by Pam Uphoff
The plane an hour and a half ahead of this one had landed on schedule, and the police in Ar Riyad ought to have looked for the old man and the teenage boy. Izzo had recommended they not be detained, but rather their trip to Makkah expedited.
Because surely the One will welcome back a Warrior. Surely.
The plane touched down, and taxied to the terminal.
The police pounced on him.
"Who was that man!" A tough old man, he might be an administrator now, but he looked to have come up through the ranks.
"Superintendent, thank you for meeting me. I . . . do not know how closely Urfa. . . or for that matter, the One itself, will want the information held. But I think I need to get to Makkah."
"They are two hours ahead of us." The old man led the way. "I sent men ahead, they are only an hour behind these . . . people. I have an air car, we can catch up with my train before we get to the aircraft exclusion zone."
The superintendent also had a hot driver.
Izzo'd been on the Medinah to Makkah train before. It had been ordinary. But with open desert, and no intermediate stops . . . the rails were straight and level. "Bullet trains?"
"Yes. they hit four hundred kilometers an hour on several stretches. And unless there is a sandstorm, average easily three hundred kilometers an hour."
Izzo eyed the instrument panel. The driver was already pushing the sound barrier. "So perhaps we will catch up to the second train in an hour. I'd say third, but I actually have no idea where, or how far ahead, the Priests from the Rangpur temple are."
The superintendent narrowed his eyes. "Generally speaking, the outlying Priests only come in when they are escorting a candidate. I do hope all this criminal behavior is not a simple case of parental distress."
"I wish it were a simple case, sir."
They passed the train, and landed ten kilometers ahead. The train slowed and by the time it came abreast of their position it was slow enough to run and grab. They climbed aboard as it picked up speed again without ever actually stopping.
"The engineer was a bit snotty about it, sir."
The Super grinned. "Either he'll get over it, or we can toss Regional Analyst Izzo here to the wolves."
The cop eyed him. "What region?"
"Central—but I'm also the poor fool who has to investigate all possible Comet Fall infiltration reports. Which this turned out to not be." He hastened to add, as everyone within hearing stiffened. "This is homegrown, and if handled correctly might even turn out to be very . . . good."
"And if it's not handled correctly?"
"Disastrous." Izzo glanced at his watch. "They are already in Makkah."
Chapter Seven
3 Rajab 1397 Year of the Prophets
Makkah
The voices itched at Ra'd's brain, cycling from chaos to synchronized thoughts then falling back into chaos. Over and over. Ra'd held his inner shield tight, allowing no thoughts out, but allowed a whisper of the powerful joint thoughts through. The station was in sight, the train coasting.
He felt a distant flash of power. Power grasped on a panicked adrenaline rush.
"Abbas!" Isakson leaped to his feet, a nimble quickstep as the train abruptly slowed.
Ra'd followed him, stood behind him at the door, felt Isakson trigger it as the train pulled into the platform. They leaped, staggered as their feet hit the unmoving platform and ran for the bubbling wild anger.
Others were running the same direction. Both men and women. Or Eunuchs. Soft. Unarmed. Friends or foes? Ha! They are all foes, here. But we must live among them, so we shouldn't kill. But it's going to be damned hard. He released his own anger and let it take him into Speed. The world slowed around him; he dodged past people running at a walking pace.
A man drew a weapon and aimed it at Ra'd. He dived, rolled. A woman behind him collapsed, but there was no dark zap of death. Did they have guns that stunned? How excellent. He rolled up to his feet and powered a stun spell through the armed man's shield. Snatched his gun and ran on. A figure took aim at Isakson. Ra'd shot him. Two more men who looked competent. He shot them both, ran on as they slowly deflated.
That building, there. Isakson thumped two people out of the way and crashed through the doors. Eight men were slowly forming a circle, hands reaching to touch, power building already.
Ra'd hit one with the butt of the gun, elbow strike to his left, shot two across the circle, snatched the power as it whipped wildly out of control and used it to throw a physical shield low down in the path of a trio of onrushing Speeders. They piled up on the ground. Ra'd shot, the gun buzzed. Low power warning? He grabbed the two in sight from the fallen trio and reached the door.
Down a hallway. Abbas strapped to a gurney, naked but untouched. Isakson was freeing him. Bodies lay scattered about. One man was crouched in a corner, hands over his ears. Good break through, kid.
Ra'd stepped back out, shot a man coming through the door. Turned and shot another behind him.
Isakson led Abbas out into the hallway. Ra'd tossed him a stun gun.
"I'll hold this door, look for another exit." Ra'd threw up physical and mental shields as the doors blew in. The push shoved him back a few steps, then he angled his shield and laughed as they threw another, stronger push through the door. The kinetic blast ricocheted upward, lifted the ceiling a meter. The floor above collapsed, Plaster board, lumber stone, wires, a pipe burst and sprayed . . .
A whistle from behind. Ra'd turned and ran.
Isakson led the way out. The soft people were fleeing.
Good. I can't do this much longer. I am starved of energy.
Isakson led them through a maze, nothing familiar to Ra'd, but perhaps Isakson had collected the knowledge from one of these soft and dangerous types. Ra'd let his speed go, and kept only his mental shield up. Ignored the throbbing in his head. They threaded the maze, circling back toward the train, although getting trapped . . . no, they needed to get away from this hideous mental pressure that was searching for them.
Isakson turned abruptly, entered a building . . . cooking odors . . . they walked through the kitchen snatching food and eating as they went. Ra'd stuffed bottles of juice into his pockets. Shot an indignant cook. Isakson punched another. And stripped off the cook's clothes and handed them to Abbas.
"A Warrior needs nothing but his brain, body and heart, however, clothing is sometimes useful. You did well, son."
