Yet life can imitate art. Barraged with reports of the phenomenon, the urban legend had been adopted and turned into horrific reality. There were girls with "smileys," now, and in every corner of western Europe.
It was, after all, an excellent way to make a girl cover her face, in accordance with the hadiths and the sunna.
"You can't do this," Amal wept. "I'm not a Moslem. I've never been a Moslem."
"In the name of Allah we can do as we wish," insisted Abdul-Halim. "Besides, everyone is born a Moslem, that's what the imam says. It's just that some of them, like you, are apostate."
"You see," added Zahid, "there are only two kinds of women in the world. There are those who follow the law of God, and then there are sluts. Which are you?"
Chapter Eighteen
I will not blame Norwegian women for the rapes. But Norwegian women must understand that we live in a multi-cultural society and adapt themselves to it.
—Professor Unni Wikan, Oslo, Norway,
6 September 2001
Flight Seven Nine Three, 24 Muharram,
1538 AH (4 November, 2113)
"There's the castle," said Lee/Ling, looking through the airship's own night vision. "But . . . oh, oh . . . they've got company and there's more on the way."
Matheson, who had more than a little time under fire while praying for air support, answered, "Pity this thing doesn't have a loaded bomb rack, or a 25mm pod."
The Chinese shrugged. "Nothing we can do about that. And the winds here are going to be a pure bitch when I try to hold her steady above the castle walls."
The black nodded, then keyed the earpiece he wore. "Hamilton, Hans, this is Matheson. Report."
"We've got problems here, Bernie. More when I can talk."
Matheson heard the pffft . . . pffft . . . pffft of a silenced submachine gun in his earpiece along with the louder ringing of bullets careening off stone.
Castle Honsvang, Province of Baya, 24 Muharram,
1538 AH (4 November, 2113)
The corbasi had a simple, if inelegant, solution to the problem of the mines. He'd turned to the truck driver and asked, "Do you believe in Allah?" When the driver had, very nervously, answered in the affirmative, the colonel had said, "Go then, and drive your truck through these mines to clear a path."
Much to the surprise of both men the driver had survived the ordeal, though the truck was now considerably the worse for wear.
Through the broad, cleared path, the colonel and his remaining janissaries had poured, linking up with the dozen or so remaining to the sergeant of the guard. Not one for indecision, the colonel immediately detailed off ten men, five to each side, to watch the towers flanking the main entrance to the castle and keep anyone from shooting down at the gate. He then told the sergeant of the guard, "Get your men back on that battering ram. Make me a passage."
Hamilton felt more than heard the steady pounding coming from somewhere upstairs. "They're at it again," he told Hans. "Watch these; I'm going up to block the door."
Hans nodded, causing his face to twist and his eyes to open wide with the pain. He looked at Meara, the pederast, and said, "I think it would be simpler just to kill them now."
All three of the renegade scientists began squealing their objections through the tape over their mouths.
Hamilton shook his head. "No, not just yet anyway. But if I can't stop the people at the gate, kill these and then thoroughly destroy everything in lab. Then put all the virus containers into the crematorium and toast it."
"What about the kids?" Hans asked.
"I'll leave that to you and your conscience," Hamilton answered, glancing at Hans' weapon.
"We're going to lose, aren't we?" Hans asked.
"I don't know. I think so."
"Do you think you can use a rifle?" Matheson asked of Retief.
"Yes, of course. I did my military service."
"Good. Where's the best place to shoot from?"
"From the airship? Out either port or starboard ramp."
"Fine. We use port. Come with me. Lee? Take us over the group around the castle but put them between us and the walls, with the port side facing the castle."
"How low do you want me to go?" Lee/Ling asked.
"How big are your balls?"
"Well, at the moment, they don't exist," the pilot answered. "But you know, even if I were here in my own body . . . well, I'm only Chinese. Small penis. Not like you Americans . . . BIIIGGG penis," he mocked.
"Just take us in as low as you dare."
That was more serious. "Roger."
"Can you bring us in quietly?" Matheson asked.
"With all the firing down there, I hardly need to," the pilot answered.
"Yeah, come in quietly anyway. Let me know when we're broadside. And give me those goggles; you don't need them."
"Take them," the pilot said.
Asshole, Ling whispered mentally. That's my body you're taking risks with.
You knew it was dangerous when you volunteered, Lee answered.
I didn't volunteer. I was bred, chipped, and sold.
We all have these little issues, Lee answered.
Matheson and Retief crouched to either side of the ramp hatchway. Matheson still clutched his submachine gun while Retief held an assault rifle taken from one of the freed slaves. Retief wore the goggles taken from Ling's face.
"How's the armor on this thing?" Matheson asked.
"Armor?" Retief laughed. "What fucking armor?"
"Silly me. Open the hatch."
Retief's hand reached up to a button set into the wall. He pressed it, causing the hatch to slide open with a whoosh. Cold air streamed in through the opening.
"Hamilton? Matheson."
Hamilton eased the muzzle of his weapon out a window, hoping like hell that return fire wouldn't destroy his hands. He loosed a long, and almost certainly futile burst at the landing below. There was shouting and a single man cried out.
Sometimes the law of averages works in your favor, Hamilton thought.
"Hamilton? Matheson."
"I'm a little busy right now, Bernie," Hamilton answered, while dropping an empty magazine and inserting a fresh one.
"Yes, I can see. You're about to get a little, very temporary, relief. Look up."
The corbasi looked up and behind him. He wasn't sure why he did so, then or ever. He was, however, very glad that he had. At first, his mind refused to register the great, raylike shape that swung across the darkened sky without a sound. It was only when he saw the muzzle flashes that the threat registered.
"Duuuckk!"
"We're not hitting shit!" Matheson cursed.
This wasn't strictly true. Both men had fired into the covered alcove over the castle's main entrance. Normally, they couldn't have really expected to hit anything much. The stone walls of the alcove, however, caused bullets to ricochet. Several janissaries went down from these, even though only one was hit by a nonricocheting bullet.