22 Mira
Mira stopped at a tiny spring and washed her face. She filled her empty water bottle and drank from the other, partly full one. By the time she needed to use the bottle she had filled, the water would be sterile. Rising, she shifted her pack and strode off through the scrub, headed for a ridge of confused rocks not too far away. She had been marching since early morning when a high-lifter had set her down well away from the village that was her target.
Her long legs had made short work of the journey, and there was still plenty of daylight when, after some searching, she found a shelter under a rocky overhang. GPS told her she was about as close to the village as she dared set up camp. The village hunters ranged fairly widely, but surveillance had not seen them come this far.
There was another, somewhat larger spring not far from her shelter, and she went to it, washing her face and arms to remove the dust and sweat. There were scrub trees of a sort, nourished by the moisture of the spring, but from their stunted appearance, Mira assumed that the spring was only seasonal. Indeed, at this time of year, the spring was already little more than a trickle, and she scooped out a small basin that she hoped would fill to provide a more substantial supply.
She keyed her wristcom. “Alpha,” she said quietly, “Bravo Two.” Her throat band picked up her voice.
“Alpha here,” replied Zahlman, his voice in her earbug.
“Do you have a fix on me?” Mira asked.
“Check, we have your signature, and a fix on your com. We’ve been following you all day with no problems.”
“My camp is about 100 meters north north west. It’s under a rock overhang.”
“We figured that’s what it was. We lost you for a couple of ticks, and then you headed for your present location.”
“Good. Good that you can’t see me when I’m there. This location is a spring I’ll use for drinking water. I’m going to settle in, then scout the area until dark. I’ll be heading for the village at first light. Any sign of life?”
“Not now. There were hunters out as close to you as about a klick until about an hour ago, but they’ve headed back. Looked like they got something, maybe a goat. Should be plenty to eat at the village tonight. You’re about two klicks away and in an area we haven’t seen them hunt yet. Keep an eye out for tracks.”
“I’ll check with you after dark. I might go have a look at the village, so keep an eye out for guards or wanderers. You’ll see my signature. Bravo Two out.”
Mira thought about it for a moment or two. The spring had filled the little basin she had made, and, with a shrug, she stripped off her boots, shirt, kilt and briefs and washed in the cool water. When she was done, she put her boots back on, picked up her clothes and walked back to her shelter, her tall, lean, olive-skinned body drying in the sun. She pulled her pack to her and dressed in a long, indigo robe she had brought with her – a tribal costume still known in northern Algeria. Under its concealing folds went her knife – hung at the back of her neck – and her military stunner.
She dug out field rations and ate a light supper as the sun set behind the hills, waiting until it was safely dark before slipping on her night goggles. She adjusted them to fit over her indigo head covering. The day’s heat had vanished, and it was cool. In the dark, she was nearly invisible.
“Alpha, Bravo Two. I’m headed for the village. Out.”
“Check,” responded Isabella’s voice in her earbug.
.oOo.
Not long after dawn, Mira was on her way again. She had watched from the shadows as the village feasted on a small gazelle, roasted in the square. She had seen the men demand that several of the women dance for them. She had listened to the rhythms of drums beaten by one group of women as four very skinny young women, their faces veiled for “modesty”, danced half-naked for the men. One of them, at least, was taken off to a tent for the pleasure of her – master, lover or husband.
This morning, well rested, she moved through the morning dews to a thicket near the edge of a vegetable patch she had found during her nocturnal scouting. Her position was well hidden from the village and from most of the field. There were eggplants, squash, pulses and other vegetables growing well, and a good variety of herbs were planted along the edge of the field near where she sat, her legs crossed, a silent, deep blue statue, still as a rock. Surveillance indicated that only one or two people, probably women, tended this field. Mira waited.
It was not long before a man and two women appeared on the other side of the field. The women brought hoes and baskets with them; the man carried a slug-thrower. When the man left to return to the village, one woman made for the far end of the area and began cultivating the rows at that end. She did not appear to be particularly diligent, simply going through the motions.
The other woman was about 8 months pregnant. She began cultivating the squash plants not far from where Mira waited. Mira had made sure she could only be seen from a particular spot at the near edge of the field where the herb garden was. In time, the pregnant woman moved into her view, working to clear weeds and then to harvest some of the herbs and chili peppers that she stowed in a net bag. For some time she worked not noticing Mira. When she did, her eyes widened, but she kept right on with her work.
Looking at the ground, she said, in Arabic, “Who are you?”
Mira replied, in Berber. When the woman shook her head, still looking at her work, she repeated in Arabic, “Peace be on you. A friend.”
“Peace be to you. It is not safe here,” the farm woman murmured.
“I will be safe,” Mira said. “Are you well, sister?”
“Mostly. Not so hungry today – we had good hunting yesterday, and a feast last night. But my back hurts and I worry for my child.”
“It is your first?”
The woman shook her head again. “My second, but the birth of my first was very hard.” She looked up at Mira briefly, seeing only Mira’s dark eyes in the indigo headdress. “It was a boy and he died. My husband was very angry.” She went on with her work.
“That is painful. He is with Al’lah, but it did not have to be so,” Mira said quietly.
