Van tried not to wince at the response.
“Soon…all of Damcus will once more belong to Samarrans, and not an infidel invader will remain.”
The groundcar whistled past a block in which all the buildings were blackened hulks, then along a stretch of boulevard where every third or fourth building had huge gaps—antique shell holes, Van thought. Fine white flakes of snow drifted out of a gray sky.
“What happened there?”
“The infidel Revenants, they said we would not destroy the royal row and the children’s home. They stayed behind the walls, and they had children as hostages. They died. We saved some children. We had to. The last time we tried to save all the children, we lost everything.”
The groundcar came to an abrupt halt opposite a squat fortresslike building set between two other structures with broken windows and traces of fire on the upper levels.
“Drohya, it is here.”
Van offered a fifty-credit note.
“It is too much. I will wait.” The driver smiled. “I am Reduaro.”
“I’m likely to be here a long time, Reduaro.”
“Who else will I drive?”
Van smiled and handed him another fifty.
“I will wait until the moon falls from the sky.”
Van walked toward the entry. It had taken several fund transfers to obtain a lease on the first floor of the building and nearly thirty links to track down Jahil Monsa—the former manager. A gaunt figure in an expensive singlesuit that was far too large stepped out of the entryway.
“Jahil?”
“The same. Director Albert?” Jahil Monsa walked slowly forward. His left arm was in a sprayed cast, and he limped.
Van nodded.
“I cannot believe that you got us an office so quick. And equipment.”
“It will take a week or more before they’ll have more than a single comm line.”
“Longer than that,” snorted the slightly built man.
The two walked inside.
The front part of the long room inside the door had been turned into a waiting area, with a couch and several chairs. Behind the waiting area were ancient bookcases, used as dividers, with the boxes of office equipment behind.
Jahil gestured to a solidly built young man in a maroon jumpsuit who had set down a heavy box of something. The jumpsuit showed places where insignia and patches had been removed. “This is Harad. He’s a former Samarran commando. He knows comm systems, too. He’s been helping me get this place organized.”
“I assume you’re putting him on the payroll,” Van said.
“I wanted to ask first.” Jahil frowned slightly. “There are few credit facilities…”
“I made a substantial deposit with the Bank of Samarra. We already have a message contract with the provisional government. I reopened the IIS planetary account. You have draw privileges. No one else but you.”
Harad smiled, interrupting almost apologetically. “You are…were a soldier?”
“Deep-space pilot for the Taran Republic.”
Harad looked to Jahil. “I told you. Others would wait.”
Jahil shrugged.
Van was afraid that Jahil would collapse, so frail and worn did he appear. “Let’s sit down and sort things out.” Van took one of the straight-backed chairs. “You look like you’ve been through quite a trial.”
“I survived. Most who were sent to the faith reeducation camps did not.”
“Faith reeducation?”
“We needed to learn the ways of the Prophet.” Jahil snorted, and looked as though he wanted to spit.
“Which ways?” asked Van.
“That we should give more credits to the Temple, and that our women should serve strangers before they serve us, and that those who do not believe as they do…” Jahil broke off.
Van looked at the slender man and nodded. “And those women who love women, and those men who love men are cursed and reviled?”
Jahil looked up sharply.
“I came from a family with two fathers,” Van said quietly. “I am not like them in that, but I love them and understand. My sister married her woman partner, who is a doctor.”
Jahil smiled ruefully. “You see much.” A brighter smile crossed his face. “With Director Desoll, I was never certain. What happened to him?”
“He was killed when his ship malfunctioned. He was testing some experimental equipment. It was very unexpected. I had not expected to succeed him.” Van shook his head, then offered a smile. “How do you feel? Are you up to rebuilding the IIS operations here?”
“I feel much better over the last week, and even better today.” Jahil grinned boyishly, and Van could see that he had once been extraordinarily handsome. “I should not hate. So I will not, but I am glad that the Coalition and the Argenti fleets came to Samarra, even if they could not stay. I am most glad it happened when it did. Another six months, and I would have been dead. It is hard to conceal what one is, and after they shot Ibrim, I was in shock…”
Van had not known about the Revenant “faith reeducation camps.” Trystin might have, but Van could not recall any mention of them, nor had he found any references to them in the IIS files. “We have a great deal to do. I’ve laid out a general plan. It’s only general because you know Damcus better than I do. It will take work.” Van smiled. “I think it will generate millions of credits over the next ten years, and help Samarra become stronger than before. It will also make you very well-off…”
Jahil smiled. “Tell me more…”
Chapter 85
Van stood in the shade of the rear portico, looking out at the garden, past Dad Almaviva’s greenhouse. The morning sun was bright, but to the northwest he could see dark clouds rising over the badlands, and the distant rumble of thunder rolled toward him.
Almaviva straightened from the row of beans, and gestured to Cicero, who was pruning the pear tree at the edge of the garden.
Abruptly, from nowhere, four troopers in green fatigues dashed past Van, as if he were not there, then stopped at the edge of the garden. Without a word, they leveled their slug throwers at the two men and opened
