by Joe Vasicek
Mira frowned, her face creased with concern as she scanned the landscape ahead of them. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” said Jalil, low enough that Hamza couldn’t hear. She nodded, but her eyes were still filled with worry.
A change in the rhythm of their ride marked a shift onto new terrain. The ground in front of them now sloped upward at a surprisingly sharp angle, with nothing but open sky above them. Hamza slowed as they approached the edge of the ridge and rode parallel to it.
“Oh my,” said Mira, the first to see what lay on the other side. She leaned forward over the crossbar to get a better view.
Hamza stopped the caravaneer at the edge of the cliff. “Behold the caves of Babylon.”
Jalil’s eyes widened as he took in the sight. Only a few dozen miles beyond their position rose the strangest mountain he’d ever seen. It was as smooth as glass and stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, rising at a shallow angle so that the topmost part was almost out of sight. Under the hot sun, the air above it shimmered and rippled, causing mirages to dance like invisible flames.
“What is that?” asked Jalil. “Is it natural?”
Hamza laughed again—a dry, nasal sound that resembled a cough more than anything else. “That, my friends, is Aliet Dome: an entire world in a bottle.”
“A world?”
“That’s right; a world as unlike the desert as any you’ll ever see. To get to the Temple of a Thousand Suns, you must pass nearly five thousand miles through domes such as these, one world in a bottle after another.”
“What’s inside?” Mira asked.
Hamza’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at her over his shoulder, making her shudder.
“Babylon.”
Jalil frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Heh,” Hamza chuckled, throwing the engine back in gear. “You’ll see soon enough, my friends. You’ll see.”
* * * * *
As they rode down the ridge, skirting the edge of the cliff, Mira couldn’t take her eyes off of the strange glass mountain. Even after they’d turned out again toward the plain, the shimmering air above the top was still visible, reminding her of the world in a bottle just over the horizon.
The next hour of the drive passed in silence, but it was a different kind of silence—awake and anticipatory. Mira could feel it, as surely as she knew that Jalil could feel it. She stole quick glances at him from time to time, but he always faced forward, peering at the route ahead.
I wonder what he’s thinking about.
As the late afternoon sun drifted low in the sky, the path turned right toward the ridge and the coming night. Off in the distance, lines of giant windmills shone brightly in the deepening yellow light, while clusters of white stone buildings spilled out across the plain like puddles of milk. As they drew closer to the city, Mira saw that the buildings were much larger than the adobe huts back at the camp. Some towered as many as three and four stories high, with thick metal beams and rebar jutting out from unfinished roofs. Large crowds and strange-looking vehicles traversed the shadow-filled lanes, while half a dozen kites hung in the deepening sky as if suspended there.
Hamza slowed and pulled the caravaneer up to a garage on the edge of the town, next to a field of windmills at least five times as tall as the one back home. Jalil stared in awe until they came to a stop in front of the long white building.
“This is as far as I go,” said Hamza. “The town center is about two miles down that road.”
“Right,” said Jalil, jumping off to stretch his legs. Mira waited for him to come around and help her down, but when he went to unpack their bags instead, she quietly climbed to the ground by herself.
“What is this place?” she asked in a timid voice.
“New Amman,” said Hamza, leaning forward with one hand draped over the steering wheel. “The largest settlement this side of Aliet Dome, and the only spaceport within five hundred miles. Lots of traders come through here on their way to the domes—some tribesmen too, from what I hear.”
“That’s right,” Jalil called out from the back. “Quite a few Najmi tribesmen have settled here over the years, Cousin Sarah among them.”
“Are you all set, then?”
Jalil came around with both their bags in his arms and Sathi’s rifle strapped across his back. He dropped the bags and stepped up to the driver’s seat.
“All set, brother. Many thanks for the ride.”
“Of course,” said Hamza, getting out to give him a parting embrace. “May the peace of Earth be upon you.”
“And upon you be the peace of Earth as well.”
With that last goodbye, Hamza climbed back into the caravaneer and drove it into one of the waiting bays. The corrugated steel door slid shut after him, leaving Jalil and Mira standing alone in the empty lot.
“Well,” he said, “we’d better go.”
“Right.”
She bent down to pick up her bag, but Jalil took it first. “Here, let me get that for you.”
Together, they walked out the gate and down the dusty road. The windmills spun lazily behind them, and Mira loosened her headscarf a little to take advantage of the refreshing breeze. Although the town was bustling in the cool of the coming evening, they were still a good half-mile out, and traffic along the road was light.
“I thought Cousin Sarah was the only Najmi living here,” she said once they were out of earshot of the garage.
“She is,” said Jalil, “but we don’t want the Jabaliyn knowing that, do we?”
She nodded in understanding. They walked in silence a little longer.
As they approached the edge of town, a number of caravaneers and sleek, open-air hovercraft passed them on the road, kicking up dust and making her cough. Jalil noticed and switched places with her, so that she was on the outside edge of the road, away from the vehicles. It didn’t do much to help, but Mira smiled in appreciation at the gesture.
