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?''