The Terrorists of Irustan by Louise Marley Page A

Zahra wondered. It had been shrinking all her life, but it still remained a matter of years rather than months. Research results came quickly, borne on the wings of the r-waves, the hyperwaves that flashed over the reaches; but the equipment, the hardware, took much, much longer, and was too often obsolete by the time it arrived. Obsolete by Earth standards, she reminded herself, and perhaps by her own as well. Not by the standards of the directorate. The directorate of Irustan was content, even proud, to be as primitive as any colony of any age.
    The text and the demos on her reader wavered and blurred, and she rubbed her eyes and pushed it away. “Ishi, I’m tired, aren’t you? Let’s get ready for bed.”
    Lili came to help Ishi with her dress. Zahra closed her reader and stood, stretching her long arms with a soft crack of tired joints. It had been a full day. She unbuttoned the high neckline of her dress and slipped off her sandals. Lili turned back the sheets of the beds and fluffed the pillows. Zahra and Ishi yawned together and then smiled at each other.
    A soft tap sounded at the door. Lili fastened her verge before she opened the door just far enough to exchange whispers with someone. She closed the door again, and came back to say, with obvious satisfaction, “Asa says the director would like to see you. In his rooms.” She avoided Zahra’s eyes, bustling Ishi off into the bathroom for tooth-brushing and washing. Zahra stood, her own preparations arrested.
    For three months, since Ishi’s arrival, she had not been alone with Qadir. She had supposed—no, that wasn’t true, she hadn’t supposed. She had given it no thought at all. But this was one summons she was not at liberty to refuse.
    She snatched her veil off the bed and drew it roughly over her hair. She thrust her feet back into her sandals and marched to the door, rill and verge dangling. Lili put her head out of the bathroom.
    “Medicant,” she urged. “Don’t you want ... I can wash Ishi later if you’d like to shower. . . .”
    “No, it’s fine, Lili,” Zahra said. “Tell Ishi I’ll kiss her goodnight when I get back.”
    Still the anah came to her, rearranging her untidy veil, buttoning the verge, straightening the hem of her dress.
    “Lili, that’s hardly necessary,” Zahra said. She pulled free and went to the door.
    Lili shook her head, clicking her tongue.
    Asa had already gone when Zahra emerged. She walked alone down the wide, tiled hallway, past the stairs that led to the clinic, past the elegant staircase that curved down into the foyer. The lights had been dimmed for the night and her shadow preceded her and then trailed her, long and thin, wavering. She reached the far stairs and went down.
    Qadir slept in a suite of rooms that was as much office as bedroom. A wavephone was close at hand in every room, at the head of his bed, on the long desk where he frequently worked or held meetings, and in the next bedroom, which was Diya’s.
    In the years of their marriage, Zahra had not gone often to Qadir’s rooms. Any business conducted there was his, whether official or personal, and no proper Irustani wife would concern herself with it. When Qadir wanted her, he came to her bedroom. But now, with Ishi there, that was no longer possible.
    Zahra didn’t hesitate. When she reached his door, she rapped twice, rather hard, making her knuckles sting.
    Qadir himself slid the door aside. “Zahra, at last,” he murmured. He pulled her inside with a firm grip on her wrist. “Mmm, you look wonderful. How long has it been?”
    Zahra didn’t answer. She saw that Qadir had made an effort. A bottle of nab’t was opened and waiting on the table, glasses sparkling beside it in the muted light. Qadir was dressed in a loose silk robe, sashed around his thin waist, and he smelled of spicy scent. He drew her against him, caressing her shoulders beneath the drape of her veil. She bent her head.
    “Come, Zahra, take this thing off,” he said