Now that we’re not riding in the back of a caravaneer, maybe he’ll start to notice me. The thought lifted her spirits and made her heart beat a little faster, even if the strangeness of the place filled her with a deep yearning for her desert home.
“So many people,” she said softly as they passed a crowd waiting beside a stony field. Though a few of them wore the robes of the deep desert, most of their clothes were utterly unfamiliar to her; high black boots, dark pants and colorful shirts, tan ponchos and strange looking hats. Few if any of the women in the crowd wore headscarves, and the sight of their uncovered hair made Mira tense, though what she was afraid of she didn’t quite know. She took care to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes as they passed.
“Stay close,” said Jalil. “I don’t want us to get separated.”
Mira was all too happy to oblige.
Inside the town, the tall white buildings cast long shadows that shrouded the ground in cool darkness. The road, now paved with a strange black substance, was only wide enough for two or three caravaneers to pass abreast, and that only if the way was clear. With all the people walking back and forth, the vehicles had to slow down or wait for them to pass.
Mira tensed at the uncomfortable closeness of the place, and she kept close to Jalil, careful not to lose him. Although she wanted to slip her arm in his, she hesitated, not sure if it would be too forward.
With each passing step, the road became more and more crowded. Soon, she was bumping shoulders, more people around her than she had ever seen in her life. The rumble of hundreds of myriad conversations filled her ears, along with the whine of the passing hovercraft. Up ahead, the road widened, and the noise and bustle got significantly louder.
“What’s that?” Mira asked.
“What?”
“That,” she said louder, pointing as she pressed against Jalil to keep from getting swept away by the crowd.
“That must be the town center,” he answered, practically shouting over the noise. “It looks like some kind of open-air market. A bit packed, isn’t it?”
&
nbsp; She nodded mutely.
He stopped and hefted both bags over one shoulder, holding on with one hand. “Here,” he said, “better take my hand so you don’t get lost.”
Mira slipped her hand into his, interspersing her fingers and squeezing tightly as she followed him into the busy market. The feel of his touch gave her a secret thrill; she wondered if he felt it as well.
With the cool of the evening quickly coming on, the marketplace bustled with activity. Merchants beneath wide red awnings sold dates and almonds, plump juicy peaches and plums, and watermelons almost as long as Mira’s arm. Others sold exotic spices from giant burlap sacks, the contents piled into tall cones of brilliant saffron, deep crimson, and a dozen other shades of dazzling color. One particularly large booth sold computer circuits and data chips, their green and blue boards contrasting starkly with the dusty clay urns that held them. Local merchants dressed in tan and white bartered with the traders in their high boots and leather vests, while children in colorful clothes ran about playing games beneath the feet of passersby.
“Masha’allah,” Mira whispered. She squeezed Jalil’s hand, and he squeezed back.
A fountain bubbled with water in the center of the square, with a large globe of polished granite in the center. As they came closer, she made out a number of geographic details carved in relief across it, with unfamiliar writing etched in gold and copper. A little ways off, a tall, white clock tower rose above the bustling mass of humanity, the topmost part shining deep yellow in the light of the evening sun.
“This is where Sarah agreed to meet us,” said Jalil, letting go of Mira’s hand and dropping their bags at the base of the fountain. A few beggars huddled on the concrete steps a short distance from them, but the crowd here was otherwise sparse.
“Do you know what she looks like?”
Jalil shook his head. “I hope she recognizes us.”
Mira settled down on the lip of the fountain and ran her fingers through the clear water. Hundreds of sparkling coins shone up at her through the rippling surface, while the spray felt pleasantly cool against her cheek.
When she looked up, a short middle-aged woman in a maroon dress and white blouse approached them from out of the crowd. With her narrow face, thin build, and keen eyes, she looked a little like Amina. Though she wore a red-and-white checkered bandana over her head, her long dark hair spilling out over her shoulders, unencumbered by any headscarf.
“Jalil Ibn Sathi? Mira Bint Shira?” the woman asked.
“That’s us,” said Jalil.
“Habibi!”
The woman threw her arms around him and kissed him several times on each cheek. Jalil tensed a little at first, but soon returned the greeting.
“Welcome, welcome! I’m your cousin, Sarah. We spoke this morning over the shortwave—and you must be Mira.”
“Yes,” said Mira, smiling as she rose to embrace her distant cousin. After passing through so many crowds of strangers, the presence of family felt wonderfully reassuring, even if this was their first time meeting in person.
“What a beautiful young woman you are! Your parents must have gotten it from my side of the family. But come, what are we waiting for? Follow me.”
With that, Sarah grabbed one of the bags and started off into the crowd. Before Mira knew what was happening, she was holding Jalil’s hand again, struggling to keep up as they followed her old cousin away from the marketplace, into the narrow, winding streets of New Amman.
* * * * *
Jalil leaned back in his chair and gazed out at the valley from where he sat on the roof of Sarah’s white stone house. The last rays of the sun had already faded behind them, and the beautifully clear twilight sky was fast changing from yellow to orange to purple. The house was perched on the edge of a cliff, giving them a magnificent view of the glass mountain, only a few miles away. A stiff, cool breeze blew up across the ridge, while behind them, the call to prayer sounded from half a dozen worship halls, carried on the wind.
