfather one moment but freeze fire with a glance the next. Kris put all the glares she'd ever gotten into one face and gave it to the poor kid.

He froze, face beet-red.

''What's keeping you boys?'' came from the back of the truck as the doors swung wide.

''Coming,'' the oldest one shouted, grabbing his brother.

''But, but…'' the other sputtered.

''Talk to Papa later. Not now, can't you see?''

Kris followed the boys. NELLY, TALK TO ME. ARE THE NANOS HERE? DO THEY HAVE COMPANY?

YES, AND BOY, DO WE HAVE COMPANY. KRIS, I AM READING EIGHT RADIOS TURNED TO THE SECURITY FREQUENCY WITHIN JUST A HUNDRED METERS OF US. THREE CAR MOBILES. FIVE PERSONAL REMOTES. THERE ARE AT LEAST NINE MOBILE NANO GUARDS BUZZING THIS PLACE.

AND THE BEACON?

I TURNED IT OFF. BY MY COUNT, NINETY-TWO PERCENT OF OUR RECON UNITS ARE HERE. IN A WHILE I WILL RISK TURNING IT ON TO HELP THOSE CLOSE BUT NOT HERE YET.

''Papa, why are we carrying double?'' the youngest asked as their father dropped a carcass on each shoulder.

''I'm in a hurry,'' Nabil said. ''Now get a move on.'' Kris was last; he loaded her with an icy cold slab of meat on each shoulder, blocking the view of every security camera in sight. Hunched over, she limped after the boys, favoring her painful left foot. Kris was working the kitchen's screen door open with her foot when it opened, almost knocking her down.

Face-to-face with a man in a gray uniform, Kris ducked her head. She took a step back from the man with SureFire Security in bold red letters over his left breast pocket and three gold chevrons on both sleeves. She got ready to slam him with a frozen rack of sheep as he glanced at her, but he dismissed her out of hand and swaggered into the parking lot.

Eyes still down, Kris slipped through the open door and spotted one of the boys exiting a large, walk-in freezer. She covered the distance in a kind of hopping stumble and found herself facing a hawk-nosed woman with a tablet. ''That makes six. Hurry up, you boys. I ordered fourteen. I don't have all day, and leaving this freezer open is costing me money.''

The younger boy, still showing red when he looked Kris's way, helped her hang her carcasses on hooks in the freezer. Then both hurried out, and the woman slammed the freezer door shut.

''You're… you're—'' the boy started.

''Shush,'' Kris risked under her breath.

SureFire Security was talking to Nabil. The driver kept up a steady stream of words about how bad thievery was and getting worse even as he loaded two more large goats on his eldest son and sent him off at a run. Same for the younger boy and Kris in her turn. The Security Sergeant gave Kris another once-over as she loaded, but was distracted when his radio came alive.

''We've got some sort of signal traffic real close by.''

''How close?'' the Sergeant demanded as Kris hobbled away.

NELLY, THEY'RE AFTER US.

I HAVE TO TRANSMIT SOME, AND THE BEACON HAS TO SEND, TOO.

WE NEED A DISTRACTION. COULD YOU MAKE UP SOME NOISY DECOYS?

GOT JUST WHAT YOU ORDERED. TRY BRUSHING UP AGAINST SOME PEOPLE. ONE ON YOUR RIGHT, THE OTHER ON YOUR LEFT.

Kris caught a waiter coming out for a smoke with her right arm and got a ''Watch where you're going,'' for it. The left arm went to the woman with the tablet when Kris stumbled into her. ''You drop that meat, and you'll give me another one. And don't expect me to let you drive off with it,'' she scolded the older boy as he passed Kris on the way out. ''You tell that father of yours, if he is your father, that I'm keeping anything you drop to make sure you don't pawn it off on someone else.''

''Yes, ma'am. We understand, ma'am. Papa would never do that, ma'am. Kid,'' the older brother said, slapping Kris on the back. ''You and Papa have to talk. I don't think you're cut out for this job.''

Kris hung her load and hurried out. She managed to slip on a wet spot on the floor but kept going, leaving behind her the woman's scolding voice. ''Don't you even think of filing a comp claim. You were limping before you came in here.''

