Caliphate

Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 14 Muharram,

1538 AH (25 October, 2113)

'Can't you tell them to knock it off?' Ling's mouth asked as her torso bent over the tuning set attached to the first of the five communications systems Hans had lifted from unit supply. She gave a dirty look toward the room in which Petra and the American, Hamilton, were staying. 'It's unnerving.'

'Jealous?' Hans asked with a smile.

'Since I am not Ling, how can I be jealous?'

'Oh. Sorry, I forgot.'

'I understand. Now go tell them to shut up and you do the same.'

Hans arose and started to go but then stopped.

'I can't,' he said.

'Why?'

'She's my sister. It would be too . . . embarrassing. For both of us.'

With Ling's head shaking with annoyance, the teleoperator went to the door and knocked. When there was no answer—indeed, the couple in the other room seemed not even to notice—she opened the door, walked to the bed, grabbed Hamilton by the hair and pulled him away from Petra's body. In a voice that was only half Ling's, the body said, 'Stop it. You're ruining my concentration. Fuck; if you must fuck. But do so quietly.'

Ling's body turned around brusquely and marched out of Petra's room, slamming the door behind her.

'Jealous, you think?' asked Hamilton.

'No . . . no, that wasn't my Ling.'

'Still, the suggestion was a good one,' Hamilton said

'Suggestion. Ooohhh . . . her 'suggestion.' But I don't think I can do it quietly . . . not with you,' Petra said.

'Let's try.'

'Yes,' she said with a wanton smile. 'Let's!'

Honsvang, Province of Baya, 14 Muharram,

1538 AH (25 October, 2113)

The sun was already over the horizon and streaming in through the suite's windows.

Is that enough? Bernie asked, looking at four large glass jars, partly filled and sealed with the hydrogen cyanide crystals, standing against the wall. There were other jars, smaller ones, containing an oily liquid. Those were all in the sink. In addition, several more small jars were better than half full with the crystals. Of the lye and Prussian blue dye, almost none remained.

I think so. You've enough for the four barracks, plus some more for just in case. If you need to change the distribution around, the crystals are safe enough. Just don't get any acid on them.

I won't. Time for you to go?

Yes.

Well . . . not to be rude or anything but . . . get the fuck out.

You'll still need me for the thermobaric bomb you may need to sterilize the laboratory, Dr. Richter pointed out.

Later. If we need it. For now . . . just go away. This shit is worse than rape.

Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 14 Muharram,

1538 AH (25 October, 2113)

Finally they've quieted down, thought the Chinese communications specialist controlling Ling's body.

What's your problem, asshole? I'm the one who's losing a lover; I'm the one who has to give up my own body.

I am not used to working in these kinds of circumstances, thought the specialist.

I don't see what's so difficult about it, Ling thought back.

It's reading the proper settings here and then transferring them through your body to the set. And it isn't difficult; it's tedious. Worse, distractions mean I might set it wrong, input the wrong codes, so that either you won't be able to talk to each other or, worse still, the Caliphate's people will hear you. Now shut up and quit pestering me.

Castle Honsvang, Province of Baya, 15 Muharram,

1538 AH (26 October, 2113)

The colonel was gone, trying to bring some order and discipline back to the border troops at af-Fridhav. This left Hans alone with the company. He spent the time usefully, inspecting weapons in the arms room. The weapons were not common issue; the janissaries in the security force slept with theirs. Rather, these were extras and special purpose arms, along with some of the pricey electronics purchased from China or the tsar that made the Corps of Janissaries near equals of Imperial Infantry.

Not bad shape, Hans conceded, while looking down the stubby barrel of a submachine gun. The weapon was disassembled into its components on the same crude wooden table the unit armorer used for his own inspections and repairs. Hans sat at the table on a backless, slightly padded, rotating stool.

'How many of these do we have?' he asked of the armorer. 'Unissued, I mean.'

'A dozen, sir,' the armorer answered. He was an older type, wearing glasses, with a short, neatly trimmed, gray beard, and a ginger step that told of knees beginning to decay from arthritis.

He was probably a janissary cadet when my parents were in diapers, Hans thought. 'You must be coming up on retirement soon,' Hans said.

'Yes, sir,' the armorer answered. 'I'll have my thirty years in next year, about this time.'

Okay, not quite that old. I guess the service really does wear.

'Not going to stay past that?' Hans asked.

In answer the armorer smiled and raised one hand, palm down facing the floor. The hand was raised above neck level: I've had this shit up to here.

Hamilton would have recognized the gesture instantly from a statue back at Fort Benning. Hans did as well, though not from the statue. He laughed.

'What are you planning to do after that, then?'

The armorer shrugged. 'Not sure, sir. Settle down with a wife, start a business . . . grocer, I was thinking . . . raise a few kids. I've still got a year to think about it.'

Hans felt a sudden lump form in his chest. No you don't. You've less than two weeks before I have to kill you. And for what? Because some asshole grabbed you, as with me, and took you as a child to make you into a soldier for a bunch of fucking aliens. What a shitty fucking world.

Hans did not, of course, say any of that but, rather, contented himself with, 'That's as good a plan as I've heard. Still, the unit will miss you when you go.'

The older man smiled. 'I'll miss the boys, too. And maybe the life . . . I've gotten used to it, after all. Thirty-two years since I was gathered? They're not easy to let go of, sir, all those years. Still, when it's time; it's time. And I am getting old.'

The armorer was such a likeable old soldier. Hans found that he did, in fact, like him. He sighed with regret. Not for much longer.

'Going back to your old town?' Hans