Desert Stars

by Joe Vasicek

  “Passport datachip,” said the man without looking up from his computer. He spoke the desert tongue with a thick, foreign accent, slurring several of his words. Jalil handed over his passport, as Sarah had instructed him.

  The man squinted as he examined it. “Name?”

  “Jalil Al-Shadiyd Ibn Sathi Ibn Yusif Al-Najoumi Saharat Al-Gharab Al-Gaiani Al-Jadida.”

  The man looked up from the screen and raised his eyebrows. “Jalil, eh? Is that the name you go by?”

  Jalil scowled. “Yes, that will suffice.”

  “Very well, Jalil. Please place your baggage on the platform and step this way.”

  He motioned with his hand to a white circle on the floor. Jalil put down his duffel bag and walked onto the circle.

  As soon as he had walked away, a smooth, ring shaped device about half his size came out of the wall and floated just over his duffel bag. Nearly a dozen long, spindly arms jutted out from the machine’s underside and began prodding at the bag with a myriad of unrecognizable instruments.

  “What’s going on?” asked Jalil, more than a little unnerved.

  “Security check,” said the man, this time in New Gaian. “Raise your hands over your head, please.”

  Reluctantly, Jalil complied.

  A low humming came from the ground immediately under his feet. He looked down and saw another one of the doughnut shaped machines encircling his ankles. He tried to step away from it, but before he could move, a guard laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

  What is this? Jalil wondered nervously as the machine slowly rose. It passed his knees, then his waist, then rose up above his chest and face. When the machine rose above his head, it stopped, allowing him to lower his hands.

  “Very good,” said the man. “You’re free to go.

  Jalil breathed out in relief as the machine went back down into a slot in the floor. When he turned to retrieve his bag, however, one of the guards was already rummaging through it. He pulled out Jalil’s rifle and held it up for examination.

  “Don’t touch that!” Jalil shouted, running over and snatching the gun from the man’s hand. The guard cried out and drew the pistol from his belt.

  “Hold! Hold!” the uniformed man behind the desk shouted, standing up and waving with his hands. “What is that?”

  “It’s my father’s heirloom rifle,” said Jalil, looking it over quickly. “How dare you touch it!”

  “Unauthorized weapons are not permitted,” said the man. “You must leave it with us.”

  What? Jalil wondered in disbelief. He shook his head.

  “No.”

  “If it is a non-functioning ceremonial emblem, you may keep it,” said the man, his cheeks reddening with anger. “But I must see some form of authorization.”

  The license! Jalil realized. In his haste to get through the checkpoint, he’d completely forgotten.

  “It’s in my bag,” said Jalil. “I forgot to take it out.”

  The man turned to the guard and said something incomprehensible. Mira stared wide eyed from the end of the line, as if terrified.

  “Everything’s fine,” Jalil said softly in the desert tongue. “Just a misunderstanding—we’ll get it cleared up soon.”

  Instead of handing over the bag, the guard lowered his gun and searched through it himself. Jalil bit his lip, but made no move to stop him. After nearly a minute, the guard pulled out the license and handed it to the uniformed man, who nodded in approval.

  “Very well,” he said. “But you are not permitted to keep it loaded at any time. Failure to comply may lead to criminal prosecution for disturbance of the peace.”

  The guard made as if to take the weapon from him, but before he could, Jalil opened the chamber and held it upside down to show that it was empty. The guard scowled, but he nodded his approval. Without another word, Jalil slung his rifle onto his back, snatched his duffel bag and papers, and walked over to the doorway on the other side.

  Mira didn’t take nearly as long as him to pass through the security charade. She handed another bored-looking officer her documents and let the scanner pass over her. Satisfied, he motioned for her to pass.

  “Wait,” said the guard, stopping her with his hand. “No headscarves.”

  “Get your damn hands off of her,” Jalil spat, pushing the man away. He turned to Mira and nodded. “Your headscarf,” he said softly. “Better take it off.”

  She hesitated for a moment, as if afraid to expose herself to so many strange men in this alien place. After taking a deep breath, however, she slipped it off, letting her hair fall to her shoulders. She blushed a little, and in that moment she looked so vulnerable that Jalil felt an insuppressible urge to shield her from anything that might hurt her. Don’t worry, he thought. I promised your father that I would protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do.

  He picked up her bags and they were off again, away from the crowds and the noise and the uniformed men and women who made the place so miserable. They stepped into a long, cavernous tube toward a door on the other side. The walls were slightly transparent, so that the sun shone through the cloudy glass, giving the place a strange whitish-blue color. As they walked, a strange sense of deja vu swept Jalil, and he stared up at the ceiling and walls as if looking for some forgotten memory.

  “What is it?” Mira asked.

  “This place,” he said. “It feels familiar, somehow.”

  Mira glanced around a bit, but said nothing more. The moment soon passed, and they walked through the doors at the far end of the hall.

  As soon as they stepped out onto the other side, Jalil gasped.

  Rich green fields stretched out in long rows all the way to the horizon. Blue vehicles like miniature caravaneers wound their way down orderly rows of crops, while white arcs of water spurted across dark, cultivated soil. High overhead, wispy white clouds drifted across the clear blue sky, underneath the cloudy glass canopy that stretched so high that he could barely see it.

