Swarm - In The Name Of The Prophet

CAUTION... CAUTION... CAUTION... CAUTION... CAUTION...

STANDARD WARNING

This story is of an erotic nature.

I wouldn't dream of telling you what you can or can't read but if the law, in your part of the world, says you must not read this sort of fiction then please go read something that they'll let you.

Don't break the laws, change them.

CAUTION... CAUTION... CAUTION... CAUTION... CAUTION...

In The Name Of The Prophet

A Story in The Swarm Cycle Universe

by Duke of Ramus

A Piece of my Imagination

The Swarm Cycle

The Swarm Cycle is a collection of stories manufactured around a concept introduced by the Thinking Horndog positing an alien invasion and Earth's reaction. The intent is for this to be a multi-author universe similar to the wildly popular Naked In School stories. If you're a budding author of erotica or sci-fi and see something here that strikes your fancy, pop over to the Author's Page for more info on what's going on here and how to submit a story for this collection. The rest of you are probably here to read, so...

---oOo---

Disclaimer

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author�s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

� 2008 Duke of Ramus.

All rights reserved.

---oOo---
The Swarm Cycle Universe

Copyright � 2007 The Thinking Horndog

---oOo---

Editor

I'd like to thank Mulligan and Steve T for their assistance in turning this into a better story than my initial effort, any errors remaining are of course mine.

---oOo---

The majority of the highly polished tables were arranged in four rows, the two centre rows were set up so that the sixteen seats were facing each other in two equal rows, seats for sixteen very important people. Each position had a high leather backed chair and a set of gold writing implements next to a blotter pad. Alongside these desktop accoutrements stood a cut glass jug complete with matching tumbler, the jug was freshly filled with chilled water and a slice of lemon if the drinker had that preference.

The outer tables may have been physically the same but their purpose was not as high profile. The chairs were not as luxurious and there were twice as many of them. These tables were already crowded with folders and laptop computers, notes and writing implements were scattered haphazardly about.

A fifth table was positioned across the head of the two centre rows of tables, a position of authority, the most important of all the important seats. It too carried the same trappings of power, only its position setting it apart.

With barely a whisper the double height double doors at the end of the room swung open and the first of nearly a hundred men stepped into the room. He and his partner scanned for anything untoward and then dropped back to guard positions flanking either side of the entrance.

Satisfied that all was well another man, this one in the long flowing robes that made up the traditional dress for a Gulf Arab entered the room. Without any undue hesitation he strode to the right hand table and took the first seat, his two advisors had followed him into the room and scurried to the table behind him.

Quickly after that the remaining fifteen positions of importance were filled, the noise level grew as people passed comments to one another concerning mundane things, many of them glancing towards the head table as they spoke.

The noise abated as soon as the single door behind the prominent chair began to open, by the time the man who entered had reached his place the room was deathly silent. Like the others he wore the white robes of an Arab but unlike many of them he didn't look out of place. His dark eyes looked out from a weathered face; his large hooked nose more like a beak than anything that could be described as delicate. Beneath this protrusion was a hard mouth, the compressed lips unused to smiling for any reason.

He lowered his mature body into the seat and glanced from side to side of the room. With prayers over it was time to resume the meeting. He indicated the first man to his right; "You have a progress report for us, Ali."

Ali bin Ahmed bin Saleh Al-Fulani rose to his feet. He was a minor sheikh from the area known as the United Arab Emirates but for this council he held a far more important position. He was the leader of Project Salah al-Din, described by those who knew of it as the last great hope for Arab kind.

He bowed slightly to the head of the table. It was always wise to keep in with Bahir bin Jamil bin Abdul Rahman Al-Sa'ud, as it was with any other member of the Saudi Royal family, no matter how tenuous that connection might be.

"Salah al-Din is on schedule and just as importantly on budget," he began, "The majority of the key stages have been implemented and are progressing well." He glanced down at his notes, not really needing them but it did give a pause to his speech. "We have been able to identify several systems that contain planets suitable for human habitation and have earmarked three that we believe are ideal for our project."

"What makes them ideal?" asked a voice from down the table.

Ali was unable to identify who had spoken, concentrating as he was on the head of the table. When Bahir raised an eyebrow, he answered the question.

"Going to a planet that isn't fit for human habitation would be pointless." He actually thought stupid but didn't want to imply that anyone around this table was such a person even though he had heard rumours that someone was pushing forward a system based solely on its name being one of those used by the Prophet, praise be upon him.

"Of the habitable planets available," he continued, "it had to be one that the infidel's Confederacy had no plans to use as we are not yet in a position to oppose them militarily. It took us time to determine their preferences."

He glanced down the tables and was greeted by blank looks; no one took up the challenge of denying their military inferiority. Two Gulf wars and the continued existence of Israel had proved that beyond doubt, thought the fact that the Jewish state found itself in a similar position to themselves did seem to provide a certain level of justice.

"The third factor governing our choice of system was the expected axis along which the Sa'arm would be advancing," stated Ali. "Colonising a planet they are likely to reach in a short space of time would simply be to provide them with a different variety of food, a task I am not willing to perform."

"After a great deal of consideration we have settled on three possible options." He held up a finger. "The first is the third planet of the star Valderon. It is a G two star similar to our own sun and the third planet has a slightly larger orbit than our own. Conditions at the equator would be similar to those in Norway and as such our people would feel that it was cold."

He raised a second digit, "The second option is the only planet of the star Proxima Regulus. This is a G nought star and the planet is at the very inner edge of its habitable zone. To be honest my own personal thoughts are that it would be too arid even for us. It does have the advantage of being at the very extremity of Confederacy space.

He raised his third finger, "The third option is the F six class star, Escardis," he said. "Again the target is the third planet of the system. This one is a little large than Earth and would require our colonists to work under a gravity that is ten percent higher than they are used too. The biggest changes of note are that the planet is nearly two hundred and forty million kilometres from the star; it will look very small in the sky compared to our sun. That distance also gives the planet a very long year, in the order of six hundred and fifty days." He glanced down the row of tables, "This will allow us to plant at least two full crops each year," he carefully didn't mention how long the winters would be.

"This is your preferred option?" asked Bahir from the head table.

"It is unless new information comes to light before we depart," replied Ali.

"Continue," responded Bahir with a casual wave of the hand.

Ali glanced down at his notes, this time needing to re-establish the order of his report. "A selection process has been underway for the last two years to choose those men who will be part of the crew. Their training has been in progress for the last three months and has generally gone well. Drop-out rates have been very low."

Again Ali found his statement being interrupted, this time by Zubair bin Isa bin Abbud Al-Khalifa, the member of the council representing Bahrain. "These people represent a security risk, what is being done about them?"

Ali turned to the man, "Whilst we are not as well equipped as the Darjee are with their mind compulsions we do have methods that ensure our security. You can take it that none of the people who fail to reach the required standard will present a security risk," he paused for a moment, "ever again."

Zubair bowed his head in understanding and hoped that any members of his family didn't disgrace him.

Ali picked up the thread of his report once again. "The modular design we have gone for on the ship means we are planning on sending between a thousand and two thousand of our finest young men to establish the colony."

Ali looked up and down the two tables; "We will be providing the maximum number of wives for each of our men when the time is right."

No one questioned where these women were coming from or whether they would have any choice in the matter. After all, the Confederacy kidnapped whoever it wanted to support their 'volunteers.'

Ali took a sip of the cold water and drew a deep breath before continuing. "Working with our allies in several of the former Russian Republics we have managed to gain access to the raw materials required to build the interstellar craft. That material has been transferred using launch facilities provided by the Russian Federation, albeit at considerable expense."

"Currently we have sufficient material floating in orbit to complete the basic vessel, the habitation zones and the two synthetic farms that will provide the colonists with food, oxygen and various other essentials." He glanced at his notes and frowned, now comes the bad news.

"The actual construction is going to be difficult and will depend greatly on the Russian space workers we have on contract and the Pakistani immigrants they have agreed to train." A murmur went through the hall as Ali mentioned the immigrants. Calling them immigrants was a misnomer to say the least. They had been forcibly detained when the Middle East had closed its borders to the rest of the world, especially the Western portion of it. Anyone working within its borders at that time was 'invited' to stay indefinitely.

Only the fact that the majority of the Western world was so caught up in the Swarm panic had prevented an escalation to all out war, world war three for want of a better description. As it was, their own economy had practically collapsed under the strain and only the fact that the economies of Russia and Africa had gone down the tubes at the same time had enabled them to continue to operate.

The defunct US dollars they held had been able to buy them raw materials from all over Africa, including uranium. Solid gold had been the currency of choice when dealing with Russia and it had been fortunate that it had been available in such large quantities.

"The estimated completion date is in seven months time," he scowled, "a more realistic date will be twelve months from now and that presupposes one very important fact."

He took a deep breath before he committed himself. He'd thought about this for a long time. If they went with the technology they had available, the solar sail and its associated systems, the best they would be able to manage was a velocity in the order of point six �c.� A mere dawdle when compared with the distances involved. Even if everything worked and there were no problems it would still take their colony ship nearly two hundred years to get to Escardis.

"We need details, no not details but hard facts, concerning a faster than light drive," he glanced around and was greeted by blank stares. "The Confederacy ships would make this trip in a month or two even allowing for their reduced performance when carrying colonists. No matter how well we plan and train our people they will not be the ones landing on the colony unless we can gain access to a hyperdrive system."

"Are you saying that we will fail if we do not have this information?" asked Bahir.

"No, your eminence," replied Ali, "But our chances of success would be much enhanced if we had that propulsion system. We would not only get there with the people we've trained, they would also be able to return and collect more colonists. Given sufficient time we would be able to evacuate the majority of our people." Ali knew that was so much claptrap, the Sa'arm would be here long before they ever got close to evacuating everyone but he was getting desperate, without an FTL drive he felt he was sending people to their deaths needlessly. That they had no other choice was down to the damned infidels in the West.

He looked down the length of the two tables, taking in the various members who gazed back. More than one of them had links to the various intelligence services; surely they could get him the information if they wanted to?

He sat down slowly, his shoulders sagging after the effort he'd just made.

"Ali bin Ahmed bin Saleh Al-Fulani, you are aware that we are doing what we can to discover the information that you need," said Bahir coldly from behind his desk. "However you need to proceed on the assumption that they will not be available."

Ali closed his eyes and bowed his head, accepting the rebuke silently. He offered up a prayer for the souls of those in his care and a shorter prayer for deliverance.

---oOo---

With almost painful slowness the two massive, metal structures drifted closer to each other, simple inertia moving the third nuclear power plant that was to equip the colossal ship towards the farm dome it would be supplying. At various distances from the operation men watched on with differing emotions, those emotions ranging from the total indifference exhibited by some of the Pakistani construction workers who'd been pressed into service up to the barely concealed euphoria of the Arab engineers for whom the project was the pinnacle of their careers so far. This was the last of the farm modules that were to be fitted to the ship and this was the last major item to be fitted.

The power plant began to slow as the kinetic energy ropes attached to the rear of it began to absorb its forward momentum. This was the part the engineers were nervous about, if they'd got their calculations correct there would be no problems but if they were wrong then the reactor would crash into the farm module with catastrophic results.

The computer controlling the operation judged that the forward movement had come to a halt and released the anchoring cables thereby removing the risk of the reactor being snatched back from its position. As soon as the ropes were released men in powered spacesuits shot forward to secure the reactor to its new home, taking care as they did so to avoid the ropes as they were recovered until they were needed again.

In the master control room, a Russian engineer turned to his Arab colleague and nodded, "Well, Shihab, do you think the sheikh will be pleased with our progress?"

The Arab engineer grinned widely at his Russian mentor, "I'm sure of it, Gregori, sure of it." Shihab waved his hand through the armoured window encompassing the two completed farm modules and the habitat module that was nearing completion. "What we've achieved here is nothing short of miraculous, Praise be unto Allah, and soon we will be free to escape the Swarm." He nodded to the bright lights of a smaller construction area off in the distance, "and you will be free also."

"You say soon," responded Gregori, "but the command and propulsion modules haven't been started yet and let's be honest just amongst ourselves, I wouldn't want to put my life in the hands of an ion drive."

Shihab nodded slowly, "True," he said, "but the idea is sound and the test engines we've built have worked."

"But only at about eighty percent of what was predicted for them," replied Gregori. "Those stars," he said indicating the sharp, diamond white lights hanging in the black sky, "are an awfully long way off at the sort of velocities that you are going to be able to generate with that propulsion system."

It was Shihab's turn to agree. "You're right and that is one of the reasons I'm glad I'm unlikely to be making the trip on the first ship."

Current planning was for three of the big colony ships but the second two were just paper exercises so far, both men secretly felt that this was a one shot operation. It had been difficult for Shihab to work as though the following ships were real but to do otherwise was to court a deep depression he didn't want to face.

"Those commercial replicators are going to save us months of work," said Gregori, steering the conversation towards safer ground.

"I'm surprised that the Confederacy allowed them to be used by anyone," said Shihab.

"You mean the Americans," said Gregori. "The way I hear it the aliens made the Americans spread the machines world-wide to avoid the possibility of war."

"War?" asked Shihab in surprise.

Gregori nodded, "Yes. If you think about it, most of the surplus grain in the world is produced in North America and regardless of what the old communist regime in my country said, a lot of the world would starve without their help. With a lot of their farmers heading for the colonies the amount of grain would fall and it would be places like Africa and even Russia that would suffer. Who would they blame? America of course so it was only common sense to ensure that the world was fed."

"I'd always thought that the aliens had passed out the replicators as gifts before the Americans were able to influence their decision. Faced with that they decided it was better to make a profit out of the business rather than try to get them all back." Shihab frowned, "either way it doesn't matter. We've got them and they will be used to build the Salah al-Din."

The two men were interrupted by a klaxon call and all work outside the window ceased.

"Another bloody sightseeing trip," stormed Shihab as a Confederacy shuttle drifted slowly through the construction area. Around the shuttle men scrambled to get out of the way and work stopped out of necessity. To date no one had been injured by these nuisance visits but to both Shihab and Gregori it was only a matter of time.

"Your people ought to do something about that," railed Shihab shaking his fist at the window.

"I've asked for some assistance," replied Gregori with a shrug.

"And?" pushed Shihab.

"They've promised action," said Gregori, "but my boss planet-side said I'd probably not like what they were going to do any better than I liked the flybys."

"Did he tell you what they planned?" asked Shihab.

"No," said Gregori, "and that has me worrying even more."

The two men stood and watched as the Confederacy shuttle rolled in attitude and started to drop towards the planet below.

---oOo---

The young woman allowed her long, dark hair to fall forward, the ends tickling the neck of the seated man before her. He rolled his head away from the touch of her hair and sighed, "Emmy, do you have to?"

The girl chuckled throatily in his ear, "I can stop if you want me to," she said before pressing her more than ample breasts into his back. Dressed as she was in the current fashion her nipples were covered by an opaque layer that would have made a bee's wing seem coarse.

Edward Harlington the Third simply felt two hard, hot objects touch his shoulder blades and begin to rotate. His head dropped back and he groaned, reminded again just how lucky he'd been when Emmy entered his life five months ago.

The research assistant had given up hope of attracting a woman even in the new permissive age that abounded since the announcement that the Sa'arm were coming. His diminutive stature, he was only five foot seven tall, allied with his hooked nose and heavy glasses put him firmly in that group that relied on ugly girls or the exchange of money to achieve any sort of sexual congress. His CAP score of six point three was merely the icing on a very bitter cake, emphasizing as it did his inability to reach the required grade.

He held a master's degree in ecology and was an integral part of the research team looking into ways to improve on the terraforming process but this didn't mean anything to the available females who were looking for a ticket off the planet.

Then he'd bumped, literally, into Emmy in the corridor one day and his luck had changed.

The administrative assistant had bullied him into taking her to lunch to pay for knocking her drink from her hand with his clumsiness and she'd been part of his life ever since. Interested in him as a person and what he was doing, encouraging him to talk about what he achieved, no matter how little it appeared to the outside world.

Just like now, she wasn't nagging him to leave the terminal alone when he had work to do.

Behind him and unseen Emira bint Faris bin Saleh Al-Fulani looked at the screen as it scrolled slowly upwards. This was something new; not just the information but also the whole setup. Although her degree was in electrical engineering she'd been employed by the university on a completely fictitious set of documents and so had to act a part.

Now her curiosity was aroused, "What's this you're looking at anyway, Eddy?" she asked, her hands now stroking his shoulders to add to his distraction.

"It's something new the AI's have set up," said Edward. He shrugged carefully, not wanting to disturb the girl's wonderful hands. "It seems we were all asking the same questions, repeatedly so they've put together something like the old Wikipedia only it's full of all what they call redundant knowledge."

"Redundant knowledge?" asked Emmy, "Why would they make redundant knowledge available?"

"Redundant is their word for it, not ours," he smiled at Emmy before returning his attention to the screen. "We'd probably describe it as historical knowledge, the background stuff for what is happening now. I mean, take a look at this," he said flicking back several pages in the article he was speed-reading.

"This is the way they used to terraform planets," he explained. "It includes everything they used, the nannites, the procedures, even where they obtained the raw materials to begin the process." He chuckled, "We could actually use this method to terraform Mars if we wanted too."

"We could?" she asked excitedly, giving his shoulders an enthusiastic squeeze.

"Yes," he said, "It wouldn't be as good as what is being used now, or as good as what we are hoping to achieve but it's all there."

She leant forward, her breasts crushing against his back as she did so; "Does this wiki just cover terraforming?"

"No," he replied, "It's got everything they've released to us on Earth." Although he didn't say it, he was acknowledging the fact that the Darjee had been very selective in the information they'd passed along to the semi-barbaric humans they were using to fight their war.

"Can you show me?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied minimizing the window he was reading. "See, it's been configured just like the old Wiki, type in what you want to know about here and it'll display the top level for that subject. All you do then is burrow down."

He grinned at the dark skinned girl, "What do you want to know about?"

"Is it just science subjects," she asked carefully, "or does it cover the arts as well?"

"Everything as far as I know," he replied. "Go on, pick a subject?"

"History," she said, "I've always been interested in history."

"We'd better narrow it down," said Edward, "History is a pretty big subject." He glanced around and saw an old copy of Science Illustrated on the sideboard. "How about space stations?" he asked waving at the front cover.

"Go on then," said Emmy enthusiastically looking at the image on the magazine, "I'm sure they've got something better than the old International Space Station."

"I'm sure they have," he agreed. He typed in the query and a string of links appeared.

"Have they got pictures?" asked Emmy

Edward chuckled, "I'm sure they have but don't you want to read all about them?"

She nudged his shoulder and he had to try hard to contain himself. He'd be much more interested in the technical descriptions but Emmy was only a girl. He clicked on the link to display the images and slid to one side, "Go on, you have a look, I'm going to get a coffee."

He glanced back from the door as Emmy slid into the seat he'd just vacated; "Do you want one?"

"Please," she replied as she clicked on the first of the images.

By the time Edward returned Emmy had a technical drawing up on the screen.

"It said it was a plan," she moaned, "but this doesn't tell you where anything is."

Edward looked over her shoulder, "That's because it's a blueprint of the whole station," he said. "Here take a look at this," he pointed at a link to an overview of the station.

"That's one of the problems with this system, there is so much information you can often get lost trying to find anything." He pointed to a pile of shiny disks by the side of his computer, "That's why I'm going to make a copy of the data I want on those things and study it in my own time."

She looked at the disks, "Will it all fit on there?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," he replied, "These are the new terabyte disks that the Darjee told us how to make." He pointed to a stack of unopened boxes, "I've got enough to down load the entire science section if I need to, or so the AI informs me."

