Pandora's Legion

his words: he remained an angry young man.

Rustam Khan signaled the Brit with his eyebrows. The meaning was clear: Help!

“Oh, there you are, Major.” CPS winked at the Pakistani behind Keegan’s back.

Obviously grateful, Khan took the hint. “Ah, Dr. Smith. Yes, I was just…”

“Looking for Colonel Leopole?”

“Ah, yes. Quite so. Quite so.” He nodded to the American. “Please excuse me, Mr. Keegan. I, ah, look forward to continuing our conversation.”

Padgett-Smith folded her arms and regarded the pilot. “I heard part of the… discussion. Perhaps you can explain a few things for me.”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, I’ll try.”

She shifted her weight and concentrated on Keegan’s face. Rather a nice-looking chap. Frowns too much, though. “I’ve heard about the situation on your border with Mexico. Now, I’ve traveled widely in the States but not much in that area. I take it that the continuing problem is more political than anything else.”

Keegan nodded vigorously. “That’s correct, Doctor. We could seal the border in a couple of weeks if we wanted to. But the politicians won’t do it.”

“Well, why ever not? I mean, the threat is obvious, apart from all the economic and cultural concerns…”

“Well, it’s like this, Doctor. The Democrats want illegals in our country. They talk about Mexicans doing work that Americans won’t, but that’s just a smoke screen. A guest worker program could handle that problem. No, those illegals who get the right papers are eligible to vote — some of them vote anyway — and they nearly always go Democratic. That’s because they know the liberals provide funding and dispensation. On top of that, our constitution says that any child born in the U.S. is automatically a citizen. Even if the mother is there illegally. That’s insane. But it’ll never change.”

“Then what about the Republicans? Don’t they ever…”

“No, ma’am. Hardly ever. See, they mess their diapers at the thought of being accused of racism by the Democrats. And the Demos know that, so they use it like a club to beat the Goopers down.”

“Goopers?”

Keegan laughed. “Oh, that’s my expression. I sort of made it up. GOP: Grand Old Party. The Republicans.” He shrugged. “Goopers.”

The Brit shook her head slightly. “I still do not understand, Terry. If the Republicans — your Goopers — have the majority, why do they cater to the illegals and the political opposition? I mean, those people won’t support the party anyway.”

“I guess you’d have to ask them, ma’am. I’m a former Gooper myself, for a lot of reasons. Probably the biggest, though, is that the Republicans don’t really stand for anything, except election. They want to get along with the Democrats, and the Demos are bent on destroying the country.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”

The aviator shrugged again. “Probably. But it’s also accurate. I think we’re going to end up like Canada. Two cultures in one country, with neither having much use for the other.”

“You’re referring to the French influence?”

“Sure. Just substitute Spanish for French. You want to know how absurd it is? At one time on their military aircraft the port side said ‘Canadian Armed Forces.’ The starboard side said ‘Forces Armees Canadiennes.’ I don’t know much, but I know that’s just plain stupid. Even the Canucks finally agreed. Now they just paint ‘Canada’ on their birds.”

She smiled. “Maybe there’s hope.” Before he could respond, she added, “Terry, because you feel so strongly, have you ever thought of going elsewhere?”

“Oh, yeah. Lots of times. But where would I go, Doc?” He thought for a moment. “No offense, but my ancestors were driven out of Ireland in the eighteenth century so they went to New York. But things were pretty bad there. Like, ‘No dogs or Irish.’ A couple of them got killed fighting for the Union in the Civil War, and the others migrated west. Eventually they ended up in California. The only thing that stopped them was the Pacific Ocean.” He almost grinned. “There just isn’t anyplace else. So I’m stuck.”

“Well, all things considered, there are far worse places.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know. That’s why the rest of the world is moving there.”

BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE

Much as he loved animals, Ali had a hard time feeling paternal toward goats. He much preferred horses and dogs — even sheep. The Kamori doe he had just inoculated expressed her displeasure with a bleat and a kick to Ali’s left leg. The farmer’s young son released the animal, which scampered across the pen to join her friends. Sometimes the veterinarian wondered if the smelly, messy creatures were worth domesticating. Not that it mattered: the feral variety, capra hircus, was less common these days.

Ali patted the boy’s shoulder, thanking him for his help. At eleven years old, the youngster looked up at the tall stranger who brought a mysterious kindness to remote farms and settlements — all on behalf of God’s creatures. “I like dogs,” the boy declared. Ali almost laughed; the youngster seemed to share the doctor’s opinion of goats. Seeing an opportunity to spread The Word, Ali replied, “The Book mentions dogs five times; they are our oldest friends. But God said to the horse, ‘Thou shalt cast thine enemies between thy hooves, and thou shalt carry my friends upon thy back.’”

The boy nodded solemnly, uncertain what to make of the short sermon. Ali decided not to press the matter. Patience in all things, he told himself. In three or four years the youngster might become a candidate for the jihad.

Ali picked up his kit and walked toward the family home. He knew that, true to Islamic virtue, the boy’s father would offer the hospitality of the house.

The host poured tea for the veterinarian while the farmer’s wife kept a respectful distance in the kitchen. The father and husband, Shaabani by name, treated his woman more respectfully than some men in the area, but her options did not extend to participating in male discussions.

“Doctor, your benevolence does you much credit. I cannot offer you more than some grain and a few chickens but please know that my family is grateful. We shall remember you in our prayers of thanksgiving.”

Ali waved a dismissive hand. “Brother, I am doing God’s work. One does not seek praise for helping His creatures. But I thank you for your prayers — and your chickens.” He smiled over his teacup. The barter system had much to commend it, especially when hard money could draw unwelcome attention.

Shaabani raised his head. “That reminds me: it is said that other medical volunteers are nearby. It is said that a group of doctors will be in our region this very week.”

That was exactly the point that Ali had intended to raise with the farmer. “Yes, I have heard the same reports. Do you know anything about my mysterious colleagues? Who sponsors their good work?”

“One of my neighbors mentioned it. He said that a government program has just begun, traveling to remote areas with pack horses or mules.”

Ali nodded. “Ah, that makes good sense. They can reach some of the needy without limiting themselves to roads.” In truth, Ali wondered why pack animals were necessary in an age when all-terrain vehicles surely were available to government agencies. He sensed something odd — but what? He made a mental note to pursue his curiosity about the new makers of good works.

And something more: Kassim’s friend who had offered a son and a nephew in the fight against the Crusaders. It was time to meet them and consider new options.

QUETTA AIRBASE

Rustam Khan supervised the outfitting of the small caravan, with an eye toward concealing details that could tip off a competent observer. CPS rated high in that regard.

“Doctor, your clothing is fine. From a distance of twenty or thirty meters you blend in with the others.” He almost said “with the men.” Studying her face, he concluded, “What you need is a dark complexion — and a mustache.”

The immunologist managed a chuckle. “Well, Major, I can apply makeup for the former but I shan’t be able to produce the latter in the time allotted. Do you have a mustache laying about?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He emptied his knapsack and produced a theatrical makeup kit. “It’s in here. I will