Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Murad al’Khefar

The Turk knelt down and looked towards the machine, feeling quite dejected at the lockdown of the portal which provided his only chance for return to Ramallah. Chem troopers peeked out of their bunkers nervously. The Turk, seeing these strange beings – more or less demonic creatures in his eyes because of the gas masks – picked up his twin scimitars and began shouting at them in Turkish.
The chem troopers looked at each other, then back at the Turk, like dumb forest creatures. One of them then picked up a walkie-talkie and said to Kazansky, “Comrade Major – the new arrival seems a bit… hostile.”
Kazansky was quick to reply, “Don’t shoot; just try to pacify him. Try talking him down.”
“Roger that, Comrade Major.”
The soldier shrugged at the orders, took a few of his comrades with him, and crept up, albeit reluctantly, behind the strange-clad “visitor.” The Turk heard them coming, turned around with a whirl of his cape and twirled his scimitars in both hands, his brown eyes darting like a cornered jackal from one soldier to the next, scrutinizing them.
Left with no choice, the chem troopers decided to rush at the Turk, barehanded.
The green-clad Muslim leapt in the air, raised the scimitar in his right hand and came back down, splitting the head of the first soldier in two. The others shouted in panic and tried to run, but the warrior leapt like a quick green monkey from one soldier to another, slashing their throats. When the whole team was dead, his eyes turned skywards, and saw two men in uniform sitting in a large tower overlooking the tunnel.
“This sucks.” Kazansky blurted.
“Indeed, Comrade Major.” replied Voronov, stressed.
Kazansky observed the situation and had an idea. “I need a Kazakh soldier. Get down to the safety bunkers and fetch one. Don’t use the PA system.”
“But whatever for, sir?”
“Do it.”
Voronov ran out the door and down the stairs, wondering what Kazansky planned to do. Hurrying back up with a rather confused Kazakh guard, Kazansky turned to him, took the guard by the shoulder and showed him to the PA system, while mumbling to Voronov, “What took you so long?” He then turned to the Kazakh, saying, “Do you speak Arabic, comrade?”
“Why, yes sir, but uh…”
“Very good. Translate what I say through the PA system.”

By this time, the Turk was kneeling on the floor, praying to Allah to deliver him from this place. Suddenly, a voice boomed throughout the room, seeming to come from everywhere. “Rise, warrior.” The Turk, astonished, rose to his feet, trembling, and hid his face. “Allahu akhbar!”
“What is your name, warrior?”
“Murad bin Abdulhasib bin Mahmoud al’Khefar.”

“What was that?” asked Kazansky in the control room.
“That was his name, Comrade Major.”
“Ah, crap.”

“Ah, crap.” said the voice of Allah.
“Forgive me for the sinful lineage of my family, most gracious and merciful Allah.” he said, with tears in his eyes.

“Why did you just translate what I said?” asked Kazansky, calmly.
“Because that’s what you told me to do, Comrade Major.” replied the Kazakh soldier, grimacing.
“Listen to what I say, verify the meaning, and think before you act, comrade. I know you can do this – you have a very large forehead.”

The voice of Allah continued, “I have seen fit to transport you, Murad al’Khefar, to the city of Vladivostok, in the country of the Rus, in the year two thousand twenty five.” Murad’s eyes widened.

The Kazakh soldier interrupted, “Sir – they use a different calendar. 2025 to them is about 2586 AD.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting? Well I just don’t give a horse’s ass, soldier. As long as we’re as far away from what they believe as “normal”, we’re okay. Now keep translating.”

“Murad, the people here were sent by me. They are here to help you. Be kind to them and treat them as you would have them treat you.”
“Yes, my glorious Creator.”
“I am sending another group back in. They will not harm you. Drop your weapons on the floor.”
Murad did as he was told, and another group of cautious chemical troopers entered through the main door. They stood by him and coaxed him to follow them – in Russian. Murad, not understanding, raised his eyes to the ceiling and pleaded, “Please, tremendous and powerful Allah, make them understand what I say, if it be your will.”

“Now we’re in trouble.” Kazansky muttered.
“Now we –“ the translator mimicked.
“Stop!” Kazansky thought for a moment. “Talk to them in Russian.” He told the translator. The Kazakh shrugged and said to the men, “Alright comrades, I’m going to translate what the Turk says to you, and you better listen well. Major Kazansky’s going to shoot me in the butt if you don’t do this correctly. My ghost will haunt you in your sleep if you screw up!”

“Doesn’t he mean the ghost of his ass?” murmured one trooper. The others chuckled. Murad wondered why they were laughing, and spoke to them in Arabic; the Kazakh translated.
“The Turk asks why you laugh at me. He tells you to respect the great Allah your creator.”
One of the chem troopers guffawed and shouted to the tower, “Serik? Allah? HA! You can’t even –“ he was cut short by a bullet to his head. Major Kazansky had shot him. The other chem troopers chorused an “uh-oh” while Murad fell prostrate to the ground.
“Take him to the exit before the next one dies, comrades.” Serik said through the PA. The chem troopers took Murad by the shoulders and hurriedly took him to the exit, sweating.