"How long is that going to take?" whined Emmy.

"Don't worry, I've got all week to do it," said Edward, "I've taken a week of my leave just so that I can do this while you're at work."

"You want to keep the evenings free for me?" she asked taking hold of his hand.

"Of course I do," he replied not resisting the pull.

"Oh, goody," she said spinning him around and pointing him towards the bedroom. With a gentle push she headed him in that direction, "It's the evening now," she added in a sultry voice, "I'll close this down and you take our drinks in there." He glanced over his shoulder and she added, "I'll join you in a minute."

She giggled, "And then I'm going to blow your brains out."

Emira gave praise to Allah as she silently dropped the thin wrap that covered her body and Edward turned and headed in the direction of the bedroom. The young lady switched off the screen and naked as the day she was born followed Edward who grinned happily, little realizing that he was entering the room for the last time.

---oOo---

"Lima One One you are clear for launch, wind is minimal from zero two zero degrees, there is no other traffic in the vicinity."

"One One roger," replied the pilot of the Bengal transport shuttle as he guided his craft off the ground and towards the heavens.

The trip up to the flagship of the Confederacy Task Force established in Earth orbit was as routine as the daily shuttle flight that travelled from London to New York, and in most cases just as exciting. The only difference to normal was the passenger in the cabin, the United Nations Special Envoy to the taskforce. Normally the man would have been travelling with all the pomp and ceremony that accompanied a high official on any journey but this was a private visit. He was heading for a short meeting with his son who was in the middle of a training rotation through the system.

The Envoy had prevailed on his friends to get him up to the taskforce with the minimum of fuss, hence the fact that he was riding in the control room rather than in the cargo bay.

They'd been travelling for thirty minutes or so when the Envoy pointed out of the screen, "What on Earth is that?"

The pilot glanced out of the window before answering, "That's the Saladin," he said, "The colony ship the Arabs are building with the help of the Russians."

The Envoy was wide-eyed, "I've read the reports on it but I've never seen it, it's huge."

"It needs to be," said the pilot. "The way they're planning to do it they're going to need all the room they can get and I still wouldn't give them a cat in hell's chance of making it."

"You think their chances are that slim?" asked the Envoy.

"I'm just a pilot so I don't know much but a few years back I worked in subs and I know how we got after we'd been at sea for a couple of months." He shuddered in his seat; "The thought of being stuck on a ship for centuries does nothing for me, nothing at all."

The Envoy looked from the pilot and back to the ship, "Is there any chance of getting a closer look."

The pilot shook his head, "Not any more," he said, "unless you want to start playing dodge with a bucket full of nukes."

"Nukes, they've got nuclear weapons on her?" exclaimed the Envoy.

"Not on her, just around her," said the pilot. "That area is strictly off limits to all Confederacy craft these days."

"Can they do that?" asked the Envoy in surprise.

"Legally?" replied the pilot, "You tell me, I just know that we've been told to keep well away from the place."

The co-pilot joined the conversation for the first time. "Rumour is that they blame us for the Confederacy's refusal to deal with them and given the way things have panned out you can't really blame them. They also got annoyed at the number of sightseeing trips that passed through their construction area."

"But the West had nothing to do with who could and could not be approached," declared the Envoy picking up on the co-pilot's original comment, "that was all down to the Darjee."

"You and I believe that but they don't and regardless of the right and wrong of things they have threatened to greet anyone from the Confederacy with a nuke," said the man.

The pilot nodded, "So that whole area is a no go area and we all keep well clear of it." He looked at the ship that was now receding in the distance, "You've still got to feel sorry for the poor bastards who are going to be locked up in that thing."

"Amen," added the co-pilot before they turned their attention to the approaching flagship, it wouldn't do to run into that.

---oOo---

In the street outside the campus apartments two police cars were parked side by side, the second one to arrive was a city unit and had its lights rotating on the roof, bathing the area in a blue strobe effect. A police officer in the brown tunic of the University police force stood by the outer door refusing access to all except other law enforcement officers.

On the first landing a door stood open, beside it stood another officer, this one dressed in the blue of the city force. He, like his colleague was professionally silent as he guided those who needed access towards the open door.

Inside the flat two people had spent considerable time surveying what was now a crime scene and in drawing their own conclusions. Now they were standing in quiet contemplation, the only sound to be heard coming from the occasional vehicle that passed by on the street outside.

"So what do you think happened here?"

The man asking the question and breaking the silence was detective sergeant Don Gunn of the homicide division, his was the man dressed in blue outside the apartment door. He was speaking to Sergeant Ann Sommers, who was with the University's police division and her colleague was the man standing outside the building.

"Let's see," said the woman, "the victim is naked and laid out on the bed, there's no sign of a struggle and he's been killed by a single, small caliber weapon from very close range." She pursed her lips, "My guess is it's a professional hit or he pissed off his girlfriend in some way."

"Both of those options do seem to fit the known facts," agreed Don Gunn. "Especially when you add the belief that his live-in girlfriend has disappeared as well."

"I suppose she could have been kidnapped," said Ann Sommers.

"That's possible, I suppose," said Don not sounding convinced, "but you'd have thought there'd have been some sort of struggle if that had been the case."

"True," agreed Ann looking at how neat the apartment was.

"So let's confirm the details on our victim here," said Don. "He," he pointed at the body, "Is Edward Harlington the Third and he worked at the University as a research assistant."

"That's right," agreed Ann holding up the man's CAP ID card as additional confirmation.

"He's been on leave and was due back at work this morning," said the detective sergeant. He glanced at Ann, "When he didn't appear you were dispatched to check up on him," he frowned. "Is that the normal procedure?"

"Not for everyone but he'd been working on some sensitive project and it was due to reach completion today. He'd have been certain to contact the department if he couldn't make it in. So when he didn't appear by mid-morning they sent me over here to check up on him."

It was Ann's turn to shrug. "When I didn't get a response I had the authority to override the automated lock and after the place was opened I took a look inside and that's what I found," she said waving her arm at the naked body.

"What do we know about his girlfriend?" asked Don.

Ann looked at her PDA, "Emily Fulanni, twenty-five, worked as an administrative assistance in the Ecology Department. She'd been with the university for seven months and had been seeing the deceased for five months. Other than the data on her application form there's nothing else."

"So she's either a very good girl," said Don Gunn with a frown, "or she had a reason for giving a false name when she applied for the job."

"I'll check up on her previous addresses," said Ann, "I'll make out I'm just doing the routine security check on a new employee, just in case."

"You're suspicious?" asked Don.

"I wasn't," said Ann, "but something doesn't smell right."

Don nodded, "You're right, this place is just too clean." He frowned, "OK, let�s treat this as something important until we find out anything different." He looked around the apartment; "I'll get a full forensics team in here and give the place a good going over. Let's see if they can find anything that'll shed some light on events."

Ann nodded and headed for the door. It was still early afternoon and if she hustled she could get most of her work done before the shift finished. Behind her Don Gunn rubbed the side of his nose, like Ann he didn't think this was as simple as it looked, as he'd just told Ann, everything was just too neat and tidy.

---oOo---

Emira shifted the bag into a more comfortable position and tried to relax. Her flight to Italy had already been called and she was past the security checks so really there was nothing to fear. As long as she didn't do anything to attract attention she would be safe.

Getting the contents of her bag and the rest of her luggage back home was the most important thing she'd ever done.

Killing Edward had been easy in the physical sense. The small pistol had been safely tucked away in her bedside table from the day she started living with him. Getting him to turn his head so that she could kiss his neck had been simplicity itself.

He hadn't suspected a thing, not even flinching when she'd placed the barrel of the automatic against his temple before she drew it back an inch and squeezed the trigger.

The noise in the confined space of the bedroom had been ear shattering, totally drowning out any noise that Edward made as the hollow point magnum round drilled through his skull, turning his brain to so much mush as it passed through.

She'd sat there in stunned silence as the bedclothes soaked up the blood and gore.

Without any warning she'd felt her stomach heave and then it had been a mad dash to the bathroom before the contents of her stomach lurched out and into the bath. She'd sat there on the floor hanging onto the side of the enamelled tub for what seemed like an eternity, her stomach churning over an acid and fumes.

Eventually she'd forced herself to stand and start working, a task that, as she got into it, served to settle her stomach.

For hours she'd toiled away at the terminal, marking up articles and copying them to the disks. Reading snippets as she went she discovered a little of the history of interstellar exploration and the growth of the Confederacy.

Imagine her surprise when she discovered just how small a part the Darjee had played in the creating of the Confederacy. That other races had gone before, grown and become civilised before they had handed on the flame of exploration to newer, still adventurous members of the growing empire.

Then came the shock that the plans she was downloading were for systems that were one hundred thousand years old. She nearly stopped what she was doing at that stage. Would taking this data back really be worth what she had done to get it? Not just the fact that she had killed Edward but the lies and deceit she'd been forced to endure, the use of her body as a means to satisfy their lusts just so that she would be accepted.

It had to be!

Her hopes of making a quick escape from this country and heading for safety had gone by the wayside when she'd started the copying process, it just seemed so slow. And for what she was doing it was, but she was used to copying megabytes or at most gigabytes and now she was dealing in terabytes. Any system that interfaced with a human designed and built computer was limited by that machine and no matter how many processes it ran in parallel it was going to take time to accomplish this task.

In the end it took five full days to get the information she wanted onto the disks. Five days in which she did little but stare at the machine after she'd packed the few belongings she was taking with her. She was almost out of the door before she realised that nobody she knew would have a machine that could read the disks she'd spent so long copying.

If the doors had been any thinner, or their neighbours any more attentive they'd have heard her groan of despair as she returned to the machine that had been the centre of her existence for so long. Opening the computer case she was astonished to see that the device plugged into a simple expansion card which in its turn slotted into the normal white sockets she'd seen an her own computer motherboard.

Removing the two items and the cable between them took only moments. Finding something to pack them in that wouldn't look out of place in her luggage took a couple of hours and even then she had to improvise.

The previous weekend Edward had taken her to New York to visit a restaurant that apparently everyone was raving about. It had turned out to be extremely good and they'd ended up begging the chef for two huge portions of one of his most famous dishes. The brioche bread pudding was an improbably delicate calorie bomb made with bananas, bacon-infused maple syrup and bacon brittle. In the restaurant it was served with soft homemade vanilla ice cream.

When he'd filled up two, for want of a better word, pizza trays with the dessert he'd passed a nice comment about how slim Emmy was and how much damage this was going to do to her figure. She'd smiled in return but her thoughts were more on the pork she'd been forced to eat as part of the dessert than the number of calories involved.

Now one of those boxes held a card in a plastic bag surrounded by bread pudding and the other held the drive itself, both of the boxes just fit inside an old biscuit tin. If anyone asked Emira would explain that the two boxes were a gift to her family, whom she'd explain 'didn't believe that America had anything to offer that truly compared with grandma's special dessert.'

After spending a final night in the apartment she had slipped out before dawn on the Thursday morning, her bags with her and a difficult journey ahead.

---oOo---

Don Gunn stepped into the air-conditioned building that housed the campus police department and approached the reception desk.

"Sergeant Sommers, please," he said when the receptionist looked up, "she's expecting me."

After a quick look at the screen in front of him the young man asked, "Sergeant Gunn?"

Don admitted that he was the person in question and the young man indicated a seat along the wall, "I'll let the sergeant know you're here."

Don smiled to himself as he dropped into the plastic seat. He was sure that Ann would be waiting for him and this was just the university's way of showing him that he was in their bailiwick.

He'd barely settled into the seat before Ann appeared at the end of the corridor, striding towards him. Don took a moment to appreciate the athletic form of the woman approaching him. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything other than indifference towards women but Ann had tweaked a nerve he didn't know he still had. He rose to his feet and went to meet the approaching Amazon.

"Morning," said Ann by way of greeting before she led Don to her cubbyhole sized office. "How are things going on your end?" she asked waving Don towards the chair in front of her cluttered desk.

"We've completed the full forensics sweep," he said as he settled into the second chair in as many minutes. "Most of the results are in and they indicate that there had been only two people in the apartment for at least the last week. The autopsy confirms the cause of death as a single gunshot wound to the left temporal lobe produced by a small calibre hollow point round fired from a range of approximately two inches. Time of death was estimated to be seven to ten days before the body was found."

Don grinned, "Basically his girlfriend topped him a week ago and then flew the nest."

Ann nodded, "And to make things more intriguing that girlfriend has become something of a mystery woman," she said.

Don raised an eyebrow in query at Ann's comment.

"Emily Fulanni is a twenty-five year old of Italian descent from Springfield, Illinois," she said, "She was educated at Lanphier High School and then at the Lincoln Land Community College. She started work at the Office of Planning and Economic Development in Springfield two years ago where she is well thought of."

Ann looked up from her notes, "The kicker is that she's still there and has been, every day since she started work there."

Don scowled, "So whoever the woman was in Edward Harlington's life it wasn't Emily Fulanni?"

"No," said Ann.

"What checks were done when she started working at the university?" asked Don.

"Her educational claims were checked and proved to be correct. Her details were run through the Federal Criminal Database and came back clean. The only thing that wasn't followed up were her references, which weren't considered necessary for the low level limited access job she was employed in."

It was Ann's turn to scowl. "Her superiors were a little miffed when she phoned in last Monday and booked a week off but as she hadn't taken any of her vacation days since she started they didn't think anything more of it."

"So who or what is our Emily Fulanni?" asked Don. "And probably more importantly what was she doing with Edward Harlington that was so important that it cost him his life?"

Ann sighed, "I've no idea," she admitted. "It's not as though he was doing anything terribly important. Even the event that he missed was something to do with the way two bacteria reacted under certain conditions."

"So nothing Earth-shattering?" said Don.

"No..." began Ann but was interrupted by the phone ringing.

She picked up the phone and listened, her expression becoming more serious as the conversation continued.

"It's definitely missing?" she asked, her voice showing signs of strain.

"Do we know what was downloaded?" she asked almost despondently.

Don looked on intrigued as the one-sided conversation progressed.

"Well find out and get back to me," ordered Ann before she slammed the phone down in frustration.

"It appears," she began, "that Mister Harlington had a special disk drive fitted to his computer so that he could make copies of data from the Darjee database. That drive and its associated controller card have been removed from the system."

"What's so special about this drive?" asked Don.

"Something to do with the amount of data that can be stored on it," replied Ann. "I'm not sure but it sounds as though it could be significant."

"How long before we know?"

Ann glanced at the clock; "It's a five minute drive from the apartment to the college. Allow ten minutes for administrative bullshit and we should have some idea of what's involved." She rose to her feet, "Come on, let's go and get a coffee," she said. "If we stay here we'll just beat ourselves to death until we know."

The two officers returned to Ann's office clutching the disposable mugs of coffee, Don had already commented on how good the brew was compared to what he normally had to drink but that was just to pass the time. Both officers were waiting for the phone to ring.

In the end it was nearly thirty minutes after the initial call that the machine chirped for attention.

"Speaking," said Ann into the handset.

"Just give me the highlights," she ordered.

"Have we any idea of the details?" she queried.

After listening for another minute she asked, "And what do the AI's say about it?

"Get what details you can and then get back here," she said, "Well done, Ken!" she finished before returning the phone to its cradle.

She took a deep breath and looked at Don, "Someone is going to be in deep shit over this," she said.

Don looked expectantly and Ann sighed heavily before she continued, "Harlington was working with the team studying advanced terraforming. He took the week off to create his own backup of the information the Darjee have made available. To do it he'd acquired a special high-capacity drive and disks."

"That's all above board," she said, "but it's not what happened. According to the AI the data that was downloaded to that computer address was predominantly to do with space flight and it's history."

"Why didn't the AI give a warning?" asked Don.

"Apparently the data has been released to humans and so it is available to everyone," she scowled, "If we don't want people to see it we shouldn't let them near it."

"Ouch," said Don in sympathy.

The two law enforcement officers looked at each other across the desk.

"Feds," declared Don.

Ann nodded; it was the only course open to them.

"I'll make the call," said Don.

---oOo---

The Boeing 777-200 taxied off the main runway towards the terminal C concourse. On board the internal speakers pinged and a melodic voice announced, "Welcome to the Leonardo da Vinci airport where the local time is eleven thirty-one. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete rest and the warning signs have been extinguished. Alitalia would like to take this opportunity to thank you for flying with us and we look forward to seeing you on your next flight."

Emira stretched, easing the kinks that were inevitable after spending just over eight hours in an aircraft, even in the business section. She rotated her neck, taking another opportunity to look around and observe her fellow passengers. Happy that no one was paying her particular attention she relaxed into her seat and gathered her thoughts for the next step in her journey.

Arriving on a Saturday was not ideal, a Monday would have been preferable but she was here now and had to live with the situation.

As soon as she cleared the aircraft she had a number memorised that she had to call. If all was well they would give her a time and place for her pickup. She smiled, and then she would be home and away from the infidel westerners and their terrible ideals.

She looked down her body, taking in the swell of her breasts under the whisper thin camisole and the way her toned legs looked in the Ra-Ra skirt and realised that at least a part of her would be sorry to be home. Almost as soon as she had the thought she bowed her head in shame.

There was a ping and the seatbelt sign went out. Around her businessmen returning home for the weekend began collecting their briefcases and laptop computers prior to departing the aircraft. She allowed the rush to move past her before she collected her single piece of hand luggage and made her way towards the exit.

The cabin attendant in the 'new' skimpy uniform smiled and wished her a pleasant onward journey and then she was out. Not outside in the sunlight but into the skyway and free of the confining cabin of the aircraft, next stop the baggage claim.

The illuminated sign above the endless belt displayed AZ611, her flight. She joined the small group people and, like them, stared at the unmoving belt, waiting for something to appear. She took a deep breath, there wasn't anything wrong, and this was just the normal delay.

The belt lurched into life and the first bag appeared through the rubber strips on the far side of the machine. She sighed, letting out the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. A feeling of relief passed through her when the fifth bag appeared, it was hers.

She collected it, extended the handle and looked around for the exit.

Spotting the telltale red and green channels she headed for the door, smiling to herself as she did so. Passing through was painless; the man at the desk checked her passport and waved her along.

She smiled, relieved that the planning for this mission had been so thorough, her passport was up to date and held valid entry visas for Italy amongst other places. She'd been receiving a new passport every three months with updated stamps since she'd arrived in America.

The uniformed man behind the inspection desk gave her a happy little salute as she passed and turned his attention to the next man through.

Pulling the case behind her she entered the main concourse and, ensuring that she was in no one's way, she paused to look around for a pay phone. A short walk across the concourse and she ducked under the scratched hood, putting her case in between her legs to keep it safe.

She dialled the number she had memorised and waited as it rang. It seemed to take an age before a male voice answered.

"Si?"

"I was told to call this number," she said in English rather than Italian, the first part of the identification process.

"Nome?" asked the voice, still in Italian.

"Salah al-Din's bride," she replied softly whilst keeping a tight rein on the urge to look around and see if anyone was listening to her.

"Welcome," said the voice, "the key you have is for the left-luggage locker number seventy-three. Your instructions are inside." There was a moment of silence, "Take care," said the voice and then the line went dead.

Emira looked at the phone in her hand; did the man know her?

Slowly she put the phone back on the cradle and, with her hand resting on the handset she closed her eyes and took two slow breaths. Concentrate, she chastised herself, complete the mission first. She raised her head and with a small smile on her face went looking for the left-luggage lockers.