  “A world in a bottle,” Mira whispered, her eyes wide. “It’s—it’s beautiful.”

  Beautiful, yes, Jalil thought to himself. But it isn’t home.

  Chapter 6

  Jalil pulled the seatback tray table down over his lap and let the cash datachips spill from his hand onto the smooth plasteel surface. On the darkened night train, the only illumination came from the soft yellow LED lights rimming the tray. Next to him, Mira stirred in her sleep, curled up with her head against the armrest. Her dark brown hair spilled out over her black desert robes, while outside the window shadows raced past a starless night sky.

  Twenty-six hundred and twelve, he counted, organizing the datachips into neat little piles. The vibrations of the train threatened to knock them over, so he stacked them no higher than three at a time. The tickets for the night train through Aliet Dome had cost them nearly five hundred, and according to Sarah’s map, they had five more domes to pass through. With food and lodging, plus visas and processing fees, they would definitely have to make the money stretch.

  Jalil gently swept the datachips back into his bag and replaced the folding tray table. Strange to think that something so small and insubstantial as money could stop them worse than a sandstorm or a tire blowout.

  A creaking noise sounded through the floor beneath them, and the train began to slow. Mira yawned and stretched, glancing out the window as she sat up. A bluish-magenta glow was barely visible on the horizon, outlining the silhouettes of trees. Dawn was coming, and with it, the end of the line.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked. Mira blinked and moaned, and an audible groan arose from her stomach. “Hungry?” She nodded.

  Twenty-six hundred, Jalil thought to himself. Outside, the dark blue of the predawn sky gave way to the harsh yellow lights of the approaching city. Through the window, Jalil saw broken concrete walls and jagged steel overpasses covered in sharp, swirling graffiti. A group of hooded transients huddled around a fire, while others prowled just inside the shadows. They passed from view in
a matter of seconds, yet Jalil knew they were still there.

  He looked back at Mira, who yawned again and rubbed her eyes. She looked so fragile without her headscarf, naked and vulnerable, especially in a place like this. The moment they stepped off of the train, Jalil knew that every man they passed would stare at her. The thought made him bristle.

  While she wasn’t looking, he slipped couple of bullets out of his breast pocket and pulled out the heirloom rifle. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, he hastily loaded the shells into the magazine and replaced the weapon under his seat. Sarah had been adamant about keeping the rifle unloaded, but Jalil didn’t trust the people in this place. Besides, it wasn’t as if anyone could tell that it was loaded just by looking at it. Better to be safe, in any case.

  The harsh city lights passed more and more infrequently as the train gradually came to a stop. Jalil stepped out into the aisle and slung the rifle across his back.

  “All right,” he said, rising to his feet and offering his hand. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  Mira stayed close to Jalil as they stepped off of the train and onto the platform. Graffiti covered the rusted steel pillars, and rotting garbage lay scattered about the concrete-covered ground. A scampering noise in the corner made her jump, and a cat dashed out in front of them. A handful of passengers left the train as well, but they all walked off in different directions, until she and Jalil were alone.

  “Hang on,” he said, squinting as he read one of the signs hanging from the ceiling. They were written in a foreign language, probably New Gaian—at least, she hoped it was New Gaian, because that was the only other language that Jalil knew.

  A hissing noise sounded from the tracks, and the train began to crawl away. It moved slowly at first, but it soon picked up speed, its sleek metallic sides cutting through the air with a low whoosh. Mira watched the people in the windows and wondered what they were thinking right now. Their world seemed almost unreal, the same way the outside had seemed unreal to her when she had been on the train.

  But that wasn’t true any longer, and she couldn’t ignore it. Even though it was night, the sky was utterly devoid of stars, giving her the feeling that she was deep underground. The air felt sticky and humid against her skin, thick with the smell of garbage, oil, and tomatoes. Beyond the platform, rows of identical buildings sat crammed beneath ponderously tall silos and giant sheet metal buildings. Pipes, ducts, and catwalks ran between the structures, making the town look more like a machine than a place to live. The harsh yellow streetlamps gave scant illumination, but the dark silhouettes became increasingly clear against the lightening predawn sky.

  “This way,” said Jalil, heading off into the street. Mira struggled to keep up; she guessed he hadn’t been able to read the signs.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, glancing periodically over her shoulder.

  “To the nearest hostel,” he said. “The cheapest train doesn’t leave for another fourteen hours, so I figured we’d find something to eat and get some rest.”

  Mira nodded; it would be nice to get some real sleep for a change. Her body felt weak from hunger and exhaustion, and her eyes struggled to stay open as she followed him onto the road.

  Traffic was light, but threadbare beggars watched them from the shadowy alleys—at least, Mira thought they were beggars. From the way they silently eyed her, she wasn’t so sure. She automatically reached up to pull her headscarf tight, but it wasn’t there; her head was uncovered. The realization made her cringe, and she made sure to stay even closer to Jalil.

  How much farther? she wondered quietly to herself.