Kazansky patted Serik on the shoulder, “Good job, comrade. You’re getting a promotion for that one.” Serik saluted a thank you as Kazansky walked out the door, followed by Voronov.
“Great thinking, Comrade Major. But aren’t you going to take Serik with you to translate for you?”
Kazansky was annoyed by his own stupidity and would not admit it by going back and getting Serik. He was going to wing it – and bad things happened when Alexei Mikhailovich Kazansky winged it. “Nonsense.” he said. “I can do this. I happen to speak a little Turkish...” naturally, the major was lying, but he couldn’t think of what else to say. Voronov knew this, based on obvious analysis, but said nothing.
Kazansky entered the main hall where Murad was, flanked by two chem troopers, too afraid to touch him again. “Iyi günler, Murad al’Khefar.” said Kazansky. By saying that phrase, he knowingly exhausted his entire vocabulary of the Turkish language. But to his surprise, Murad had a relieving answer.
“How do you do, sir?” he said with a slight Turkish accent.
Kazansky raised an eyebrow. “You… speak English.”
“Yes.”
Kazansky slapped his forehead, feeling foolish. “God!”
“You do not use the name of Allah in that way.”
Kazansky looked up and said to Murad, “I want to straighten things out here, Murad.”
“Go ahead.”
“The voice you heard was not the voice of Allah.”
“You lie.”
“Nope, I’ll prove it to you.” Kazansky said, picking up his walkie-talkie. “Serik, are you still in the tower?”
“Yes, Comrade Major.” the Kazakh replied.
“Sing a number over the PA, will you?”
“Yes, Comrade Major.”
Then, the great “voice of Allah” began singing the “Macarena”, and the vile and horrific singing voice of Serik could be heard throughout the installation. Even Murad was cringing.
“See? Does Allah sing like that?” Kazansky said, shaking his head.
Murad hung his head, in despair. He then murmured, “You have toyed with my beliefs, why?”
“You were killing my men, that’s why. We had to get you out of that room without hurting anyone.”
“Does anyone believe in Allah anymore?”
“You’d be surprised. Every freaking mujahedeen in all the ‘stans is Muslim. It’s annoying – we can’t fight them properly.”
Murad smiled, but then lowered his head again. “Why have you brought me here?”
“Now here’s the thing,” explained Kazansky. “We didn’t bring you here. That wormhole did.”
“You mean the great tunnel?”
“Yes, whatever you want to call it. The black hole ripping through the very fabric of reality – that thing.”
“How do I get back?”
“I don’t know. See – you’re here because something went wrong. We controlled the wormhole, and something got… out of hand. Now we need to return you to your time and need to get who we need to get out of trouble.”
“Who is this who is in danger?”
“Oh – our uh… sultan, if you will.”
“What has happened?”
“He was assassinated.”
“My condolences, friend.”
“Thank you.”
“I am willing to help you search for a new one.”
“Can’t do that – all of the qualified people are at the front line.”
“You are at war? With whom?”
“Um… ourselves. Well, our ‘brothers’, something like that.”
“Brothers should not raise swords against each other – it is an evil practice that should be stopped.”
“Um… yeah. But we’re not looking for a new leader anyway. We’re bringing the old one back.”
“You speak insanity.”
“Ah – no. That’s how you got in. See, this wormhole – it uh, brings things from other places and times and brings them out here. This place is like point B, and you were from point A.”
“I understand. Simple mathematics.”
“Yeah, you should know. You people invented mathematics… Arabic bastards.”
“I heard that – and I am not Arabic – I am Turkish.”
“Oh, sorry. But my point being, you need to get back to your time – you’re not needed here.”
“As I desire also, sir.”
“Great. Everyone’s happy! Now we need to find a way to fix the machine… Doc Voronov?” Kazansky said, turning to face the doctor, who had been silent all this time.
“I have sent a repair team up to the control center to rewire the circuits damaged by your uh…”
“Go ahead, you can say it.”
“Carelessly fired projectile. They are about finished now.”
Suddenly, a technician descended from the tower exit and announced that he had repaired the controls, and that Major Kazansky should be more careful. He held the bullet in his hand.
Kazansky smiled and said, “Voronov, is there any way we can take Murad here back into his time?”
“Reverse all the functions. It’s not going to be easy.”
Kazansky sighed, “All right, fine. We won’t put him back in right now. We find the Chairman first and then reverse functions.”
“I agree to this plan.” said Murad.
“Good. Let’s head back up to the control room and do this all over again.”
“Yes, Comrade Major.”
“Murad, you’re coming with us.”

The group climbed up the stairs and walked into the control room, where it looked as good as new, except for the tiny trace of the bullet hole.
“Control Teams get to positions, we’re going to go through this again.” said Voronov over the PA. Kazansky sat down while Murad stared at the view below him in awe.
The process went well, but when they reached the final stage, everyone became tense. “I’m setting the correct date and place again, and I want nothing wrong to happen.” He placed his hand on the PA system mic and said to Kazansky, “I hope those guys pulled out the bugs.”