The envelope she retrieved was thicker than she'd expected and rather than risk dropping its contents she placed it carefully in her hand baggage and headed for the nearest coffee bar.

Sitting at a small bistro table with a coffee and a Danish pastry before her she surreptitiously looked around. Alongside her were a couple who, judging by the cards on the top of the woman's bag, were newlyweds. No one else was sitting outside and anyone inside couldn't see what she was doing. The rest of the concourse was busy but as far as she could tell nobody was paying her any attention.

She slid the envelope from her bag and onto the table and opened it with a flip of the finger. Inside she found a single sheet of paper and a thick bundle of currency. Glancing around again she pulled the currency from the envelope and spread it, one hundred Euro notes, about twenty or thirty of them. She pushed them back into the envelope; they would be a nice addition to the money she'd bought with her.

Her credit card was nowhere near her limit but she knew better than to use it, doing so would leave an electronic trail that any police force in the world could follow.

She opened the paper and noticed a map on one side and typed instructions on the other, she began to read the instructions:

'There is a marina on the E90, the only one on that stretch of the road, between Roccella Ionica and Marina di Caulonia.

Be at the marina gates at eight o'clock in the morning, if you cannot make it by then do not appear until eight o'clock in the evening, Our man will be watching every day at those times for one week after you make contact.

Be prepared to leave immediately by boat.'

Emira sighed and turned the paper over to look at the map, pleased to see that the two villages named were highlighted. They were on the sole of the Italian boot about midway along.

Emira relaxed, it was going to take her some time to plan her journey, to make the connections and the like. This being Italy she'd be lucky to find anything useful travelling on Sunday so she'd better assume she was not going to get there until Monday evening.

As she drained her coffee cup she gave thanks to Allah and the Prophet, praise be unto him, for their assistance in this task.

---oOo---

Don entered the bar and looked around, it took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the lower light levels and spot Ann sitting in the corner booth. He gave her a wave and headed for the bar to get a well-deserved beer.

A couple of minutes later and he crossed the barroom with his cold beer in his hand, taking his time so that he could get a good look at the woman waiting for him. It was the first time he'd seen Ann Sommers in anything but the uniform of the University police and he was pleasantly surprised. Even though she was sitting he could tell that her jeans were skin-tight and the strip of flesh between them and her lumberjack shirt was tanned and firm. As was generally the case these days the shirt was knotted up under her breasts rather than fastened and presented an interesting view down into her cleavage.

Don shook his head slightly as he slid into the booth opposite Ann and made a mental promise to keep his eyes on her face.

"Hi," he said, "how are you doing?"

"So so," she replied, "I'm taking flak from the university administration for their own failure to check up on the woman's credentials before they employed her but that's one they're not going to win. Other than that it's just the usual crap that we take from the students as they suddenly find that mommy and daddy aren't there to keep them in check. How about you?"

"I'm happy to say that it's been pretty quiet so far," he replied before taking a sip of his beer. "No more than the usual number of bodies popping up downtown and all of them have been simple domestic violence cases."

Ann ran her finger around the top of her half full glass, "Have you heard anything from the Feds?"

"Yeah," he said, "they're actually being pretty decent about keeping me informed on what's going on," he took another drink of his beer and relaxed. "It appears that someone using the name of Emily Fulanni was on Alitalia flight AZ611 from JFK to Rome's Leonardo da Vinci airport late on Friday evening. She'd have arrived there early on the Saturday morning. Special agent Fredricks, he's the guy running the case, is getting on to the Italians to see if they can help."

He shrugged, "I doubt if it will do us any good, she'll be long gone by now."

Ann nodded, "At least we'll find out where she went and hopefully who helped her. We can close that pipeline down if nothing else."

Don reached for his beer, "Have you picked up anymore on what it was she's taken?"

It was Ann's turn to shrug, which Don noted peripherally, did interesting things to her chest, "The AI has 'kindly' highlighted the information that was downloaded to that address. By the way we can put the time of death at before midnight on Friday."

Don looked quizzical.

"Prior to that the information down loaded was all to do with terraforming," said Ann, "after that it changed to spacecraft. To be precise it looks like she went through the history of interstellar travel from their equivalent of the Wright brothers all the way to the end."

"I wonder what she was after?" asked Don toying with his beer glass.

"Ship designs," declared Ann authoritatively.

Don frowned in response so Ann continued, "She's probably an Arab rather than Italian," she said. "More than one of our witnesses have described her as appearing to be Jewish so my guess is she's an Arab." She flicked a finger towards the ceiling, "And they are building that ship thing up there, aren't they?"

"Makes sense," said Don after a moments thought. "Just how detailed is the information she's taken?"

"I'm no scientist," said Ann, "but apparently it's the equivalent of taking the blueprints for a ship and having all the development history to go with it. According to the head honcho over in the Engineering Department anyone with a decent engineering base could build one of the Confederacy's ships from the data contained in the system."

"Jesus!" declared Don, "and this stuff is just out there for the taking."

Ann nodded, "Remember how easy it was to find the details for explosives on the net before nine-eleven, well this is the same sort of thing. To the Darjee this is ancient history and as such it's just there, they didn't feel that it needed anything special in the way of protection. When they handed it over to our people we were assured that there was nothing less than ten thousand of our years old in the database."

Ann shrugged, "What everyone seems to forget is just how old this Confederacy thing is." Then she grinned, "Actually, in a peculiar way this woman has done us all a favour."

"She has?" asked Don in surprise.

Ann nodded, "Yeah, it appears that the ivory-tower types didn't realise just how much 'historical' data we'd been given and how useful it could be. They'd just been looking at it as an academic resource and not as a practical guide. The military are going to love some of the toys in there that the Confederacy used to use in the 'old days'."

Don shook his head and drained his beer, "Want another one?" he asked holding up his glass.

Ann looked around, "Not here," she said and Don watched her draw in a deep breath. "Do you fancy going somewhere else?"

Don blinked and slowly a smile graced his face, "I'd love to," he said pushing his empty glass onto the table. "Shall we?" he asked.

Ann turned slightly pink and nodded acceptance before rising to her feet.

No one paid any attention as the two off duty police officers left the bar side by side.

---oOo---

Emira was quietly led into the marina and onto a large motor yacht that was tied up against a pontoon. She had to step around the power and water connections that kept the vessel supplied from the quayside. The marina was a prosperous place and the boat she was boarding didn't look out of place amongst the multi-million dollar yachts that lined the other jetties.

The silent man who'd brought her here gestured for Emira to follow him and slipped through a sliding door in the gleaming white superstructure. As Emira followed the door slid shut and the outside noise nearly disappeared. Her guide opened a door and indicated she should enter, as she passed him he closed the door behind her. From when he approached her at the marina gates until he departed he had said just one word, her name.

The room she was in had twin beds, both made up and enough storage space for a dozen people. She placed her bags on the nearest bed and looked around, her porthole looked across the marina to another row of moored vessels. Other than a flat panel fastened to the wall so that it could be seen by anyone occupying the beds there was nothing else to see.

The only other door in the cabin stood ajar and through the gap she could see it was the bathroom.

The engines roared into life before settling to a steady hum, a noise more felt than heard in the luxurious cabin. The boat started to move and Emira felt a wash of relief pass through her as she 'escaped' from Europe and began the final leg towards home.

They had been underway for half an hour according to her wristwatch before a light tap preceded the opening of her cabin door. A dark skinned, big-busted woman stepped into the room and gave a slight bow, just an inclination of the head really.

"I am Farah," said the woman, her accent indicating that she was one of the Pakistani's who'd been caught up when the Middle East had closed its borders. "The Captain would like to see you now, if you will follow me?"

Although Farah had phrased it as a question she didn't wait for an answer, turning immediately and stepping back out of the cabin. Emira followed, not wanting to get lost before speaking to the man who was in charge of her rescue.

Farah led her to the top of the boat, an open area from which the vessel could be controlled. A man sat behind the wheel, his arms splayed negligently about, behind him was an area made for recreational pleasure. A large bench type seat ran around the edge of the area, inside it was a wooden table with a small lip around the edge, the table was bolted securely to the floor.

Sitting at this table was a man in a white shirt, open at the neck; he casually indicated the far side of the table to Emira and waved Farah towards the man who was driving.

"I am Hazim, I am Captain of this yacht and it is my task to see that you are delivered to your superiors in Lebanon," he said as soon as she was seated. "This yacht is not a fast attack boat or anything like it," he continued, "and so it is going to take us several days to reach our destination."

"During that time you are not to talk to any member of the crew, who doesn't speak to you first," he said and paused.

Emira nodded and he continued, "After dark you will retire to your cabin with Farah and remain there until you are summoned the next day." Again he paused until Emira acknowledged his instruction.

The Captain then waved towards the horizon and Emira followed his arm as it swept around, in doing so she noted several other vessels that were loitering along in a similar manner to their own.

"Out here you will find working boats and rich men's playthings," he said. "We are pretending to be one of those rich men's playthings and that deception is our only defence. You," he stated flatly, "will be expected to help us continue that deception."

Emira frowned across the table and was a little worried at the look the Captain was giving her.

"When you are summoned from your cabin you and the wench will appear topless, like Western sluts and sunbathe either forward," he pointed towards a large sunbathing area towards the front of the yacht, "or on the stern." His arm changed direction and indicated a raised area towards the rear of the boat, "as eye candy for anyone who cares to observe us."

Emira sat there with her mouth open, speechless.

"At no time," continued the Captain ignoring her look, "will you enter or attempt to enter the flybridge, that is this area," he said tapping the table.

When Emira failed to answer Hazim snapped, "Do you understand?"

Still wide-eyed Emira nodded, her voice failing to obey her.

"Good," replied Hazim. "Now get off my bridge and take that whore with you." Without waiting to see if she would obey he stood and crossed to the helmsman and studied the instruments laid out before him.

Farah cringed away from the man and crossed to Emira, helping her to stand and make her way back to her cabin.

---oOo---

"Our mystery woman is in what used to be called the United Arab Emirates," said Don after he'd given Ann a more than friendly kiss of greeting.

"How do you know?" she asked as she stepped back.

"Special agent Fredericks gave me a heads up briefing this morning," said Don taking Ann's arm and leading her towards the diner. "But let's eat first, I'm starving," he declared, "and then I'll tell you all that I know."

They found a table and each took the special of the day, homemade meatloaf with potatoes and gravy. After they placed their order Don proceeded to tell Ann what he had heard concerning the murder of Edward Harlington the Third.

"The Feds got in touch with the Italians and as we suspected there was no sign of the woman anywhere near the airport. When we sent the pictures we had, her ID card image and passport photo they checked them against their CCTV images around the airport."

"It took them a while but they eventually got a match, apparently they assumed she'd leave the airport immediately and couldn't find her. When they did get a match they tracked her from arrival to a public telephone and then to a left luggage locker. The number she dialed was to a small house near to the airport." He looked up, "unsurprisingly it burnt down about an hour after the telephone call and there are no leads concerning the occupants."

He returned to the main thread of his story, "Our woman then stopped at a bistro for the best part of half an hour before leaving the airport and getting a taxi. Where she went then is unknown because the taxi dropped her off at a hotel that had no record of her." He gave Ann a tight smile, "They're checking the hotel's CCTV coverage just to be sure but they figure she walked away to break the chain of her movements. Anyway the next time they picked her up was at the railway station on the Monday morning."

"She took a train to a place called Catanzaro in the south of the country from where she hired a car. The car was eventually found in a place called Marina di Gioiosa Ionica, or something like that but its doors had been forced open and the insides stripped so the Italians doubt if it was left there by our woman."

He paused then as the waitress delivered the two meals and refreshed their cups of coffee.

"Have you any idea how many places there are on a coastline like that where they could have landed a boat?" he asked but didn't wait for an answer. "They must have been pretty convinced about their security though because they didn't sneak her off a beach. They docked at one of the marinas on that coast and she boarded the boat as calm as you like."

"Apparently the Feds have some superb satellite images of a woman who fits the description of our suspect sunbathing on a pretty impressive yacht. She and a female companion spent the transit time laying around on the deck all day," said Don in disgust.

"They landed at a place called Tarabulus on the northern coast of Lebanon after covering twelve hundred miles from Italy at about the time the NSA and the likes got interested enough in her progress to try to do something about it."

"They managed to track her onto a special plane that went directly to Bahrain, after that they lost track of her but we can guess what happened." Don finished his monologue and looked moderately disgusted.

Ann looked at him, "How much of this are we going to be given officially? You know, so that we can close the case, inform the relatives and all that sort of stuff?"

"Probably nothing," said Don honestly, "Though I think my Chief will get a heads up and we'll be allowed to let the case drop. If you're lucky he'll pass the word to your boss."

Ann shook her head, "So that's another one that gets away with murder for political reasons," she declared.

Don nodded, "That's right," he said, "So let's forget about her and do something that's more fun instead."

"I can't right now," said Ann with grin as she rubbed her hand over her uniform covered bust. "I'm on duty at the moment but I'm free in a couple of hours if you're interested in waiting that long?"

"You know I am," said Don, licking his lips theatrically. "I'll pick you up when you get off and we can go somewhere and have a little fun."

Ann giggled like a schoolgirl and blushed as she nodded her agreement.

---oOo---

Ali bin Ahmed bin Saleh Al-Fulani looked around the room, it was as cold and functional as any engineering development workshop would be, without the western 'girlie' calendars to taint its off-white walls. The only break in the bleak white was the triple armoured observation window that overlooked the engine test bay.

And in that test bay was the cause for the tension that currently filled the air. The culmination of eight months of desperate effort, initially to understand what they'd been given and then to build a motor that had first seen the light of day more than one hundred thousand years ago.

That time span boggled the mind and the engine they'd built hadn't been the first FTL capable engine the Confederacy had developed. In fact there were plans on the disks that they'd come into possession of that had a newer engine than the one they were about to test but humans, at least those he had access to, didn't have the skills or the materials to manufacture the thing.

Ali held his sigh in, if he was frustrated how must those who had to deal with these aliens feel, knowing that they weren't giving them everything they had.

He looked around to see if anyone was observing him but they were all to busy at their allotted tasks. When the Darjee presence had been announced he'd been one of the few in the Arab world who'd been thrilled but that had changed as their attitude towards his people had been revealed.

When the reason for their being here was revealed he'd felt a momentary fear, which changed to anger, when he realised that the Bedouin were being left as food for the Swarm.

The decision to close their borders to the outside world and the West in particular had been, he felt, a mistake. They should have tried to negotiate so that those of their young who weren't tainted with the ills of the adult society were allowed a chance to survive. That didn't happen because at heart they were still a tribal people and the tribe looked after its own.

He'd felt sympathy when he'd heard how his friend Osama had allowed his wives to be taken to the West by his business associates, an American and an Englishman in the hope that they would be saved. That the man had been ostracised for doing it was wrong but he wasn't in a position to do anything about it. He was also glad that he didn't have any wives to put pressure on him at this time because deep down he wasn't sure what he would do.

"The area is secure and all systems are green," said a voice over the speakers. "The test will commence in sixty seconds."

"What will we see?" asked the man beside Ali.

Ali turned to Alhasan bin Bahir bin Faris Al-Busaid and replied, "If all goes well, we'll see nothing." Alhasan was the member representing Oman and was the youngest person on the guiding council, which was probably the reason that he'd joined Ali on the spacestation to witness the testing of the engine.

Ali grinned, "However if things go wrong then we really could see some spectacular fireworks."

Alhasan frowned, "Then how will we know if the test is successful?" he asked ignoring Ali's attempt at levity.

"The meters," replied Ali waving towards the various consoles around the room. "We are trying to initiate a hole into hyperspace, the engine initially creates the hole and then as it pushes the ship through hyperspace this becomes a tunnel. Like a worm burrowing through the soil the tunnel collapses behind the ship after it has passed."

That, thought Ali, is about the level of technology that most members of the council will understand. Each of the ruling families had ensured that they had at least one member on the council so that no one could sneak something past them.

Ali indicated the window; "Today we are just attempting to create that first stage." He smiled, "If that is successful then the rest is relatively simple."

"And do you believe that we will be successful?" asked Alhasan.

"Oh, yes," said Ali, "The only thing that I believe would cause us to fail is if the original information was flawed in some way and everything we've been able to check so far has proved to be correct. There is much more available than this relatively old design of engine so I don't think it was a plant."

He paused as the speakers began the final countdown, "Either way we'll know in five seconds," he said and turned his attention to the window.

"Four... Three... Two... One... Ignition..."

Nothing appeared to happen and Alhasan looked towards Ali but Ali was concentrating on one man who was watching two large display screens.

The man rocked back and almost yelled, "Displacement, I've got a displacement bubble..."

That was enough for Ali, he grinned and turned to Alhasan, "You may inform the council that we have been successful, the Salah al-Din will be a faster than light ship."

---oOo---

On the flagship of the Confederacy's Task Force Earth everything was quiet, as it had been ever since they'd established themselves in orbit. The routine was only broken by the regular arrival and departure of the colonisation ships and with them the hopes for the survival of the human race. The only excitement the Task Force could look forward to was the arrival of the Sa'arm, something that nobody on board any of the vessels wanted to hurry along and that in reality wasn't expected for several more years.

As was normal aboard military vessels whether in space or on water a look out was kept, just in case something occurred and today was to prove that that was a good stance to adopt.

A low ping and a change in a display alerted a sensor technician to a change occurring outside the vessel. He studied his screens for a moment before his frown deepened; he consulted the ship's AI, which took a moment longer and then depressed a call stud located between his, and the adjacent sensor station.

The officer of the watch sauntered over to sensor technician and asked casually, "Got a problem?"

"No, Sir," replied the technician, "It's just that I've got a hyperspace transient just here," he said indicate a spot on his display.

"So?" said the duty officer staring at the screen, he was a weapons systems man and couldn't make out the relevance of the technician's screen.

"That's where the Arab space ship is being built," said the technician, clarifying the point.

"Oh," said the officer and then scratched his head. "I take it that there is nothing of ours in that area?"

"Not a thing, Sir," replied the technician with just a hint of scorn creeping into his voice.

"Uhmm," said the officer as he tried to decide if this was worth passing up the chain of command.

"The strange thing is," said the technician, "that the AI identified it as a L'Chekt engine rather than one of ours."

"What is a L'Chekt engine?" asked the officer, his frustration showing.

The technician gave the officer a smug look, as though he'd known all along rather than having checked it out only a minute ago. "It's an old, as in a hundred thousand years old hyperspace engine that the Confederacy no longer uses."

The officer's eyes went wide, "Thanks," he muttered and all but ran to his desk.

He hunted around for a moment, looking for a copy of the standard operating procedures manual and then thought better of it.

"Get me the Admiral or his deputy," he said, speaking to the AI.

"Admiral Hargreaves is not available at this time, Captain Haaraldsson will take your call," announced the AI.

"Sir, It's Captain Philips, I'm duty watch officer and we've just had an event on the Arab ship," said the watch officer, his fingers crossing as he hoped he wasn't jumping too soon.

"What sort of event?" asked the voice in his head.

"We've just detected a hyperspace transient from that location," reported the watch officer. "The AI has identified it as an old style hyperdrive."

"Definitely not one of ours?" asked the voice.

"That's correct, Sir. All of our vessels are accounted for."

"Keep watching them," said the voice, "I'll speak with the Admiral. If we need anything we'll get back to you."

The young officer sighed with relief as the connection broke. On the other side of the ship Tors Haaraldsson crossed to his sideboard and pored himself a scotch. It looked like the Intel weenies had been right, the Arabs had got the information, and the question now was what did the Confederacy want to do about it?

