Chapter 45: End of an Era

Three years later...

Time: April 1, 8243

My ramjet left Dalma promptly at 5:30 AM, ten minutes after sunrise. There had been no time to brief Dodi or Michal before departure, but they both seemed relaxed and happy and were enthralled watching the first rays of the sun sparkle across the blue Caribbean. I told them to enjoy the sights while they could. We were flying north and west to Dakar, and would land well before sunrise there and with the moon still well below the horizon.

Such a strange three years, I thought to myself, as I glanced down at my arm insignia, a square checker of purple, red, yellow and now green. As I had hoped, I had advanced to CL-29 in 8241, during the same Judgment that Utility's Ajib had advanced to CL-30. And as I had feared, I had been forced and maneuvered into advancing to CL-30 three months ago. The death of CL-30 Faisal last year had opened up opportunities for enemies I never knew existed.

My promotion as the replacement for Faisal was done in the most heavy-handed manner possible and by the sub-factions within Health and Utility that I trusted least. Currently the CL-30 position was the very last spot on the Council I wanted to be occupying. In spite of my six additional votes, I thought I would have a much better chance at Cunif Califar from my old CL-29 position. Dalma has become such a strange place for me. During my coming months at Dakar, I've been thinking of quietly hopping the new bullet-train connection to Anqara and asking Fateen his opinion of the political mess I now find myself in.

Memories. I was pushed back in my plush chair as my jet passed supersonic and the ramjets kicked in. My mind returned to the Judgment of 8240. It was little more than three years ago, but it seemed like a lifetime of political maneuvering. My wife Shephatiah was urging me seize every opportunity to become Cunif Califar. My beautiful, brilliant wife Shephatiah, is she a prophetess? After three years of intense work to weaponize the holographic science, her original insight has proven to be so accurate. All our plans now with the free woman of Australia are based on me becoming Cunif Califar this year, this year! The Australian women will start to die in a few years if I don't.

Will Abdul Quddus die this year? I've lost my inside pipeline within Health with the death of Faisal. I have no idea what our ruler's health is like, nothing since Faisal's last message to me that it was falling apart. And since my promotion to CL-30, even the other Council members of High Tech seem to be avoiding me. My flight to Dakar suddenly seemed very symbolic. I was flying away from the sun and entering an absolute darkness.

About an hour into the flight the views out the windows were pitch black and we over the heartland of a sleeping North American continent. I suddenly felt the pitch of the engines change and the plane began banking to the left, south and away from Dakar. This was completely unexpected and I activated the comm link to the cockpit to demand what was going on.

"Supreme Priority override sir," the pilot responded in our private informality. "It's completely out of our control. The plane is being re-programmed directly from the capital. There's nothing we can do about it without breaking the law."

He sounded a little worried. After Abdul Quddus and Ajib, I was the next highest ranking man on the planet, and it was a severe insult to be commandeering my plane like this without talking to me first. Another Councilman might have ordered the pilot to break the override lock, in which case the pilot would probably be executed in a matter of days, either for violating a Supreme override or violating a direct order from a Councilman.

"Understood," I replied. "Allow the override. Where are we heading?"

"Thank you sir," the pilot whispered, and then more loudly in consternation, "This override isn't even telling us our destination! One moment sir... From our heading, I think it might be Az Zarqa sir. We'll have just enough fuel to get there." There was a short pause. "I think."

Az Zarqa?! I thanked the pilot for his efforts and signed off.

Az Zarqa? That was one of Ajib's Domines, located in the central highlands of the ancient country of Equador. The city used to be called Riobamba before the War. I thought of the place. An elevation of 2700 meters, not quite Qataban but still impressive, and it was the home of the Guild that manufactures water distillation plants, a vital resource around the world. Early last year it became the first township south of the equator to be added to High Tech's bullet-train network. I thought a little more. Ajib wasn't even there. I remembered hearing a few days ago on a public hologram that he was traveling to the capital.

"Sir," the pilot broke in, "Priority triple-Z comm signal coming in."

Ah, I thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Abdul Quddus. I could use a good explanation. "Pipe it through captain," I ordered.

A second later I was staring at Aleser, supreme commander of the Royal Guard. We exchanged salutes. The man looked rigid. What in Shaitan's name was going on?

"Sir," he said, using a completely unexpected title for such a formal transmission, "I hereby formally announce that you are relieved of the title of Grand Mufeto."

Ah. Recognition set in. "When did he die Aleser?" The man looked pained. "No, wait. Don't answer that." This had to be played strictly by the book. No sense of putting a friend's life at risk.

Aleser continued. "Sir, your new title is that of Elector. It is the senior Elector's responsibility to handle all further communications."

"Agreed Aleser." That would be Ajib, the senior CL-30. I gave Aleser a farewell salute, modifying it ever so slightly to show both honor and friendship. It was a secret code buried deep within the senior ranks of the Guard. Aleser looked me straight in the eye through the hologram and returned the salute, bending a finger slightly to acknowledge our friendship. The transmission ended a second later.

Twenty hours later...

After one novel delay after another, my plane was still sitting on the tarmac at Az Zarqa. I was completely isolated except for my two trusted pilots. My only legal means of communications is to the capital, and my only responses from Ajib have been cold messages of disappointment in my delay. Hah! As if Ajib were not pulling the strings on this end. There was nothing wrong with my jet's braking system, nor the tires. I didn't care what the local diagnostics said.

He had me neatly boxed, I'll give him that much, in spite of the outlandish pettiness. My jet finally received takeoff clearance just after my wives entered their sleep cycle, and there's stormy weather both here and at the capital. I would be risking damage to both Michal's and Dodi's minds if I took-off now, unthinkable.

I glanced down at my arm insignia. That part of my stay here had been handled very efficiently. As soon as we landed, commanders of the local Priesthood had come abroad and replaced my square with the emblem of an Elector, a black outline surrounding a white pentagon. All the Council members would be wearing the same, except for Ajib as senior Elector would have five black lines joining the vertexes to the center point of the pentagon.