Muslim in Texas. That has got to be fun. These bastards—" He swung his good arm at the prone men. "They're hard enough on geeks. Guess I showed them something new, huh?"
"You should come with me. I'll take you to a doctor. Your mind is strong but your body is weak. Have mercy. You can't learn your potential if someone here shoots you."
This finally seemed to make sense. The programmer was pale as a sheet and starting to shiver. He rubbed his temple. "My head really hurts. What's your name?"
"Fouad. I'm an instructor . . . in languages, as you guessed. What's yours?"
"Nick. I'm pretty important. Systems about to come on line. Back in Texas to check it out, the last details—then, wow! I get my own internal Krell brain boost. Do you know Axel Price? If you see him, tell him the treatment worked—I'm better than ever."
"I will," Fouad said.
A full squad of guards rushed clockwise along the circumference behind Fouad. From the other direction, behind the fallen guards and the programmer, ten more gathered, assault weapons drawn—pointing at Fouad as well as the skinny man.
They were well trained, not trigger-happy—for which he was grateful.
Fouad waved them back. "He's unarmed and he's injured. He's prepared to surrender."
The guards moved in, assault rifles at ready, unconvinced. Three of the five on the floor were again trying to get up.
"Shoot the bastards! Shoot 'em both!" Big Guard shouted, but his hand slipped in his own sweat and he fell and cracked his jaw. That was it for him.
Fouad secretly enjoyed this. For a moment, his sympathies were with the programmer—with Nick.
A short, blocky man in a dark red shirt—senior staff, chief of security—joined the group gathering beside Fouad.
Three of the guards pulled steel flashlights with big flat heads from their belts. The programmer yelped with delight. "Try it! Try me!"
The three circled at the maximum distance the hall allowed and swept him with super-dazzling flashes of light, brighter than a dozen suns. Nick yelped and covered his face, too late. The brilliance flooded his retinas, stunned the nerves behind his eyes, temporarily locked his brain in something like paralysis.
Helpless, off balance, he stumbled and fell. The guards swarmed him like ants over a grasshopper. In seconds the programmer was strung up like a roped steer.
The chief lifted one gloved hand, game over, then gave him Fouad a knowing wink, one warrior to another. "Some show, huh? We'll take care of him from here. Get back to whatever you were doing—and not a word to anybody."
Fouad agreed that would be best.
Chapter Ten
Lion City
Sunset painted the empty land like a sheet of flame, oranges and reds on the horizon, blazing gold overhead. Dusty late summer days in Texas were bookended by wind-blown glimpses of hell. In the morning, the hell began yellow and pink and nearly silent; before nightfall, the sky gates opened, fierce and fiery.
South and east of Lion City, the main campus of Talos Corporation—classrooms, barracks, dining halls, mock towns, firing ranges—sprawled over ten thousand acres, larger than Lion City itself, and prouder, as well. Proud and remote.
The walled, moated, razor-wired campus lay quiet under the hot dusk sky, divided into four compounds like a gigantic cross carved into the west Texas flatland. Each compound was devoted to an aspect of Talos's overall mission: to train the world's police and armies in special tactics.
The gunshots, cannon fire, and explosions of the morning and afternoon had stopped. A couple of helicopters still hovered like lost dragonflies, dropping searchlight beams. The beams danced in the ascending heat. Hours would pass before the Earth cooled enough to kill all the shimmers and dust devils, the djinn of mirages.
Fouad was glad to be driving away from this day. He needed to communicate with his handlers and tell them he had what they wanted.
He pulled up to the lonely blockhouse at the Monarch gate, rolling
"You should come with me. I'll take you to a doctor. Your mind is strong but your body is weak. Have mercy. You can't learn your potential if someone here shoots you."
This finally seemed to make sense. The programmer was pale as a sheet and starting to shiver. He rubbed his temple. "My head really hurts. What's your name?"
"Fouad. I'm an instructor . . . in languages, as you guessed. What's yours?"
"Nick. I'm pretty important. Systems about to come on line. Back in Texas to check it out, the last details—then, wow! I get my own internal Krell brain boost. Do you know Axel Price? If you see him, tell him the treatment worked—I'm better than ever."
"I will," Fouad said.
A full squad of guards rushed clockwise along the circumference behind Fouad. From the other direction, behind the fallen guards and the programmer, ten more gathered, assault weapons drawn—pointing at Fouad as well as the skinny man.
They were well trained, not trigger-happy—for which he was grateful.
Fouad waved them back. "He's unarmed and he's injured. He's prepared to surrender."
The guards moved in, assault rifles at ready, unconvinced. Three of the five on the floor were again trying to get up.
"Shoot the bastards! Shoot 'em both!" Big Guard shouted, but his hand slipped in his own sweat and he fell and cracked his jaw. That was it for him.
Fouad secretly enjoyed this. For a moment, his sympathies were with the programmer—with Nick.
A short, blocky man in a dark red shirt—senior staff, chief of security—joined the group gathering beside Fouad.
Three of the guards pulled steel flashlights with big flat heads from their belts. The programmer yelped with delight. "Try it! Try me!"
The three circled at the maximum distance the hall allowed and swept him with super-dazzling flashes of light, brighter than a dozen suns. Nick yelped and covered his face, too late. The brilliance flooded his retinas, stunned the nerves behind his eyes, temporarily locked his brain in something like paralysis.
Helpless, off balance, he stumbled and fell. The guards swarmed him like ants over a grasshopper. In seconds the programmer was strung up like a roped steer.
The chief lifted one gloved hand, game over, then gave him Fouad a knowing wink, one warrior to another. "Some show, huh? We'll take care of him from here. Get back to whatever you were doing—and not a word to anybody."
Fouad agreed that would be best.
Chapter Ten
Lion City
Sunset painted the empty land like a sheet of flame, oranges and reds on the horizon, blazing gold overhead. Dusty late summer days in Texas were bookended by wind-blown glimpses of hell. In the morning, the hell began yellow and pink and nearly silent; before nightfall, the sky gates opened, fierce and fiery.
South and east of Lion City, the main campus of Talos Corporation—classrooms, barracks, dining halls, mock towns, firing ranges—sprawled over ten thousand acres, larger than Lion City itself, and prouder, as well. Proud and remote.
The walled, moated, razor-wired campus lay quiet under the hot dusk sky, divided into four compounds like a gigantic cross carved into the west Texas flatland. Each compound was devoted to an aspect of Talos's overall mission: to train the world's police and armies in special tactics.
The gunshots, cannon fire, and explosions of the morning and afternoon had stopped. A couple of helicopters still hovered like lost dragonflies, dropping searchlight beams. The beams danced in the ascending heat. Hours would pass before the Earth cooled enough to kill all the shimmers and dust devils, the djinn of mirages.
Fouad was glad to be driving away from this day. He needed to communicate with his handlers and tell them he had what they wanted.
He pulled up to the lonely blockhouse at the Monarch gate, rolling
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