Free Mariposa by Greg Bear

times the typical military starting pay grade. Causes a bit of a stir."
    Price walked to the window. Outside, a very large insect buzzed past. It wasn't an insect, of course.
    "I'd like to move you up a notch," he said. "As you know, we've got a big conference in a couple of weeks. I've asked the campus supervisors who's best at translating Arabic dialects—and they all tell me it's you, hands down. You're also well-versed in Texan, I hear." Price chuckled. "Not easy to get a handle on how we talk around here. The food alone . . . well, Muslims aren't big fans of some of our favorite dishes."
    Fouad remained smiling.
    "We'll be hiding billboards and such that might offend some of our Muslim guests as they limo in from the airport. I've asked restaurant owners to cover up the pink neon pigs, that sort of thing. They're happy to oblige—they know how important this is to Lion City. But once our guests are here, I'd like a fellow I can trust to provide a running commentary, delivered straight to me, on how they're thinking, what they're saying, and maybe pitch in and correct misunderstandings, as need be. I'd like you to be that fellow."
    Price gestured to a well-upholstered blue leather chair on one side of the desk, near the window.
    "Take a seat, Mr. Al-Husam."
    Fouad sat. This was not at all what he had expected. Best to show surprise and quiet pride. "I am honored," he said.
    Price beamed. "I pick my people well."
    The man could be charming. Many here could be charming and yet hold the most untoward views.
    "Tell me what you think that sort of work would require, Fouad . . . if we can go on a first-name basis. And please, call me Axel."
    Price's pronunciation was good. He spoke sound but rudimentary Arabic, from the years when he had directed security and other contracts in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Kuwait.
    "I could be attached to delegations as a back-up translator," Fouad said. "The guests will rely on their own translators, but they will not be offended if you also position someone with expertise, to listen."
    "My thoughts exactly. You can't cover all the conversations—hell, I'll probably only be able to drop by for about a third of the sessions myself. But if I'm there . . . you'll be there. I'd be pleased if we could make that sort of arrangement. Keep you around a while, at a much higher pay grade than a teacher, of course."
    "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Price—Axel," Fouad said. "My contract, however, is soon ended, and I have other commitments I would have to adjust."
    Price bowed his head and threw up his hand, showing this was not his concern.
    "I'm sure you can work it out," he said. "Start now. I might need you in a snap, so we'll put you up in a guest house. Real nice place. Deluxe. You'll sleep out there tonight. My logistics team will move your stuff from Lion City. You'll need a chip upgrade, of course—deep, deep security."
    "Thank you," Fouad said, but his heart was not with him. This familiarity felt too convenient. Trust meant nothing to Axel Price—caution was his hallmark.
    "The conference is coming up fast," Price said. "Private jets from all over are coming into Lion City airport. About two hundred guests, fifty or sixty from the Emirates, Qatar, Arabia Deserta, Yemen, Jordan—plus retinues. You'll get all the docs and prep you need, plus a finger-key transcriber." He held out his hand and waggled his fingers. "You know how to use it—like a court steno?"
    Fouad nodded. It was standard for secure translators.
    "Good. FBI trained you well. Any regrets about heading for greener pastures while the Bureau's in limbo?"
    "Of course," Fouad said. "But it was inevitable."
    "Moving them out of D.C. and Virginia—that's a hoot. Our beltway masters seem to think they need to squeeze everything good out of the South—or squeeze the South out of everything. As if the war never ended."
    Price shook his head in wonder at this effrontery. "Be up and dressed by 0700. Prep team will meet you in the