and enter the engine room, but he only managed to damage a single control panel before he was subdued and incarcerated. One of the engineers has stated that shortly after the Arkangel set sail, it accelerated out of control, but no one has offered an explanation for why that happened. And in the confusion as the ship was sinking, apparently Major Zidane was left in his cell, and drowned.”
Kenan shrugged. “From my boat, I observed the Arkangel leaving its anchorage. I saw it run through the shallows and breach its hull on the rocks, per my design. I believe that the crew realized that the ship had only a short time before it sank, and so they set out across the Strait at full speed in the hopes of using their weapon before it was rendered useless. The fact that they crashed straight through those other boats tells me that the damage to the hull may have impaired their ability to steer the ship as well. I also believe, from studying the Arkangel ’s course, that it was incapable of turning fully west toward Tingis and that it would have run aground had it not been destroyed by Captain Ohana and the…artifact.”
The general leaned back. “Captain Ohana, your opinion?”
Taziri cleared her throat. “Ma’am, I have no doubt that Kenan disabled the buoys, and it is possible, however unlikely, that the Arkangel was seriously damaged while leaving its anchorage. But from what I observed in the Strait, I believe the Arkangel suffered a critical systems failure. Something very specific, something internal. If Major Zidane did damage one system before he was captured, I would guess it was something minor. Something no one thought to check before setting sail. Something like an oil pump. Without oil, any number of gears or drives could have overheated, locked, and shattered. That could have caused the ship to accelerate out of control and impaired their ability to steer.” She saw Kenan staring at her.
The general nodded. “So, you believe Major Zidane succeeded in crippling the ship, which led to its destruction, or would have led to its destruction had you not intervened.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh please,” Kenan muttered.
Taziri shot him a look.
“And considering the outcome,” the general continued, “it will be the recommendation of this panel that Major Zidane receive a posthumous commendation for his heroic actions.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kenan slapped his hand on the desk.
“Lieutenant!” Major Geroubi leaned around Taziri and peered at Kenan with her one good eye. “You’re dismissed. Get out.”
The young lieutenant stood up slowly, a sneer slowly curling his lip. “Go to hell, all of you. I’m through with this.” He shrugged off his dress uniform jacket and threw it over the table, and he left.
The room was silent except for the general’s fingers drumming on her desk.
“I’m sorry, general,” Isoke said. “Please continue.”
“Well, we’re nearly finished.” The proceedings continued for another half hour of questions and answers that had already been exchanged several times over the previous few weeks. Eventually the senior officers filed out and the junior officers in the gallery raced out and Taziri wandered out last of all with Isoke.
Outside, the streets of Tingis were still humming with the electric hiss of the wires strung overhead, crisscrossing from building to building. A trolley clacked down the center of the road, its antenna scraping down the hanging power lines. Countless windmills spun and rattled on the rooftops and far off to their left Taziri heard the distinctive bellow of a huge megathera as it lumbered through the warehouse district, no doubt hauling some massive piece of machinery into place.
“You did good,” Isoke said. “All things considered. It was a mess from one end to the other, no doubt about that, but it came out all right in the end. Zidane was a good man, but not a good officer.”
“I’m starting to think Kenan might be the opposite.” Taziri squinted at the sun hanging low in the western sky. “I suppose he’s no great loss.”
“No, he’s not.” Isoke reached up to adjust her eye patch. “My plane, however, is another matter.”
Taziri smiled. “Sorry about that. But at least this time I brought back two thirds of it.”
“You do know the name Halcyon means quiet and peaceful, right?”
“Are you sure?” Taziri feigned confusion. “I thought it meant flaming ball of death.”
Isoke steered Taziri down the street. “You’re going to help me rebuild it. Again.”
“Sounds like fun. I guess I’ll need to be in town for a long while then?”
Isoke nodded. “You really don’t like flying, do you?”
Taziri shrugged. “I liked it in the beginning. But it’s just too hard now. Menna’s growing up. Yuba’s career has been on hold for years. And to be honest, I’m not that great at it. I don’t have the feel for it. Not anymore. I’m an engineer, Isoke. Always have been.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to take you off the flight roster.”
Taziri smiled. “Promise?”
“Sure. But it’ll be hell finding a replacement for you in the field. The kids today are all piss and wind, reckless punks, stunt jockeys. Heaven help me.”
Taziri laughed and gave her friend a shove. “Well, it’s like you always say. Life is full of small challenges.”
“Nothing small about it. They all want to be like you, you lunatic.”
“Speaking of lunacy, after we finish with your plane I have a design of my own I’ve been meaning to show you.”
Isoke arched her eyebrow. “Something wild? You know I like wild.”
“Yeah, it’s a little wild. For starters, we’re going to need a locomotive…”
Book Three: The Bound Soul
Day One
Chapter 1. Qhora
A warm breeze played through the curtains by the window overlooking the wide street where hundreds of people, zebras, ox-drawn carts, and sivathera-drawn carriages bustled back and forth around the rattling trolleys. A warm golden light burned through the evening haze of dust and smoke, a light not from the first handful of stars above but from the streetlamps below, all flickering and buzzing and hissing with electricity.
Outside there was the quiet chaos of the end of the day, of making the last delivery, of getting the evening groceries, of rounding up the children, and of going home for supper. Outside it was a sultry summer evening in the seaside city of Tingis, in northernmost Marrakesh.
Inside, Qhora could feel the gathering darkness and the lingering heat, the haze of sea air and sweat making her skin glisten and shine, making the room just a little darker and fainter. She closed her eyes and listened to Lorenzo’s soft grunts and eager heaving breaths beneath her. Pushing down on his chest, she sat up and arched her back. His strong hands clutched her thighs, holding her down, rocking her with him.
She opened her eyes just a little to gaze at the cheap painting on the wall above the bed, and the floral patterns of the wallpaper, and the strange little electric lamps on the tables beside the bed. The painting was in the new Mazigh style, some sort of colorful abstraction that bored her. For a moment she missed the snowy Espani landscapes hanging in their own bedroom at home.
Qhora smiled and closed her eyes again. Lorenzo quickened the pace and began kneading her hips more roughly. The warm surging tides running up and down her spine quickened with him, and she felt herself slipping deeper into the haze of pleasure, beyond thought and control, closer and closer… she leaned back farther, squeezing him tighter between her legs, digging her small brown fingers into his pale, hard stomach muscles.
She bit her lip.
Faster.
Harder.
Deeper.
Enzo groaned and grabbed her tighter, his body so still except for the tiny shudders. A moment later, she
