by Joe Vasicek
“In order to pass through the domes,” Sarah explained, “you’ll need special identifying documents, as well as visas and travel permits.”
Jalil frowned. “What for?”
“To pass through customs, of course. A dome is like a giant camp—not anyone can just walk in.”
“But what about guests?” he asked. “Are you saying that the domers have no sense of hospitality?”
“No, no, no,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “That’s not at all what I’m saying. They just need to know that you’re authorized—that you aren’t bandits or robbers or bad people. Because they can’t keep track of everyone personally, they require you to have the proper documents.”
“What kind of documents?”
“Well, it depends on the dome. Here at Aliet Dome, most people keep them on personal storage drives. In some of the domes, however, they use special identity chips embedded in their bodies.”
“In their bodies?” Mira asked, eyes widening. Jalil shuddered; the idea of embedding any kind of electronics inside him made his skin crawl.
“Yes,” said Sarah. “But don’t worry, you don’t need any of that; a standard handheld datachip should be fine.”
“How do we get these documents?” Jalil asked, barely disguising his relief.
“Well, since you’re only applying for a pilgrim’s visa, it shouldn’t be too hard. First, we’ll have to go down to the embassy to get a blood sample—”
“Blood?”
“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. They’ll take your biological data, combine it with your birth year and your tribe, and issue you passport datachips after inputting all that into the main district registry. Even though you’re both old enough to be considered independent, you’ll need my signature as next of kin to verify your tribal affiliation.”
“So you’ll help us do all this?” Jalil asked. His head was swimming with all the convoluted instructions—if he had to do all this himself for him and Mira, he’d be totally lost.
“Of course! Besides, I know some people who can help speed up the process.”
“How long will it take?”
Sarah touched her chin and looked up in thought. “Oh, maybe two or three weeks,” she answered. “There’s no way to know for sure.”
Jalil’s stomach fell. Two or three weeks, he thought to himself. In that much time, they could easily drive another four thousand miles across the desert.
“Is there any way to make it go faster?”
“Not without paying a lot of extra money. Understand: without my friends, you’d have to wait almost twice as long; that’s standard for most tribesmen. And I understand you’re carrying a firearm?”
“That’s right,” said Jalil. He picked up his father’s rifle from the floor and laid it across the table.
“Hmm,” said Sarah, frowning. “This complicates things. It’s Sathi’s personal heirloom, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Jalil, nervously tapping his foot on the floor.
“I know that Aliet Dome will let you take it so long as it’s unloaded and you have a ceremonial license. I’m not sure about the other domes, though. We’ll have to check that on the planetnet.”
“What will they do?”
“Worst case scenario, they’ll confiscate it.”
Jalil perked up at once. “Confiscate it? You mean, take it from me?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Sarah. “But don’t worry—we’ll make sure to keep that from happening.”
“God-willing,” he muttered. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and he gripped his father’s rifle tightly with both hands, as if afraid someone would immediately climb up to the rooftop and seize it from him.
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t find a way to get it through, though.” She leaned forward and opened the thermos. “More tea?”
“No, thank you,” said Jalil.
“I’ll have some,” Mira said softly.
Sarah nodded and filled her cup. As Mira gingerly lifted it to her lips, Sarah filled her own and replaced the thermos on the table, steam lifting up a few inches before wafting away on the cool night breeze.
“There is one more thing,” she said, setting her cup in her lap. “Mira, I’m afraid you won’t be able to wear your headscarf in Aliet Dome.”
Jalil frowned, and he turned quickly to glance at Mira. Though the twilight had long faded into darkness, he could tell by the dim light of the streetlamps in the lane that she was blushing.
“Why?” she asked.
“It’s the law here,” Sarah answered. “You’re allowed to wear a headband like mine, but you cannot completely cover your hair or your head.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Jalil, clenching his fists in frustration. “How can they make her do such a thing?”
“I’m afraid that’s just the way things are done in there. The secularists make the laws, and they feel that headscarves are too overtly religious to be a part of public life.”
That explains why you’re not wearing one, Jalil almost blurted out. Instead, he rose to his feet and started pacing across the rooftop.
“But—but what about her honor? There will be strange men everywhere. What are we supposed to do?”
“Keep the law,” said Sarah. “I know it seems immoral, but if you try to defy it, you’ll only draw attention to yourselves—and trust me, you don’t want that.”
“How many people are in the dome?” Mira whispered. She seemed suddenly fragile, as if a single glance could shatter her.
“Thousands, perhaps millions. But don’t worry,” said Sarah, putting her hand on Mira’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. No one will mistreat you just because your head is uncovered.”
“Is there no way around it?” Jalil asked, gripping the back of Mira’s chair as he stood over her.
“I’m afraid not,” said Sarah. “In any case, you don’t have to worry about it yet. We’ve still got to take care of your documents, and that’s going to take at least a few weeks.”
Babylon, Jalil thought bitterly to himself as he remembered Hamza’s words. We’re going into Babylon, all right.
