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back?”
    “Of course.” Lili, accustomed to such duties, brought Asa’s chair from the other side of the screen and sat down.
    “Oh!” Zahra exclaimed, remembering. “I forgot Ishi!”
    Lili straightened her skirts. “Oh, that one,” she said. “Well, Medicant, she was all for following me down here, to start her apprenticeship this very morning! She was none too pleased to have missed the emergency.”
    Zahra was glad of a reason to smile. “Truly? She wanted to come here?” “Oh, yes. But I didn’t know—it could have been anything. I sent her off with Cook to sit with the director at breakfast.”
    Zahra sobered, and looked down at Maya’s pallid face, her body bulky with dressings beneath the blanket. “That was a good decision. She’ll have time enough for the hard ones. Nura never allowed me to watch a surgery until I was a bit older.” She checked the buttons of her medicant’s coat, still having nothing but her nightshift beneath it. “Some girls, at least,” she grumbled softly, “might be allowed their childhood.”
    Lili folded her arms. Zahra couldn’t see her mouth, but she knew by the narrowing of Lili’s eyes the stubborn lines that would be pulling at her plain face. “Every sacrifice is a leg oj the sacred journey ,” Lili quoted.
    Zahra wanted to say something cutting, but she thought better of it. She had chafed Lili enough this morning. She checked the monitor once more, and rested her fingers on Maya’s cool forehead. She liked direct contact with her patients. Nura had, too. Nura had seemed to transmit her own strength through her worn fingers. The medicator dispensed miracles through its syrinxes, but there was no drug that could supply what Maya needed. Zahra looked at the locked dispensary door, and her fingers curled, remembering the laser cutter.
    Abruptly she repeated, “I must talk to Qadir.” She left the clinic, fastening her verge as she went. Her rill fluttered behind her as she walked briskly impatiently, toward the dayroom.
    *   *   *
    Qadir stared at her with eyes gone cold and dark in the mask of his face.
    “Diya,” he snapped.
    “Yes, Director.” The secretary came to Qadir’s elbow instantly. He was a slight man with thick lips and oily brown hair. His eyes slid to Zahra’s and away, not quite smiling.
    Qadir said, “Call Cook, and tell her to take Ishi into the kitchen to finish her breakfast.”
    His orders were followed without delay. Cook came for Ishi, and the girl went off with her, casting her eyes back over her shoulder at Zahra. Zahra stood as if hewn from the very rock of the mines as the door closed behind them. Diya resumed his post by the door, eyes carefully fixed on the floor, ears fairly twitching with interest.
    Qadir clicked the base of his fork against the table, little impatient taps. “Zahra, why do you ask me such things?” he demanded. “What an example to set for the child!”
    Zahra felt her cheeks flame beneath her verge, and was glad, for once, that she had it on. Qadir would think she was ashamed.
    “Qadir,” she began, and then glanced at Diya. “Qadir, can we talk alone? Please?”
    Qadir stilled the tapping of his fork. Deliberately, he folded his arms, and then tilted his head to look up at her. The morning light reflected on the bare skin of his scalp and the deep lines around his mouth and his eyes. “No,” he said. “In matters of your practice, we rely on the Book for answers. Privacy is irrelevant.”
    “Please, Qadir,” Zahra repeated. She tried to look penitent, placating. For Maya’s sake. “This girl—she’s so young, and there’s a baby at home.”
    “A son?”
    “No, it’s a girl. But, Qadir, he kicked her with his boots on! He broke her rib and it ruptured—”
    Qadir slammed his fork down, making his plate jump. Coffee sloshed from his cup. “You forget yourself!” he snapped. “Would you insult me with your female practices? Are you married to a woman, now, set by the Maker to deal