Outside. Nabil was giving his sons their final load. The Sergeant stood in the parking lot, yelling at his people. Kris saw one far to her left, another at the front of the lot to her right. ''What do you mean, you can't triangulate on that signal? If you can't, I know where I can get a dozen who can.''

''Sarge, I don't think there's just one squeaker. There has to be at least two, and one is moving. None are on for more than it takes a flea to blink.''

''Nail it, or I'm gonna nail you.''

Kris spotted the smoker, pacing up and down nervously on the far side of the lot. NELLY, ACTIVATE THE DECOYS. USE A SPORADIC AND INTERMITTENT SIGNAL BUT HAVE THEM SIMULTANEOUSLY BROADCAST ON THE SAME POWER AND FREQUENCY AT TIMES TO SEE IF YOU CAN HETERODYNE THE SIGNAL. With luck, the two would merge and show up as a single source halfway between the two transmissions.

THIS IS FUN.

ACTIVATE THE BEACON WHEN THE OTHERS ARE OFF.

TWO PEEPS SHOULD GET US ALL OUR LOST SHEEP.

Good Lord, now Nelly was attempting poetry. What next!

''Boy, get in the cab,'' Nabil said, risking a worried glance either at the door where his boys were still making the last delivery… or at the security cop. ''I want to be out of here before whatever they are sniffing around for gets this whole place locked down. That would truly ruin my delivery schedule.''

Kris nodded obediently and opened the door. While waiting for the others, she wandered around like any teenage boy… and just happened to end up leaning on the delivery schedule sign.

WHAT HAVE WE GOT?

NINETY-SIX PERCENT PRESENT. THE ESCORT NANOS BURNED A DOZEN PURSUITS BUT NONE CLOSER THAN THE STREET. WE ARE CLEAN!

If a computer could crow, Nelly was. GET THEM ON ME.

WAIT ONE. ALL PRESENT.

SHUT EVERYTHING DOWN. NO TRAFFIC UNTIL I SAY SO.

BUT I WANT TO DOWNLOAD OUR TAKE.

NELLY, TURN EVERYTHING OFF. DON'T RISK SO MUCH AS A PEEP.

YES, MA'AM, Nelly said, like a disappointed four-year-old.

Hardly breathing, Kris kept leaning on the sign pole as the boys hustled across the lot and piled into the truck. Kris waited a second more, only moving when Nabil shouted, ''Hurry up you lazy boy,'' and turned on the engine.

Kris scrambled into the truck and slammed the door. Now the older boy sat next to her, his arms folded across his chest as if by iron chains. The other seemed about to burst with questions, but a nudge in the ribs as Nabil slipped the truck in gear kept him quiet. Nabil waved at the Sergeant as he backed. The man in gray waved distractedly, then frowned and started walking over to Nabil's side of the truck. ''Just a minute, fellow.''

Kris froze. NELLY, ARE WE TOTALLY QUIET?

KRIS, MY NANOS AREN'T EVEN MOVING. I HAVE SHUT DOWN EVERYTHING I CAN. I AM ON JUST A TRICKLE FROM THE BATTERY. I SWEAR, YOUR HEART IS PUTTING OUT MORE ELECTRICITY THAN I AM.

The Sergeant just stood there, looking at Nabil, then each one of his sons, then Kris. ''Talk to me, George. There's a truck and three cars making like they want to leave. Do I shoot their drivers,'' he flashed a toothy grin at Nabil, ''shoot their tires, or let them go their way?''

''Sarge, I got two targets, maybe three. I'm not sure. They never are there long enough for me to get anything like a fix. They keep jumping frequency and location.''

''Tell me something, George, or I'm gonna start shooting,'' the Sarge said, but his hand didn't go for his gun. Neither did he wave Nabil out of the lot.

''It looks like one signal is in the kitchen, or maybe in the dining room. The other's in the back parking lot. East to northeast section.''

''That's half the parking lot.''

The smoker tossed what was left of his cigarette in a mud puddle and started for the back door.

NELLY, WE HAVE ONE CRACK AT THIS. ORDER THE TWO DECOYS TO BEGIN TRANSMITTING IN FIFTY-NANOSECOND HETERODYNED BURSTS, NO MORE THAN ONE SECOND APART, NO LESS THAN HALF A SECOND.