He was glad that he was going to be able to pass this one on, it was a political decision not a military one, though he suspected that the military might get involved in things later.

---oOo---

Shortly after the alert Tors Haaraldsson was seated in his office talking to his ship's AI.

"What we need here," he said, "Is for the official position of the Confederacy and the Darjee to be clarified concerning possible expansion out of the Sol system by the human race. As you know it appears that a portion of Earth's population that was originally being excluded from the extraction process has now gained access to a faster than light propulsion system. There is a strong possibility that they will fit this drive system to a ship they have in construction at this time, this will almost guarantee that they will be successful in reaching a colony world."

He glanced towards the silent ceiling and sighed, "Do we let them go or should we stop them?"

The AI responded, "What methods would be employed preventing this potential expansion?"

Tors rolled his eyes, the answer to that should be obvious. "We will attempt to persuade them by diplomatic means to desist. However, going on the past performance of diplomacy with these people and the reports concerning the current state of things within their power block I believe that we would have to use physical force if we wished to stop them."

'There,' thought Tors, 'see how you like that?'

There was silence for some time and Tors wondered if the AI was consulting with a higher authority as he sat there waiting for a response. When the response came he found he was scowling at thin air.

"Neither the Confederacy or your allies the Darjee can condone the use of force against a sentient being in the pursuit of its normal activities. The urge to survive and propagate is considered to be both normal and to be encouraged in most cases," said the AI. "However given the state of development of the people who are attempting to leave the planet we strongly urge that you use all means within your power to have them reconsider their decision."

Tors rolled his eyes, as he had expected the answer was no help in solving his dilemma at all. Almost facetiously he asked; "Would it be acceptable to arrange for the ship to have an accident?"

The AI didn't hesitate as it responded, "Whilst you may feel that that is an acceptable option your allies would look upon such an event in the most unfavourable of lights. Such distaste could impinge on the delivery of systems already discussed or the delay in setting up of colony worlds."

Tors was shocked, he'd had all the psychological indoctrination concerning the Darjee and Confederacy attitude towards violence but this was ridiculous. Talk about chopping off your nose to spite your face!

"I will pass your thoughts on and we will see what can be done to dissuade the people in question from going ahead with their expedition," said Tors. "You may want to consider what contingency plans you can put in place just in case we are unsuccessful in our attempts."

Tors stood and headed for the door, this was a problem for the Admiral and the rest of the hierarchy and for once he was glad he was able to pass the buck.

---oOo---

In the Middle East, following the withdrawal behind their borders the society had fallen back on older, more tribal ways. The fledgling signs of democracy, whether self generated such as was the case in places like Jordan or produced by external force, like they had been in Iraq faded quickly from memory.

Officially the new super-state was led by a council made up of all of the old national rulers, but in effect the King of what had been Saudi Arabia did as he pleased. Around him the other leaders jockeyed for position and favouritism.

The two most powerful figures after the King were the Supreme Leader of Iran, Grand Ayatollah Ruhollah Khamenei, who was effectively the Secretary for the Interior and The Emir of Kuwait, who was the Secretary for the Exterior.

Ahmed Al-Sabah Al-Ahmad Al-Sabah, Emir of Kuwait was summoned to appear before the United Nations but declined, stating health reasons for his failure to appear. No one believed him, especially after the British Broadcasting Corporation was able to obtain a film of him playing polo.

Angela Thoko Zuma was a South African who held the position of Secretary-General at the United Nations having succeeded Ban Ki-moon shortly after the Darjee announced their presence. She flew with a suitable escort to Egypt and asked if it would be possible for the Emir to meet her there. The Emir, seeing her presence on Arab soil as a victory, acquiesced to the request.

The Emir entered a spacious suite in the presidential palace accompanied by two members of his security entourage; the remainder of his party had stopped outside. Before him was a tall woman, over six foot without the heels she was wearing, her skin a deep chocolate brown and her eyes just as brown but bright, reflecting her intelligence.

The Emir came to a halt before her and gave a short genuflection, the merest hint that she held status, even though she was only a woman. In his mind she had gained the position more because of the power of her parents in South African politics than because of any ability she might have.

The woman tilted her head to one side and the trace of a smile graced her lips before she turned her attention to the two men who'd accompanied the Emir.

"You may leave," she stated clearly, she placed her hand on her own escort, "Peter will escort you and remain with you.

All three of the bodyguards froze, none of them prepared for such an order. The Emir raised a single eyebrow and looked at his host. She returned his look in silence, leaving the decision to him.

He frowned but signalled to his men to withdraw. The two bodyguards bowed before stepping backwards, Peter managed to keep his face in check but his shoulders were rigid as he followed the two Arabs towards the door.

The Emir and the Secretary-General remained still until they were alone and a quiet click indicated that they had privacy.

Angela Zuma indicated a small seating area and smiling moved towards it, she was careful not to touch the Emir but neither did she show any signs of excessive deference.

The two sat comfortably, the Emir in the long white robes of a desert Arab and the Secretary-General in a power suit, the short skirt exposing her legs in a way that no Muslim woman would.

The Emir couldn't hold back, an unusual occurrence for a man who'd grown into his role as an international diplomat.

"Go on then," he said, "make your demands!" His tone was aggressive, it was the attitude of a man who had been pushed around and was now in a position to stare down the bully.

"We have no demands," responded Angela Zuma calmly, "We have a request and an offer to help things along," she finished.

Ahmed shook his head, "We will not stop," he said, "Nothing you can offer will change that."

Angela continued to smile gently, "The Security Council has been meeting to prepare a list of sanctions against you but you know as well as I do that they will be effectively useless even if your Russian friends don't veto them. Any other threat would be ignored with the possible exception of physical invasion and, in the opinion of the military men, that is not within the capabilities of the United Nations at this time."

Angela's smile deepened, her brilliant white teeth lighting up her face, "As I said, I'm not here to make threats that are just so much empty air. What I am here to do is offer to mediate on your behalf with the Confederacy, to get you what you want in a safer, more sustainable way than you can achieve on your own."

The Emir frowned but remained silent, waiting for the Secretary-General to continue.

"The Confederacy, through the Darjee, were the people who set the standards for human colonists. I know that your propaganda machine has been trying to discredit this but it is a simple statement of fact. They have an issue with, to use their terms, 'uncivilised' people spreading through the galaxy. They have admitted, through the AIs, that they have taken steps in the past to deny various civilisations access to interstellar space." Angela shrugged, "They are not making threats but their past performance needs to be borne in mind when making decisions."

"Now you are going to hear a bit of supposition on my part," admitted Angela. "This is based on the best intelligence feed we can get from within the Confederacy and on something which has not become public knowledge yet."

She shuffled slightly, moving forward in her chair and inadvertently, or not, displaying more of her long legs.

"As we speak the Confederacy is building a new class of colony ship, they're calling them Cube ships. Each of these vessels is capable of processing a quarter of a million people at a time and more importantly for you and your people they are going to be used to pick up entire facilities, research departments and the like. When they do this they will take everyone within that facility regardless of their CAP score." Angela leant back and eased the tension in her shoulders; "The Middle East has some of the best research facilities in the world, especially in the sort of technologies that will make colony worlds more habitable. Work with me on this matter and I will put all of my resources into ensuring that your facilities are amongst the first to be collected."

Ahmed managed to move his gaze from the woman's legs, realising that despite his initial thoughts she was a woman who knew how to use her body as well as her mind. "You would be able to guarantee our inclusion?"

"Guarantee, no," she admitted, "but I would be putting all of my efforts into gaining your acceptance. Doing it this way you would become part of the greater human community, rather than something that was considered to be outside the fold."

The Emir shook his head slowly, "We have seen how the Confederacy deals with our people and we do not trust their words, even when spoken by someone as honest as you," he said. "We will go our own way, with or without your help."

Angela bowed her head; "I will report your words to the general assembly and see if we can find a compromise that will satisfy all parties." She rose sedately to her feet and held out her hand, "I didn't really expect you to agree," she said, "Let me wish you the best of luck, and may your God guide you and your people."

Ahmed accepted her hand and bowed, a genuine sign of respect, before turning and walking slowly towards the door. Before he opened the door he turned back, "Are you safe?"

"My CAP score is high enough but I've not been guaranteed a place," she replied, "and to be honest I'm not sure if I can leave this beautiful planet whilst there is still hope for it."

The Emir nodded once and then turned for a final time.

---oOo---

Katib bin Ali bin Ahmed Al-Fulani stepped from the taxi and looked at his father's home. It wasn't the place he'd grown up in but it indicated how well his father was doing under the new regime. He bowed his head and admonished himself for allowing his thoughts to stray, 'keep your mind on what's happening you fool,' he thought.

The front door opened as he approached and Fatima, the family housekeeper smiled in welcome. "Welcome son of the house," she began formally but Katib was having none of it. Fatima had been his nurse twenty something years ago when he was a child.

He swept her up in his powerful arms and gave her a hug, "How is my favourite woman then?" he asked.

"Put me down you oaf," she said as she pummelled him with her small fists. "Is this any way for such a distinguished man to speak to an old woman?"

"Now why would you consider me distinguished?" he asked as he lowered the mature woman to the floor.

"Let�s see," she said as she guided him into the house. "You are the youngest man to command a ship in the Navy and everyone tells me how good you are at it. You've volunteered to go on the spaceship your father is building for the people and more importantly," she said, "you are so handsome!" She jumped away from him with a huge smile on her face.

Katib swung a playful arm in her direction, "Fatima, are you still trying to marry me off?"

"Don't you think it is about time that you settled down?" she asked, her demeanour becoming serious. "You're no longer a young man anymore, you're nearly thirty and regardless how they do it in the infidel West," she said, "you should have found at least one wife by now."

It was an old story and one that Fatima never missed an opportunity to remind him of. She blamed the time he had spent in the West, predominantly in England, for his attitude towards marriage. He didn't tell her but he tended to agree with her, he'd absorbed the way the majority of British Naval officers didn't consider marriage to be something to be undertaken until they were ready to command their first ship. He may have gotten there early but with most of his brother officers looking for careers in the Army or the Air Force he was under no pressure from his peers to get wed.

He grinned at the housekeeper, "Well, are you going to marry me?" he asked.

"Don't be silly," she snapped, "I'm too old for you and you know it."

He slipped an arm around Fatima, "It will happen one day, Nursie," he said reverting to his childhood name for her, "but I just don't have the time for women at the moment."

She returned his hug but didn't look convinced. "Well, you make sure that you make the time soon," she admonished. "Now come through here. Your father is waiting for you."

As Katib entered his father's study the older man moved forward, embracing his son and kissing him on the cheeks, "May the blessing of His Name descend upon you."

"Salaam," replied Katib before he stepped back from his father's embrace, "Why did you summon me here, Father?" he asked.

Ali returned to his desk, "I have an announcement to make and also some good news for you," said Katib's father as he sat behind his desk.

Katib looked at his father for a moment in silence and then crossed to the chair before his desk, "So what comes first?" he asked, "the announcement or the good news."

"The announcement," replied his father. He grinned at his son, "You, my first born, have been picked to command the Salah al-Din, you take up the position immediately."

As Ali looked on Katib blinked and then straightened up in his chair, "On merit?" he asked.

"On merit," relied his father, "I had no say in who was picked for the position but when Bahir told us whom they'd decided on I was given permission to break the news to you."

"Then I am deeply honoured," said Katib and internally he was, he could feel his very focus changing as he sat there. He was no longer a Naval Captain but the leader of his very people as they struggled to survive. In his mind he made a promise before Allah to his father that he would not fall short in this task, he would carry his father's legacy through to completion.

"The good news," said Ali, breaking into his son's thoughts, "is that we've managed to build a hyperdrive."

"Hyperdrive!" gasped Katib, half rising from his seat. "How is this possible?"

"We were lucky," admitted Ali, "but once we had the luck we worked hard."

"You're sure it's real, not just some Infidel trick to thwart us?" demanded Katib.

"It was tested a month ago," said Ali. "I was there and saw with my own eyes how the test went." Ali stared at his son with bright eyes, "Your ship will travel in hyperspace and you will carry the people to the stars."

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, one of them absorbing how his life had change drastically over the last five minutes, the other watching his son wrestle with such an unexpected turn of events.

Katib's eyes came back into focus, "How fast will it go?" he asked suddenly.

"Compared with the current ships in the Confederacy fleet it will be like a snail," admitted Ali, "but for you it will be a hundred fold faster."

Katib cocked his head to the side, trying to understand his father's description.

Ali saw the look and paused for a moment. "They've confirmed that they are going with my recommendations concerning the system you will be travelling to. It's a place called Escardis and in the original course of things it would have taken you a hundred years or so to reach it, you'd have been commanding a true generational ship. Now, with the drive we've got it is going to take you twelve months to get there, a single year."

A smile graced Katib's face, "So what happens now?" he asked.

"A lot of hard work," replied his father, "Initially you will need to learn about the ship you will be commanding and that means going up into space. After that comes the selection and training of the crew, which thankfully is no longer such a hard task."

Katib looked quizzical.

His father shrugged, "We originally thought that we would need a teacher for every job, how else were the young going to learn how to operate the ship in forty, fifty, sixty years time."

Katib nodded and his father continued.

"We estimate it is going to take is take us six months to build and test the required engines and get them fitted to your ship," said Ali and Katib smiled, 'his ship', he liked the sound of that.

"To keep the Westerners and the Confederacy in the dark we are planning for you to leave at the beginning of Ramadan."

"Ramadan!" exclaimed Katib, "But..."

Ali lowered his eyes, "It has been decided," he stated firmly. "The Prophet, praise be unto him, will surely understand our need."

Katib lowered his eyes in turn, 'seven and half months' he thought, 'seven and a half months and we'll be away!'

---oOo---

The meeting was informal and to a certain extent secret, more because of what was being discussed rather than whom was present.

Ali Al-Fulani had been questioned concerning the status of the project and had assured those there that all was well; his final comment concerned the crew.

"The men are as ready as they can be without actually moving the ship," he declared. "If there are no objections we will schedule a short shakedown cruise for the middle of next week," he looked around and caught the eye of everyone there.

When no one objected he raised the next matter, "We will then be ready to depart on time," again he glanced around, "which means that we need to begin transferring the rest of the colonists to the ship seven days after it returns."

"Seven days?" asked Falah bin Mubarak Al Nahyan, the council member for Abu Dhabi. "Why does it need to be that soon?"

"It takes time to get the people up to the vessel and then arrange for them to be properly looked after," replied Ali. "If we wish to meet our departure date then we need to begin the loading procedure by then to allow for any contingencies."

"What sort of contingencies?" asked Falah suspiciously.

Ali couldn't refrain from looking heavenwards before he answered. "The shuttles may break down, we may suffer unusually bad weather at the launch sites, it may take longer to carry out each transfer as we've never done it for real, these and many more things may cause the schedule to slip."

Bahir stepped in before Falah could raise any more questions, "Then we need to confirm the female side of the operation," he said. "It has been decided to recruit enough women so that each of the men may take the maximum permitted number of wives. Each man will therefore be responsible for four women, if he should decide not to take one of them as a wife he will be required to treat her as a sister and provide for her as is laid down in the Holy Book."

"After careful consideration it has been decided to choose the women based on their abilities rather than anything else." Bahir looked around the small group and smiled a little grimly, "This will impact on the quality of women available for those men who remain but it will be better for our people in long run.

"It is also the reason that you gentlemen are here today," he said.

"It is intended that we will take the women from four different establishments," He indicated the first man to his left, "Zubair bin Isa bin Abbud Al-Khalifa will organise the collection of women from the University of Bahrain."

"You, Falah," he continued indicating the member who had been questioning Ali, "will be collecting your women from the Abu Dhabi Women's College,"

"In a similar vein," Bahir said, "Mohammed bin Maktoum Al Maktoum will be taking his women from the Dubai Medical College for Girls."

He then turned to the only man in the room who wasn't a Muslim, "George will be obtaining his women from the Beirut Arab University."

Falah scowled, "Why does he get..." he began but fell silent when Bahir slammed his fist down on his desk.

"This has been decided!" he yelled, "It is the best for all to have as many different bloodlines as possible present in our new colony. Lebanon is a part of our world here and it will be part of our world there. Lebanon will provide us with people and you will accept this!"

As he'd railed, he'd risen to his feet and was leaning over the cowed man, spittle flying in all directions. Into the deathly silence that accompanied the end of his outburst he asked slowly, "Do you understand?"

Falah nodded once in acceptance, he didn't look happy but didn't dare to speak out against Bahir.

"Then this meeting is finished," declared Bahir turning away.

The five men rose and exited the room silently. As they walked away Ali placed his hand on George Jammal's sleeve, delaying his exit.

"I was not a party to the discussions concerning the women," said Ali "but we have a population in which the men outnumber the women by nearly two to one." He looked puzzled, "Why is it that each man who is going gets to take four women with him?"

George shrugged, "How else are we going to produce enough of our brethren to counter the success of the Western Crusade?"

Ali looked on in surprise as George walked out into the sunlight towards his waiting limousine.

"How indeed?"asked Ali quietly.

---oOo---

Once again a low ping alerted the duty sensor technician to a change occurring in his sphere of responsibility. As luck would have it the duty crew were the same people who'd been on watch when the Arabs had tested their FTL drive.

The technician glanced across the displays and didn't bother checking with the AI, the signature before him was of a ship he'd been watching since it was just a pile of metal floating in space.

"Sir," he called, "The Saladin has just dropped back into normal space."

Captain Philips, the officer of the watch moved quickly to the technician's station, "Is the Oswestry Castle with her?"

"Not yet," replied the technician.

"I wonder..." began the officer before another ping interrupted his thoughts.

"There she is, Sir," said the technician before the officer could ask.

"Right, I'll inform the Admiral, you see to getting the data dump from the Castle," said the officer as he turned away.

A week before there had been consternation in this very room when the Saladin had gently eased away from the platform that had acted as her space dock and set off for the outer reaches of the solar system. The only vessel that had been anywhere near ready for instant deployment had been the Castle class corvette the Oswestry Castle.

Orders had been flashed to her to pursue and observe the new ship and to report back immediately they returned to the Earth's system. The flagship had watched as the small Confederacy ship chased after its larger prey and fell in behind and to one side. Neither ship exchanged any signals and far beyond the orbit of Pluto the two ships jumped into hyperspace.

Johan Metcalf, the Captain of the Oswestry Castle knew that the Admiral would want to know everything the Saladin had done since its departure and he'd want to know immediately. To ensure that he and his ship didn't attract the ire of their commander he'd been keeping a running log of the trip's events. It included all of the performance data they'd managed to obtain along with their observations and suppositions.

All of this was on a data file that was sent directly to the flagship as soon as they dropped out of hyperspace.

The Captain looked across to his Exec and made a gesture of wiping his brow, "Hopefully that will get us out of this babysitting job and the Admiral can turn his attention to someone else."

"Hopefully," replied the Exec, "but we'd better ask for orders just in case they want us to stick with that barge."

The 'Barge' was an apt description for the Saladin. She was physically big, as large as the biggest of the colony ships the Confederacy was currently using to evacuate the Earth. But she was slow and appeared to handle like one of the old oil tankers, taking forever to change direction or come to a halt.

The Oswestry Castle, one of the smallest ships in the Confederacy Navy would have been able to run rings around her and if it came to a race the Saladin would have barely left the starting blocks before the Castle had arrived at their destination no matter how far away it was in human space.

All that being said the ship had done what it had set out to do, it could enter hyperspace and once there travel at a relative speed greater than that of light, it could then return safely to normal space and repeat the manoeuvre as required.