* * * * *
That night, Mira couldn’t sleep. The wind roared past the window in her room, making an eerie whistling noise as it shook the windowpanes. That wasn’t all, though. Perhaps it was the woody, foreign smell of the room, or the perfect straightness of the walls, or the uncomfortable softness of the bed. Whatever it was, she tossed and turned for what felt like hours, trying to find some firmness that would let her sleep. Eventually, she gave up and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.
The stars, she thought to herself. If only I could see them, maybe I could forget how far I am from home.
She quietly rose from the bed and threw her cloak over her shift. The sound of the wind made her shiver, and she stepped carefully in the darkness, groping her way through the room until she came to the door. Once out, the stairwell was only a short distance down the hall. The night air was cold, the breeze stiff. The familiar stars and satellites stared down at her from the sky, though with all the light from the streetlamps, they were noticeably muted.
Wrapping her arms around herself for warmth, she made her way to the edge and stared out across the valley at the glass mountain—the world in a bottle. White and yellow lights shone through the glass, too fuzzy to make out with any clarity. It was a strange sight, and Mira stared at it for some time.
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
The sound of Jalil’s voice gave her a start. She turned quickly and saw him sitting on an old, weathered couch facing the valley. The upholstery was torn, and stuffing was falling out in places.
“Oh,” she said softly. “I—I didn’t see you.”
“That’s all right; I could use some company. Here, have a seat.”
He scooted over and made some room for her. When she sat down, the couch gave way underneath her until she was practically sitting on the ground. The wind picked up, and Mira shivered.
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“Are you all right?” Jalil asked. “You look cold—here, take this blanket.”
He leaned forward and pulled off the blanket that he’d brought up from his bed.
“That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to—”
“No, here,” he said. “You need it more than I do.”
Mira tried to protest, but Jalil draped the blanket over her shoulders without another word. She had to admit, the added warmth felt surprisingly good against the chill night air.
The breeze from the cliff played with her hair, and she realized with a start that her head was uncovered; she’d left her headscarf in her room. She glanced nervously at Jalil, and their eyes met.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“My—my headscarf,” she whispered.
He paused for a moment before giving her a shrug. “That’s fine. It’s only us up here, and besides, it’s not as if we aren’t family.”
She nodded and turned back to the view off the edge of the cliff. He was right; for the first time since setting out from the Najmi camp, they were completely alone together.
Mother would want me to take advantage of this moment, she thought nervously to herself. Her heart beat a little faster, and she shifted uneasily on the couch.
“Jalil?” she asked, her voice weak. “Do you—do you want to share the blanket?”
“No, I’m fine.” From the way his shoulder’s shook, however, she knew he was shivering.
“Are you sure?”
He hesitated for a long moment. “Well, I suppose.”
His body seemed tense as he scooted close to her. Taking care not to touch, he pulled the blanket over toward his side of the couch. However, it soon became apparent that they would both have to squeeze together in order to fit beneath it. Moving tentatively, they came together until the sides of their legs and arms were touching.
Shivers ran up and down Mira’s back, and not from the cold. Her heart pounded like a nuclear engine as she contemplated what to do next. Now was the time to make her move, but what exactly was she supposed to do? Lean on his chest as she pretended to fall asleep? Slip her arms around his waist?
No, she decided. It just felt wrong. Besides, they still had a long road ahead of them; maybe Jalil would come around on his own, without any manipulation on her part. Better to give it time and let things develop naturally.
She took in a deep breath and tried to calm her trembling body, but he turned to her before she could do so.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No,” Mira said; then, “well, maybe a little.”
“Don’t worry; I’m sure we’ll be warm in a minute.”
That was true enough, what with the way they were snuggled up close to each other. She wondered what her sisters would think if they could see her—what sort of scandal it would raise across the camp. She half expected a wave of guilt to sweep over her, but instead, all she felt was a soft, delicious warmth, and not only from the blanket.
She remembered the day Jalil had first come to the camp. A strange object had fallen from the sky a few nights before, lighting the sky as it fell. Her father and uncle had driven out to investigate. To everyone’s surprise, they’d returned to the camp a few days later with a small, blond boy.
Mira had been seven years old at the time. The sight of the golden-haired boy had filled her with fear, and she’d hidden behind her mother’s robe. When she’d peeked around the hem, however, she was surprised to see that the boy looked just as frightened as she felt.
“We found the remains of a fallen starship,” her father had said. “There were no survivors in the wreckage, but we found this boy in a small pod not far from the crash site.”
At that moment the boy’s eyes had met hers. He smiled weakly at her, sending her scurrying behind her mother’s legs.
“Zayne,” her father had said, “I know that this boy won’t replace our son Asi—may Allah have mercy upon him—but I want you to raise him as one of our own.”
