Hans started to laugh. The laugh grew and grew until it filled Ling's entire room. It grew deep and belly splitting. It had to grow, for it held twenty or more years of hate in it.
"I love it here," Petra said. "Here by the lake, I mean, not up there in the castle. I wish it never had to end, that I could turn into one of the rocks, a tall one so I could see out, and just see the seasons pass, watch the birds and the bees fly, and never, ever, have to feel anything again. Thank you for taking me." She put her head down, shyly.
Hamilton wasn't sure quite what he felt at that moment. There was still some shame from being a boor earlier, surely. And he felt a great pity for the girl, too. But there was something else he hadn't felt in a very long time, something he absolutely didn't want to put to words or even admit to feeling.
"It's getting late," he said, "and it's a longish walk. Let's head back to the castle."
"You mean you're not going to . . ." She didn't sound disappointed so much as surprised. Then again, it was a romantic setting and she was sure he'd want to. In fact, she'd been sure he'd taken her to the lake only to fuck her.
"No," he smiled. "Not here and maybe not there either. We need to have a long talk first. And I need to have a talk with my . . . ummm . . . servant."
Honsvang, Province of Baya, 10 Muharran,
1538 AH (21 October, 2113
"You're out of your fucking mind," Bongo said. "No way. No effing way! Not gonna happen."
Bongo and Hamilton were walking not far from where Petra and he had had their picnic earlier in the day. He'd walked her home, seen her to her room, kissed her chastely, picked up his deposit and gone immediately back to town to the hotel room. From there he and Bongo had left for the lake because, as Bongo had said, "I can sweep this room for bugs; I can't sweep it for ears."
"Let's let that go, for now," Hamilton suggested. "What have you found out?"
Reluctantly, despite the security of the open field by the lake, Bongo continued, "I did a recon of the castle—the one we're interested in—last night. It's pretty tightly sewn up. There's never less than forty guards on duty, on a one-in-three watch schedule. They're all well armed and apparently well disciplined. They're in layers, too. Some more high tech security also, sensors, lasers, CCTV . . . the kind of shit the Caliphate produces little of. They've got dogs . . . one of the furry bastards got my scent, too. I had a helluva time getting away unseen. Those guys will alert on anything. We're not getting in on the sly."
"I know," Hamilton agreed, "which is why—"
"Like I said, no fucking way. We are not taking into our confidence a fucking
Hamilton looked up, intending to continue the argument, when he spotted a black-uniformed man leading a woman shrouded in a burka by the hand. The woman was not Petra; that much he could see by her walk. So he assumed . . .
"Why don't you kill him now?" Hamilton asked conversationally. "Me, personally, I think he looks kind of tough. You're on your own."
"Ibn Minden, Hans,
Hans inclined that head toward Ling. "She's told me everything—"
"Everything I know," Ling corrected. "Which may not be everything."
In response, Ling nodded her head vigorously, half a dozen times.
For the first time since Hamilton had known him, Bongo laughed uproariously. Everyone, Ling included, looked at him strangely. That only made him laugh harder.
"I'm a chippie, too," Bongo finally explained. "She was punishing her control . . . weren't you, dear?"
"You never told me," Hamilton said.
"'Need to know,'" Bongo quoted. "I needed to have the chip put in to control some of my voluntary and involuntary muscles after I was medically discharged. It's not pleasant to have."
"
Bongo began to tense, as if for a killing fight, then just as suddenly relaxed. "
"First, the children slaves in the lower castle must be freed and delivered to a safe place. You can do this."
"We've no way to get them across Lake Constance," Bongo objected.