The Admiral viewed the summary of Captain Metcalf's report and sighed. Tors Haaraldsson watched on and wondered how the Admiral was going to take the news.

The Admiral glanced at his closest confidant and raised an eyebrow, "Anything you want to add?" he asked.

Tors shook his head negatively. "This is one of those times when I'm glad you're the Admiral," he replied.

The Admiral glanced at the printout in his hand and scowled at it. "All right, get this piece of good news off to the High Command and a copy of it down to the United Nations." He looked up, "Ask them what they want me to do about the situation?"

---oOo---

Ali Al-Fulani finished reading the report his son had provided for him and gave a short self-satisfied nod as he closed the cover and dropped it back onto his desk. Salah al-Din did as they'd hoped, as the information they'd stolen had said it would and now they, as a people, were ready to take their rightful place amongst the stars.

Ali reached for the telephone on the corner of his desk and hit the red coloured speed dial button and waited as the machine cycled through the number. This line was automatically encrypted and was claimed to be secure, just how secure against the workings of the likes of the American CIA was in doubt, thought Ali as he waited. Against the power of the AIs that the Confederacy had it would be worse than talking in plain language, the encryption would flag the message as something important.

"Bahir," announced the electronic voice in his earpiece.

"The test was a success," reported Ali, "I've gone through the final report just now and can confirm that we are ready to begin loading the passengers."

"I will inform Mohammed Al Maktoum of the good news," said Bahir. "You will receive the first batch of women for transfer to the ship in two days time."

"We'll be ready," replied Ali mentally crossing his fingers that nothing would go wrong.

The phone went dead without any leave taking and Ali stared at it for a moment before returning it to the cradle with a shake of the head. Bahir was a fundamentalist and he had no time to spend on the pleasantries of life that smoothed the way for others.

Ali closed his eyes for the briefest span of time, his breathing deep and slow as he contemplated his options, a contemplation that had really already been done long before now. He drew in a deep cleansing breath, his head rising and his eyes opening. "It's time," he murmured before reaching for the phone once more.

This time he dialled a number from memory before placing the handset onto an old-fashioned acoustic modem cradle he carried in his brief case. He quickly attached a small headset to his ear, the microphone boom finishing a bare centimetre from his mouth.

Patiently he waited for the call to be answered and after the greeting he pressed the play button on the mp3 player he'd personally built into the old modem. Remaining silent he listened to the first two sentences of a pre-arranged conversation before he began to speak.

"Salah al-Din has commenced," he said softly, "Execute Doppelganger as agreed."

Within his briefcase the electronics carefully digitised his voice, the resulting file was compressed before being squirted down the phone line towards the waiting receiver. The only part of the conversation that was of any importance lasted less than a tenth of a second. The squawk it made as it passed was indistinguishable to the human ear from the background noise already on the line. If Legion security wasn't monitoring his line with a computer than they'd never spot the transmission, if they were he was dead.

Ali sat there listening with one ear as the conversation continued, slowly rotating his neck to ease the tension he was feeling.

"May Allah protect you my friend," he said softly as the conversation ended and the line went dead.

---oOo---

Mohammed bin Maktoum Al Maktoum stepped out of the Toyota Landcruiser and stared at the modern glass fronted building that housed the lecture theatre of the Rashid Hospital. Ten air-conditioned coaches pulled into the parking lot behind him and lined up so that they could depart with ease.

Four desert camouflaged Army trucks pulled into the lot behind them. As soon as they halted soldiers spilled out of the back of them and began lining up under their leaders.

Although Bahir had ordered Mohammed to take his women from the Dubai Medical College for Girls he'd decided that he needed to do things differently. The medical college was the ideal starting place as it emphasised the true faith along with its academic excellence but it was small, only taking fifty students a year for its five-year course.

If the others were going to be collecting more women, Mohammed didn't want his people to be in the minority and as he was the first to send his to the Salah al-Din he was going to make sure that he got his fair share.

The Department of Health and Medical Services provided teaching facilities for the Girls school so he intended to interrupt one of their lectures and take all of the women present with him, whether they were from the Girls school or not. The lecture theatre here held five hundred people when it was full and he fully expected to be able to collect at least four hundred women. His associates were already at the Girls school collecting those students who weren't present here.

Mohammed smiled as he crossed the tarmac towards the entrance, the soldiers falling in behind him. Dubai would not be slighted if he could possibly help it.

The main doors crashed open and the lecture theatre fell silent as all eyes turned towards the tall man striding towards the podium. The professor already in that position opened his mouth to say something and then fell silent as the first of the soldiers followed the man into the room and took up a position beside the door.

"If you would be so kind," said Mohammed; his arm indicating to the professor that he wanted him to move.

"Of course," muttered the professor as he stepped to the side.

Mohammed moved behind the lectern and turned to face the audience. He was pleased to see that the room was full but that didn't last long as he realised that some of the audience was male.

"Gentlemen," he announced, "this does not concern you so I will ask you to kindly make your way to the front of the hall and exit by the open doors."

Nobody moved and Mohammed sighed audibly before waving towards the open doors. Another squad of soldiers entered the room and arrayed themselves before the audience.

"Gentlemen," called Mohammed, "If you would please leave the room."

This time there was a flurry of activity as those near the front rose to their feet and headed for the doors. Behind them the speed of compliance was less but no one appeared to be in the mood to resist when the threat presented by the military was obvious.

Mohammed did a quick mental count as the men filed out and came up with the figure of three hundred. Allowing for the fact that there would be a total of fifty women split between two classes from the Girls school in this audience it meant that he'd just acquired a further two hundred and fifty women for the Salah al-Din.

All of the women were staring at him as the last of the male students left the hall, Mohammed returned their gaze in silence.

"We are here to take you to a place of safety," he began and then had to pause as the audience gasped. "There you will be joined by many of your sisters over the next few days. I cannot explain the details of why this is necessary but you can rest assured that we are doing this because it is for the best."

He glanced at the young Army officer by the door, "You will be taken from here in coaches that are outside and will be taken directly to the airport. There you will board an aircraft bound for a secret destination," he looked around once more. "After you arrive at that destination your details will be taken and this will allow us to inform your families as soon as possible as to your whereabouts. We hope that you will be able to speak to them shortly after that but that will depend upon circumstances at the time."

He looked across his audience and was greeted by looks ranging from shock to confusion but there were no signs of resistance. He managed to hold in his stern look though his heart soared with joy, once the women were on the coaches his problems were over.

"File out in an orderly manner and follow the soldiers to the coaches," he ordered.

"Wait!"

Mohammed swung his gaze to where the voice was and frowned.

"Uncle, why hasn't my father said anything of this danger your refer too?" asked a tall girl.

"Hanifah," responded Mohammed cursing himself for forgetting that his niece, the Sheikh's youngest daughter was a student within the hospital. "It was essential that things continued as normally as possible," he said, "and your father agreed that informing you of the details would create a bit of a stir." He looked the young woman in the eye and asked, "Don't you agree?"

Hanifah lowered her eyes under the older man's gaze, she was well known for being subject to emotional outbursts. Learning that she and her fellow students were under threat would, she had to agree, have led to such an outburst.

Mohammed decided on the spot that he would use the young woman's position to further his aims. "We will be transferring you and the rest of these students to a place of safety outside of the Persian Gulf. You will be joined there by students from Bahrain, Abu Dhabi and Beirut."

He glanced across the whole audience, "Things will be difficult and you will suffer a little but it is the best that we can manage given the circumstances." He returned his eyes to Hanifah, "I hope that you and a few of the other, more experienced women, will act as a liaison between the students and those who are assisting in this venture."

He paused and waited until Hanifah gave a short nod of agreement.

"Thank you," he said. "If you will collect your belongings and lead the way."

Hanifah picked up her sports bag and placed her notes in it before slowly walking down to the front of the hall; behind her the other students slowly collected their things together and followed her out of the hall.

Mohammed remained behind the lectern until the last of the students walked out of the door. As the room emptied he let out a huge sigh of relief that everything had gone so well, relaxed he turned to follow the girls out into the sunlight.

---oOo---

The Emirates A380 rolled to a halt beside the large hanger its engines spooling down immediately. Outside the aircraft mobile stairways approached the various exit doors and soldiers from the Arab Legion established a cordon around the aircraft.

On board the aircraft curious and in many cases worried young women looked through the windows as preparations for them were made.

Not all of the six hundred and forty-four seats were occupied which had given them a little room to move around on the four-hour flight they'd just made. Still legs ached and more than one of the girls had shed tears as they contemplated their fate.

The cabin crew had been very unhelpful when questioned. Hanifah had thought they were being deliberately obstructive until she'd confronted the senior stewardess. To her surprise she discovered that the cabin crew knew no more about where they were going and why than she did herself. They'd been called in this morning and been given instructions to prepare for a flight but the destination and the passengers were not specified.

Hanifah looked out of the window and frowned, wherever they were it wasn't anywhere she'd call civilised that was for sure.

The forward door opened and a man with the insignia of a Major stepped in. He looked across the crowded cabin and blinked before spotting one of the stewardesses, "Microphone?" he requested.

The stewardess reached past him and took a telephone handset from the wall and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he responded. He scanned a piece of paper he carried aboard and began speaking.

"Ladies, I am Major Abbud Al-Thani and I am here to guide you through the next step of your journey." He looked up and smiled at the women who were all watching him silently. "As you've no doubt noticed there is a large building nearby, inside you will find food and drink and a place to rest. We will be taking you off in small groups so that we can process your details, feed you and allocate a bed space."

He looked up from his paper again, "Unfortunately this is going to take us quite some time so I'd suggest that you relax where you are until you are called forward. We will endeavour to get this task accomplished as quickly as possible."

He handed the handset back to the stewardess and asked, "Where is Hanifah Al Maktoum?"

The stewardess took the handset and indicated the first of the business class seats. Hanifah watched the Major approach and rose to her feet, unwilling to meet the man at a disadvantage.

"Your Highness," he began, "If you will come this way and bring the first twenty of the ladies with you, we will get you settled."

Although he'd been polite the Major turned away without waiting for Hanifah to respond. Left hanging like that she had the choice of appearing childish or doing as the man asked.

She looked around and waved to the group who occupied the first three rows of seats, "Shall we go ladies?" she asked before following the Major towards the door.

The walk across the apron demonstrated just how remote the location was, the women could just see a range of hills on the horizon but there was nothing else in sight. The hanger they were walking towards masked the only other buildings that were within range.

The soldiers lining the route they followed were members of the Arab Legion. That was a title that had once been the name of the Royal Jordanian Army but with the closing of the borders to the outside world it was the designation that the Arab world had taken for its military forces.

The party entered the hanger and was confronted by rows of desks with soldiers sitting behind them. The Major waited until all of the women had entered the hanger and the door was closed.

"Here is where we will take your details so that we can inform your families of what is happening," he said. "I want each of you to go to a desk and answer the questions that you are asked." He looked at the group and said sternly, "Some of the questions concern your medical history, it is essential that you answer these truthfully."

"After you've finished this stage you will make your way through the blue door," he pointed to a door on the far wall, "where you will be given a small drink. This contains an antibiotic as well as various other compounds."

He grinned at the women, "You'll no doubt know more about that sort of thing than I do." A couple of the women chuckled and most managed to raise a smile, "Please drink it when it is offered to you," he continued, "and then move through to the final area where you will be fed and shown where you can rest."

He nodded towards Hanifah, "If you will lead the way, your Highness."

As Hanifah headed for the waiting clerks Major Al-Thani managed to suppress the urge to snort, antibiotics indeed. What it really was, was a sedative and it was intended to make all of the women easier to manage when they discovered they were leaving earth.

He watched as the women talked to his soldiers and as the last of them stood to leave he headed back out onto the apron and the remainder of the waiting women. As he'd said, this was going to take some time but none of them had anywhere else to go.

---oOo---

Emira bint Faris bin Saleh Al-Fulani lowered her eyes as the man in the uniform of a Brigadier entered her room, unconsciously her hand checked to see that her niqab, the veil Westerners were so scared of was in place.

As she waited for the man to speak she contemplated the last few months of her existence, that's right she thought silently, existence. Ever since she'd returned from the West she'd been effectively a prisoner of the intelligence service.

The aircraft that had picked her up in Lebanon had carried her east to Bahrain without any fuss or fanfare. On arrival she'd been relieved of the disks and the associated disk drive that she'd carried and had been escorted to the headquarters of something called Project Salah al-Din. There the head of the Arab Legion Intelligence Service had congratulated her on her performance and ordered her to take time to relax and, in his words, 'recover her soul.'

If she'd realised what he meant by 'recover her soul' she'd have run immediately. As it was she'd endured weeks of prayer and lectures under the guidance of the strictest of Hojatoleslam and only the experience she'd gained in living two separate lives in one body had kept her sane under the onslaught.

Deep down her mind rebelled against the strictures the current regime placed on women. Before the coming of the Swarm women had been making great inroads into the work place, taking jobs of all kinds and at all levels. Only the backward looking places like Iran and Saudi Arabia had tried to curtail progress.

Now these barbarians were ruling the roost and wanted to take things back to the dark ages, all in the name of the Prophet, praise be unto Him.

"Emira, we are very pleased with the devotion and fortitude you have shown," began the Brigadier, "and it has been decided that you have earned a reward."

Emira nearly looked up in surprise, the only reward she'd come to expect was death.

"Project Salah al-Din is a means to carry our people to the stars," continued the man who'd never given her his name, "and it will be leaving shortly. For your part in making it possible it has been decided that you will be given one of the first places for women on this craft."

This time Emira did lift her eyes and found that the Brigadier was smiling at her like a benign father. "You will be leaving us immediately and will be transferred directly to the ship in orbit. The Captain, a man by the name of Katib Al-Fulani will be expecting you."

Emira allowed a smile to grace her lips before she lowered her gaze. Then she scowled, certain in her own mind that no opportunity to escape would be allowed to present itself and equally certain that she was going to her death.

"Thank you, sir," she responded carefully, afraid of what the man would do if she allowed herself to act upon her feelings.

"Captain," called the Brigadier loudly and the door to her room opened. "Miss Al-Fulani will accompany you now."

"Do I need..." began Emira, trying to buy some time.

"No!" snapped the Brigadier, "everything you will need is already there."

Lowering her head and more certain than ever that she was going to her execution Emira rose to her feet and walked slowly towards the door. The lower half of a man in uniform came into view as she passed the doorway.

"Please follow me," said a voice and the man walked off.

Emira followed him down a corridor, through several sets of doors and without any warning out into the bright sunlight. She stopped and closed her eyes, giving them a chance to adjust. When she opened them she found that the soldier had waited for her.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you," she replied.

"The car that is to take you to the airport is this way," he said and began walking again.

A car came into view and Emira began to hope that maybe she would live a little longer.

The journey to the airport was short and Emira took the time she'd been given to look around her. Once they left the area that belonged to Project Salah al-Din the level of noticeable security dropped substantially. Only the fact that they were approaching the airport, as she'd been told they would, kept her from trying the door. On seeing the craft that was to carry her all thoughts of trying to escape fled.

The interface shuttle was one of the hundreds that the Confederacy had made available when they first arrived. The little box was capable of getting half a dozen people from the planet's surface up into orbit. It had been christened the Galileo, which was about as close as most people could come to the Darjee name.

How the Arab Legion had managed to obtain one Emira had no idea but the fact that they were approaching it surely meant that the Brigadier's words had been truthful.

In a bit of a daze Emira was led to the shuttle and shown to a seat. The pilot smiled as he looked back and made a gesture towards the lap strap dangling from her seat. She fastened it and the man turned his attention to the craft's control panel.

Emira would never remember a lot about the flight. One moment she was sat on the runway at the airport, relieved that she was going to live, the next she was approaching a huge ship in space.

Wide eyed she watched as the pilot swung under the stern of the ship and approached a narrow slot hanging down beneath the hull. As they got closer the slot seemed to grow until it looked big enough for a house to pass through.

She sat there in amazement as the tiny craft spun around until it was facing back out of the hatch and settled onto the deck of the boat bay. Slowly the open hatch was filled with huge steel doors and a red strobe light changed to yellow.

The pilot stretched and looked back at her, "They're just re-pressurising the hold, as soon as it's done someone will be out to see to you."

She nodded her understanding and sat patiently until the yellow strobe light outside went off. As soon as it did both of the crewmembers unstrapped so Emira did the same. She'd barely finished when the large ramp that made up the rear hatch cracked open. Her ears popped as the shuttle pressure dropped to match that of the boat deck. She swallowed in the same way that she did when she'd travelled by air and looked towards the hatch.

A man stepped into the hatch and looked directly at her, "Emira Al-Fulani?" he asked.

She nodded before lowering her eyes.

"Come with me please," said the man, "and I'll take you to the Captain."

She looked towards the pilot who smiled and made a shooing gesture towards her. She murmured, "Thank You" very softly and got to her feet, taking care that her abaya didn't catch on anything. That simple act reminded her how much she missed the denim jeans she'd worn when she was in America.

The crewman walked ahead of her and after a few yards slowed his pace to match hers. He didn't speak as he followed what appeared to be a tortuous path through the ship. He finally stopped outside a plain door and pressed a call button.

"Yes?" asked a voice.

"The lady you asked to see, Sir," replied the crewman.

There was a click and the door opened slightly. The guide pushed the door wide and then stepped to the side and looked at Emira. Swallowing behind the niqab she bowed her head and slowly enter the room.

As the door closed behind her the man before her asked, "Miss Al-Fulani?"

She raised her eyes to respond and stared into the glowering countenance of a man who must have been about her own age. She had no idea what she'd done to annoy him and fearing to annoy him more she quickly lowered her gaze and replied, "Yes, Sir."

"Sorry," the man replied causing her head to snap up. He grinned at her, "Let's start again," he said. "I'm Katib bin Ali bin Ahmed Al-Fulani," he said formally, "and I'm the Captain of the Salah al-Din. Welcome aboard my vessel, cousin."

Behind her veil Emira smiled, an event that showed in her eyes. She bowed her head in acknowledgement of his second greeting.

"My scowl was at your traditional dress," he explained, "and I'm afraid that I'm going to have to insist that you and any other women remove it."

Emira's eyes went wide and the Captain held up a hand to forestall the outburst he thought was coming.

"The abaya is just not suited to wear on a ship of this type," he said. "If we were a cruise ship then things would be different but this vessel is more like a warship than a pleasure boat."

The man before her rubbed his temples and Emira saw signs of stress, "It's just another indication of how rushed this project is though I understand that I have you to thank for the fact that we will all reach our destination rather than just our decendants."

"I may have done a little to help," admitted Emira and then she fingered her niqab. The signs of stress that her 'cousin' had allowed her to see convinced her that he was a man she could trust. That decision may have been coloured by the months of being surrounded by men she couldn't trust.

"Would it be a great insult if I was to remove this?" she asked plucking at the veil.

"I wouldn't take any insult," replied Katib looking a little puzzled. "Don't you want to wear it?"

"When I was in America I couldn't wait to come home," she said as she reached for the clasp holding the veil in place, "to dress appropriately." The veil dropped away to reveal more of her olive skinned complexion and her delicate mouth.

"When I arrived home I was confined in a building and required to dress in this extreme manner," she said sweeping her hand up and down her body. "I had to listen to prayers and readings from the Qur'an for the whole of that time."

Emira removed the final clip and held the niqab in her hands, "I will not dress in the manner of a Western slut," she declared forcefully, "nor by choice, will I dress as a slave to history."

