"What do you do here, effendi?" Major Hamdoon asked in Arabic.
To his surprise, the man answered in English.
"Help me out, pal. I'm looking for the town of Fahad. Know it?"
"Who are you?" Major Hamdoon asked slowly, puzzled because the man did not act like an aggressor.
"Just a nameless traveler trying to get to Fahad."
"I would know your name."
"Remo. Now, point me to Fahad, and while you're at it, get that tank out of my way." The man rotated his hands absently.
"You sound like an American," Hamdoon suggested in an unsteady voice.
"And you sound like an Arab with half a brain."
"Is that an insult?"
"Is Maddas Hinsein full of shit?"
"I asked my question first."
The American's thin mouth quirked into a smile. He did not flinch from the thousand-candlepower searchlight. His eyes simply squeezed down to nearly Oriental slits. They gleamed blackly, menacingly. Unafraid.
Major Hamdoon tapped the cannon control, dropping the smoothbore until it was pointing directly at the approaching figure's black chest.
"Are you prepared to die, unbeliever?"
"Not till you point me to Fahad."
"I will never do that."
Suddenly the American executed a kind of circus flip. He tumbled into the air, to land, perfectly balanced, on the cannon's long bore.
This was an eventuality that Major Hamdoon had not been prepared for at the Iraiti Military Academy. If he fired, he would miss completely.
So Major Hamdoon did the next best thing. He threw the turret-turning lever back and forth wildly.
The turret jerked right, then left, then right again.
The American walked up the barrel to the turret with breezy assurance. He didn't bother lifting his arms to balance.
Major Hamdoon hastily tilted the searchlight into his eyes.
The man simply ducked under the cone of light. Casually he plucked Hamdoon from his perch. He did this with one hand, without even disturbing his balance. This impressed Major Hamdoon, who had understood that Americans were inept in all things--except making movies.
"Hi!" he said. "Want me to repeat my question?"
"It will do you no good," Major Hamdoon said stiffly. "I am a Moslem. We do not fear death."
The man's hand jumped out. Two fingers struck the searchlight glass. It was very thick. Still, it shattered into fine glassy gravel. Sparks flew. Something sputtered and burned.
"Please do repeat," Major Hamdoon said in his most polite English.
"Point me the way to Fahad."
The major pointed north up the Friendship Road. "It is back that way."
"How far?"
"Less than seventy kilometers."
To Hamdoon's horror, the American frowned. "How many miles is that?" he asked.
"As many as you want," the major said, not understanding the question.
"I love a cooperative Iraiti," the American said pleasantly. "Now, get this pile of junk out of my way."
"Gladly. In return for a favor of equal value."
A slow smile crept into the American's face. In the failing light, his eyes floated like evilly glowing stars in the skulllike hollows of his eyes.
"Sure," he said laconically. "Why not?"
"I will trade you this information in return for your best pair of night-seeing goggles," Major Hamdoon said boldly.
"Why do you want them?"
"So I can see the Americans when they come."
"I got news for you, pal. They're here."
The Iraiti looked momentarily confused. "But there is but one of you."
"One's all that's needed. Now, move that tank."
"I refuse until you give me something for my eyes that will turn night into day."
"You mean day into night," the American said.
"Yes, I mean that," Major Hamdoon said, wondering how he had gotten the American words for "day" and "night" confused for so long.
Then the American lifted two fingers of one hand and drove them into the major's eyes so fast there was no pain. Only sudden blackness.
And as the major fell into the sand, wondering what had happened, the American's cheerful voice rang through the night that would last to the end of Nasur Hamdoon's days, saying, "Don't sweat it. I'll move the tank myself. You just enjoy the view."