Chapter 1: Terror

Abdul Jamal Al-Fayed carefully raised the edge of the high-tech tarp that protected him, his rifle and scope, and a video camera with a powerful telescopic lens attached. The equipment was of the highest quality, and designed to work as well at night as it did during the day. He shivered as a cold, wet gust of wind swirled out of the darkening Washington D.C. sky, and crept under the tarp.

His assignment was to watch another windswept rooftop, and report the status of a six man mortar crew. A secondary task was providing cover fire if they were attacked during their mission. The mission must succeed. Abdul had been in position for over twenty-four hours, which was nothing for a sniper of his training and expertise.

In his previous life, as Jerome Parsons, Abdul had been a highly trained and decorated US Army sniper. He had once spent five days moving half a mile to get into position to take one shot, in Iraq. He didn't have as many kills as the vaunted 'American Sniper, ' but he had been respected by other Army snipers. Unfortunately, that respect did not translate to respect in his old neighborhood.

Jerome got out of the Army, as a sergeant, and returned to his home in Baltimore. He quickly remembered why he had joined the Army in the first place. The dirt, the crime, and the utter hopelessness swallowed his days, and his nights were plagued by nightmares. The nightmare reality of trying to support his mother, brother, and sister during the day was a lesson in futility. There were no jobs to address his daytime nightmare, at least none that he was willing to do. The code of ethics that he learned in the army wouldn't allow him to accept jobs like security for drug dealers and pimps He attempted to get help from the VA for his night terrors, but was turned away by putting his name on a waiting list.

One of Jerome's neighbors, and a childhood friend that he trusted, invited him to attend prayers at a nearby mosque. At first, Jerome declined the invitations.

"What are you trying to do? Why would I go pray in a mosque?" Jerome asked his friend suspiciously. "I just spent a year killing rag-heads that were trying to kill Americans."

"Where are the people you profess to have protected, now that you need help?" his friend had scoffed bitterly. "They let you get blood on your hands, and then left you hanging, dude. All I'm trying to do is find you some help so you can sleep at night. Once you get your head straight, you'll probably be able to get a job. Maybe they can help, and maybe not. If not, no harm, no foul. If so, maybe you and your momma can eat something beside Ramen noodles for supper every night."

Jerome continued to resist his friends invitations for several months. He couldn't find a job, and his unemployment benefits expired. His mother's food stamps were reduced because he was living in the same house. Between him and his mother, they could have had more of an income if he moved out. But if he moved out, he wouldn't be able to protect his family from the druggies and the bangers. The nightmares got worse, and the VA continued to insist there was nothing wrong with him, on the rare occasions he was able to get an appointment. Jerome finally agreed to go with his friend, out of desperation. Six months later, Jerome adopted the Muslim religion, and changed his name to Abdul Jamal Al-Fayed.

Abdul began getting requests for advice on military matters, after prayers. His advice was appreciated. He had enjoyed the respect he received in the army, and hadn't realized how much he had missed it. That respect was his again. The requests for advice turned into weekends in the country, showing other Muslims techniques for small unit combat, the handling of weapons, and marksmanship. Abdul's self respect grew with the obvious admiration of his students. He was paid for his time, so his family didn't go hungry. The nightmares receded, now that he had a purpose, and a way to successfully accomplish that purpose. He was happy.

In 2013, a few of his 'trainees' disappeared, and when Abdul pressed for their whereabouts, learned they had gone to Syria to fight with ISIS. Abdul seriously considered joining them. In Abdul's mind, his country had betrayed him, and no longer deserved the allegiance he had sworn just a few years before. He was asked to stay where he was. He was more valuable within the US, and was told to consider himself behind enemy lines.

Abdul trained men, and watched them go to war for three years. He watched the news, and occasionally one of his students would be featured. He was proud of them, their skills, and their dedication, but he still felt he should be with them. He was heartbroken when their dedication resulted in their deaths. Finally, Abdul received activation orders, along with state of the art equipment to carry out an assignment.

The high-tech tarp that covered Abdul and his equipment was the same color as the rooftop, and it blocked his body's heat radiation. A drone security flyover wouldn't see him, and a physical inspection of the rooftop would need to be very thorough for him to be spotted. Abdul heard choppers flying, and the softer hum of drones, as they searched for threats to the nation's political gathering. Abdul hadn't been detected.

The harsh shadows of the blustery evening let him know the time was near. Abdul smiled to himself, as he contemplated getting vengeance on the body of men that had betrayed him and so many others.

