Footsteps thudded up the aisle behind Mushkilah. She fumbled at the dataport, telling herself it was just Mac Nguyen on the hunt again, or someone chasing after the mailcart to retrieve a packet they'd forgotten to address. How many times had she jumped out of her skin only to have some pimply-faced data-prod bump against her cubicle and move on?

"Ms. Jamjoom." That voice fell around her like a collapsing wall. Setna Amjed. The man gazed down at her over his narrow nose. Though not a tall man, Amjed made up what he lacked in height with sheer presence. Uncommonly pale skin, liquid eyes, almost feminine features notwithstanding, Amjed projected the mien of a man born to tell others what to do and to deal with them efficiently should they fail to do what they were told.

On her dataport, the Mount of the Oracle still glowed white beneath the drop sphere.

Mushkilah's hands leapt for the control pad again, all the while hearing a stream of incoherent nonsense tumbling from her lips. She knew from experience that the best way to get out of trouble was to brave it through - in this instance, act as if she hadn't just been violating half-a-dozen security regulations. Unfortunately, Amjed was a far more threatening figure than her father had ever been, and an illegal tap into the Booth systems was a bit more serious than getting caught slipping out of the house after midnight.

She silently cursed herself as she saw his eyes follow her movements to the calamity on her dataport.

"Ah," he said softly. One corner of Amjed's mouth twitched in what might, under other circumstances, have been mistaken for a smile. "I see you're already observing events on Murkworld."

"Mr. Amjed, I was just…my Warden is there…I thought I should…." Mushkilah stumbled to a halt, her mind blank. She had absolutely no valid excuse for even knowing about the ghazi drop, let alone observing it. She was unquestionably, profoundly screwed.

Though the shape of Amjed's lips again suggested a smile, his eyes glinted cold contempt as he regarded her. "No need to worry. I was just coming to ask you to join me in my office. To monitor the drop." As he turned away she thought she heard him add the word "legally.”

With deliberate calm she switched her dataport view back to her progress report, then stood, smoothed the front of her skirt, and followed Amjed, absolutely determined not to hurry to catch up to him.

She hurried a little. But only a little.

Disaster. Disaster. It was all a disaster.

Ibrahim watched in mounting horror as the drop sphere bypassed the Mount of the Oracle, skimming down low over the tree-covered foothills in search of someplace to land in secret. With the Mount itself possibly closed to them, the ghazis would have to proceed under the assumption they were charging into enemy-occupied territory.

No more chance of a quick resolution. No chance that they might just drop into the BrainChild control room, tap a few of his codes into the main terminal, and restore order, peace and the possibility of a rapid shutdown to Murkworld.

Swallowing deep gulps of air in an attempt to silence his hiccups, Ibrahim told himself that, considering the pattern of his life to date, he should have expected nothing less than disaster from the outset.

No, it's not a disaster yet. This is just a setback. They're ghazis. They'll take care of things.

I won't have to go down there.

We're going to have to send Smith down there."

Mushkilah felt a tightening in her chest, and wondered if Ibrahim suffered the same sensation right before the hiccups hit. From across the continental bulk of marble that was his desk Setna Amjed studiously ignored her reaction, all of his attention on the viewport screen which covered the far wall of his office. The thick tangle of Murkworld forest filled the screen, lit garishly by the drop sphere's strobes.

"But Mr. Amjed, the ghazis ... they haven't even disembarked. I'm sure they'll have no trouble getting to the BrainChild, and once they’ve got control of the Park, the remaining Guests can be located and shuttled out. I'm sure this is only a slight delay..."

Amjed didn't so much as flick his eyes in her direction. His cool gaze stayed on the lushness on the viewport. His fingers plucking at the winged solar disk on his collar offered the only visible sign of his agitation. "The delay is exactly the problem, Ms. Jamjoom. If the marines had taken the Mount as planned, your Warden would have led one of their datapushers into the system via commlink. There would have been time to make the attempt, at least. If successful, the Park shut-down could have been completed immediately and, as you said, the Guests located and removed. If unsuccessful, we'd have sent Smith down in person with no more than a day lost. By the time word of our success worked its way Down-Fold to Al-Bustan, that day would seem a nothing, less than a nothing.

"Now there's no time. If the delay stretches to two days, three, the Shura Council will undoubtedly decide that we're dragging our feet, that Misr Enterprises isn't committed to carrying out the shutdown as ordered. That the fate of our Guests doesn’t concern us. The Council already feels they've given us no more than a slap on the wrist for what happened on the Glory of the Ottomans. They'd be more than happy to be given an excuse to mete out a proper punishment.

"When the ghazis have established their perimeter around the Mount, Warden Smith will be dropped in. I'm afraid we have no choice."

Mushkilah didn't think she'd ever heard Amjed speak so many words all together without at some point issuing a command. What had she done to merit such loquaciousness?

A silence hung long between them. Almost as if Amjed were waiting for her to say something. But what?

And then she knew. Mushkilah felts an emotion she’d long abandoned where Ibrahim was concerned.

Hope.

Ibrahim was her Warden. She was the expert on his training, his readiness, his psychological and physical well-being. It had been so long since Ibrahim had been anything more than a glorified (or not-so-glorified) clerk, she'd nearly forgotten the protocols which had preceded his mission to Glory of the Ottomans.

Amjed needed her OK on Ibrahim's deployment.

Mushkilah hadn't realized she'd been slouching until she felt her back straightening against her chair. Although Amjed's signature contempt still curled his lips, it no longer seemed to conceal unspeakable consequences, the horror of failing Misr Enterprises or any of its affiliates in any manner. His smile now seemed to conceal just a bit of uncertainty.

Whatever this conversation had begun as, it was now a negotiation. And Mushkilah might just have the advantage. The flame-shrouded, nose-diving wreck that was Ibrahim's career hadn't exactly done wonders for her own future. Maybe now she could begin to set things right for both of them.

Amjed cleared his throat, interrupting her train of thought. "Please tell Smith to be ready to drop at any time in the next twenty-four hours." His tone was still that of a man who expected his words to be unhesitatingly transformed into action.

Mushkilah leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table in an attempt to project a confidence she didn't quite feel. "To be honest, Mr. Setna, I'm a bit concerned about Warden Smith's preparedness." There - something glinted behind Amjed's eyes. He hadn't liked that. "If you review his file, you'll see for yourself that he's still on restricted duty. Although I've recommended he be upgraded to standby status, head office has insisted he retain his current rating."

The glint behind Amjed's eyes flickered and flared into a small conflagration. "The ‘head office' has obviously reconsidered its position." Amjed leaned forward, matching her position, elbows on the table. "Are you telling me that your Warden isn't prepared to resume active duty?"

Ah. Amjed was back in the game.

Mushkilah shrugged, leaned back, tried to cram as much offhanded into her words as possible. "I've thought he was ready for months now. If the administration were to consider revisiting his file -- "

Sudden movement on the viewport caught her eye. She paused, shot a glance in its direction, then turned full body to face the screen, leaving Amjed sitting waiting for her to finish her sentence. Then he turned to see what had distracted her, and was caught as well.

A straggling line of figures stood along the forest's edge, man-height, robed in black.