Into the Light

by David Weber

The two men turned back to Clayton with their mouths open. “I thought…” Favre said. “I thought counter-grav gave off some sort of … vibration, or something, so you could tell when a counter-grav unit was operating nearby.”

  Clayton nodded. “That used to be true; however, we figured out how to damp the vibration. Like much of the Hegemony technology, the Shongairi could have fixed it, but they never saw any reason to, since they were far less sensitive to it and it apparently never occurred to them that they might need stealth to fight us primitives.”

  They gawked at him, and he smiled, but then he beckoned to Corporal Adamescu and Corporal González.

  “Gentlemen, that will conclude our demonstration for today,” he said as they came to stand at attention alongside Sergeant Major Jenkins. “As you can see, the Planetary Union’s Brigade of the Future has the capability to go anywhere and conduct a wide variety of combat operations. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to show you our Project Heinlein armor or our antiaircraft folks today—the people of New Fayetteville do get kind of worried when planes start falling from the sky—but I can confirm our new antiaircraft technology is comparable with everything else you’ve seen today.”

  “Now,” Clayton said, moving to stand next to his troops, “what questions can we answer for you?”

  . IV .

  NAYA ISLAMABAD, CAPITAL TERRITORY,

  ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF PAKISTAN

  “There they go,” Captain Henry Frye said as the third Starfire assault shuttle broke off from the formation and began to spiral down.

  “Copy,” Colonel Rob Wilson said from where he stood at the back of the flight station. “Do we have stealth engaged?”

  “Yes, sir,” the weapons operator, Lieutenant Chris Solice, said from alongside him. “We’ve been invisible to anything they have since we formed up. Our wingman is, too. As far as anyone down there knows, there’s just the one shuttle inbound with the delegation.”

  Wilson took a last look out the cockpit canopy, but the third shuttle was already out of sight. He let his breath out slowly. Go with God, Abu Bakr, he thought. Your Allah, my God—I hope Someone is watching over you right now.

  He shook his head once—it was out of his hands now, at least for a while. Hopefully, everything would go well, the team would deliver their message, and they’d leave peacefully. He had a bad feeling, though. Ghilzai had rebuffed every Planetary Union effort to bring Pakistan into the fold ever since he’d taken over, and then suddenly—out of the blue—he said he’d allow a delegation to land in Naya Islamabad.

  Had he changed his mind? From the outside, there didn’t appear to be any cause or justification for a change of heart, which left a very bad feeling in the pit of Wilson’s stomach. He’d recommended sending a complete team of vampires—including a vampire flight crew for the assault shuttle—but he’d been overruled. Ghilzai hated vampires and refused to conduct any negotiations with them. Wilson’s superiors had allowed him to pre-position his forces overhead, but the shuttle was going in with precious little defense for its lead negotiator. Not that three vampires couldn’t put a hurting on anyone that wanted to do Abu Bakr ill … but great as they were on offense, offense wasn’t called for in this situation.

  And they couldn’t stop Abu Bakr from eating a bullet in any event.

  Although the Planetary Union had to send a mission to talk with Ghilzai and see what he wanted, something seemed very wrong, and Wilson would have bet his retirement that his force was going to get the call before this was all over. He nodded, looking at the weapons officer’s screens. Lieutenant Solice had a crystal clear picture of the compound, with all of the weapons emplacements located. He hadn’t locked any of his own weapons on them—yet—but it would take only seconds for him to have them targeted and missiles on the way. The flyboy was ready; it was time for Wilson and his troops to get ready, too.

  “I’ll be in the back getting suited up,” he said to the pilots. “Let me know when things start falling into the crapper.”

  Captain Frye looked over his shoulder. “You think they will, Sir?”

  Wilson nodded. “Count on it.”

