LotS/The Story/Tales of The Void/Salim and The Devil

Salim Khan," Susie said.

"I like his suit," Remmler said.

"Bright red? It's a fashion disaster!"

"Maybe after we get paid, I'll get one myself..."

"Good thinking. In gunfights the enemies can all aim for the red guy."

The door to the cabin opened. Remmler snorted and followed Susie inside.

"He brought his own carpet," Remmler said. He pointed at the dark green rectangle in the middle of his room. Arabic characters danced across the fabric in calligraphic swirls. At the far end a black cubic structure was depicted, surrounded by a sea of white-clad worshippers. "Weird."

"It's a prayer rug, idiot."

Susie Unette picked up a datapad from the bedside table while he rummaged through the drawers. It was password and retina scan protected, but her electronic toolkit took care of that. The pad opened and yielded its secrets. There were several books on the device, including a copy of the Quran in both Arabic and English, and vast quantities of emails. Susie flicked through some of these -- enough to get an impression of the man without violating more of his privacy than she had to. Many were from his mother. They included pleas for Salim to stop drinking and gambling, accompanied by religious quotations and warnings of damnation. Terms such as "nice girl" and "arranged marriage" were also sprinkled throughout these maternal missives. Other emails were from his employers in the Contella Consortium. Those were rather more colorful and amusing in their language, but they contained little of interest.

There were photographs as well. In one of them Salim Khan posed with a Tommy gun. Susie recognized the weapon he'd turned over for safekeeping upon boarding the ship.

"Looks like he's who he says he is," Susie said. "Let's finish up and keep moving."

"I saw Iblis," Salim said.

"Ib-what?" Casper said.

"Iblis. Shaitan. The devil."

"Preposterous!" Mrs. Bassingthwaighte said. "Satan was the invention of superstitious peasants on ancient Earth!"

"I used to believe that too..."

05:49, 9 November 2013 (CST)

"Which store are we hitting?" Salim asked.

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, like they always did before a job. It helped keep him centered. Behind him, hidden from the outside world by tinted smart windows, three men and a woman checked their weapons and their disguises.

"No store," Imran said. He slotted a power pack into his blaster pistol. It went home with a soft click. "This time we're going for a ransom."

"What the hell? I told you I didn't want to-"

"Why'd you think we didn't tell you?" Samina asked.

The men grinned. Khalid slapped Salim's shoulder with a meaty hand, numbing the driver's arm all the way down to his wrist.

"We're robbers," Salim said, "not kidnappers!"

"These people are loaded," Imran said. "We'll make way more from this job than knocking over a million kebab shops or corner stores."

"But-"

"Just do your job and shut up!"

"It's okay," Samina said. She cocked her assault rifle. "When Sal gets his share of the creds, he'll stop whining."

The vehicle's doors opened and slammed closed, leaving Salim alone. He drove his palms against the wheel and spewed out a stream of Punjabi profanities.

"Anjam heard it from Fazan Mahmood," Imran said. "The bastard's bought a restaurant on the Curry Kilometer. The only crime he's doing anymore is food poisoning."

"Fat Faze? How many chems did he sell for that?" Salim asked.

"It wasn't chems. It was that van he ripped off in Karachi."

"Huh? That was a screw up. He thought it was full of guns, but it was just crap for the museum. How'd he make any credits out of that cock-up?"

"A bunch of religious nuts wanted something from the van. They paid a fortune for it."

Salim whistled.

"Some bastards have all the luck," he said.

"And some cults have more money than sense. So how about we get our share?"

The conversation replayed itself in Salim's head, punctuated by assorted swearwords, until the click of an opening door dragged him back to the present. He jerked round, reaching for his gun.

"Relax, Sal!" Samina said.

Imran came next, pushing a slim, freckled, redheaded girl into the car. There was a splatter of blood across her blue blouse -- the exact same shade as her hair. The others piled in after them. Anjam has holding his arm with crimson fingers.

"What happened?" Salim asked.

"A kanjar cop shot at us," Anjam said. "Imran made us go before I could blast his brains out!"

"How bad-"

"Shut up and drive!" Imran said.

Salim turned around, swore, and hit the accelerator.

"Pretty," Khalid said. "If they don't pay, give her to me and I'll get our money's worth out of her!"

The girl stared up at him. She was trembling. Salim didn't blame her -- not with her arms and legs tied to the armchair, and that ugly face leering down at her.

"It's okay," he said. "No one's going to hurt you."

"Right," Samina said. "As soon as your people pay up, we'll let you go. They're rich. What we're asking's nothing to them."

