Chapter 31

“So, Director. What were your impressions?” The arrival had been routine, the standard litany of welcoming the new ambassador and accepting her credentials, but the situation had been anything but normal.

“Fatima al-Rashid is not her real name, for one thing.” Lowe shook her head. “I don't know why she would lie about that, unless...” She drifted off into thoughtful silence.

“Unless what?” prompted the Secretary.

“Unless she thought we might recognize her real one. But if she's one of the time-jumpers, and she'd almost have to be, why would we know it? There was something odd about the whole business, though. Almost as if...” She snapped her fingers as it came to her. “That was it! She was under control the entire time. I don't know if she knew about me, or if she just shielded as a matter of course. But the only ones I know of who can do that are Coyote, Pele, Amaterasu...”

Rice frowned. “The so-called Immortals? So she may be one of them. A legend or a myth who is a lioness...”

“And North African. The first one that comes to mind is Sekhmet of the Egyptian pantheon. Possibly Bast, though that one was more of a house-cat than a lion. There might be others, though, let me check.” She closed her eyes and accessed her computer-familiar. “Menhit and Tefnut are also possibilities. Two fertility goddesses, and two warriors. I wonder which she is?”

“So if that is true, if she is any of them, then Haroun has another Immortal as an ally, if not actually a subordinate.”

Lowe nodded. “That would be my initial analysis, yes. I think I would like to be at the reception that State is having for her. Might be I could learn more if I had a chance to talk to her instead of just hovering in your entourage.”

Rice smiled. “I'll make sure you get an invitation.”

* * * *

Foster was becoming something of a regular at Hakim's coffee-shop. He was there two or three times a week, and the locals were getting used to him and his American-accented Arabic. He'd discovered that the Old Quarter was indeed inhabited by time-jumpers, though the sorceror they'd seconded to the embassy had no idea how it had been done. All they'd been able to find out about it was that the city had been domed over with sand and that they had been told to go to sleep.

<Of course,> he thought with an internal chuckle, <That means that they've never even heard of any of the movies everyone else knows.> He'd been regaling the band of street urchins with stories ranging from the Arabian Nights to Disney to Tolkien, and he'd noticed that a few of the adults were listening as well. Hakim was partly grateful, for young Farid was now much more likely to stay at home in hopes that he would hear another tale, and partly annoyed, for when the American was there, there was no work to be gotten from the kit at all.

By the third week, it was apparent that the Old Quarter was a safe zone for the Americans, and Foster had taken to going there on his own. For his part, fennec ears were good at listening unobtrusively to conversations, and his willingness to entertain the youngsters and overpay Hakim made him a welcome presence among the locals.

Today, one of those locals, a full human with a bushy gray beard, asked to join him when he arrived. He nodded and pointed to an empty table. “Of course you may.” They both ordered their coffees and then sat down. “And what leads you to sit with me today, honored elder?”

The greybeard smiled. “You are well spoken and polite, for all that you are a foreigner. We here in the Palace Quarter know that the world has changed while we have slept, but we do not understand all of it. The Prince knows and trusts your kind – one of his most trusted advisors is the lioness Fatima. He is powerful, and the lands of many of the kings and princes that grew up while we slept have fallen to him without a fight now that he has awakened. But there is something about his new subjects that is strange. They hate and fear your kind, and act as if they are superior even to their fellow humans for some reason. The Prince issued an edict to require them to respect your people, and mentioned you specifically. They obey this, but only grudgingly.” He sipped his coffee. “We would know why.”

Foster kept his ears from twitching, but only barely. <Cabell is going to love this...> “Well, the reason for the edict was probably to avoid giving offense to my nation. Even before you slept, it was true that ambassadors were treated with the greatest respect, was it not?”

He nodded. “It was, yes.”

“This has become as true a law between nations as there can be, and the traditions about it have come to treat the person and the domicile of an embassy as if they were in their own country, rather than in another. Your Prince knows this, and wishes to behave as other civilized peoples now do, for he is a man of honor and wisdom.” <We hope,> he added to himself. “He has learned of the religion now followed by those who did not go to sleep with you. They revere one they call the Prophet, Muhammed by name. He taught some very odd things, and while there were none of my kind present while you slept, his writings consider dogs to be unclean. His followers today interpret that to include those like me, and your Lady Fatima. They also consider themselves superior to all others because they are his followers, even though they have rarely been a power in the world.”

“Madness.” The old human shook his head. “But it explains why they dislike us. There have been incidents. People have been killed on both sides. The Prince does not accept their claims and they resent this, as well.”