Katib could feel his eyes widening as Emira spoke and looked in surprise as she reached down and pulled the abaya up by it's hem. In a way he was disappointed when what was revealed was so normal, a part of him had hoped it would have been something incredibly risqu�.

Emira dropped that abaya to the floor beside her and looked at Katib, "Well?" she asked.

Katib pursed his lips and looked his cousin over; she was wearing plain, flat shoes in black. Above that was what could only be described as loose black pantaloons with a pale blue blouse that if she'd been standing would have hung well below her waist. Her head was still covered by the black hijab that she'd been wearing. In reality she was a modestly dressed woman who could have been seen on the streets of any of the Gulf States only five years ago.

Katib cocked his head to the side and spoke softly, "That is just the way I would want you to dress."

Emira, for some reason, suddenly found that she was blushing, her brashness of only a moment before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

"Still, I have to return to Earth in a few minutes so let us deal with the matter of your accommodation," said Katib, returning to business. "We can deal with anything else when I return."

---oOo---

The shuttle that bought Emira to the Salah al-Din was waiting when Katib got to the boat deck. He strapped himself in as the pilot ran through an abbreviated pre-flight check. By the time the rear hatch was secure everything was ready for departure.

The pilot glanced over his shoulder and Katib gave the pilot a nod, as far as Katib was concerned the sooner he got this meeting over the better.

He relaxed back into the seat as the pilot started the descent and contemplated what was coming.

Bahir Al-Sa'ud was not a man to be trifled with and in Katib's opinion not a man to be liked or trusted. He was too wrapped up in his own interpretation of the Qur'an and anyone who didn't conform was a heathen. To Katib the man was a danger though he did admit that Bahir had driven this project through with the sort of single-minded determination that few others would have been able to bring to bear.

What worried him most was the meeting that was coming up. It was to present Katib with details of the crew he was taking to the new colony and he was seriously worried that it would be made up entirely of Bahir's fanatics.

His own crew was liberally sprinkled with such people but the requirements of the ship had come first so far, that meant that experience and technical knowledge that could be adapted quickly had taken precedence over religious purity. The people who would be joining him now would essentially be passengers and if the story Emira had just given him was anything to go by he feared the worst.

There was a limousine waiting for him as he stepped from the shuttle and he was whisked away from the airport. The journey to the modern building where Bahir had his offices was accomplished in silence; the vehicle parked in the underground parking area and Katib was directed towards an elevator.

Standing beside the elevator was a member of the Arab Legion who saluted Katib smartly. After the salute was returned he ushered the Captain into the elevator and 'escorted' him to the top floor, again in silence.

Entering the office of Bahir Al-Sa'ud, Katib took his time to look around. Despite the man's position the office was plain, austere even with none of the trappings of power that you'd expect. Just as surprising was a prayer mat positioned discreetly in one corner, a sign perhaps of the man's true piety.

Having dawdled as much as was permissible Katib came to attention before the man's desk and waited to be acknowledged.

It wasn't a long wait.

"Captain, welcome," said Bahir rising to his feet, "Please join me in a coffee," he continued, leading the way to a simple set of chairs near to the window.

Katib followed and waited patiently as an assistant poured two cups of deep, dark coffee from a plain black carafe. Both men remained silent until the assistant had left the room and they were alone.

"I'm sure," began Bahir, "that you have read all of the briefing papers that have been prepared for your mission, as well as spoken to you father for his advice."

Katib acknowledged the truth of his observation but remained silent.

"You have no doubt noted that your crew covers everything that you are going to need, engineers, farmers, builders, in fact experts in every field that may be of use in setting up the colony." Bahir paused briefly, "That is except for one crucial area, breeding."

Katib waited silently as Bahir sipped his coffee.

"That area hasn't been covered in your briefing documents because, until recently, it hadn't been decided how we were going to recruit your partners," said Bahir. "It has now been decided and I'm afraid you will not like the method we will be using but I have to tell you that it is the only way of ensuring that we have the best possible start on the new world."

Bahir finished his coffee and returned the cup to the low set table.

"We will be taking women from various colleges and universities and placing them on your ship," he said bluntly. "They will be sedated for the trip into orbit and it will be your responsibility to handle them once they reach the ship."

"Taking?" asked Katib.

"That's right," said Bahir. "Troops will cordon off an area of the school and the students will be separated into male and female. The women will then be escorted to your ship."

"Why not ask for volunteers?" asked Katib, his voice carrying his disdain for the idea despite his efforts to remain calm.

"It was decided that we wanted high quality women, those, who are being educated," said Bahir and it was his turn to display how he felt about that idea. To Katib it seemed that Bahir was not happy with the idea that women should be educated, full stop. "Because of the time constraints we believe that we didn't have time to ask for volunteers."

Bahir frowned at Katib, "Is this going to present you with a problem?"

Katib thought furiously, clearly stating his objections would get him removed from command of the Salah al-Din and possibly even killed. Agreeing to readily would almost certainly engender a level of suspicion that could have the same affect.

"I'm not particularly happy that the women are being kidnapped," admitted Katib, "but I do see the need." He nodded his head slowly, as though coming to a decision. "No, I'll have no problem dealing with these women."

"I'm glad of that," said Bahir. "And I'm sure that Ayatollah Qorban Makarem Zanjani will be as well."

"The Ayatollah?"

"He has been selected to lead the colony," said Bahir with a grin.

Ayatollah Qorban Makarem Zanjani was one of the leading clerics in Iran. He had a reputation for following the edicts of the Grand Ayatollah Khomeini concerning the jurisprudence of Sharia law and its application to all. His comments concerning the treatment of women clearly fell in line with Bahir's ideas that women were simply there to have children and run the home.

"I look forward to working with such an honoured man," said Katib bowing his head to hide his face.

"The Ayatollah and his party will be the last to arrive on the Salah al-Din," said Bahir. "You will take your orders from him concerning departure though I believe it will be almost immediately after his arrival."

Katib nodded, "I'll be ready."

"Do so," ordered Bahir. "That's all I have for you at this time." He rose to his feet, "The blessings of Allah be upon you."

---oOo---

The flying box that landed on the boat deck of the Salah al-Din was not a thing of beauty, practical it may have been but it wasn't any pilot's dream craft. It had started life as a Galileo but it had lost its body and anything else that wasn't strictly necessary. Now it was a load carrier and the best method of getting things from the planet's surface and into orbit that was available to either the Russians or the Arabs.

Katib watched as his people approached the access hatches to the Mule as it had been christened with wheeled gurneys and found he was silently cursing Bahir Al-Sa'ud and his associates for what he had done here. His anger had been unchecked since he'd returned to his ship and his crew were taking great care to steer clear of their commander whenever possible.

The hatches opened in a clamshell manner and the first of the women appeared, partially supported between two men. She was assisted to the first of the gurneys before being wheeled away, the next team moved into position ready for the following woman.

After watching a dozen women being transferred to the gurney and wheeled away Katib followed a trolley on the short journey to the room he'd picked to introduce the women to his ship and explain what was to happen to them. An event he wasn't looking forward to.

The women who'd already been delivered were sitting around on the bench seats; slowly recovering from the effects of the sedative they'd been given. Just looking at the most wide-awake of the women Katib could see the beginnings of fear in their eyes. He tried smiling to reassure them as he waited for the remainder of the party to be delivered.

The gurney was pushed in one more time with a woman walking alongside. After the two had been seated the man pushing the trolley looked to his commander, "That's the last one, Sir," he reported.

"Very well," replied Katib and waved the man away. He looked around the room once more and noticed that the majority of the women were now watching him as though he was a deadly spider and they were trapped in his web. He almost snorted at the description, which seemed most apt given what was to be their fate.

"Ladies," he began, "there is no easy way to tell you what is happening so I'm going to be brutally honest. You will remain silent until I've finished and only then will you be permitted to ask questions."

Another scan of his audience revealed that the majority cowered back but a couple were showing signs, the narrowing of eyes, the flaring of nostrils, of rebellion. He indicated those women specifically, "This is not a challenge but a sensible step in the process of spreading information, do not do anything that could cause you trouble before you are aware of all the facts."

The two sat back but didn't look any less belligerent.

"Thank you," said Katib. "Now, I am Captain Katib Al-Fulani and this vessel is the Salah al-Din. For those of you who are unaware this is a spaceship and we are currently in orbit around the Earth."

This simple statement was greeted by several gasps and one woman broke down in tears.

Katib ignored the commotion and continued, "You have been selected to accompany this vessel and its crew when we go to Escadis." He looked around noting the blank looks, "Escadis is a planet around a distant star and we are going there to establish a colony."

"This is a one way trip for you," he continued. "You will be assigned to a man who, it is hoped, will become your husband. If you do not accept this man as your husband he will take on the role of father, brother or uncle to you and you will be part of his household."

"I will not..." began one of the women who'd shown signs of rebellion.

"You will," said Katib firmly. "You have no other option," he stated. "You are now in space, you will not be allowed to return to Earth, you will be going to Escadis with us and you will be staying there. This, ladies, is a simple statement of the facts concerning your situation."

He looked around the room before continuing, "You need to accept this, it is not going to change, and you need to decide how you are going to deal with the situation. I can only suggest and hope that you will make the best of this situation."

"My father will not be pleased," said the second woman who'd been ready to challenge him.

"Princess Hanifah?" asked Katib.

She inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"Your father, along with the other leaders of our peoples is fully aware of what is happening and has agreed to it," said Katib.

"I don't believe you!" declared Hanifah.

Katib shrugged, "What you believe is irrelevant," he said, "but you, and you alone will be given the opportunity to speak to your father, just to confirm what I am saying."

"In about twenty minutes you will all be taken to your accommodations. There you will be shown the facilities aboard this vessel and you will also be shown where you will be eating until you are assigned to a man." He looked around the group, "There are many more women who will be coming to join you over the next few days and it will be up to you to guide them as they make the adjustments to their new reality."

"That is all I have for you now," said Katib before he looked at the irate princess. "If you'll come with me your Highness, we'll see if we can contact your father."

---oOo---

Hanifah walked alongside the Captain as he escorted her to her new home. Her conversation with her father had been a tremendous shock and she was still trying to deal with the consequences of it.

What she didn't know was that after her uncle, Mohammed Al Maktoum had made the decision to increase his collection of women by including her, he had managed to get to his brother and convince him that losing his youngest daughter to the Salah al-Din project had its advantages. These included increasing his own standing with his people as he led by example and spreading his family's influence to the new colony.

That last had been a bit of a risky statement as the colony was supposed to be autonomous but, as Mohammed had pointed out, blood was much thicker than the vacuum of space.

By the time Hanifah had made her call from space the Sheikh had decided that this really was a good thing and his daughter, as much as he loved her, was a suitable sacrifice for the good of the family.

Katib was surprised at how well the princess was holding up under the strain. Yes, she was shocked at the way her father had informed her that what she was doing was for the good of the people and no doubt this was a blow to her own self-esteem but there had been no histrionics since the announcement.

She'd calmly followed when he announced that it was time to return to her new quarters and, although she'd remained silent, she hadn't drifted away.

On impulse Katib changed their destination. He led the bemused princess into what he called his office and had her sit whilst he called for refreshments. He sat in silence and watched the young woman as she dealt with her problems and waited for the coffee to be delivered.

After what seemed like an age to Katib the refreshments arrived and the Captain waved the steward away and poured out two coffees himself. He placed one next to the princess and sat and waited until she noticed.

As she raised her eyes to him he spoke.

"Hanifah," he began softly, "things are not going to be easy for you or any of the other women who are being bought here. As much as I'd like to return you all to Earth that is not going to be possible, I'd just be replaced and you'd all end up being shipped out anyway."

He wanted to take the young woman's hands and almost plead with her but he remained in his seat and continued, "What I can do though is set a good example to the rest of my crew."

Hanifah looked at him quizzically.

"According to the plan there will be four thousand women being bought here," he said, "and they will be shared out amongst the crew. That means that there will be four women to every man on board. As I said earlier, it is hoped that the women will accept these men as their husbands but if they don't they will still belong to them until they can find a husband."

He held up his hand to stop the outburst that he could see brewing, "Yes, I know I said they'd be treated as though they were blood relatives but let us be realistic here. These men are going to have four young women each in their cabin and in most cases they are going to be much older than the women are. If they are not accepted as husbands how long do you think it will be before one of those men forces one of the women?"

Katib watched as Hanifah processed his comments.

"Although I will not admit it publicly, the men on this ship are generally needed to operate it. That means that as much as I would like to kill anyone who forces a woman I will not be able too." He held up his hand again, "I'll hold them accountable and I'll see that they are dealt with when we get to Escadis." He shrugged, "But the journey is going to take a year and that is too long for a woman to know that the man that attacked her is still walking free."

He took a deep breath and released it slowly, "So I want to do everything I can to reduce the risk of such a thing happening, which," he smiled at the young woman, "is where you can play a part."

She raised her eyebrows at him but remained silent.

"I would like you to lead by example," he said. "I want you to become one of my wives."

He closed his eyes for a moment, "It would be a sham really, I wouldn't do anything to you when we were together but I would require you to act as the perfect wife at all times." He looked at the princess and nearly sank into her dark eyes as she stared at him.

He shook his head and smiled again, "I realise that this is a lot to ask but I hope it will save many of the girls who will be coming here from something much worse. Would you please do it?"

Hanifah nodded immediately and Katib rocked back in surprise, he hadn't expected such a positive response. He'd actually expected to be called a pervert or worse.

It was Hanifah's turn to smile across the coffee table. "You're right," she said and then scowled. "I always thought that we were so much better than the Americans because we hadn't resorted to forcing our women to be slaves, but if we don't accept this offer of marriage that is what we will become, isn't it?"

Katib could only nod in response to her charge.

"Then it's better to go willingly to one's fate and avoid the pain of being forced," she said. "Hopefully by accepting your offer I will help the others to make a similar choice."

Katib lowered his head, "I promise you princess that unless you want otherwise this will be a marriage in name only," he said.

"Don't be stupid," she snapped, her sharp tone bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

"How long do you think it would be before people noticed?" She asked.

"This ship is a closed environment, very much like a palace and let me tell you, there are no secrets in a palace." She waved her hand for emphasis. "Everyone knows what is going on with everyone else. Try to deceive the people and they will find out and then you'll be in real trouble."

Hanifah reached for the coffee before her, "Have you decided how you are going to allocate the women?"

Katib shook his head, "I'm not even sure how many women there will be," he said. "According to Bahir Al-Sa'ud we will be receiving four thousand, but whether that's exactly four thousand I don't know."

"Then I suggest that we allow each woman, after she's been told the facts, the opportunity to pick a man," said Hanifah. "That way it won't seem like the men get what they want and the women will be allowed some say in what happens to them."

Katib nodded slowly, "And if we only present men who haven't been picked then it should ensure that every man ends up with at least one woman who wanted him."

"It may not go that well but it will be a start," agreed Hanifah. "The more choice the women have the better it will be, though I don't hold out much hope for these marriages surviving once we reach a planet."

"Believe me," said Katib, "when we get to the planet we'll have more than enough problems establishing a colony to be worried about who is sleeping with whom."

"Then, my husband," said Hanifah, "I think we should go and tell everyone our good news."

Katib looked at the cold coffee before him and shook his head slightly, what was it the British called it, hen-pecked, that's right. He looked at the smiling woman before him and started to rise, I'm hen-pecked already he thought with a gentle sigh.

---oOo---

In many ways the Salah al-Din was lucky that the first group of women they'd received were medical students. They'd already been prepared for dealing with trauma and they drew support form each other as events unfolded.

Even with the shuttles working around the clock it still took more than sixteen hours to ferry the six hundred and twelve women that Mohammed Al Maktoum had collected up to the ship. Hanifah met each group as they arrived, just as Katib had met her group. She was the one who explained their situation to them as Katib looked on from the background in case he was needed.

Very few of the women accepted their fate as easily as Hanifah had. The majority were shocked and were lead around listlessly which was preferable to how a few reacted. The screaming and hysterics were distressing to all and especially to Katib.

These women were sedated and placed together under observation. Several of the trainee doctors found that having something to do was a great help in steadying their own nerves.

There was only one truly sad case and, although several people saw it happening none of them was in a position to prevent it.

A young girl by the name of In'am, one of the first year students at the Girl's school picked up a knife and drove it into her own throat. It was shocking and brutal and the noises she'd made as she lay there surrounded by girls who'd been her friends caused more distress than simply being kidnapped had.

The older students, most of them only five years older than the dead girl tried to comfort those who'd witnessed the events. It helped a little but didn't do anything for Katib when he was told what had happened.

Emira Al-Fulani found the Captain in his cabin where he sat with his head in his hands.

He looked up and stared at her from red rimmed eyes, "Why am I part of this?" he asked.

"I was here to ask you what 'this' is?" said Emira.

"You do not know?" responded Katib in surprise.

Emira shook her head.

"I thought you were part of it," said Katib.

Again she shook her head. "I was the woman that found the information concerning the engines, that's all."

Katib was tired, he'd been on the go for thirty-six hours without any sleep and it was starting to impact on his ability to think. He knew this and desperately wanted to get some sleep but he had too many problems to deal with to do so.

As he looked at Emira he made a decision, he reached for the intercom on his desk and pressed the call button, "Have Princess Hanifah join me in my office, please."

"Princess?" asked Emira.

"Please wait till she gets here," said Katib, "It'll make more sense I think if she's here."

Hanifah entered the office and stopped when she saw the older woman. The two of them stared at each other in silence. Emira saw a tired but regal looking young woman, her dark hair tied back neatly but uncovered, the rest of her clothes showed signs of having been worn for a long time but were suitably modest.

Hanifah found she was looking at a woman in her early thirties, a woman who seemed very sure of herself though she wore the hijab. The loose black trousers and flowing blue blouse may have hid the details but it was clear that her body was neither fat nor deformed.

Hanifah narrowed her eyes at the woman before turning her attention to Katib.

"How may I help you, my husband?" she said.

Emira gasped, "Husband?"

Hanifah turned to the older woman with a smile, "Yes," she said simply, "my husband."

Katib groaned audibly, an action that attracted the attention of both women. He waved towards the comfortable seating area at the side of the room, "Sit," he commanded.

He waited until the two of them had made themselves comfortable, "Hanifah, this is Emira Al-Fulani, she, like you, was sent here."

He turned to his cousin, "Emira, this is Hanifah Al Maktoum, daughter of the Sheikh and the first of my wives."

Emira turned her scowl on her cousin, "Will you explain what is going on here?" she demanded.

"That's what I'm doing," said Katib.

He turned to Hanifah, "Hanifah, just tell Emira your story," he ordered.

Hanifah cocked her head to one side before turning back to the older woman and began explaining what had happened to her from when her uncle had entered the lecture theatre until she'd arrived on the ship. As she spoke she watched the play of emotions on the woman's face and came to believe that she knew nothing about the events that had happened to her.

When she ground to a halt Katib turned to Emira, "Would you please tell Hanifah how it is that you are here."

"Everything?" Emira asked.

"Please," said Katib, "I'd like to hear the story as well."

Emira thought for a moment and then shrugged, "Why not," she said, "It's not as though it's going to help anyone now." With that she told her story, of how she'd gone to America and obtained the information that allowed the engines for the Salah al-Din to be made and how she'd ended up a prisoner of her own security organisation.

When she'd finished speaking Katib took up the mantle of storyteller and explained how he'd been informed of the women's imminent arrival and what the fate was that awaited them.

He looked from Hanifah to Emira when he'd finished his tale and took a deep breath. The decision he'd made before he summoned Hanifah was about to be revealed and he wasn't sure how the younger woman would take it.