"You don't know who we are," the girl said. "Please, just let me go, before..."

"Before what?" Salim asked.

"Before they send him. He'll kill you all!"

Anjam looked from the girl to Imran, his eyes wide. He scratched his sealed wound.

"What's she talking about?" he said. "Who does she work for?"

"The most powerful force in the galaxy," she said.

"Yeah?" Khalid snorted. "Here's a more powerful one!"

His bulging, chem-enhanced muscles flexed when he grabbed his groin. The girl flinched away, tugging at her bonds. Khalid laughed.

The young, freckled face looked up at Salim through cold eyes.

"He's coming," she said, "and he'll kill you all. KILL! YOU! ALL!"

She burst into laughter.

"Sal! Get up!"

Salim Khan's eyes flicked open. He groped for the gun under his pillow, but strong fingers grabbed his wrist.

"Chutiya! It's me!" Anjam said. "Your turn to watch the girl!"

"Oh..."

Salim shrugged him off, stood up, and stretched his protesting muscles. The sleeping mats they used in their safe houses left a lot to be desired. Anjam went to his own mat. He was snoring before Salim had even left the room.

The lounge was quiet and dark, its lighting dimmed. Their prisoner's fiery hair was the brightest thing in the room. She turned to Salim when he entered, and for an awful moment he expected the same cold eyes and chilling words from his dream. But there was nothing on her face but resignation.

"Hi," he said. The greeting seemed stupid even as he spoke it, but it was hardly a situation he knew how to handle. How were you supposed to greet a woman you'd kidnapped?

"Hi." A faint smile crossed her mouth. Perhaps she understood the insane awkwardness of the situation too.

"Are you... okay?"

"No. A bunch of armed criminals snatched me off the street and tied me to a chair. You should call the police..."

She gave a dry, parched cough.

"Water?" he asked.

The girl nodded.

Salim went into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. He came back with a glass of cold water that he proffered to her for a second -- before realizing that she had no way of grabbing it. Instead he held it up to her lips. She took several short, quick sips.

"Thanks," she said.

He moved to the couch and put the glass down on a table.

"Did Anjam give you any food?"

"No. But it's okay. I'm not hungry."

They sat in silence for a while. Salim glanced at the TV and wondered if he should put something on to mask their mutual discomfort.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Huh?" For an instant he thought he'd misheard. "Sorry?"

"My people can be generous to anyone who helps us. But they won't pay a ransom. They'll send someone instead, and he'll... Please, let me go. You don't know what you've done."

He stared into her eyes, searching for desperate bravado, for deception. There was only sincerity.

"They'll pay," he said. "Imran knows how to scare people."

She sighed. Salim didn't know what to say, so he activated the TV's holo-screen and flicked through the channels until he found a marathon of old Super Slaughter reruns. He was still watching the televised carnage when Khalid's massive frame lumbered into the room.

"My turn, Sal," he said.

The girl looked from Khalid to Salim. Her eyes pled.

"I'm watching this," Salim said. "I can take your shift."

Khalid scowled. He crossed over to the other couch and sat down. Salim bit the inside of his cheek, like he always did when he was nervous. The TV blared. He kept looking from the screen to Khalid, and each time met two glowering, bloodshot eyes that made him avert his gaze. The veins in the big man's neck were throbbing. Whatever chems he was taking these days, he'd injected a fresh hit. That was bad. It always put him in a foul temper.

Khalid's glare shifted between the screen and the girl. His hand crept down to his crotch. She glanced at Salim, and again her eyes begged him for help. Khalid followed her gaze. His biceps bulged against his shirt's loose sleeves. His neck seemed to convulse, as though it was on the verge of exploding and launching his head into orbit.

Minutes passed. They might have been hours. Then Khalid got up and went to her. She shuddered.

"Khal..." Salim said.

The big man said nothing. He dropped to one knee, like a lover on the verge of a proposal. One huge hand clasped the girl's thigh. The other reached for her breast. She squealed.

"Khal! Get off her, you bastard! Khal!"

Khalid's head snapped round. His eyes were almost all red now, twin pools of blood that reflected the screen's brutality and let it drown in their crimson depths. His neck, arms, and pectorals all pulsed. His entire body was one giant beating heart.

"Shut up, or I'll rip your head off and take a crap down the hole!"

He turned back to the girl, thick tongue dropping out between his jaws. She mouthed the word 'help'. Salim snatched up the glass of water and launched himself off the couch.

Khalid didn't even look around. Not till the glass shattered on the side of his head, and the shards tore at his flesh.