  * * *

  “REMEMBER,” ABU BAKR said as the Starfire’s aft ramp cycled down, “this mission isn’t about killing Ghilzai or any of his followers, and especially not about killing his cousin, no matter how much of an asshole he may be to me or any of you. We’re here to warn Ghilzai, not to make a martyr out of anyone. Got it?” He looked at his team of “negotiators,” of which he was the “lead negotiator.” It consisted of the three “sisters,” who seemed to be inseparable—Jill, Cecilia, and Susan. While they were all extremely accomplished at getting the attention of any petty warlord who overstepped his or her boundaries, the sisters’ missions more often than not ended up with all of the warlords dead. Their second in command (or third, or fourth—whoever was still alive by that point) was usually very tractable (having just seen their bosses die horribly in front of them), but Howell and Dvorak had made it exceptionally clear that Abu Bakr was not to leave a trail of bodies in his discussions with Ghilzai.

  “Yeah, we know,” Jill, the tall brunette who led the group, said.

  “Obviously,” Susan added. Although the redhead was the group’s number three, she was probably the smartest of the lot and radiated intelligence. “The asshole would like nothing more than to have a few martyrs he could point to.”

  Abu Bakr looked pointedly at Cecilia, who said nothing. The blonde looked steadily back at him until he raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded, once, a minute twitch of her head.

  “What does that mean?” Abu Bakr asked, already tired of dealing with her.

  “I know,” she said.

  “What do you know?” Abu Bakr asked. “I want to hear you say it.”

  “You didn’t make them say it,” she noted.

  “No, I didn’t, but they also didn’t give me shit, nor do they make a point of killing people just for the sake of killing them.”

  “I don’t kill people without reason,” Cecilia said, turning up her nose. “Everyone I’ve killed deserved it, for one reason or another.”

  “I’ve seen the reports,” Abu Bakr replied. He could feel his temperature continue to rise. “I think many of the bystanders might have disagreed with some of your reasons. I want to hear you say it.”

  Cecilia looked down the ramp at the security forces massing there. Abu Bakr watched her eyes narrow; she looked like a wolf selecting which sheep it intended to cull from the herd.

  “Damn it, Cecilia,” Jill said. “We don’t have all night. We’re supposed to get in and out before the sun comes up, and people see us here. Just tell him what he wants to hear.”

  Cecilia sighed theatrically and turned to Abu Bakr. “I heard you. We’re not supposed to kill any of these assholes, no matter how much they might deserve it. Okay?”

  Abu Bakr nodded once. “Don’t forget it.” He turned from the vampire and took a deep breath to calm his nerves before he went to meet Ghilzai. He hadn’t wanted to bring the sisters, and he definitely hadn’t wanted to bring Cecilia. He would rather have brought Jasmine in place of the entire group—he knew he could trust her—but her presence was required on Bastion as part of some meeting, and he’d been saddled with the sisters, instead.

  He understood that. Which wasn’t remotely the same as saying he liked it.

  Nor did he like his view of the compound’s grounds. Located within the heart of Naya Islamabad, the “Prime Minister’s Palace” resembled nothing so much as an updated medieval castle, complete with the ten-foot wall that surrounded it. Instead of turrets in the corners, though, it had large automatic machine-gun mounts, with excellent fields of fire, not just outside the palace grounds but within them, as well. Abu Bakr could see one of the mounts, and if it wasn’t pointed at the shuttle, it was very close. An antiaircraft mount was also located near each of the machine guns; if they had to leave quickly, it might get dicey.

  The shuttle was surrounded by members
of the Sif al-Nabi—the Prophet’s Sword—the paramilitary organization run by Ghilzai. The pre-mission briefing he’d seen had noted the organization was “good at killing people Ghilzai didn’t like,” which did nothing to calm his nerves. All the men—there were no women to be seen—were armed, although the man who waited at the bottom of the ramp still had his pistol in his holster. The rest of the men were armed with rifles, which, like the machine gun, weren’t pointed directly at him … but weren’t very far away from him, either.

  He glanced behind him. The vampires had formed up behind him and looked ready to go. If they were nervous, they didn’t show it. He couldn’t match Cecilia’s bored expression—nor did he want to, as lead negotiator—so he put on his warmest smile as he led them down the ramp.

