small office there with a battered desk, a phone, a mechanical fan, and a small, beat-up holo sys-tem. There was a chair behind the desk, and the sergeant dropped heavily_into it. There was another chair in a cor-ner, and I let Papa have it. I stood leaning against a filthy plasterboard wall.
"Now," said the cop, "we come to the matter of what I do with you. You're in Najran now, not some flea-bitten village where you got influence. You're nobody in Najran, but I'm somebody. We gonna see what you can do for me, and if you can't do nothin', you gonna go to jail."
"How much money do you have, my nephew?" Papa asked me.
"Not much." I hadn't brought a great deal with me, because I didn't think I'd need it at the amir's house. I usually carried my money divided between the pockets in my gallebeya, just for situations like this. I counted what I had in the left pocket; it came to a little over a hundred and eighty kiam. I wasn't about to let the dog of a ser-geant know I had more in the other pocket.
"Ain't even real money, is it?" complained al-Bishah. He shoved it all into his desk drawer anyway. "What about the old guy?"
"I have no money at all," said Papa.
"Now, that's too bad." The sergeant used a lighter to fire up the hashish in his narjilah. He leaned over and took the mouthpiece between his teeth. I could hear the burbling of the water pipe and smell the tang of the black hashish. He exhaled the smoke and smiled. "You can pick your cells, I got two. Or you got somethin' else I might want?"
I thought of my ceremonial dagger. "How about this?" I said, laying it in front of him on the desk.
He shook his head. "Cash," he said, shoving the dag-ger back toward me. I thought he'd made a bad mistake,/ because the dagger had a lot of gold and jewels stuck on it. Maybe he didn't have anywhere to fence an item like that. "Or credit," he added. "Got a bank you can call?"
"Yes," said Friedlander Bey. "It will be an expensive call, but you can have my bank's computer transfer funds to your account."
Al-Bishah let the mouthpiece fall from his lips. He sat up very straight. "Now, that's what I like to hear! Only, you pay for the call. Charge it to your home, right?"
The fat cop handed him the desk phone, and Papa spoke a long series of numbers into it. "Now," said Papa to the sergeant, "how much do you want?"
"A good, stiff bribe," he said. "Enough so I feel bribed. Not enough, you go to the cell. You could stay there forever. Who's gonna know you're here? Who's gonna pay for your freedom? Now's your best chance, my brother."
Friedlander Bey regarded the man with unconcealed disgust. "Five thousand kiam," he said.
"Lemme think, what's that in real money?" A few sec-onds passed in silence. "No, better make it ten thousand." I'm sure Papa would have paid a hundred thousand, but the cop didn't have the imagination to ask for it.
Papa waited a moment, then nodded. "Yes, ten thou-sand." He spoke into the phone again, then handed it to the sergeant.
"What?" asked al-Bishah.
"Tell the computer your account number," said Papa.
"Oh. Right." When the transaction was completed, the fat fool made another call. I couldn't hear what it was all about, but when he hung up, he said, "Fixed up some transportation for you. I don't want you here, don't want you in Najran. Can't let you go back where you come from, either, not from this shuttle field."
"All right," I said. "Where we going, then?"
Al-Bishah gave me a clear view of his stumpy, rotted teeth. "Let it be a surprise."
We had no choice. We waited in his reeking office until a call came that our transportation had arrived. The sergeant stood up from behind his desk, grabbed his rifle and slung it under his arm, and signaled us that we were to lead the way back out to the airfield. I was just glad to get out of that narrow room with him.
Outside under the clear, moonless night sky, I saw that Haj jar's suborbital shuttle had taken off. In its place was a
small supersonic chopper with military
"Now," said the cop, "we come to the matter of what I do with you. You're in Najran now, not some flea-bitten village where you got influence. You're nobody in Najran, but I'm somebody. We gonna see what you can do for me, and if you can't do nothin', you gonna go to jail."
"How much money do you have, my nephew?" Papa asked me.
"Not much." I hadn't brought a great deal with me, because I didn't think I'd need it at the amir's house. I usually carried my money divided between the pockets in my gallebeya, just for situations like this. I counted what I had in the left pocket; it came to a little over a hundred and eighty kiam. I wasn't about to let the dog of a ser-geant know I had more in the other pocket.
"Ain't even real money, is it?" complained al-Bishah. He shoved it all into his desk drawer anyway. "What about the old guy?"
"I have no money at all," said Papa.
"Now, that's too bad." The sergeant used a lighter to fire up the hashish in his narjilah. He leaned over and took the mouthpiece between his teeth. I could hear the burbling of the water pipe and smell the tang of the black hashish. He exhaled the smoke and smiled. "You can pick your cells, I got two. Or you got somethin' else I might want?"
I thought of my ceremonial dagger. "How about this?" I said, laying it in front of him on the desk.
He shook his head. "Cash," he said, shoving the dag-ger back toward me. I thought he'd made a bad mistake,/ because the dagger had a lot of gold and jewels stuck on it. Maybe he didn't have anywhere to fence an item like that. "Or credit," he added. "Got a bank you can call?"
"Yes," said Friedlander Bey. "It will be an expensive call, but you can have my bank's computer transfer funds to your account."
Al-Bishah let the mouthpiece fall from his lips. He sat up very straight. "Now, that's what I like to hear! Only, you pay for the call. Charge it to your home, right?"
The fat cop handed him the desk phone, and Papa spoke a long series of numbers into it. "Now," said Papa to the sergeant, "how much do you want?"
"A good, stiff bribe," he said. "Enough so I feel bribed. Not enough, you go to the cell. You could stay there forever. Who's gonna know you're here? Who's gonna pay for your freedom? Now's your best chance, my brother."
Friedlander Bey regarded the man with unconcealed disgust. "Five thousand kiam," he said.
"Lemme think, what's that in real money?" A few sec-onds passed in silence. "No, better make it ten thousand." I'm sure Papa would have paid a hundred thousand, but the cop didn't have the imagination to ask for it.
Papa waited a moment, then nodded. "Yes, ten thou-sand." He spoke into the phone again, then handed it to the sergeant.
"What?" asked al-Bishah.
"Tell the computer your account number," said Papa.
"Oh. Right." When the transaction was completed, the fat fool made another call. I couldn't hear what it was all about, but when he hung up, he said, "Fixed up some transportation for you. I don't want you here, don't want you in Najran. Can't let you go back where you come from, either, not from this shuttle field."
"All right," I said. "Where we going, then?"
Al-Bishah gave me a clear view of his stumpy, rotted teeth. "Let it be a surprise."
We had no choice. We waited in his reeking office until a call came that our transportation had arrived. The sergeant stood up from behind his desk, grabbed his rifle and slung it under his arm, and signaled us that we were to lead the way back out to the airfield. I was just glad to get out of that narrow room with him.
Outside under the clear, moonless night sky, I saw that Haj jar's suborbital shuttle had taken off. In its place was a
small supersonic chopper with military
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