He said, "I want to ask you, Emira, to become my second wife."

He held his hand up to stop any questions, "As I did with Hanifah, I will tell you that it can be a marriage in name only if that is what you desire."

Hanifah spoke up before Emira could say a word, "If you accept," she said to the older woman, "You'd better be prepared to do so for real. As I told 'my husband' yesterday, it is not possible to pretend to be something. It has to be for real otherwise the fallacy within the relationship will undermine everything that he is trying to achieve." She glanced across at Katib, "I can see that he isn't convinced of that yet but I know I'm right and as his wife I will not allow you, or anyone else, to undermine his position as Captain."

Emira was frowning, emotions running through her that ranged from shock to a surprising case of lust, a feeling that she hadn't felt in a very long time.

She ignored Katib and turned her attention to Hanifah, "How do you feel about him having a second wife?"

"There will be a third and a fourth," she said. "It is childish to ignore the facts of the matter."

Emira nodded, "And you will expect them all to be, as you put it, real wives."

"Not expect," said Hanifah, "require. I have accepted the role as wife to my husband. Anyone who joins us will have to do the same."

Emira lowered her head, "Then I accept," she said softly.

Hanifah stood and crossed to the older woman and embraced her, "Welcome," she said before looking across to Katib. "Let us go and greet our husband," she said, pulling on Emira's hand.

Katib looked on and realised that maybe he wasn't as tired as he thought he was.

---oOo---

Katib settled back into the same shuttle that had carried him to the surface last time he went down. This time he was using his position to take a private trip back to see his father. He knew it was for the last time and he felt the urge to vent some of his feelings on one of the people who'd organised what was becoming a nightmare.

So far there were nearly three thousand women on board his ship. Another two and a half thousand had been dragged up from the University of Bahrain and the Abu Dhabi Women's College to join those who'd already been present. Despite the best efforts of Hanifah and Emira, along with the rest of his crew, things had not gone at all smoothly.

The majority of the women, just girls in many cases, had become hysterical and comforting them was not something that his men were really capable of. Even after he'd informed them that these females were to be their future wives things had not been easy.

The majority of his men tried to help but to some of these women simply being seen by a man who wasn't related was traumatic. Couple that with the change in their dress code, made more urgent after one woman was killed when her abaya became trapped in a generator and you could see why the women didn't settle down.

The noise they were making was getting on everyone's nerves and Katib admitted his own cowardice when he took the opportunity to head for the surface.

The trip to the surface was short and carried out in silence.

Katib rose to his feet and headed for the hatch, "Pick me up at five tomorrow morning," he said, "and stay out of trouble until then."

He didn't wait for the crew to answer him but swung out of the hatch and crossed the open ground towards his father's home. As on his last visit the front door swung open before he reached it and Fatima stood there, her hands on her hips. The noise of the shuttle departing made conversation impossible for a few moments but the look the housekeeper was giving him let him know that she wasn't pleased.

"Why didn't you let us know you were coming?" she demanded as soon as she was sure she would be heard. "I've got nothing in to feed you and your bed isn't made up."

Katib grinned and gave the older woman a hug, "Don't fret yourself," he said. "I can sleep on the couch and I'll eat anything you can produce as well you know."

She slapped him on the arm but her look remained sombre, "You should have told us you were coming," she said. "It may have dragged a smile from your father."

"He's not well?" asked Katib, his voice tinged with his concern.

"He's well enough physically," said Fatima, "but he seems, uhmm, distracted is probably the best description."

"He has a lot going on just now," said Katib, "maybe he's just thinking about that?"

"I think there's more to it than that but he won't speak to me about it," said Fatima as a silent tear ran down her cheek.

Katib had long suspected that Fatima was more than just his father's housekeeper but now was not the time to press. Keeping his arm around the woman he guided her into the house, pushing the door shut behind him.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"He's in his study," she replied slipping free from Katib's grasp. "Go and see him and I will bring you both a drink."

Katib walked down the hall and knocked firmly on the dark wood door of his father's study, without waiting for a response he opened the door and walked in. Seeing his father sitting behind the large wooded desk was just the trigger he needed to set him off, all thoughts of his concern for the older man lost in the wave of anger that swept through him.

"What was the idea of kidnapping women and sending them to me?" he stormed. "What are we, damned Americans with their roundups?"

His father just stared at him, his dark eyes filled with pain.

"Have you any idea what those women are going through up there?" growled Katib. "I've already had one kill herself and we've dragged I don't know how many back from the precipice."

Ali closed his eyes as his son's wrath washed over him.

"Don't close your eyes to it," snapped Katib, "It's not going to go away. You've caused it so you can hear all about it and hopefully, next time, you'll have some compassion."

Even as he said that Katib knew he was in the wrong, his father may have been involved in the project but he was an engineer not a kidnapper.

"And now I hear that I'm going to get the Ayatollah Qorban Makarem Zanjani as my leader," said Katib. "What are you people trying to do, kill us before we even have a chance to get started?"

Ali looked at his son as he towered over him, his hands resting on the edge of his desk and took a deep breath before stating firmly, "Sit!"

He pointed to a chair and held the pose until his son started to move in that direction.

As his son settled into the seat he began to reply, "I had no part in any of the decisions concerning the women and if I'd been aware of what was planned I'd have objected most forcefully. As it is I didn't find out until just before you did and by then the decisions had been made." He paused for a moment and looked directly at his son, "After I returned home and considered what had been done I found that I considered it for the best."

He held up his hand to stop his son responding, "Think about it, Katib. If they'd had time to think about it properly you'd have been stuck with the oldest and most hide-bound of their relatives and every hanger on and arse-licker we've got as a people. This way the women may be hysterical but they are also our youngest and brightest minds. Given time, and that is something you will have plenty of on the way to Escardis, they will begin to think again and then you will have the greatest chance of dragging our people out of the desert and into a technological world."

Ali dropped his hands, which had been waving around to emphasise what he was saying, and looked at his son.

Katib nodded once, "What you say is probably right," he admitted grudgingly, "but it's not going to happen that way because we're taking that religious bigot Zanjani with us."

"That may not happen," said Ali, "but your problems will be setting up the colony and working around whatever religious leader you get."

"What do you mean, it may not happen?" asked Ali.

"I've taken steps to see if another Ayatollah can lead the mission but lets talk about what you plan on doing once you get there," said Ali.

Katib looked at his father and realised that he wasn't going to get anything else out of him concerning the chances of changing the Ayatollah.

"Let's just say that I'm glad that we don't have to travel through an atmosphere in the Salah al-Din," he said, "because with those huge spheres we are dragging along we'd be like a zeppelin."

Ali chuckled, "Yes, but in a way they give you such a head start over what some of the Confederacy colonies have to deal with," he said. "You'll be able to leave them in orbit until things are established on the planet and shuttle fresh produce from the farms down to the colony. Only after you're established will you have to move the animals closer to you and even then the sphere will provide a steady supply of raw materials for the first few years."

"True," responded Katib, "and my quartermaster tells me that we've stocked up on power converters and prefabricated homes now that we don't have to carry a century's worth of supplies."

He looked at his father, "I know that you think it's going to be hard and I agree with you to a certain extent but I don't think it's going to be impossible. We've got enough rations to feed everyone left on the planet for about three years so even if we don't make a go of farming and have to make a round trip back here there will still be plenty of leeway."

"I still worry that the Confederacy let us know the details of the systems that we have been looking at," said Ali, bringing up his one true fear.

"If they did," said Katib, "We wouldn't have been able to do anything about it before we got the new engines. Now we can come back and confront them."

"I don't want to confront anyone," said Ali, "I want you and those with you to survive."

"And that's what we will do," said Katib.

There discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Fatima with a tray of coffee and several pastry delicacies. As the three of them sat around reminiscing about their lives Katib kept thinking back to his father's comments about the Ayatollah. What was he planning?

---oOo---

Major Mark Suleiman, the officer commanding B Company of the First Airborne Battalion looked through his binoculars at the wall of concrete and hoped rather than expected that his day would go well. The building he was observing was the principle block of the Beirut Arab University and it was his job to remove as many female students as he could from it.

This duty would have been unpleasant enough, kidnapping women under orders, but now it could prove to be positively dangerous. Rumours had been circulating of events in other parts of the Middle East, particularly in Dubai and Abu Dhabi and the students of the BAU were notorious for their willingness to resort to violence.
On the other side of Beirut, Major Faris Siniora was also observing a university, this one the American University of Beirut. The mission of his C Company was the same as his brother officer's and he too was just as apprehensive.

Whilst BAU was a nicely confined campus the AUB was relatively huge. Seventy-three acres of campus surrounded by a wall on three sides and the sea on the other with only five possible entrances. The best entrance for his task was also the worst physically; being near to the women's hall of residence was the good part about it, and the size of the damn thing was a definite disadvantage.

He glanced at his watch once more and took a deep breath, thirty seconds before six in the morning. He turned to his signaller; "You're ready?"

"Yes, Sir," replied the Corporal.

Faris watched the second hand sweep around the watch face and as it passed the twelve he nodded to the Corporal.

"All stations India Three, this is Zero, GO! I say again, GO!"

Faris rose to his feet and walked forward slowly, the signaller following behind with the man-pack radio on his back. Ahead of the command group three platoons swung into action, first platoon secured the main gate on Bliss Street and began directing traffic away from the university. The second platoon swept past the first platoon and down towards the beach, where they promptly spread out to act as a blocking force.

The Third platoon was funnelling through the small gate near the women's accommodation with steady determination. Silence and steadiness were their best tactics at the moment and the hope that they would not be spotted as they swept across the university grounds.

On the far side of Beirut, Mark Suleiman gave the command himself. "All stations India Two, this is Sunray, GO, GO, GO!"

At his command the three platoons rolled into position in their vehicles and began to disembark.

From a room near the top of the East wing a student glanced out of the window having finished his morning prayers and gasped. Soldiers, lots of soldiers. He dashed into the hallway and began yelling as he ran down its length. His words weren't understood by many but the racket he produced dragged them out of their beds.

The soldiers were still crossing the open area in front of the main building when the first object sailed down the four floors to the ground. A half-full soda can was not much of a weapon but the noise it made on impact was sufficient to halt the soldiers advance.

"Move it," yelled the platoon Sergeant as his men started to mill around. He tore through them leading the way. As they rallied more items began to rain down and several of the men were hit though only one was actually injured by the projectiles.

First and Second platoons had made it to the buildings before the first shots were fired. Third platoon was not so lucky and the lone gunman emptied a full magazine in their direction. For the troops involved it was a case of take cover and then assess the situation. As it was, none of them had been hit but it did leave them in a rather precarious position. Forward of their secure start line but well short of their objective and pinned down behind minimal cover.

Further back Major Suleiman received the report and started to move his position so he could observe the situation directly.

Over at the AUB Major Siniora was outside the women's accommodation block without incident and was now ready to begin the unpleasant part of this mission.

It had been decided that he would be sedating the women before they were moved if it was at all possible. To do this his troops were equipped with compressed air powered injectors that were normally used on livestock.

He had just over one hundred men in his company but only thirty-eight men of the third platoon were with him as he approached the women's accommodation. Only twelve of those men had been trained to use the injectors against humans and they had a difficult task ahead of them.

If the third platoon could work its way through the first couple of floors of this residence block he was prepared to call it a day and withdraw with what he had. In theory that should give him about five hundred women to deal with, which would be a big enough headache if the transport people didn't get here on time.

By the time the Major had entered the building and established a position in the lounge two of the three squads were working their way through the first and second floors of the building. Moving from room to room as quickly and quietly as possible, administering the sedative as they passed.

"Sir," called the signaller, "the transport is entering the campus."

Major Siniora nodded in acknowledgement and looked towards his first platoon commander. "Get your boys ready, Alhasan. Let's try and clear out the first floor before we start the diversion."

The platoon commander nodded and headed towards the dozen men that made up his third squad.

Back over at the Arab University things were getting messy.

"Stuff it," muttered Mark Suleiman, "Tell the third platoon to blow the bastards to shit and bollocks to the university."

His signaller nodded and began speaking into his microphone. Major Suleiman sat back and shook his head. At least his orders had been direct and to the point - get the women into those coaches whatever the cost, though why they'd allocated the universities the way they had confused him. Sending a Maronite Christian to the Arab university and a Muslim over to the American university seemed to be the wrong way round.

It was going to cost that was for sure, his men had already taken casualties as they tried to make their way up the various stairwells, chasing women who were retreating behind the male students upstairs. Those same men were then using whatever they could lay there hands on as weapons to defend the women.

Fortunately none of his casualties so far had been fatal but with the way things were escalating it was only a matter of time. The students were bound to die when his men started using their weapons instead of just carrying them.

Outside the block came the chattering of an FN MAG as the pinned down third platoon took the fight to the students. Mark Suleiman looked at his watch, six-fifteen, if he didn't reach the top of this building in the next fifteen minutes there wasn't going to be enough time to get the women out of here anyway.

"Move it people," he yelled, rising to his feet, "We need to get this place secured or it's all going to turn to shit." As though it hasn't already, he added mentally as he headed for the nearest stairwell.

"Major Siniora," called his signaller, "first squad want to know if they should go up to the next floor?"

Faris pondered for a moment and then nodded, "Tell them yes," he said, "but remind them to take care."

The signaller started to talk quietly into his mic as the Major's attention was drawn to the coaches pulling up outside.

The first person off the lead coach was Major Wadih Al Zoghbi, commander of A Company. He crossed the grass outside the accommodation block and moved towards the entrance, Faris went to meet him.

"How's it going, Faris?" asked Major Al Zoghbi.

"We've just moved up onto the third floor," replied Faris.

"The diversion?" queried Wadih.

"I'm holding it until we are rumbled," said Faris. "The noise will wake up the women and the more I can get to before that happens the easier things will be."

"Right," agreed Wadih, nodding, "I'll get my boys in here and we'll start moving the women."

He turned away and waved towards the first coach. A stream of men unarmed and unencumbered by their webbing crossed towards him.

"Two to a women," said Major Al Zoghbi, as the first group neared him, "but don't hang around."

"There are guides out," said Major Siniora, "follow their directions."

Both men looked up as an ear-piercing scream rang through the building.

"Shit," muttered Faris before he snapped round to his signaller. "Tell second platoon to get busy, I want as much noise as they can manage.

Beside him Major Al Zoghbi urged his men forward, "Come on, move, we haven't got all day."

"Major, we've secured the fourth floor and found another group of women," reported the signaller.

Mark Suleiman looked at the third body of one of his men and hoped that this was all worth it.

"How many women?" he asked.

The signaller spoke into his mic for a moment, "About sixty," he replied.

That's four hundred concluded the Major as he did the sums in his head. It's enough!

Various women had been found on the lower floors as the soldiers advanced. They'd either been asleep when the military arrived or had picked the wrong direction to run as the soldiers stormed through the building.

"Tell everyone to secure their positions and we'll start evacuating the women," he said, "Remind the platoon commanders that they are free to do whatever it takes to minimise our casualties."

"Fucking students," he murmured as he turned back to the task of getting the women out of the block and into the coaches.

He crossed to the open doorway with its concrete sunshade and started giving orders. "Tell third platoon to pull back to a position where they can see this side of the building. They're to blow holes in anyone who appears at the windows above us."

Third platoon had broken the resistance of the students when they'd opened fire with their support weapons. Now they were to be used to provide suppressive fire as the rest of the unit withdrew from the scene.

"Get second platoon to start herding any women who haven't been sedated down to the foyer right now," ordered Major Suleiman, "and get the coaches bought under this awning one at a time."

The signaller turned to his task and Mark Suleiman went back to looking at the bodies of his men

Major Al Zoghbi turned to his companion and sighed theatrically, "That's the last of them, Faris."

"Eight hundred and three," said Faris, shaking his head in amazement. "I figured I'd manage three or four hundred at the most."

"You were lucky," said Wadih, "which is more than can be said for Mark by the sound of things."

Both of the company commanders had been monitoring events over at the Arab University and had winced a couple of times at the reports Mark Suleiman was making to their battalion headquarters.

"I know," replied Faris, "and I think I'll take the long way back to barracks."

Wadih frowned, "Is that wise?"

"I'm not going to get involved," responded Faris, "but I will be in a position to get there quickly if he needs any help extracting his people."

"Just stay clear of the actual university," advised Wadih. "That whole area is likely to be a powder-keg after this."

"Just as soon as Mark's out I'll hightail it back to barracks," agreed Faris.

"Fair enough," said Major Al Zoghbi, "and I'll get these women on their way to their new life."

The two men nodded to one another and went their separate ways, their duty done.

---oOo---

The monotone sand-coloured camouflage helped to blend the Humvee into its surroundings, its carefully selected position below the crest of the sand dune made it virtually invisible from the road a kilometre away.

The vehicle was one of several left behind in Saudi Arabia after the last Gulf conflict by the United States Army and surprisingly hadn't actually been used by anyone since. This was the reason it was now being used by the men dressed in US combat fatigues that made up its crew.

Behind the wheel and giving the impression of being bored was Nasir, a former member of the Lebanese Army who'd spent much of his time watching the border with Israel in just the same manner as he was now observing the black strip of tarmac a kilometre away. He'd been trained to drive the Humvee and with the possible exception of sex he couldn't think of anything he'd rather be doing.

To his left sat Mukhtar, a Muslim from Iraq who developed a pathological hatred for the Ayatollahs of Iran and their followers who'd goaded the suicide bombers into action, an action that resulted in the tragic death of his brother one Saturday in Baghdad.

The third member of the crew was standing with his head resting against the TOW launcher. Mansur, in Nasir's opinion, was a cold fish. He didn't speak even when spoken too, he said his prayers in private and gave no indication that he even believed in the Prophet, praise be unto Him.

Under his kraut helmet, with its black US insignia on the sand-coloured cover, Nasir frowned, was that really such a problem? He much preferred the silence to the constant chattering that Mukhtar came out with.

That the three of them were here, preparing to commit murder was probably the most surprising thing but when the offer had been made he had jumped at it. How else was he going to guarantee the safety of the women in his household?

Originally Nasir had believed, like most of his friends that the threat coming to the Earth was an American trick to isolate and destroy his people. That belief had faded with time. The way that the Western world had just ignored all efforts by the Arab world to become involved had started the change in his mind. When he'd realised just how focused the West's military had become on preparing for the Swarm's arrival regardless of the threats that were coming out of Jeddah he was convinced.

That conviction lead to torment, after all, every good Muslim knew that it was the man's job to protect the women and because of events he had more than most to look out for. The Israelis had managed to kill his brother and father with one of their punitive air strikes, leaving him responsible for his ailing mother, two sisters and his brother's wife.

How was he supposed to save them from the alien threat that was approaching?

Then an opportunity was presented to him, a chance to save those he cared about. It was possible that he would lose his life but it was a chance that he felt compelled to take because of the promise it would deliver.

His thoughts were interrupted by a none-to-gentle kick in the back.

"Something's coming," announced Mansur from above.

Mukhtar and Nasir prepared themselves for action as Mansur placed his eyes against the sighting system of the antitank weapon on the vehicle roof.

"It's them," he announced as though it could be anyone else. The road they were observing was supposed to have been closed at dawn and no vehicles had been seen travelling along it for the three hours they'd been in position.

Beside Nasir, Mukhtar cradled his assault rifle like it was a baby, waiting for events to unfold and bring him a chance to avenge his brother.

The target was travelling at a steady eighty kilometres an hour, but it seemed like a crawl to those observing from behind the dune. As it went past their position Mansur let out his breath and a small smile graced his lips.