Many years later, after the camp had moved from the foothills to the wide desert plain, Mira remembered how Jalil had returned from a particularly long scouting expedition. Mira had always kept her distance from him, like the reluctant little girl who had hidden behind the hem of her mother’s robe. But the young man was not a little boy anymore—and the little girl had long since grown to become a young woman. By then, it was no secret that Sheikh Sathi wanted to find a bride for his son.
Mira had watched from a tiny hole in one of the side tents as Jalil’s caravaneer rushed home across the plain, kicking up a long cloud of dust. The caravaneer rolled into the main compound and skidded to a stop, sand and gravel crunching underneath the oversized tires. Jalil climbed out and greeted the tribesmen who had come to help him unpack.
Sathi stepped out to greet him, dressed in his imposing gold-trimmed robes. Mira watched intently from her hiding place as Jalil broke away from his countrymen to embrace his father and kiss him on both cheeks.
“Habibi,” said the sheikh, kissing his adopted son. “How are you? How was your health? How was your journey?”
“Very well, Father, very well,” said Jalil. “But where is my mother? I haven’t seen her for over a month.”
“Zayne? She’s inside. Why don’t you—”
But Jalil was already running for the door. He passed only a few feet from Mira’s hiding place, making her catch her breath. A few moments later, he was inside, hurrying through the women’s quarters. Mira slipped out of the tent and discreetly followed him.
She found Jalil in the courtyard, clutching his adopted mother in a warm embrace. Tears ran down both of their cheeks, though more especially on Zayne’s.
“Jalil, my son!” she had cried. “I missed you so much!”
“I know, Mother,” Jalil had said, not ashamed to hold his mother close. “I’m back now—you don’t have to worry.”
“Did you take care of yourself?”
“Of course! I would feel terrible if you lost another son.”
Mira stood off to the side, watching both of them in silence. As she recalled Zayne’s anxious worrying on his behalf from the past weeks, she choked up a little herself. Jalil had never been gone so long; it was telling that the first person he sought out was his mother.
In that moment, Mira had known that she loved him.
“What do you think of the headscarf ban in Aliet Dome?” Jalil asked, his question bringing her back to the present.
“The ban?” she said. “I don’t know.”
“We don’t have to go this way, you know. We can go around Aliet Dome and get in somewhere else, if you’d rather.”
“But what about the documents?” she asked.
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll find a way.”
He turned and glanced at her, his face illuminated by the soft yellow glow of the mountain of glass across the valley. Mira paused for a second, unsure what to say. Going around would give them more time together—time that she’d need, if she was to convince him to stay—but it would be such an inconvenience for him.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?” he asked, a look of concern on his face. “There are going to be a lot of strange men in there. I don’t like the thought of them staring at you.”
“At least I won’t be alone.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true, I suppose.”
They stared for several moments at the giant glass mountain across the valley. It filled nearly half of the horizon, casting an eerie yellow glow against the rocks and boulders near its base. Overhead, the stars and satellites shone down in their familiar patterns and constellations.
“Are you scared?” Mira asked. Coming from her own lips, the question surprised her.
“Scared? No. Why should I be?”
“I don’t know,” she said, blushing a little. “It’s just—everything seems so strange, so unlike home.”
“Are you scared?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll look after you. We’ll get to the temple all right.”
She leaned a little closer into him. His body felt so warm under the blanket, especially with the biting wind off of the cliffs. He put his arm around her, shielding her from the cold. In her drowsy state, the feel of his touch on her shoulders made her muscles turn to water.
I could marry him, she thought to herself as she closed her eyes. I could spend the rest of my life with him and be happy.
But could he?
Chapter 5
“Earth, the Hidden Paradise, the Fled World, is within each of us,” said the man at the head of the multitude. “It is hidden in our hearts like a godly seed, waiting to sprout and shine forth with its divine light.”
What’s this about? Jalil wondered to himself as he and Mira walked along the outskirts of New Amman. Mira had wanted to get away from the city for a while, and since Jalil had nothing else to do while they waited for their documents to be processed, he had agreed to go with her. Beyond the giant windmills, the desert plain stretched all the way to the horizon, broken only by the dusty road and an occasional structure. But closer to the ridge, where the rust-red landscape gave way to the bustling streets and white stone buildings of New Amman, a sizable crowd upwards of a thousand people had gathered. At the center of a rocky field stood a short, balding man, evidently a preacher of some kind.
Jalil shrugged and turned to go, but Mira lingered as if she wanted to stay. Since they didn’t have anywhere else to be, he followed her to the edge of the crowd.
“Each of us carries a piece of Earth with us,” the preacher continued, “for we are all children of Earth. Though we wander the stars as strangers in a strange land, that sacred memory—that spark of divinity—lies deep within our hearts.”
“Who is this man?” Jalil wondered aloud, to no one in particular.
“The Master Rumiya,” said an old toothless man in threadbare robes beside him. “Have you heard of him, son?”
“No. Should I have?”
The man put a bony, trembling hand on Jalil’s shoulder and pointed with his other. “Watch and learn, for there stands a holy man of God!”