  “Here,” said Jalil, stopping in front of an old brick building with peeling paint. “This should be as good as any.”

  Mira didn’t see anything that indicated the place was a hostel, but the sign in the front must have tipped him off. It was just as well; she was starting to feel anxious about their decision to stop at this town.

  A row of lockers lined the wall inside, illumination coming from a pair of flickering fluorescent lights. Exposed pipes ran along the ceiling, while depressions in the white linoleum floor marked years of traffic and wear. The stench of mildew was strong enough to make her cover her mouth and breathe through the front of her robe.

  Jalil talked with the man behind the desk for some time. Towards the end, his voice became so raised she half expected him to storm out. Instead, he shook his head and accepted a key, leading her up the stairs.

  “We won’t be able to get food for a few hours,” he said.

  “That’s okay,” said Mira, even though her stomach practically screamed at her in hunger. The stairwell was unusually steep, and she felt so tired each step was a struggle.

  “Also, we’ll have to share the same room. There’s only one bed, so I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “Are you sure? I—”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I’ve slept on desert rocks before. This flooring shouldn’t be any worse.”

  She nodded. They reached the second floor and walked some distance down a long, dimly lit hallway with graffiti spray-painted over old, peeling wallpaper.

  “Here,” said Jalil, inserting the key into a wooden door. He turned the knob, and it creaked open, revealing a tiny windowless room with a brass bed in the middle. A single yellow light bulb dangled from the ceiling, while a dark stain on the bedspread made Mira wonder whether the sheets were actually clean. She hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

  Jalil clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Good Lord, what a dump. Here, I’ll pull off the bedsheets for you. We should probably sleep in our clothes, but if you want to change, there’s a public restroom down the hall. If you want, I can watch the door for you.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  He shrugged and went to work stripping down the bed. Mira felt too tired to change, so once he was finished, she curled up on the bare mattress with her face to the wall.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, covering her with a blanket from his pack. “I’m here for you. I’ll protect you.”

  The words stabbed her with guilt, but she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Jalil sat beside her for a while before arranging a place for himself on the musty floor.

  I won’t betray your trust, she inwardly thought as the line between dreams and reality slowly blurred. Not unless I have to.

  * * * * *

  The sun was setting when Jalil and Mira left the hostel and headed back out into the streets. Jalil’s body ached from sleeping on the hard floor, and his clothes smelled slightly of mildew. They still had a few hours before their train arrived, but if they stayed any longer, they would have to pay for another full night.

  Sunset under the dome was a strange affair. The glass ceiling stood so high that it was invisible for most of the day. Towards the evening, however, the glass skewed the sunlight in strange ways, making the sky appear much redder than normal. As the sun set, a reflection off the glass to the east made it look as if a second sun had appeared; the double shadows gave the cityscape an eerie, otherworldly feel.

  Jalil led them to a small cafe to wait until the train arrived. It seemed as good a place as any, and the food was cheap. A few heads turned to glance at their long desert robes, but he had only to stare at them and narrow his eyes to make them look away.

  “How much longer before we leave?” Mira asked in a hushed voice. The desert tongue sounded oddly refreshing after hearing nothing but New Gaian for most of the day.

  “Not long,” he said, watching the street through the cafe windows. “An hour, maybe.”

  Only minutes after sunset, night descended upon the city like a black shroud. The sky was utterly starless, and the moons, though visible, were noticeably blurred through the glass. The only light came from the street lamps, spaced far enough apart to cast more shadows than they dispelled. If Jalil had known that the night would come so fast, he would have led them to the platform earlier.r />
  “Come on,” he said, slinging his rifle over his back as he rose to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  Mira kept close to him as he walked down the darkened streets. A few hovercars passed them on the way, but the city was mostly silent except for the rumbling of factory machinery and the occasional buzzing street lamp.

  After a few hundred yards, the street turned in a direction Jalil hadn’t anticipated. He knew they were close to the platform, but in the darkness of the night, everything looked strange and unfamiliar.

  “Do you remember this place?” he asked. Mira shook her head. He peered into one of the darkened alleys, fingering the rifle strap with his free hand. Garbage littered the ground, but the place seemed empty. Still, anyone could be hiding in those shadows; better not to risk it.

  He backtracked for a while and tried another side street, narrower than the first but still relatively well lit. It led them down a row of identical three story apartments that looked vaguely familiar, but went down a hill a little further out, so he knew it wasn’t right.

  “Are we lost?” Mira whispered. She took his arm and clung to him in the starless dark.

  “No,” he said, hefting their bags as he spun on his feet. “We’re doing fine. Besides, we’ve got at least an hour until the train shows up. We’ll be all right.”

  He backtracked to the main street and followed it down a little further, past the bend and toward the factory at the center of the town. The stench of tomatoes here was almost overwhelming, so that definitely wasn’t right. He tried another side street, but like the others, it turned back in the wrong direction after only a hundred yards.

  The whistle of a coming train echoed through the empty streets, confirming at the very least that they were heading in the right direction. What’s more, it didn’t sound very far. Perhaps if they cut through one of the alleys, they could find their way faster. It would certainly be a lot faster than backtracking.