DONE.

''Sarge, something's happening. Something in the east northeast part of the back parking lot.''

''Get your butt back here.''

A gray car with several whip antennas turned into the distant northeast corner of the restaurant and drove slowly toward the Sergeant. The smoker paused to let it pass.

''It's settled down, boss. It's right ahead of me. It's not moving much.''

''Get out of here,'' the Sarge told Nabil as he pulled an aerosol can off his belt and began spraying it in front of him. Nabil put his track in drive, turned hard, and missed the cars parked on the south side of the lot by a few millimeters.

''I'm not seeing anything, George,'' the Sergeant shouted as Nabil gunned his motor.

''Are you sure you ain't reading tea leaves, George?'' was the last Kris heard. In a moment, Nabil accelerated into a break in traffic.

PUT DECOYS ON RANDOM.

DONE. NOW CAN I LOOK AT OUR TAKE?

NO. NOT UNTIL I TELL YOU.

WHEN WILL THAT BE?

WHEN I TELL YOU.

WHY?

BECAUSE I'M THE MOTHER, Kris almost shouted, but managed to keep her jaw from moving.

''What was happening, Father?'' the youngest said, sounding almost like a child.

''I do not know,'' Nabil said. ''Maybe we will find out on the news tonight.''

''Only if they want us to,'' his eldest said, then glanced at Kris. He started to say something, seemed to think better of it, folded his arms tighter across his chest, and leaned back.

Nabil drove on, his breath coming fast and shallow. They turned at several corners, seemed to be going in no particular direction. He finally glanced at Kris. ''Son of my sister's brother-in-law, you are slow, clumsy, and you could have cost me every penny I will make today if you had dropped that lamb and that woman had taken it for her own profit.''

Kris ducked her head, risking not a word.

''I will talk to my sister tonight, but I will not have you work more with me today.'' The truck slowed and pulled over to the curb at a stop light. ''Fatima's Kitchen is down this road a ways,'' he said pointing Kris to the right. ''You can walk back to her while I make the last of my deliveries.''

Kris again ducked her head, quickly opened the door, and stepped down to the cracked and broken concrete of the sidewalk. As the elder boy closed the door behind her, she could hear the younger one saying, ''Father, that boy was a—''

''Shush, son, we will talk no more about this today.''

The older boy leaned out the open window and winked back at Kris as the truck drove off. Kris took two steps toward Sorir's place and decided her cover did not require she limp all the way back. A moment leaning in the shade of a leather shop got the pebble out that someone had been kind enough to glue to the heel of her shoe. It had not put a run in a bulletproof stocking, but it sure had made her miserable.

Walking now was fine. Kris found her arms swinging; her pace fell naturally into the precise cadence the DI demanded. The day was still gray, but Kris felt damn good about a tough job well done. The urge to whistle a marching tune came, but she swallowed it. It would be totally out of place here. Still, Kris swung along, covering the distance.

A black-and-white car with Police lettered across the sides cruised slowly by. The normal mad bustle of traffic made space for it. Kris cut her pace, lowered her head, and went back to being a properly humble Arab teenager. The woman riding shotgun kept up the same kind of alert three-sixty observation that Jack did. Her eyes paused as she took in Kris, then passed on.

NOW CAN I LOOK AT THE DATA TAKE, KRIS?

WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THERE WAS A COP COMING?

YOU DID NOT TELL ME TO. NOW CAN I LOOK AT OUR TAKE?

NELLY, FOR A COMPUTER, YOU'RE DEVELOPING A ONE-TRACK MIND.

I AM FULLY CAPABLE OF MULTITASKING, KRIS. YOU, HOWEVER, ARE GIVING ME VERY CONFUSING INSTRUCTIONS. FIRST YOU TELL ME TO BE TOTALLY QUIET, JUST KEEP A TRICKLE OF ENERGY GOING. THEN YOU ASK WHY I DO NOT MAINTAIN A FULL SITUATIONAL SURVEILLANCE. TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT. AND CAN I LOOK AT WHAT THE BUGS GOT?

