Daystar

6| Steel

Yanbu, Saudi Arabia
09:46 Hours
July 6, 2056
34°C

Soldier's hands stilled at the waist of his pants, fingers a hair's breadth from the handgun tucked away. He eyed every man and gun, mapping out how the next few seconds would play. Asher subtly shook his head, arms already raised in surrender. Soldier exhaled through his nose and lifted his hands a moment later.

One of the men barked something at Asher, gesturing furiously to their weapons. Although Asher couldn't understand the garbled Arabic, he was able to infer what the man had been going on about. Slowly, Asher dropped his gun to the ground and nodded for Soldier to do the same. In one fluid motion, the guns were kicked from beyond their reach.

The men spoke in Arabic briefly; Asher wished he could understand the language as anxiety coiled in the pit of his stomach. After a moment, a single man stepped forward, olive-skinned, with a long, well-groomed beard that hung past his collarbone.

"De Ven kan hammaqatan li'iirsal almazid min rijalih," he scoffed. "Wa'adaf "yjib 'an yakunuu ealaa eilm bi'anana sanakun mustaeidayna."

Asher stared at the man, eyes wide as he snapped in the foreign tongue. He grew further distressed as the man grew angrier, frustrated that Asher and Soldier did not seem to understand. But Asher had heard the man mention a name. De Ven.

"We don't–" Asher swallowed. "We don't speak Arabic. We speak English. English."

The man glanced at him skeptically, disdain in his eyes, and strung off some commands to his men. Four came forward, clad in black military jackets and cargo pants, all armed to the teeth. They wasted no time in shoving Asher and Soldier apart.

He grunted as his legs were kicked out from beneath him, his knees slamming into unforgiving ground as he was none-too-gently patted down. The knives, still buried in his pockets, were quickly found and confiscated.

Asher didn't dare move as the men retreated.

At long last, the man who had mentioned De Ven turned to Soldier. Asher wasn't surprised—Soldier was older, and judging by his rather relaxed state, was taking the situation far better than Asher was.

"You sent here from de Ven?" he asked, eyes flickering.

Soldier held the man's gaze and shook his head slowly. "No. We're not with de Ven."

Asher sagged with faint relief. These men were not with De Ven. They could be reasoned with. Hopefully.

The man narrowed his eyes. "You are a soldier. You have come to kill us."

Asher's eyes grew wide. "No! No. We don't want to kill anyone. De Ven didn't send us."

The group of men seemed to hesitate, shifting on their feet, while the single man glared at Asher in consideration.

"How can we trust it? De Ven tries to claim these lands during years."

"De Ven wouldn't send two men to overthrow your lands," Soldier replied gruffly.

"And de Ven's men would never surrender to you," Asher added.

The man raised a dubious brow. "If you are not of de Ven, what reasons do two men in the uniforms of the soldier stay in the desert? There is no other reason. You must be doing trickery. You..." His eyes widened spectacularly. "You have comrades? You must. De Ven do not send two soldiers to defeat...us. Too many people, weapons." The man stroked his beard thoughtfully. "They came with you, no?" At the suggestion, the men with guns grew pointedly more alert.

"No," Asher said quickly, stealing a glance at Soldier, whose lips pursed tightly. "We came alone."

The man inclined his head a fraction of an inch, and suddenly Asher's head snapped to the side. The blow was so sudden that Asher hardly felt the back of the man's hand connect with his cheek.