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.