The Exile Kiss by George Alec Effinger

Author:George Alec Effinger [Effinger, George Alec]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Science Fiction
Published: 2011-02-16T07:00:00+00:00

10

It seemed as if a year had passed since the first time I visited the prince's palace. In fact, it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. I, however, had changed somewhat in that time. I felt that my vision was clearer and that I'd been stripped of my intellectual objections to direct action. Whether that would be a help or a hindrance in my future in the city was yet to be seen.

The amir's estate was even more beautiful in the day-light than it had been on the evening of my wedding re-ception. The air was clean and the breeze was cool and refreshing. The liquid gurgling of the fountains relaxed me as I walked through Shaykh Mahali's gardens. When we got to the house, a servant opened the door. "We have an appointment with the amir," said Fried-lander Bey.

The servant looked at us carefully, decided we weren't madmen or assassins, and nodded. We followed him down a long gallery that bordered an inner courtyard. He opened the door to a small audience chamber, and we entered and took seats and waited for the shaykh to arrive. I felt very uncomfortable, as if I'd been caught cheating on a test and was now waiting for the principal to come in and punish me. The difference was that I hadn't been caught cheating; the charge was murder of a police of-ficer. And the penalty wouldn't be just ten swats, it would be death.

I decided to let Papa handle the defense. He'd had a century and a half more practice at verbal tap dancing than I had.

We sat there in anxious silence for about a quarter f hour. Then, with more bustle than ceremony, Shaykh Mahali and three other men entered. The shaykh was * handsome in white gattebeya and keffiya, and two of his I attendants wore European-style dark gray business suits. The third man wore the robes and dark turban of a scholar of the noble Qur'an; he was evidently Shaykh Mahali's vizier.

The prince took his seat on a handsomely carved chair, and turned toward us. "What is this matter?" he asked quietly.

"O Prince," said Friedlander Bey, stepping forward, "we were wrongfully accused of the death of a police of-ficer, Khalid Maxwell. Then, without benefit of public trial, or even an opportunity to confront our accusers and present a defense, we were kidnapped—right from Your Highness's own grounds, after the wedding reception you gave for my great-grandson. We were forced aboard a suborbital ship, and presented with the news that we'd already been tried. When we landed in Najran, we were taken aboard a helicopter, and then pushed out into the Arabian Desert, in the southern, most dreadful portion known as the Rub al-Khali. We were most fortunate to lie survive, and it took great courage and sacrifice on the part of my beloved great-grandson to keep us alive until we were rescued by a nomadic tribe of Bedu, may the bless-ings of Allah be on them. It is only now that we've been able to make our way back to the city.

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