Caliphate полностью

Yeah, sure. You can be brave as Hell. It's easy for you to be brave and calm, Ling thought, but it's my body that's going to be shot, not yours.

Woman, he sent back. If it makes you feel any better, above all if it will get you to shut up, you can have my body if this one is killed.

Why would you do that? she asked suspiciously. Have they some way to preserve your consciousness and put it in a grown body?

No, they don't. As to why . . . because I really did volunteer, and you did not.

Oh. Look . . . I'm sor—

Just shut up and let me do my job.

"Nice job, Hans," Matheson said as his gaze took in the three captive and bound scientists, the containment unit holding the virus, and the computers all stacked on a table. He turned to the chief of the villagers he'd seized, pointed toward the captives and ordered, "Take these men onto the airship. Now."

The village headman simply told six of the men in his party to do so. In an instant, so used to obedience were these Germans, the three scientists were being bodily carried, still taped to their chairs, up the winding staircase that led to the battlements above.

"These things, too," Matheson said, pointing at the computers and the cold storage unit containing the virus samples. "Get them onto the airship."

* * *

Retief, with several armed ex-slaves still with him, saw the janissaries down below open fire on the airship. Only a matter of time, he thought, until one of them gets lucky and hits the pilot. Then we're all fucked. The cargo crew can't shoot . . . probably never held a rifle before last night. But I can shoot and they can draw fire.

"On the battlements," he ordered the cargo boys. "We've one chance to get away and that chance is the airship! Try to aim, as best you can. Shoot slowly. I'll be more deliberate."

His pistol was useless, of course. At this range the corbasi could hit the airship . . . maybe . . . if Allah really willed it. He didn't even bother. Nor was there any cover to speak of. Thus, when the first burst of fire came from above, the colonel's instincts, and those of his men, were to go back around the corner of the castle. Under the circumstances, men tend to follow their instincts.

Children will instinctively follow an adult. Even so, these children had learned, if anything, never to trust an adult who wasn't a parent. Thus, when Hans showed up at the gate to their pen, opened it and said, in German, "Follow me," the kids wouldn't. That none of them spoke a word of German didn't help.

The little boy, Meara's play toy, spoke up, saying, in his own tongue, "This is a good man. He saved me from the man who used me. Follow him."

At first reluctant, then with growing willingness and speed, the children massed at the exit, creating a traffic jam that Hans was only able to sort out by physically picking them up and moving them. In a short time, though each second seemed to Hans to last hours, he had them outside in a loose gaggle. With his hands, Hans gestured for them to follow.

Much like the Pied Piper, albeit sans fife, Hans led the boys and girls out of their pen, past the crematorium, into the lab and to the exit that led to the tower stairs. From there, he selected a couple of older children, perhaps ten or twelve years old, he thought, and pointed upwards. He prodded the other children to follow until he'd established that as a natural direction of flow. He hoped that someone up top would meet them and guide them onto the airship. If not, Matheson would pick them up on his way out. For himself, he had other things to do.

* * *

I was afraid of this, Dr. Richter sent to Matheson.

Afraid of what, Doc?

If we were running a bio war lab—and, of course, we are—we would have a failsafe, something to ensure the complete sterilization of the lab in seconds in the event of a failure of containment. I see nothing here to indicate that they've got that here—no pipes, no vents, no fixed neutralization agent dispersers, nothing.