"Bastard!" he roared. "Kanjar bastard!"

A huge, muscle-laden arm swung round. It crashed into Salim's jaw and sent him flying. His back slammed against the floor, pain thundering through his spine. Something hard fell down his throat and nearly choked him. A distant part of his mind, beyond the bright explosions in his head, recognized it as a tooth.

Khalid's dusky, demonic face loomed up through the haze. His cheek hung from his skull like a piece of butchered meat. Blood rained down in torrents.

"Khal! Sal!"

Light flooded the room. Samina stood in the doorway, clad in a dressing gown. Imran was behind her in his boxer shorts. Anjam brought up the rear -- still fully dressed, his shirt and pants rumpled by sleep.

"What the hell?" Imran stormed past her and grabbed Khalid's arm. "You're-"

"Get off me!"

Khalid swung at him. It was a clumsy, savage blow. Imran ducked and shuffled backwards.

"Khal!" Samina had a pistol leveled in both hands. "Get away from him, you crazy bastard!"

"He glassed me! He fuc-"

"He tried to..." the hostage cried. Tears ran down her cheeks. "He... he..."

"So what?" Khalid thumped his chest like an ape. "Who cares if I have a bit of fun with her? I wasn't going to kill her!"

Imran, Anjam, and Samina looked at one another. Salim groaned. He read the expressions on their faces. They didn't care what happened to the girl, as long as they got their creds. And Khalid -- big, dangerous Khalid -- was too important to antagonize. They'd side with him. Unless...

"Idiot!" Salim sat up and spat out a stream of blood. "If word gets out that we do that to our hostages, think everyone'll just hand over their creds? They'll kill us! Cut our goddamn balls off, like what happened to that pervert Haroun!"

"He's right," Imran said. "Khal, go to the bathroom and let Samina fix your face."

"I want-" Khalid said.

"I don't give a crap what you want! Get your face fixed and go back to bed! Anjam, Salim, you watch her."

Khalid roared and stormed off.

The others were all in the lounge with the girl when Salim woke up. He'd stayed up after Anjam had fallen asleep, and sat with the prisoner until Samina and Imran came in with the morning light. He'd done his best to calm her down. Then he'd grabbed an hour or so of rest. It wasn't nearly enough. His eyes were heavy, and his head ached.

Khalid glared at him from the couch and grunted. His eyes were less bloodshot now, and his muscles weren't convulsing.

The girl gave him a faint smile.

"Get breakfast," Imran said. "Then we're going out. Her cult sent a message -- they want to meet. You're driving me and Khal."

Salim just nodded, and went into the kitchen. He rooted through the cupboards for something soft enough for his abused mouth. He was reaching for an old, brown banana when the crash came.

The banter in the next room turned into screams.

Salim pressed himself against the wall and glanced round the arched doorway. The house's security door lay flat on the carpet. Sunlight poured into the room, illuminating his friends, the girl, and a terrible black specter with burning blue eyes.

Khalid jumped at the intruder, brawny fists swinging. A fast, crisp kick splintered his ribs. The sound of tearing muscle and crunching bone made vomit rise in the back of Salim's throat. He pressed his hand to his mouth to hold it in. Khalid tottered, doubled over. The ebon fiend grabbed him in a front headlock and wrenched. The crack shuddered through Salim's whole body.

The black creature swept through the room like a djinn, a whirlwind of supernatural force and eternal malevolence. Anjam went for his gun. He died with it still in its holster, gurgling through a crushed throat. Imran moved in front of Samina. One punch shattered his temple. The next launched Samina's screaming form through the air.

Salim ducked back from the doorway as her body flew into the room. She smashed against the fridge, denting the white metal. Samina collapsed at its foot, leaving a red smear in her wake. She blinked at him once and was still.

He closed his eyes and uttered a wordless prayer, entreating the being he'd never addressed since childhood.

"Are there any others?" asked a voice. No... Not a voice. Two voices -- one with a strange accent, the other an ominous growl.

"No. That's all of them," the girl said.

Salim held his breath.

There was a loud noise, almost a... Yes... A sniff. The djinn, the demon, the monster, was sniffing the air like a beast. Searching for a scent. For a victim...

"You are certain?" the double voice said.

"Yes. Let's go..."

Salim stayed frozen for several minutes. Then he slumped against the wall and wept.

05:49, 9 November 2013 (CST)

"That night I bought a prayer rug and a Quran," Salim said. "Because if Iblis exists, a man needs better protection than guns or armor."