"Listen," I said. "As a cellologist you would have no trouble at all terminating these pregnancies. I tell you the planets are overpopulated anyway. Just perform some abortions and that will be that."
"That would not be that," said young Doctor Prahd. "That would be murder. And murder is something not even you can make me do, Officer Gris. Unlike some I know, I have my own moral standards, to say nothing of the cellologist's code. Murder is out!"
"Then what can I do?" I cried, wringing my hands.
"You're asking me after you seduce my girl?"
"Prahd, remember that we are friends, and what is a girl between friends?"
"Trouble," said Prahd. "You see, it wouldn't be so bad if she had not been morning-sick. Her father is the leading doctor of the area and noticed it. And she told him. You probably know that his favorite sport is quail hunting. That's why he named his daughter Bildirjin, which means 'quail' in Turkish. He's one of the best shots in the country and he has one of the biggest shotguns. And as she is a minor, you could also go to prison. Have you ever seen the inside of a Turkish jail?"
I was beginning to moan.
He continued, "I think he has a thing about cutting off testicles, so possibly shooting off yours would be how his mind is running right now. However, if you would really take my suggestion..."
It was too much. I could no longer stand his sadistic chatter. It was obvious he, too, was after me!
I rushed out of his office. I looked up and down the corridor. Thank Gods, it was way past hours when the town doctors worked in the free clinic.
I sped to the car. I leaped in.
"Take me home, quick!" I pleaded. In the villa I would be able to fort up and defend myself!
In the yard, I was out of the car before it stopped moving. I raced across the patio and into my room. I barred the door and stood there with my back against it, breathing hard.
What a disaster! How was I going to get out of it?
There was a knock. For a moment I thought that Nurse Bildirjin's father had followed me up. Then I realized that the sound came from the secret tunnel door.
The father would not know about that. I opened it cautiously.
There stood Faht Bey.
He came in looking over his shoulder fearfully.
He spoke in a very low voice, "This is real trouble, Gris. I told you I would let you know when I had found out. Well, unfortunately, I have found out. It is pretty awful."
I got a grip on the bottom of the bed. I would take it like a man. "Tell me," I said.
Faht Bey shook his head sadly. "Are you sure that you can take this?"
"Go ahead," I said, bracing myself further.
"It's pretty bad news," he said.
"For Gods' sake, tell me," I pleaded.
"You know the taxi driver, Ahmed."
"Yes, I know the taxi driver, Ahmed!"
"He's going to testify that it was at your orders."
"WHAT was at my orders?" I screeched.
"And it very well could get him off."
"Testify to WHAT?" I begged.
"Maybe you better sit down in the chair there," said Faht Bey. "This is pretty awful."
I collapsed.
"Here," said Faht Bey, taking a bullet out of his shoulder gun and putting it between my teeth. "Bite on that and you won't break your molars when I tell you."
I bit on it.
"You know that the taxi driver they call Ahmed is really a convicted criminal from Modon."
I nodded.
"Did you know that the driver Ters is a Turkish communist who just served twenty-seven years in jail for murdering the general?"
I shook my head the other way. This was not going very well.
"For the past several weeks," said Faht Bey, "the taxi driver has been going out with this Turkish murderer in that car with your name all over it. The way they worked was to go to a farm and look over the women, and if they found a good-looking one, they would tell her husband and the family that it was at your orders that they burn the whole farm down unless the woman consented to spend an evening with you in your car. And that if anyone went to the police, that farm, nearby farms and the closest village would be put to the torch."
I bit on the bullet. The taxi driver had been keeping that fee for himself!
"That's not all," said Faht Bey. "They told the woman that if she hadn't pleased you, they would murder her husband."
I clamped down harder on the bullet. That explained those beseeching looks I had mistaken for a plea to be with me again in the future!
"This all came out because they thought I knew you and somebody suggested they come see me for advice."
Utanc! In a jealous rage, she had set them on me!
"But that's not all" said Faht Bey. "When the taxi driver and Ters came to the rendezvous, Ahmed and then Ters raped the woman first."
My teeth were sinking deeper and deeper into the brass. No wonder the women had been so tired. No wonder they had always been so moist! Those (bleeped) (bleepards) had kept me waiting for half an hour while they both (bleeped) away and then they had called me to take their leavings! They must have been shrieking with laughter over it!
"One more thing," said Faht Bey. "This is adultery. In the Qur'an it states that the punishment shall be one hundred lashes for unmarried persons. But these women were married, so the punishment for you would be entirely different. The Qur'an states that in such a case the offender shall be stoned to death."
That settled it. The powder in the cartridge case spilled bitterly into my mouth as my teeth pierced it through.
I would have to leave Turkey.
There was no other way.
And I would have to leave Turkey AT ONCE!
I grabbed a bag. I looked around wildly.
Where would I go?
What would I take?
Faht Bey said, "If you are leaving, I want to remind you that the Blixo will be in, in a day or so. They always have something for you. What do I tell them?"
My attention snapped painfully back to him. The Blixo? They were probably after me, too!
Faht Bey went on: "Those homo couriers you get always demand postcards for some reason. You better give me some."
Postcards? Postcards? I made my mind focus. He was talking about the magic-mail cards. If they didn't get mailed on time, their mothers would be killed. That would make the couriers go after me, too!
I opened up the safe. I grabbed the whole pack of magic-mail cards. I threw them at Faht Bey.
Where would I go?
What should I take?
I ran around the room looking under things.
Faht Bey was still there. He said, "If you're going to run out, there's nobody here can stamp cargos in. They have to be stamped in as received on Voltar before they leave. Why don't you give me your identoplate?"
I fished it out.
I threw it at him.
Enough was enough. "Get out! Get out! Get out!" I screamed at him. "Can't you see my sanity is on the ragged edge? STOP BOTHERING ME! I have to think!"
He gathered up the postcards and identoplate and left.
Only then could I begin to get my wits in order.
What should I take?
A tough problem when you don't know where you are going to go. The only destination I had was OUT!
Blind instinct saved me.
I opened the grip. Into it I packed guns and ammunition so I could defend myself. I packed the phony Ink-switch federal I.D. so I could change my identity. I grabbed some instant gas pellets that would render any assailant unconscious and packed them. I snatched up the two-way-response radio and packed it. I stuffed in the three sets of viewers. I strapped the grip up. Then I realized I had forgotten to put in any clothes and unstrapped it. I put in a business suit, some shirts and ties and a combat camouflage dress. I strapped it up. I realized I had not put in any money. I unstrapped it. I looked in the safe and found I didn't have any money. I strapped the grip up. I wondered if I had forgotten anything and unstrapped it to look. I grabbed some things at random and threw them in, just in case. I strapped it up again.