Abdul flipped switches on his optics. His view through the rifle scope leapt into high relief, and he knew the video optics were just as clear. He pressed a button on the rifle scope to check for infrared signatures. There were none. He pressed the button again, leaving IR mode. Infrared emissions could also reveal his position to the enemy.

Abdul, formally known as Jerome Parsons, sipped at the water in his camel pack, and patiently waited. It wouldn't be long now. Preparations for tonight's State of the Union address were hitting a fever pitch, judging from the lights of the capitol building. Abdul was pretty sure the gathering was the target of the mortar crew, but that wasn't his concern. His assignment was to protect the crew from attackers and report their success. It didn't occur to him that they might fail.

Six men appeared in Abdul's scope. He carefully studied them, and confirmed that two were setting up a mortar, while the other four established a perimeter on the roof top. He scanned for threats, and didn't see anything. Abdul swung the scope back to watch the men set up the mortar, and frowned. Two of the security men were prone. As he watched, another member of the security team jerked, and slowly, unnaturally, lowered to a prone position on the rooftop.

Abdul felt a prickling run down his backbone. The man hadn't been shot. He had been neutralized, and physically lowered to the rooftop so the others wouldn't be alarmed. But there was no one near the man that could be responsible. He flicked the switch to IR, and the only heat signatures on the roof were the men he was supposed to protect; men that he had trained, and who respected him.

He focused his sights on the lone remaining security man, and gasped when a shadow near the man seemed to ripple. The man's heat signature was interrupted by something before he slumped, and the rippling disappeared. Abdul was not a superstitious man, but...

Abdul quickly moved his sights back to the mortar men. The rippling in his IR sight appeared again. He squeezed the trigger, aiming at where the rippling had been.

Caleb was still, perfectly blending with the shadows of the night. Three other men were strategically placed near him, also concealed by the darkness. They were half a mile from the Capitol building, which was bright with lights. Soon, a convoy of limousines would deliver the recently elected President, Scott McGowan, for his first State of the Union address.

The four men would seem to be wearing dark battle fatigues with full helmets, if they were seen in the full light of day, and they weren't attempting to blend into the background. Their outfits blended perfectly with the lighter darkness caused by reflected light, and deeper shadows devoid of light. They wouldn't even be detected if an enemy used an IR scope because their heat signatures were suppressed to blend with the background radiation. It was simply a matter of controlling the frequencies the armor responded to.

Armor in use by the armed services was hot, and often restricted movement. The armor in use by Caleb and his team was constructed of nanobots, and the men had nearly complete control of them. Professor Hawthorn, better known as Bran, had developed the nanobots with the help of the only alien Companion on earth.

The nanobots did more than provide exterior armor, though. They also gave human bones the consistency of spring steel, maintained arteries, protected vital organs, and restricted bleeding when wounded. Since the exterior armor was the only manifestation of the nanobots that could be seen with the naked eye, hosts with Companions simply called it armor.

Caleb didn't know what he was waiting for, but he felt like this was where he should be to eliminate something dangerous. In Iraq, he had often had 'gut feelings' when on patrol. There were usually casualties among his men when he didn't follow those feelings. There were usually enemy casualties when he did follow his intuition. It didn't take him long to began listening to his 'gut feelings'. His ability to understand those feelings increased when he became a host.

"Noah said that intuition and premonition were the same thing," Al, Caleb's Companion noted in his mind. "He said both were a form of precognition that can be improved and enhanced."

"Are you talking about our four year old son, or his Companion?" Caleb asked, amusement in his thoughts.

"I don't think there is a difference," Al replied after a moments hesitation, his thoughts slightly troubled. Getting back to his subject, he continued with, "He said that precognition is a talent, similar to singing or drawing. Everyone may be able to use precognition to some degree, but some can develop it into a functional talent."

"Do you think Noah and his Companion identifying themselves as a single entity is a problem?" Caleb asked, concerned for his son.

Al's hesitation was longer this time, but he finally said, "They are fused the same as you and I, and all the other host/Companion pairs, that have decided to use the armor. If something kills Noah, his Companion dies, too. The difference is, you and the other hosts once lived your lives as singles, without Companions. Every host that I have had, in thirteen billion years, once lived as a single. A host/Companion pair like the children has never happened before. You and the other hosts have a different sense of self identity than the children. The children were together with their Companions since their brains had developed enough in the womb to support a Companion. The childrens' self identity encompasses their Companions. I don't know what that will mean as they mature. I do know the children of host/Companion pairs are different than other human children."