Without warning a crack announced the firing of the missile. Nasir jumped in his seat even though he'd been expecting the noise, or so he thought.

The missile flashed across the desert at nearly three hundred metres a second, the thin wires trailing behind it invisible to the naked eye. Little was needed in the way of correction as the target was now moving away from the launcher.

The target never saw the missile coming.

The one and a half metre long missile ploughed into the back of the Mercedes Vario coach and the three point six kilograms of high explosive that made up its warhead sent a cloud of death streaking along the length of the vehicle. Shards of metal shredded the twenty-four leather recliners that filled the vehicle; the double glazed windows bulged and then popped out of their mounts allowing the smoke and flames to escape.

The driver died almost instantly and the coach shuddered to a halt as flames started to lick around the stricken vehicle.

A kilometre away Nasir gunned the engine and the Humvee crested the dune before charging towards the remains of the burning coach. Nasir took the quickest route he could find sparing only a minor thought for the two people with him. He needed to get there before any survivors could think to react otherwise their chance of escaping, which was already slim became nil.

The heavy vehicle broadsided to a stop and Mukhtar threw his door open and rushed towards the burning wreckage, cocking his weapon as he moved. Nasir slid from behind the wheel and reached back for his own weapon, just in case there proved to be a problem that Mukhtar couldn't deal with.

A burst of gunfire from inside the burning coach caused Nasir to raise his weapon but there was no other reaction. The remnants of the escape door on the left of the vehicle flopped open and a badly disfigured man dressed in black dropped down onto the road. Nasir raised his rifle but another burst of fire from inside the coach cut the disorientated cleric down.

Mukhtar stepped into the open door way, his rifle held loosely in his hands. He glanced at the man he'd just shot and smiled before shifting his attention to his waiting comrades.

He raised his thumb in an American gesture and Nasir couldn't help scowling in return. On top of the Humvee Mansur stopped fingering his mobile phone and returned Mukhtar's grin, five minutes after the missile had been fired Mansur recalled the one number in the phone's memory and pressed the dial key.

He waited until a voice answered and said simply, "It's done."

The phone went dead and five kilometres away an almost identical coach to the one that had just been destroyed pulled out onto the road and accelerated away, continuing the journey that their now dead coach had begun.

"Let's go," said Nasir, waving towards the slowly approaching Mukhtar. It was time to put the escape plan into action.

---oOo---

"We're ready to leave, Captain," said the Executive Officer as he joined the ship's commander in the boat bay.

He looked around and noted the small guard of honour that had been assembled and frowned, "Have you any idea why the mullahs have left it so late to come aboard, Sir?"

"Not a clue," admitted Katib. "I know we're a bit behind schedule because of the problems with the women but the leaders weren't ready to come aboard until we'd declared we were ready to leave immediately. The only idea that came to mind, and it seemed a bit far-fetched, was that they believed the Confederacy would try to stop them leaving."

"That's possible," said the Exec, "The Americans have always been worried by the spread of the true faith."

Katib nodded though he didn't really believe in that sort of rhetoric. Fortunately he didn't have to consider the matter anymore as the Mule approached the Salah al-Din with its VIP's on board.

The leader of the religious men stopped in the doorway of the Mule and looked around the boat bay as the honour guard came to attention. After that short pause he stepped down onto the Salah al-Din's deck, Katib stepped forward and saluted but his mind was racing as he did so.

This was not Ayatollah Qorban Makarem Zanjani, the man he'd been expecting. It was Ayatollah Mohammad Reda Boroujerdi, a man with a very moderate reputation.

"Captain, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm not Qorban Zanjani," said the Ayatollah as he shook Katib's hand. "I'm afraid there has been an accident and the Zanjani party are unable to join us."

Katib, shocked into silence, simply nodded in acknowledgement.

"Allow me to introduce my two principle assistants, the Ayatollah Allamah Syed Ghadeeri and Miss Sahar Sefati," said Ayatollah Boroujerdi.

Two people stepped forward in the tradition black dress of a cleric, that one was a woman didn't pass Katib by.

"You are most welcome," he said.

After a brief flurry of nods and muttered greetings Mohammad Boroujerdi took charge, "I am led to believe that you are ready to depart, Captain?"

"Yes, Sir," replied Katib. "Just as soon as you and your party are settled I'd like to take you to the bridge so you can observe."

"Please have the rest of my party shown to their quarters," said the Ayatollah. "I'll accompany you to the bridge directly."

Katib nodded and turned slightly, "Exec, see to the Ayatollah's party. We'll be on the bridge if you need us."

"Yes, Sir," replied the Exec before stepping forward and shepherding Ayatollah Ghadeeri and Miss Sefati away.

The eyes of many in the boat bay tracked the progress of the two leaders of the expedition as they crossed to the elevator that would take them to the bridge. These were the men that held their future in their hands.

In the lift the two men stood in silence as the elevator carried them to the top of the ship. From there it was a short walk to the bridge itself and the wonderful panoramic view of the outside.

On seeing the Earth hanging before them the Ayatollah drew in a deep breath and stared in silence for a full minute. At the end of that time he turned to the Captain and asked softly so that no one else on the bridge could hear, "Are you with me or with the regime?"

Katib froze as his mind tried to look at all of the connotations that that question bought forth. The clues he'd received that all was not legitimate, especially his father's comments.

The man before him was staking his life and the lives of his party on the answer that Katib would give.

To Katib, who considered religion a thing that you paid lip service too, the man was an enigma. A powerful figure within the religious community without the same standing in the political make up that had grown since the arrival of the Darjee. Katib knew that he advocated the separation of the state from the church in the same way that the Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani had in Iraq after the American Invasion. How would that impact on the colony?

And he'd bought a woman with him as a principle assistant. Her family name was famous amongst devout Muslims and he could only assume that she was a graduate of the Women's Theological School of Mashad.

Was this a better proposition than what he'd been expecting?

Of course it was.

The real question was, could he accept this man, who was clearly here due to a criminal act, as the leader of the expedition?

It would almost certainly mean trouble for his father, but he'd been the one to tell him that things would get better.

Katib took a deep breath and then let it out, his body calming as it left him.

"With you," he replied just as softly.

The Ayatollah rose to his full height and looked the Captain in the eye before ordering firmly, "You will depart immediately for our destination, Captain. You will ignore all calls from home to the contrary. You will do this in the name of the Prophet, praise be upon him."

Katib bowed his head for a moment before glancing towards the helmsman. "Break orbit," he ordered, "Set course for Escardis."

---oOo---

"Sir, the Saladin is breaking orbit."

The officer of the watch rushed across the Combat Information Centre and stared at the screen the technician was manning. The moving ship's track was clearly marked and he watched as the AI extrapolated the course.

"Just my bloody luck," he said softly. "Get me the Admiral," he called firmly, "and put out a general alert, the last thing we need now is for that thing to run into one of our ships."

"Aye-aye, Sir," came the response from all around.

This wasn't a totally unexpected event, not with all the activity that had been going on around the Arabian ship for the past month or so. That, coupled with the intelligence reports they'd been receiving concerning activities within the new Grand Arabia seemed to indicate that the natives were planing their own equivalent of an extraction.

He was just glad that it was the Admiral that had to make the decisions and not a lowly Captain.

"Sir, the Saladin has just started moving," he reported. "It looks like it's heading out of the system."

"Thank you," responded Admiral Hargreaves, "I'll get back to you in a few minutes." The Captain in CIC relaxed as the channel to the Admiral went quiet.

It was only the channel to the CIC that did so as Admiral Hargreaves called the Darjee ambassador and UNCLE, the United Nations Confederacy Liaison Executive for instructions.

What came back was not particularly helpful and showed in many ways the split between the various elements involved.

The Darjee Ambassador, through the universal translator informed the Admiral that this was not in his area of responsibility and he hoped that the authorities would deal with this purely 'human' problem in an appropriate manner.

"Pontius Pilate eat your heart out," snapped Admiral Hargreaves to no one in particular but the outburst was noted and many subordinates found reasons to make themselves scarce until the top man calmed down.

"CIC," called the Admiral, "Inform the Saladin to hold in position while we determine its status."

"Aye-aye, Sir."

The Admiral changed focus and spoke to Darlam Silani, the man from UNCLE.

"Have you spoken to the Arabs?" he demanded.

"The Emir of Kuwait, Ahmed Al-Sabah was most polite," replied the Commissioner, "but he failed to see that it was any of our business. He pointed out that the project had been on going for many years now and at no time had we, or you for that matter, complained about it and he didn't see that we had any cause to do so now."

"The Exterior Minister also took the time to point out that the United Nations had no authority in space having, in his words, abdicated the responsibility," said the Commissioner.

"So he's not going to stop the ship?" asked the Admiral.

"No," admitted the Commissioner.

"Thank you, Sir," said the Admiral. "CIC, what's the status of the Saladin," he asked switching back to his own net.

"Sir, the Captain of the vessel informed us that he is now leaving the system on his present heading and would we please keep our vessels out of his way as he wouldn't be held responsible if one of them got damaged."

The Admiral shook his head; the man had to know that he had kicked the hive over, why was he being so bloody difficult?

"Scramble the ready squadron," barked the Admiral, "Tell them I want that ship surrounded."

"Aye-aye, Sir," came the reply from the disembodied voice.

"Tors," called Admiral Hargreaves, "What are the chances of the fighters damaging that ship enough to stop it?"

Captain Tors Haaraldsson pondered on the problem for a moment and then declared, "I'd say they're pretty good from what we know about its construction."

Admiral Hargreaves frowned, "Can we do it without harming any of the people on board?"

"I wouldn't like to try it," admitted Tors, "I don't know how many corners they've cut building it, nor how many people are actually on board."

Admiral Hargreaves shook his head. "We should have decided what to do about this a long time ago."

Tors nodded, "But we've been so busy dealing with our own problems that we just sort of sat by and watched as they built the thing," he said.

"CIC, call the Saladin and ask her what her intentions are?" said the Admiral.

There was a long wait before the Captain running the CIC came back, "Sir, they're not responding," he said, "Firefox One has passed over their bridge and they simply waved at him."

"Thank you," said the Admiral before he turned to Tors.

"I'm not going to be the one to order the destruction of that ship," he said softly. "We'll do our best to keep them here but we'll do nothing to endanger human life. If their Captain holds his nerve they're out of here."

Tors nodded, "Are you going to order them followed?"

The Admiral pursed his lips, "Yes," he said, "You'd better tell the Oswestry Castle to get after her, again."

---oOo---

"Captain, there's a Confederacy corvette tailing us."

The report bought the Captain's attention away from his guest and back to his ship. "The same one as last time?" he asked from his command chair.

"It looks like it, Sir," replied the sensor operator.

"Very well, keep an eye on it," ordered the Captain.

"A problem?" asked Ayatollah Boroujerdi from the chair beside the Captain.

"Probably not," said Katib. "On our shakedown cruise we were followed the whole way. They did nothing then and looking at the way the fighters opened up for us I don't see them doing anything now."

"Sir," called the communications technician, "there is a call from Earth, a Bahir Al-Sa'ud is demanding to speak to you!" The technician looked nervously at the Captain and waited for an answer.

Katib exchanged looks with the Ayatollah and slowly rose to his feet, he crossed the bridge and could feel the eyes of the crew upon him.

With quiet deliberation he reached across the technician and grasped the headset jack where it entered the console. He pulled the three and a half millimetre wide plug from its socket and handed it to the technician.

"Do not put it back until we are in hyperspace," he said.

Wide-eyed the technician nodded. Around the bridge people looked on in shock but held their positions. This was definitely a potential war that most of them wanted nothing to do with.

As Katib returned to his seat the Exec joined him and after a moment asked softly, "Is that wise?"

Katib looked at the younger man, "The Ayatollah ordered me to break contact as soon as we departed," he said.

"But..."

Katib placed his hand on the young man's arm, "Drop it for now, Rayyan," said the Captain as he flicked his eyes towards the Ayatollah who was studiously ignoring the pair of them. "We can discuss it after we're in hyperspace and things have settled down."

Rayyan stood silently but Katib was sure that the man would do as he'd asked.

He turned to the Ayatollah. "We'll be going into hyperspace in a few minutes. When we do the stars that you can see through the screen will all appear to charge towards us before they blink out."

"Thank you for the warning, Captain," said the Ayatollah, "and for your trust," he added softly.

"That was given before we left the boat bay," replied Katib. "Now I just need to get my ship away intact and the crew calmed down." He grinned at the Ayatollah, "It would be a help if you could scowl at anyone who looks as though they intend to ask any awkward questions."

The Ayatollah nodded and Katib was amazed that he'd even asked the man to do something like that. Either he didn't respect the Ayatollah, which he didn't believe for a minute, or he was more relaxed than he should be given the situation around him.

"Jump in thirty seconds," reported the Exec.

Beside him Katib sensed Mohammad Boroujerdi tense up, just like he had the first couple of times he and the Salah al-Din had made the transition to hyperspace. He allowed a small smile to cross his face as the last of the Confederacy fighters broke away, not wanting to get caught up in the translation bubble that would happen as his ship departed normal space.

The deep hum that permeated the ship was the only physical sign within the ship that they'd made the change but the view through the armoured screen was both spectacular and in some ways terrifying. The first time he'd viewed it he'd nearly screamed and many around him on the bridge had given way to that temptation.

This time he just watched in fascination as the white lights that represented the stars accelerated from apparent rest until they were bright streaks moving directly towards him. And then, nothing, the lights winked out and the view through the screen went black.

Around the bridge people allowed themselves to begin breathing again and as they relaxed Katib turned to the Ayatollah.

"That's it," he said, "We'll see nothing out of there until we drop back into normal space in a month's time."

"A month?" asked the Ayatollah, "I thought the journey was to take a year?"

"The totally journey will," replied Katib, "but we will drop back into normal space every month or so just to check up on our navigation."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Not really necessary," said Katib as he frowned, "but preferable. It's the same as being on a ship at sea, you can plot your course and sail along it but you still check where you are in case anything has gone amiss."

"What could possibly go amiss?" asked the Ayatollah, a look of concern on his face.

"To be honest I can't think of anything that could really happen, but why take chances. Dropping out of hyperspace as we go along will cost us a couple of days in total journey time," explained the Captain. "It will also keep everyone reassured that we are going to get where we are meant to be going to."

The Ayatollah nodded in understanding and as he did so Katib got to his feet, "Let me show you to your quarters. We can get together later and discuss how we are going to organise things for the next year or so on this pleasure cruise."

The Ayatollah rose to his feet, "Let's hope that it is a pleasure cruise," he replied before following the Captain off the bridge.

An hour later, having dropped the Ayatollah off at his quarters, Katib invited his executive officer to his cabin for a coffee and a discussion.

"Take a seat, Rayyan," said Katib after his Exec arrived.

"It's time we discussed some of the less technical aspects of this mission," began Katib after the pair of them had made themselves comfortable. "As every member of the crew is aware we have just over four thousand women on board who've basically been kidnapped. The idea is that these women will become our wives and you'd better wipe that silly grin off your face now!"

Rayyan looked a little surprised at Katib's outburst. After all he'd already helped himself to a couple of the women.

"Sorry," said Katib, "I'll try that again." He sighed, "I don't feel that anyone has really thought this out and we are going to have to deal with the fallout that's going to happen. These women are bright, look at where they were collected from, and almost certainly independent. They are not going to take lightly to being kidnapped and anyone who tries to force them is going to face the full wrath of all of them."

Katib shook his head, "It would have been better altogether if they'd allowed the crew to try and attract women in the normal way, at least then we'd have had a spread of ages and abilities."

"Abilities?" asked Rayyan, "Didn't you just say these were the brightest of women?"

"Brightest, yes," admitted Katib, "but how many of them have run a house? How many of them have bought up children?" He looked Rayyan in the eye, "How many of them are experienced lovers?"

As Katib spoke Rayyan's eyes had grown wider.

"I'd never considered that?" he admitted.

"And neither had I," said Katib. "It was Emira who pointed it out to me. She also said that there was a lot of ill feeling brewing amongst the women and she wasn't sure how to head it off."

"What can women do?" asked Rayyan dismissivly.

"Lets see," said Katib, "They outnumber us at least four to one. You want to take them into your cabin and have a little fun. Do you think you could beat four of them physically, without the normal social constraints of good behaviour?"

"But we did this so we could be free," moaned Rayyan.

"We did," said Katib, "but the women didn't. In time I hope they will come to see it that way as well but until they reach that frame of mind they are going to be potentially dangerous and a stupid act by one of the men could set the whole thing off."

"Then what do we do, keep them locked up?"

Katib looked at his Exec in surprise, the man was an excellent officer but his question just seemed totally absurd given what he'd been saying.

"What I intend to do is create surrogate families," said Katib. "Each man will be given four women at random and he will be required to treat them as though they were his sisters. From there we spend the rest of the journey having as many social events as we can squeeze in. At those we will allow nature to take its course."

Katib sighed, "Hopefully the women will find a man that they are prepared to live with."

"And if they don't?" asked Rayyan.

"I'll have to discuss it with the Ayatollah," said Katib, "but I feel that we will be left with two options. We can keep those women who haven't picked a husband as slaves in the way that we used to or we can allow them to set up their own houses with all the rights that a man would have as head of a household."

"Slaves," said Rayyan, "You mean like the Americans are doing."

Katib nodded.

"I don't think I'd like that," said Rayyan before he screwed his face up, "But letting women go out into the world unprotected sort of goes against the grain."

"We've always been taught that women need to be protected," agreed Katib. "I just don't see how that is going to be possible if they don't co-operate with us."

Rayyan raised an eyebrow.

"Look at our schedule," said Katib. "The plan, whilst flexible, calls for us to spend a year getting to Escardis. Once there we are to establish a colony utilising as much of the equipment we're carrying as possible. And then, after about a year, a scratch crew is to return to Earth to pick up another party of colonists. Providing of course that the Swarm hasn't destroyed the place in the meantime."

Rayyan nodded as his Captain stated what he already knew.

"That means that in approximately two and a half years time, if we stick to the plan, we will be leaving four thousand women on a planet with just five hundred men." Katib looked at his Exec; "If we haven't normalised our relationships by then I'm not sure that I would want to be one of the men left behind, no matter how nubile these women look."

Rayyan sat back, his brain finally breaking the connection to his groin. He pondered the scenario his Captain had just painted and his face screwed up as he drew his own conclusions.

"We could be in deep shit," he said eventually.

"That was my conclusion," said Katib.

"So what do we do about it?" asked Rayyan.

"We start by giving the women as much room and support as we possibly can," said Katib. "We explain to the men what the situation is and how they can assist in the transition. And then we pray."

Rayyan still looked worried.

Katib sighed, "Let's be honest here, Rayyan. We've got a crew with an average age of twenty-four and four thousand women that average around twenty. They're going to be confined to a metal box for the next twelve months with nothing to do but stare at each other. They're either going to kill one another or they're going to fuck like rabbits."

Rayyan looked shocked, "But�" he began.

"No buts," said Katib, "That's a fact. What we, along with the Ayatollah have to do is manage the consequences of that. Initially as it affects us as people but also how it is going to impact on our religion and our way of life once we reach the planet."

"What are you going to do?" asked Rayyan.

"Well I don't know about you but I'm going to spend the next year being very nice to my wives and hope, I mean really hope, that they grow to love me," said Katib. "I'd suggest that you pick out a couple of women who you think you can live with and do the same."

Rayyan looked at his commander for a moment before looking to the heavens, "Allah guide us," he beseeched, "In the name of the Prophet."

---oOo---

Back to Index

---oOo---