The woman took up her hoe and basket and moved away, working through the rows of vegetables, picking some, chopping weeds as she went. When she reached the other side of the field, she began working her way back until she was once again where Mira waited.
“My husband beat me when our son died. And, it was only a few months before I was pregnant again. I am afraid it will happen again.”
“Are you the only one who is afraid?” Mira asked.
“No. Most of us are afraid: the women and the children are not well.” She looked around. “I must go. I cannot stay when the man comes. We must both leave.” Her partner was clearly preparing to head back to the village, and called sharply to her. “Will you be here again?”
“I will,” Mira said. The guard, or whatever he was, appeared. She waited until the two women had disappeared and slipped away through the scrub and rocks.
.oOo.
Mira’s rendezvous with the high-lifter was on schedule, and it was only an hour or so before she was at the Neo-Tantra safe house in Algiers CA. There, she, Isabella, Zahlman and Pru sat down in a back room to review the results of Mira’s week in the hills. Mira had shed her mountain garb for the comfort of a CA kilt. A shower had refreshed her considerably.
“How was it?” Pru asked her.
“Really, it was great. I love camping out, being in the hills. I wish I could have had a fire, but I managed quite well on the rations. Actually, I cheated one night. I stunned a rabbit, killed and dressed it. I built a fire in my shelter and had a feast.”
“Yeah,” Zahlman said, “we saw the heat signature. But there wasn’t anyone around, so we didn’t hassle you about it.”
Isabella said, “Tell us about your contact. You didn’t say much on the com.”
“No, I wanted to bring it back to you pretty much in one piece.” Mira reached for a glass of tea and settled herself.
“I’m still not sure how this got started; perhaps Zaharah – my contact – doesn’t know herself. She got married here in the city to this guy she thought was in some kind of oil exploration, and next thing she knew he dragged her off to this village. They stunned her and took out her implants. Pretty crude work – she showed me the scar on her arm where they took out the PID. Next thing she knew, she was pregnant. For some reason, the baby died – the fact that it was a boy didn’t help. He beat her and got her pregnant again as fast as he could. She’s due in about six weeks.
“There are other women in the village who’re just as afraid as Zaharah. The one who’s near term – she’s due in about two weeks. It’s her first, and she’s terrified. Zaharah says she cries a lot.
“The food isn’t adequate, not enough of it, not enough vegetables, even though they have two fairly good gardens. Problem is, they don’t get much of anything all winter.
“The children are in real trouble. They suffer from intestinal parasites, there’s quite a bit of diarrhea, and the flies are a menace. Some of the kids have eye infections already. Of course, there’s no education, except that one of the men drills them in the Koran, like the old madrassas.
“Is there a political agenda, here?” Pru asked.
“Not really.” Mira shrugged. “These seem to be a bunch of men who think the old ways were better, that going back to them will give them a better life. I don’t know, maybe they think they’ll go to heaven or something.”
“I’ve heard that one,” Zahlman said, shaking his head. “I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t now.”
“Well, what we believe isn’t the point,” Pru said. “They believe it and their women have to go along. But, Mira, they can’t all be like your friend Zaharah.”
“They aren’t. Zaharah is only allowed out of the village with one of the other women who’s committed to the idea. And, a guard takes them to and from the field. In fact, the woman who goes with her is Zaharah’s husband’s head wife. There are several others who feel the same way, Zaharah says. Her husband’s got the Koranic three wives. I suspect he’s the leader.
“How do they get the things they need?” Zahlman wanted to know. “I mean, like ammunition for the slug-throwers, and cloth and pots and pans and all that. Not to mention building materials and tools.”
“Mostly, Zahl, they do without. When they absolutely have to have something from the outside, one of the men, usually Zaharah’s husband, goes off and gets it. He takes one or two of the other men with him. That gives them a look at the outside now and then and helps keep them in line. You don’t follow orders; you don’t get to go to the big city.”
“What happens if the women don’t cooperate?” Isabella asked.
“They get beaten–usually by their men, sometimes in public, if he’s angry enough. Once, Zaharah told me, one of the women objected to her husband taking another wife. He stripped her in public and whipped her. They try not to give much trouble.”
“What’s the belly dancing all about?” Isabella wanted to know.
“Well,” said Mira, “it’s an old custom of the Ouled Naïl, you know. The women of Ouled Naïl used to be famous all over the Arab world for their dancing. I’ve seen some dancers who’ve learned the old forms and it’s quite something. What these women have to do isn’t anything like the real thing. It’s just exploitation. The men make them shake their hips and wiggle their tits for a while; then, they take them off to a tent and – in some cases, at least – rape them. It’s disgusting. I saw some of it the first night I was there. That’s one reason I took my time and stayed as long as I did. I wanted the whole story, or as near as I could get.” Mira shook her head vehemently. “I’m a Muslim, too, Zahl, but we’ve gotten beyond the world of 622 CE.”
“What did you tell Zaharah you were going to do?” Pru asked.
“I told her I would try to get help for the women and the children. She didn’t ask me to help the men.”
“I can tell you’re pretty angry about all this, Mira. I don’t blame you. But, we’ll have to work out a solution with Terry and Special-Ops.”
“Yes, I know. And, that’s how it should be. But, we need to move fast. That one woman could deliver any day.”