It was glorious—but still, it wasn’t home.
“I’m happy to hear that old Sathi is doing so well,” said Sarah, taking her seat after pouring Mira some tea. “I haven’t seen him for so long; it almost feels like half a lifetime.”
“Do you miss him?” Mira asked.
“Occasionally,” Sarah admitted. “But I hear about him often enough, as well as the rest of the family. It isn’t easy being a widow in this town, but Allah has been good to me.”
Jalil nodded. Off to his right, fireworks exploded over the white stone buildings, while the beat of music carried softly on the wind.
“Is there a wedding?” he asked.
Sarah chuckled. “More than one; this is the season for them, after all.”
Mira glanced from Sarah to Jalil and blushed. He didn’t think much of it—she was that kind of girl, after all.
“Is every night like this?”
“But of course,” said Sarah. She glanced down at his cup. “I’m sorry; can I get you some more tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Jalil. He held out his cup as she filled it from her ornately carved plasteel thermos; steam wafted up before dissipating in the cool evening breeze.
“Thank you so much for letting us stay with you,” said Jalil. “We greatly appreciate your hospitality.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Sarah, nodding to them both. “It’s always good to hear from my old cousins—and such a pleasure to meet their children! I’d heard many things about you, Jalil, but I didn’t realize your hair was so blond. Wherever did you come from?”
I don’t know, Jalil thought to himself, resisting the urge to finger his birth mother’s pendant. That’s what I want to find out.
“From the stars,” he offered instead. “My parents’ ship—my real parents’ ship—crashed in the desert when I was just a boy. If it wasn’t for Sathi—”
“Yes, yes,” said Sarah in her chatty voice. “I’m sure Zayne was overjoyed to have a son to replace her Asi. Not to mention the old man’s happiness at having an heir again. Can you believe it? Two wives and eight daughters? Aie! What a blessed dilemma.”
The conversation soon turned to lighter subjects, such as Lena’s recent marriage and other matters of immediate interest to the Najmi family. The camp was doing very well: several new merchants had negotiated routes through Najmi lands, and with the newfound alliance with the Jabaliyn, they could expect to benefit greatly from the increased trade. Yes, water was as scarce as ever, but God-willing, the Faleh Basin site would be ready for habitation within a year.
As the twilight sky turned from purple to black, dim yellow lights began to shine from deep within the glass mountain, casting a warm glow across the rocky valley. Sarah served them a third round of tea, followed by a fourth. The breeze grew cooler, while overhead, the stars and satellites shone like jewels set on rich velvet.
“So you’re both on the pilgrimage to the Temple of a Thousand Suns,” said Sarah, leaning back in her chair. “And such a young couple—it’s good to see that old Sathi is finding husbands for his beautiful daughters.”
Jalil shifted nervously. “Actually, we’re not married.”
“Oh?” Sarah perked up immediately, her eyes gleaming with interest.
“No,” he said. “I’m her brother.”
“Now don’t try to pull one over on me,” said Sarah. “I might not have seen Sathi in ages, but I’m not a fool.”
“It’s true,” said Mira, abruptly joining in. “He’s, well, as good as my brother.”
“Of course, of course,” said Sarah, smiling meaningfully. “As good or better.”
Jalil didn’t know how to respond to that, so he said nothing.
“So now that you’re on the pilgrimage,” Sarah continued, “how do you plan to get there?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I’m sure that Allah will provide.”
“Allah helps those who help themselves,” Sarah said, shaking her head good-naturedly. “Do you have enough mo
ney for a sub-orbital shuttle? Tickets run upward of twenty-five hundred for a direct flight.”
Jalil lifted his bag and poured out all of their cash datachips onto the coffee table. In a few moments, he had them all counted.
“Just over thirty-two hundred,” he said, heart sinking. “That’s only enough for one flight, isn’t it?”
Sarah nodded. “Sorry, dear.”
“Is there no way to earn the difference?”
“Well, you could always try to hire yourself out as a day laborer,” said Sarah. “But I hear work has been rather sparse these days; at the going rate, it’ll probably take a good six months to earn enough for two tickets.”
Jalil’s stomach fell. “Six months?”
“That’s right, dear.”
I can’t sit around here for six months, Jalil thought to himself. I’ll go mad.
“Is there anything else we can do?” he asked.
“Of course,” said Sarah. “You could always try the overland route; I hear it’s not too expensive, so long you stay at pilgrims’ hostels and travel by night train.”
Jalil’s heart leaped in his chest. He sat up in his chair and leaned forward.
“How long does it take?”
“Not too long, though the route is a bit complicated. You’ll have to pass through Aliet, Raya, Terra 12—almost half a dozen domes. But it’ll only take a day or two to pass through each one—that is, if your money doesn’t run out.”
“Great! When can we start?”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” she said. “Before you can go, you’ll have to get all your documents in order.”
“Documents?”
Sarah sighed and set her cup down next to the pile of datachips. On the other side of the table, Mira pulled her headscarf tighter against the chill night air.