"I was all fogged up and they kept asking me to join them and I kept saying no. They started getting pushy, and then they said they'd get my acquiescence after they'd cut me. They were going to, to . . . and I pushed them out of my head. And then, and then . . . "
"The power of the One True God came to you in your need." Isakson bent and hugged the boy. And used a butcher's knife to shorten pants legs and sleeves. Fortunately a simple drawstring waist. The boy looked happier, dressed.
Noise at the far end of the kitchen. They trotted off through a different door, through a cafeteria, out double doors . . . someone yelled and pointed.
They ran around a corner and skidded to a halt. Dozens circled them, closed in, crackling with power. They backed up to a wall so they could be completely surrounded.
His stunner buzzed, empty. He dropped it and reached into the bag and pulled out his rifle. It was time to kill, and to die.
Chapter Eight
3 Rajab 1397 Year of the Prophets
Makkah
Izzo shoved through the circle. "Stop. Stop now. Don't you see what you have?" He turned his back on the embattled trio and faced the oldest members of the One.
"Disobedience." Multiple voices, speaking as one.
"No. We are in a precarious position, possibly facing a war with another magical world. We need new warriors." Izzo's head was throbbing.
The entirety of the One frowned disapprovingly at him. "If we needed Warriors of the One, Allah would send them."
Izzo nodded, feeling like his head was about to fall off. "Indeed." He looked pointedly at
the trio standing defiantly, backs to the wall, antique weapons in their hands. Shields so strong they failed to even flex under the pressure from the hive mind. "And here they are."
The pressure snapped. A faint physical echo rumbled between buildings.
More people walked up. Young, old . . . And behind the rest, an ancient old man, glowing with power. That last man limped painfully into the center. He leaned on a cane and stared at the trio.
"Isakson?" His gaze fell on the older boy and his brows creased. "Ra'd Nicholas' son."
The fierce old man nodded, barely.
The tall boy bent his head a bit more. "Emre. Prophet of the One True God. I greet you. Grandfather."
"You all died when Fort Rangpur fell."
"My father ordered us into Isakson's bubble. When we opened it, just a few minutes later, we found ourselves inside another bubble. And on the outside, we found a world that had changed nearly beyond recognition. What have you created here, in eleven hundred years? What have you done to yourself?"
"What we had to do, to win."
"Castrate your children?" The youngster put a heavy lading of disgust into that.
"There was an accident . . . Jero grew up incredibly strong. It was what we needed."
"Ha!" The old Warrior showed strong teeth. "And they were so powerful they stuck. You're trapped in your own web and cannot escape. So are you breeding the man's power gene out of the Warriors? By making them into ever-so-powerful eunuchs? Do you think you can escape the great compass when they are all dead?"
The ancient man leaned on his cane. "No. We leave enough to sustain the One. We have become a god in reality. We are what the people want."
"You will not touch my son."
"You will obey me." The mental pressure flooded back.
Izzo forced his mouth open. "They have so many of the non-insertion genes . . . they should all reproduce. You will get even stronger priests."
The ancient one, the Prophet Emre looked at him.
"And I suspect they would be very disruptive." Pushing the words past the mental weight of the One leaning against his shields felt like forcing words around a fatal wound as he bled out.
"Ha!" The Prophet's dry wrinkled lips pulled back from perfect teeth. "Truth. Take them away, then. See if you can keep my Warriors from slaughtering people in this civilized world."
Izzo's bow was only abbreviated for fear he'd fall over.
The remaining guards backed away. Izzo edged the other direction. And very much to his relief, the old Warrior sneered, and turned his back on the One and walked away. The teenager herded the boy after him and brought up the rear. Still alert, still with an antique battle rifle in his hands.
Izzo followed them to the trains, and pointed them to the Medinah platform. "I think it would be best to go through Dimashq."
They walked past the Ar Riyad police. The superintendent matched his pace.
"Did he say . . . Emre? Are they actual Warriors?"
"Yes."
The superintendent fell back.
"We may be able to meet your family there, and go on to Paris."
The teenager snorted. "And how are those women and children going to get there?"
"I sent someone to collect them." Izzo pulled out his comm and tapped in Xiat's number. She answered immediately. "I'm about to leave Makkah for Dimashq, with the two I was chasing and a boy. How about you?"
"I've got the women and the rest of the children. You owe me for this. We're in Karachi. Still arguing. I'll see about getting them on a plane for Paris. If I can get them to listen to me."
Isakson held out his hand. Izzo handed him the comm. "Give your phone to one of the older woman. Umaya? Shut up. Do what that women tells you to do. Tell A'isha that Abbas is safe. We will meet you in Paris."
He handed the comm back to Izzo without waiting for an answer.
The teenager snorted. "Isakson is very Arabic in his upbringing."
"Noticed that. I am Izzo Withione Al Cairo."
"I am Ra'd, this is Abbas." The teenager nodded toward the boy, still never stopping his scan of his surroundings.
Izzo led the way aboard the train. "Let me brief you, on the way. Perhaps a bit of history, and then about the nuts and bolts of government." And I'd better call Urfa and beg him to find someplace to put these people. Maybe Versalle, and then they can ease into the modern world.
Other Books by Pam Uphoff
Wine of the Gods Series:
Outcasts and Gods
Exiles and Gods (Three Novellas)
The Black Goats
Explorers
Spy Wars
Comet Fall
A Taste of Wine (Seven Tales)
Dark Lady
Growing Up Magic (Four Novellas)
Young Warriors
God of Assassins
Empire of the One
Earth Gate (2014)
Dancer
Martian Series:
The Lawyers of Mars
Of Martians and Men (2015)
Fancy Free
Writing as Zoey Ivers
YA Cyberpunk Adventures:
The Barton Street Gym
Chicago
Atlantis (2014)
Fantasy:
Demi God