  “As-salāmu ‘alaykum,” the man with the pistol said. Like the pictures Abu Bakr had seen of Ghilzai, the man was tall and dark. “Peace be upon you. I am Colonel Zimri.”

  “Wa ʿalaykumu s-salām,” Abu Bakr replied. “And peace be upon you. I am Abu Bakr.”

  Zimri’s eyes widened. “You speak the language of the Faithful.”

  “Of course,” Abu Bakr said, simply.

  “If you are a member of the Faithful, why did you bring them?” He nodded towards the vampires, but didn’t look at them.

  “I would have come without them,” Abu Bakr said, meaning it, especially in the case of Cecilia, “but, unfortunately, my leaders required me to bring them.”

  “They must stay here. They are not allowed in the Prime Minister’s presence.”

  “That’s not going to work—” Jill said, but Abu Bakr held up a hand and silenced her.

  “They go where I go,” he said. “Either they’re allowed in the Palace, or I get back in the shuttle and leave.”

  “As you will,” the man replied, waving a hand as if it didn’t matter. Obviously the Pakistanis must have expected the response, because the man neither looked flustered, nor did he have to call and ask for instructions. “If you would follow me.”

  Colonel Zimri led them into the palace, which looked as much like a castle on the inside as it had on the outside, although Abu Bakr soon realized there was something missing—there were no decorations to be seen. He smiled as the realization hit him—they’d entered via the servants’ entrance and were using the corridors the servants used. He was sure it was meant as a snub, although it amused him far more than it annoyed him. The games some people played.

  Eventually, they were led to a stairwell, and Abu Bakr’s stomach clenched as Colonel Zimri started down.

  “Control, this is Wildcat,” he subvocalized on the radio he’d been given prior to the mission.

  “Go Wildcat, this is Control.”

  “We’re being taken down into the basement, and I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Understand you’re—” A burst of static followed, and then nothing.

  He looked back over his shoulder at Jill, who shook her head. She hadn’t heard any more of the reply than he had. Control had heard their initial transmission, but their descent had apparently cut the link. Something in the castle walls had blocked their reception, which meant the team would be unable to summon help if things went wrong. He could only hope they’d heard enough to know where to look for his body if—when—things went badly.

  Colonel Zimri led them down three flights of stairs and then down a wide, unmarked corridor lined with blank doors. Aside from a lack of bars on the doors, the level had the feel of a cell block, with concrete floors and walls. Zimri opened the door at the end of the corridor and held it open for them.

  “You have an interesting concept of how to treat a guest,” Abu Bakr said as he entered the room.

  Imam Sheikh Abbas Ghilzai waited for him within, along with ten armed members of the Sif al-Nabi. The room was huge—nearly fifty feet by eighty feet—and appeared to be the entrance hall for a complex of underground rooms, as several passageways led off from the other side of the space. Abu Bakr wasn’t sure what purpose the warren of underground rooms served—perhaps an underground bunker complex for when the PAF ultimately bombed him?—but he could easily tell what this particular room was for. The padding on the walls to prevent ricochets—complete with rust-covered stains—and the drain in the center of the room gave him a pretty good idea that he was on the front line of Executioner’s Row.

  Abbas Ghilzai stood on the other side of the Sif al-Nabi, arrayed in what appeared to be a firing line, along with his cousin, Ghayyur Ghilzai. Both men were cast from a similar mold—tall and thin, with dark hair and full beards. Where Abbas had the fiery eyes of a fanatic, though, Ghayyur had the cold, dead eyes of a shark. Ghayyur was a killer, and Abbas was a man not afraid to turn the killer loose. Neither appeared happy to see Abu Bakr.

  “I wasn’t expecting a full state dinner,” Abu Bakr added as Zimri closed the door behind him, “but some simple refreshments after my journey would have been nice. And hospitable.” A glance behind him showed that Zimri hadn’t followed them in; a click as the bolt on the door was thrown from the outside of the room added to the air of foreboding.