Kris remembered arguing like this with Eddy, her six-year-old brother. But Eddie had been kidnapped and left to die twelve long years ago. Kris shivered, then took a deep breath and let the ghosts out, forcing herself to concentrate on the now.

YOU MAY LOOK AT THE DATA IN A MOMENT. FIRST TELL ME IF WE ARE UNDER SURVEILLANCE. ARE THERE CAMERAS WATCHING US? BUGS LISTENING TO US? ARE THERE MORE COPS AROUND?

NO, NO, AND YES, THERE'S ANOTHER COP COMING UP BEHIND US.

NO, NO? Kris's gut was doing flips and flops; she was struggling to keep every muscle and bone in her body lashed down and doing just what she wanted. The order of her last set of questions to Nelly had some how fallen out of active memory.

NO CAMERAS, KRIS. NO MIKES EITHER. I AM NOT PICKING UP ANY EVIDENCE OF NANOS. OTHER THAN THE HUMAN COPS, I HAVE NOTHING THAT COULD THREATEN US IN RANGE OF MY SENSORS, NOW CAN I LOOK?

ARE THERE MORE COPS THAN NORMAL?

KRIS, I DO NOT KNOW WHAT NORMAL IS AROUND HERE. REMEMBER, I WAS ALMOST OFF-LINE AND NOT DOING A LOT OF LOOKING.

NELLY, I LEFT MY VIEWING GLASSES IN MY PURSE, SO I CAN'T LOOK AT WHAT WE COLLECTED UNTIL I GET BACK TO FATIMA'S KITCHEN.

YES, BUT IF I START PROCESSING RIGHT NOW, I CAN HAVE IT ALL ORGANIZED AND CORRELATED FOR YOU. Nelly was wheedling.

IS IT THAT IMPORTANT TO YOU, NELLY?

I WANT TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON AT THAT BIG PLANT.

YES, I DO. I WANT TO KNOW. I AM CURIOUS. SO SUE ME.

So sue me. Where did that come from? Kris found herself shaking her head in wonderment as the next cop drove by. Only one fellow in this one, and he was too busy picking his way through traffic to do much looking around. Maybe this was just the normal way of things in the Arab quarter.

NELLY, MAKE A FULL REPORT OF THESE CONVERSATIONS WITH BACKUPS OF YOUR PROCESSING THAT SUPPORTED THEM, AND STORE IT FOR REVIEW BY AUNTIE TRU WHEN WE GET BACK.

DONE.

NOW YOU MAY LOOK AT THE FEED.

DOING IT, Nelly snapped and went very quiet. Kris continued her saunter down the street, eyes fixed on the cracked and narrow sidewalk. Old cars and pickup trucks rubbed against the low curbs or were half on them, adding their daily bit to the crumbling. She tried not to jostle any of her fellow pedestrians, even as she studied how other youths reacted upon meeting their elders. Most said something that probably passed as the local equivalent for ''Hello'' or ''How are you?'' Kris didn't dare say a word. Still, she nodded and hoped her silence met at least part of the proper respect due those she passed.

The streets were looking familiar just as Nelly announced, THERE IS A LOT OF ACTIVITY ON THE POLICE BANDS. IT IS CODED, AND IT WOULD TAKE ME TIME AND PROCESSING TO BREAK IT. SHOULD I?

ARE THE SOURCES CLOSING ON US?

I CANNOT TELL.

Schooling every muscle in her body to walk no differently than the other youths on the street, Kris passed a greengrocer, then a clothing store, followed by a silversmith, tanner, and a dry goods store, all small, all probably owned by the people standing at each door, encouraging walkers to stop in or talking to the next store owner. Kris was about to cross the street when another black-and-white rolled by, moving fast. Kris crossed the street, then leaned against a fruit stand, trying to spot where the cops were collecting.

No cop convention was obvious. Somewhere a siren lit up, then quickly went silent. No flashing lights in sight. Kris sauntered up the cross street. In a nondescript shamble, she did a series of block-long zigs and zags, using most of the few windows to check behind her.

If someone was following, they were too good for her. A few more cops rolled by; none showed interest in her. After five minutes of weaving and no nano report from Nelly, but, MORE COPS ARE HEADED THIS WAY, Kris ducked into the back door of Fatima's Kitchen.