POSTHUMAN

Chapter Seven

Judah had failed to mention the nature of Marcus' promotion until his former subordinate boarded a Providence private jet bound for the Democratic Republic of the Congo. His goodbye present had been to issue Marcus with a new temperate dress uniform and to inject him with a goo-filled syringe: a language pack, he'd said. He wore the uniform now, as the jet prepared to land on African soil. The normal tunic and red-stripe trousers of a dress uniform but in black instead of dark blue, and a new aiguillette made from golden cord. Marcus had totally overlooked the campaign medals he had been awarded by Judah for participating in the North American Unity Project and Central American Reclamation Initiative.

        He felt no pride in them: "The proper thing to do when meeting one's superior for the first time is to wear one's medals", Captain Jessop's snotty remark had prompted Marcus to don his two awards if only to spite the unpleasant officer.

        The jet began to lose altitude rapidly but at a controlled rate, dropping through cloud cover. Marcus could make out Kinshasa International below as the jet's landing gear descended. The further Marcus got from America, the more organised the rest of the world seemed in comparison. It was obvious that in eleven years the only flights running from any airport in the world had been Providence military.

        He could see the Providence triskelion emblazoned on the fuselages of other planes as his taxied. Three letter P's arranged so that each letter's base touched the corner of an invisible equilateral triangle.

        His transport came to a stop, Marcus believed he should be sweating profusely – a black uniform in the subtropics was meant to have that effect. Instead he was conspicuously comfortable as he descended metal steps, a familiar routine, under a cloudless sky and the beating sun, onto a concrete runway that radiated heat.

        Marcus spotted a spectacled, black commandant in the green tones of a tropical combat uniform. The black commandant had to be tapped on his shoulder and have Marcus pointed out to him. He jumped out of the LSV he sat in and ran over to greet Marcus. "Colonel Sewell, bienvenudans laRépublique Démocratique du Congo. Je suis le Commandant ClémentNcube, l' un des assistants du Général Stanley," ~ Colonel Sewell, welcome to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I am Commandant Clement Ncube, one of your fellow aides to General Stanley ~ Clement enthusiastically spoke French and Marcus could actually follow what was going on. Language pack: a useful gift. Was there no end to the ingenuity of daemons?

        "Pourquoin'étiez vous pas promu au rang de conseiller principal? ça meparaît bizarre de m'avoir fait venir d'outre-mer," ~ Why were you not elevated to senior aide? It seems strange to have me come from overseas, ~ Clement opened the LSV's rear passenger door and gestured for the newcomer to enter first. Marcus was ridiculously thrilled to be able to speak a foreign language. He felt a little guilty that Clement's batmen carried his luggage but Clement had given him a chastising look for trying to pick up his own suitcase. Clement's soldier-servants mounted motorbikes and drove on ahead of their superior's LSV.

        Marcus took in his surroundings, noting the machine gun emplacements arranged strategically around the airport. He caught sight of a Chimera C-RAM, meant to destroy small ordinance before it got near to its target. A noticeable Providence presence loitered on every street corner. MPC-Stormwatch, attached to the Special Forces, military police whose headgear bore prominent a Providence triskelion and who carried traditionally persuasive devices: firearms, batons and mace. "Parlez-vous anglais?" ~ Do you speak English? ~ Marcus thrill had been replaced by a feeling of strangeness in speaking a language he didn't have any conscious recollection of ever learning.

        "Yes, extremely well," replied Clement, he then waved amicably to a patrolling military policeman, the man smiled broadly back at them.