  “I have heard tales of your demons,” Abbas said with a shrug, “and I didn’t want to put myself in a position where they might be able to get close and kill me.”

  “That’s certainly not our intention,” Abu Bakr said, “and I’ve given instructions to my team that you aren’t to be hurt in any manner. Our purpose here is to find out what you wanted when you contacted the Planetary Union government and to pass on some messages from our government.”

  “You have messages for me?” Abbas asked with a grin that could only be called “evil.” “And what would these messages be?”

  “Just as you keep tabs on us, the Planetary Intelligence Agency obviously does the same for you, and President Howell is worried about a number of things he sees going in the wrong direction.”

  “And those things are?”

  “While it’s not his intention to tell you how to manage your country—”

  “As if I would listen to his pathetic mewlings,” Abbas interjected.

  “—he is, however, very much interested when those things spill out into other countries that are either already in the Planetary Union, or who are deciding whether or not to join. The safety and security of the world at large is not enhanced when you send out terrorists to assassinate and cause dissent.”

  “And this is what he sent you here to tell me?”

  “That’s part of it, certainly. While we’re distressed that you continue to move Pakistan away from the twenty-first century, much less the future, that’s Pakistan’s business. But we cannot—and will not—abide it when you attempt to foment rebellion in other parts of the world. For example, we’re aware of your assassination attacks on the more moderate imams and political leaders of Afghanistan and Iran, as well as your vengeance attacks in India. We also know you’re heavily involved in the unrest in Malaysia.”

  “Your president thinks I am responsible for unrest in places like Malaysia, which are far from our borders? How exactly does he think this is possible?”

  “Actually, Mr. Prime Minister, he knows you’re behind the unrest in the countries I mentioned, and my mission is to ask you to cease and desist these activities.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I’m instructed to warn you that there will be consequences if you continue in this manner. While we don’t like what you’re doing to your own people, we’re willing to let that work its way out on its own, within reason; however, we will not tolerate continued attacks on other countries.”

  “Oh, really? And what might those consequences be? A return visit from your pet demons?”

  Abu Bakr heard a growl from behind him and turned to give Cecilia a warning glance. He looked back at the prime minister.

  “Actually, our response might be anything from economic sanctions to a military response by the Planetary Armed Forces to a return visit from the rest of my team. Trust me, you d
on’t want that. These three ladies might be more devastating than an Armed Forces assault.”

  “I’m sure they’re very scary for the great masses of unbelievers,” Abbas replied, waving a hand as if the threat were inconsequential, “however, I have faith. I have faith in a number of things. First, I have faith that it is my duty, from Allah, to preserve the purity of the Islamic Republic. Thus, my country will never join your Planetary Union, and I will do everything possible to keep other Islamic countries from joining it, too. If that means removing imams or others who do not have the same level of faith, so be it. I will do as I must.

  “I also have faith that none of your threats—your so-called consequences—will have any effect on either me or my country. We will weather your sanctions, like we have ignored them in the past. If you want to send forces, feel free! We will fight you, and we will make every step you take so costly that you will drown in an ocean of your own blood. And as for these … these things you have with you, they have no soul. They are faithless demons, and I am not afraid of them. We’ve prepared for them, and we will destroy all the ones you send!”

  “I’d like to see you try!” Cecilia said, taking a step forward. “I live to kill arrogant breathers like you!”

  Abu Bakr turned and put a hand on her chest, stopping her from advancing any further.

  “Step. Back,” he said. “Right now.” The whites of her eyes had gone scarlet, and he realized how close she was to going over the edge. It was only his own anger that allowed him to speak forcefully to her.

  “Take your hand off me,” she said, her eyes snapping from Ghilzai to Abu Bakr.

  A shiver went down his back as her eyes met his; her gaze made it abundantly clear why people feared the night. After a moment, some of the red left her eyes, and he removed his hand, happy to not have to do anything else to restrain her.

  As the stress of controlling her faded, he realized Abbas was laughing, as was his cousin. Even the members of his guard force were smirking.