"So we just bought somebody? Somebody would trade their cause for some gold and silver? That's pathetic."
"Yesss, baas," Bongo nodded, seriously, "And none of us would ever sell out for money."
"I take your point," Hamilton agreed.
Castle Honsvang, Province of Baya, 9 Muharram,
1538 AH (20 October, 2113)
Hans took a small pride in his rank of odabasi. It meant "janitor" but was, in practice, the equivalent of a first lieutenant in the Imperial Army or Marines. He'd worked long and hard for the rank, graduating near the top of his class in what the Imperials would have called "OCS." That he was still a secret Christian, such as he remembered of Christianity, added yet more spice to the achievement. Indeed, in his five daily prayers, Hans always adjusted his compass to point ever-so- slightly nearer to Jerusalem the Lost than to Mecca the Obliterated. When he was alone, he pointed towards Rome. What his thoughts were as those prayers were held was much closer to "Pater Noster" and "Ave Maria" than to "Alahu Akbar."
None of this had been suspected by his superiors and leaders, trainers and evaluators, for one of the things the crucified priest had told him was that if it was permissible for Moslems to lie to Christians then it was no less permissible for Christians to lie to Moslems. To all appearances he was a model of submission to the will of Allah even as he prepared himself to do the maximum possible damage someday— God give me the chance!—to the Caliphate.
Hans was actually a bit irritated at being dispatched as second in command of this out of the way, little, castellated station in the mountains of Baya. This was completely illogical, on his part, as he'd asked for the assignment in order to be closer to his sister and Ling.
He reported to the sentry at the main gate and received that sentry's salute. Hans announced himself and his rank, and said, "Send someone for me and my bags," before entering the compound and waiting for an escort. While he waited he looked over the sentry's uniform and found no cause for complaint. It was while he was doing that that Hans first noticed the ile smell of burnt meat. He wrinkled his nose with distaste.
"What's that stench?" he asked the sentry on duty.
"We don't know, sir," the sentry answered, "not exactly. We're not allowed in the lab area, generally. But it happens a couple of times a month and has for as long as I've been here, and I've been here longer than most." The sentry pointed upward at a chimney from which emanated the heavy, sooty smoke. The smoke trail at the top of the chimney was a thin wisp, leading to a much heavier cloud far above. "It's that crap. You should be happy you weren't here ten minutes ago, sir. Then it was really vile. And be thankful it's cold. The stench is much worse in the summer months."
Hans nodded absently. A vile stench a couple of times a month was a small price to pay for being surrounded by all the natural and man- made splendor of the area. That his sister and Ling were nearby didn't hurt any, either.
Not that there's not going to be a problem with both of them, he thought. Where Ling's concerned I'm just going to have to accept that she's property, owned and used by others, until I can buy her and free her. For Petra . . . it won't matter as long as no one in the security company notices the similarity. And if she's ever escorted here I'm sure she wears the veil. Except . . . shit. She told me that one of the men who is in charge of this place makes use of her regularly. He'll recognize that we look alike. How do I deal with that?
Ah . . . that's easy. "I am a member of the corps of janissaries. I have no family but my corps. Certainly I have no family that are filthy, stinking, worthless, infidel Christians and, just as certainly, if I did I would approve of them being enslaved and fucked silly on a regular basis. That I have an infidel last name is just a way for the corps to keep track of me and to remind me to be grateful for being brought out of the darkness and into the light." That's it; my defense is in apparent fanaticism.
Hans felt rather than saw the approach of three janissaries. A quick glance confirmed them as two rankers and one junior noncom.
"Sir, I'm Corporal Mashouf ad-Din, corporal of the watch. I am here to take you to the commander. These men will bring your bags to your new quarters in the castle."
"Very good, Corporal. Lead on."
Hans hadn't known, from anything his written orders had said, the rank of his new commander. Thus, he was a little surprised to see a full-fledged corbasi, or colonel, in charge of this one company. He said so.
"In fact," the colonel explained, "I am not just in charge of this one company. It's just the most important thing we do in this area. Over and above that, there are four more companies stationed at af-Fridhav who fall under my command and are responsible for border security. They, however, have nothing to do with this facility. We don't rotate personnel.