Foster sighed. “I understand that they accept the word of their own automatically against outsiders, no matter the evidence, and even among themselves a male's word is worth more automatically than a female's. Thus it is that if there are no other witnesses, a man can assault a woman with impunity.” He gave the old man a tongue-lolling canid grin. “Assuming such a brave specimen could actually beat her in the ensuing fight. One of my fellow soldiers was like unto one of the ancient Amazons even when she was a human, and is now a tigress.” He explained at the fellow's puzzled look. “Like a lioness, only a little larger, and white with black stripes.”

The elder chuckled briefly at the joke, but then frowned. “Truly mad, they are.” He signed in turn. “Well, perhaps we should talk of things more pleasant. Where is your homeland, young sir...?”

* * * *

Sergeant Foster knocked on door of the room that Cabell was using as his office. “Permission to report, sir?”

The station chief smiled at him. “Come in, Rick, come in. How goes your attempt to make friends among the locals?”

“Very well, actually. I was approached by one of the neighborhood leaders today while at my usual spot, and we had a very interesting and educational chat.”

Cabell looked up and smiled. “Oh, really? Close the door, take a seat, and tell me all about it...”

Foster settled himself down and grinned back. “A bit of give and take. A tidbit for Specialist Barnett, too. They definitely slept through the time-jump, but he told me that before they went to sleep, the whole city was buried in the sand. I told him a bit about the Event, and a little of the history they missed. And from what I was told by Hetman Karim, I think that His Nibs the Prince has a bit of a problem. He favors his old subjects more than the moderns, since he knows them better – but he's not really a Muslim for all that he claims it, and it shows. The moderns resent the jumpers, and there have been fights between the two groups.”

“Did he say why?”

Foster rolled his eyes. “The usual with that crowd. They're muslim and the jumpers aren't. Their women don't dress in burlap bags, they talk back, they expect to be treated respectfully, and their Changelings expect to be treated respectfully too. Haroun backs them up, and while the locals respect his power, there's apparently some who dislike his attitudes. I'd bet the religious fanatics are becoming disappointed by his failure to back up their bigotry.”

“You -are- armed out there, aren't you?”

The fennec grinned. “Of course. Knife and pistol and a few field expedients. Gunny's given me the go-ahead to go to the Old Quarter – they call it the Palace Quarter, by the way – on my own, but only if I'm prepared.”

Cabell grinned. “Well, then, Sergeant, keep up the good work. Let me know if any other interesting tidbits turn up.”

Foster nodded and waggled his ears. “I'll keep these bad boys open, sir, no worries. But I don't have connections on the modern side. If -they're- up to something...”

Cabell nodded. “Then by all means defend yourself and your friends. These are the first reasonable people we've run across in the Arab world, and if Haroun thinks like them, we might actually get a handle on the terrorists.”

* * * *

There were camps scattered throughout the desert, where dubious people learned dubious skills. The satellite analysts had labelled them using the NATO alphabet for convenience. Fred Zeigler was looking over the latest set of pictures of the sixth one they had identified. “Now that's interesting.” The satellite take from central Africa was now in the charge of more senior analysts, but they'd had the sense to keep the experienced junior analyst on as part of the team. He waved his boss over to his desk. “This might be time critical, sir. They've pulled everyone out of Camp Foxtrot.”

“Everyone?” The head of the satellite recon analysis group, Andrew Hoskins, was mostly unchanged by the Event, but his eyes now had cat-slit pupils and tapeta lucida, something that he had successfully hidden for nearly two months afterwards. His night vision had dramatically improved as a result. “The whole camp, Fred, or just a training rotation?”

“It looks completely empty, sir.” He pointed at the infrared image. “See here? Nothing is warm. No stoves, no heaters, no motors.”

“Hmmm. That's very odd. Most of the other camps we've been watching have had normal changes of occupants, but nothing like this.”

Fred nodded. “Alfa, Bravo, Charlie, and Echo all had Changelings incorporated into them, and Golf and India seem to have been turned from training camps into refugee camps. Practically everyone in them now is a Changeling.”

“Those are the two closest to that new city, right?”

“Yep, that's them. Seems like Haroun doesn't object to Changelings. But Foxtrot and Hotel haven't had any Changelings at all, very little turnover as near as I can tell, and now poof, Foxtrot's all gone. And...” He looked up at Hoskins. “And those are the two camps farthest from Ba-Yabel. I'm thinking we need to take a very close look at the next imagery we get of Hotel.”

“That won't be for a couple hours yet. Write it up, Fred, and mark it urgent. I think this needs to go up the chain fast. I want your report ready to go as soon as we see what's going on at Hotel.”

“I'm on it, boss.”

* * * *

Lowe read over the report and looked at the overhead photos. “Two camps, ones that Haroun might not have known about, suddenly up and vanish? She looked at Hoskins and Zeigler. “Okay. Get a sanitized version ready; drawn map and no mention of how we do this. Maybe hint at scrying spells, Haroun would expect that. I'm going to take this to the President right now. And if he gives me the okay, we're passing this on to Ambassador al-Rashid.”