The Exile Kiss by George Alec Effinger Read Free Book Online

didn't care.
"Have you used this time to ponder the meaning of what has happened to you?" asked Hassanein.
"Yes, indeed, O Wise One," I said. "My mind is empty of the details, but I've thought long and hard about why I came so near to death. I've looked ahead, too. There will come a harvesting."
The leader of the Bani Salim nodded. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking. I wondered if he would recognize the name of Reda Abu Adil. "That is well," he said in a carefully neutral voice. He stood up to leave.
"O Wise One," I said, "will you give me something for the pain?"
His eyes narrowed as he looked down at me. "Are you truly still in such pain?"
"Yes. I'm stronger now, all praise be to Allah, but my body still suffers from the abuse."
He muttered something under his breath, but he opened his leather bag and prepared another injection. "This will be the last," he told me. Then he jabbed me in the hip.
It occurred to me that he probably didn't have a vast store of medical supplies. Hassanein had to tend to all the accidents and illnesses that struck the Bani Salim, and I had probably already consumed much of his pain-reliev-ing medication. I wished I hadn't selfishly taken this last shot. I sighed as I waited for the Sonneine to take effect.
Hassanein left the tent, and Noora entered again. "Anyone ever told you you're very beautiful, my
sister?" I said. I wouldn't have been so bold if the opiate hadn't chosen that instant to bloom in my brain.
I could see that I'd made Noora very uncomfortable. She covered her face with her head scarf and took her position against the wall of the tent. She did not speak to me.
"Forgive me, Noora," I said, my words slurring to-gether.
She looked away from me, and I cursed my stupidity. Then, just before I drifted off into warm, wonderful sleep, she whispered, "Am I truly so beautiful?" I grinned at her crookedly, and then my mind spun away out of this world.

3
    When my memory began to come back, I recalled that I'd been sitting next to Hajjar on the suborbital ship, and facing us had been Friedlander Bey and Hajjar's goon. The crooked cop had derived a lot of enjoyment from looking at me, shaking his head, and making little snotty chuckling noises. I found myself won-dering how hard I'd have to twist his scrawny neck before his head would pop off.
    Papa had maintained his air of calm. He simply wasn't going to give Hajjar the satisfaction of troubling him. Af-ter a while, I just tried to pretend that Hajjar and the goon didn't exist. I passed the time imagining them suf-fering all sorts of tragic accidents.
    About forty minutes into the flight, when the shuttle had boosted to the top of its parabola and was coasting down toward its destination, a tall man with a thin face and a huge black mustache jerked aside the curtains to the rear cabin. This was the qadi, I imagined, the civil judge who had reached a decision in whatever case Papa and I were involved in. It did my mood no good to see that the qadi was dressed in the gray uniform and leather boots of an officer in Reda Abu AdiFs Jaish. He glanced down at a sheaf of papers in his hand. "Friedlander Bey?" he asked. "Marid Audran?"
    "Him and him," said Lieutenant Hajjar, jerking his thumb at us in turn.
    The qadi nodded. He was still standing beside us in the aisle. "This is a most serious charge," he said. "It would have gone better for you if you'd pleaded guilty and begged for mercy."
"Listen, pal," I said, "I haven't even heard the charge yet! I don't even know what we're supposed to have done! How could we have pleaded guilty? We weren't given a chance to enter a plea at all!"
"Say, your honor?" said Hajjar. "I took the liberty of entering their pleas for them. In the interest of saving the city time and money."
"Most irregular," muttered the qadi, shuffling through his papers. "But as you entered both pleas of innocent, I see no further problem."
I slammed my fist on my seat's armrest. "But you just said it would have gone better for