by J. J. Harkin
Den had expected himself to be preoccupied with the loss of Maria for some time, rather than become increasingly preoccupied with thoughts of Victoria. Yet the mysteries surrounding Victoria’s life and purposes were now proving to be Den’s primary focus, rather than the failure of his recent relationship. Though he had no idea why, he felt sure they had not seen the last of Victoria’s savvy pre-death planning just yet, and Den had to admit it was a good feeling.
The Voice of Joseph
That night, as Den dreamed his way through deep jungles at the bottom of a shadowy valley, words echoed across the surface of his mind. He saw no one in that dreamscape, but instantly recognized the voice of Joseph, and remembered all he heard:
Call me Joseph, whispering fate,
Dreamer boy, surviving hate.
Aero-wraith, I blaze at dusk,
Wielding vicious wanderlust.
Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha‑olam!
The Vizier is brought to life, to halt the sin of man!
I am Joseph, I am I. See the colors whirl inside.
Call me Joseph, Seraph bold,
Slave of who the scribes have told.
I vanish, vaporous in flux,
A needle threading astral dust.
Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha‑olam!
The lost son waits upon the Sun, to halt the sin of man!
I am Joseph, flying high. Melt with me beneath the sky.
Call me Joseph, I burn hot,
Shooing sheep from Tiamat.
Kaleidoscope they call my coat,
Tantalizing stubborn goats.
Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha‑olam!
The Vizier waits upon the One, to halt the sin of man!
I am Joseph, Chroma-Khan – bound, unleashed, now slave of God.
Call me cruel or cast me down,
But never think you’ll have my crown.
I am Joseph, rainbow spooled,
Both Heaven’s hound and Weaver’s tool.
Come near to my light, for Pentecost five.
Eloheinu, melekh ha-olam!
Amen.
Chapter XV
THE MULE
“So what is it you have to show me?” asked Dajjal. He and Talman had spent the morning in conversation, wandering the outskirts of the archeological digs which surrounded the Darkspire.
“Every king needs a dependable mode of transportation, Dajjal, and you are no exception,” replied Talman. “Here we go.” They had entered a large tent. “What do you think?”
Before Dajjal stood a broad, round, disc-shaped object which hovered mysteriously in midair. It was moored to stakes by ropes, the strength of which it seemed to test with every movement of the wind. Like a flying saucer it looked, as nothing could be seen to explain it’s separation from the ground; yet it was flat across the top, rather than domed, so as to create a platform.
“It might be a flying carpet!” he said.
“We call it an M. U. L. E. – means Mobile Utility Load Elevator. Originally the archeologists here used them to lift the massive stones which concealed the ruins for so long, but I’ve had this one specially modified for you as a hovercraft.”
“But I see no fan blades beneath. What is keeping it up in the air?”
“It is buoyed by the power of highly compressed gasses. As you can see, it does have concentrated air jets which make it capable of movement, but these are small, and located around the perimeter of the craft.”
“Compressed gasses… So it’s like a blimp?”
“Exactly. Only we cannot see where the gas is stored. Aerodynamically speaking, this is far superior. Blimps can lift great loads, but are so bulky that no one has ever been able to coax them into moving at high speeds. As you can see, this has all changed now.”
Talman and Dajjal climbed aboard with some difficulty, for the craft moved beneath them at every touch. The surface of the MULE was shiny and smooth, painted white and gray, and littered with stylish decals conveying its make, model, and various other utilitarian information.
“Where did you get such a strange vehicle, Talman?” asked Dajjal, feeling genuinely curious.
“I own a company which makes them according to the original design of a Saudi inventor I discovered some years back. She is a genius, but willful, and enamored of her own talents, making her difficult to control. It has all been worth the cost, however. Now we have a mechanism which can lift practically anything, given the appropriate amount of compensatory gas. Here, have a look at the controls.”
Talman handed Dajjal a tiny remote which evidently controlled the craft, and proceeded to kneel to undo the moorings. The gadget featured a directional pad and numerous labeled buttons. Soon they were unleashed and ready to go, hovering quite independently in the billowing tent. Taking the remote back, Talman eased them carefully out the open wall through which they had entered. The tent’s coverings whipped back and forth across them as they emerged into bright sunlight.
“Grab your straps!” Talman bellowed, as Dajjal scrambled to obey. Talman had reached down to clasp plastic loops on either side of where he was standing, which extended taught at the end of strong elastic bands. Holding the remote in his left hand, and the loops of both reins in his right, he struck Dajjal as the epitome of kingly elegance. The MULE might have been their war chariot, upon which they struck out to survey some ancient battleground.
The craft was turning now, at Talman’s command, the air jets at its sides coming to life. It looked more than ever like a flying saucer, perfectly supporting them as they began to drift out across the desert. The wind clutched at the two men, but their elastic reins held them firmly in place, even as their pace began to quicken. They raced out across the rocky ground, leaving the Darkspire far behind.
“There’s no brakes – just reverse thrust,” Talman was shouting, “so you’ve gotta give yourself plenty of time to stop!” Already they were coming to a halt at the bottom of a great hill. Talman activated a small, red button on the remote clenched in his hand, which began to flash brightly.
“What are you doing now?” Dajjal asked.
“Demonstrating the one drawback of this technology.”
Dajjal continued to look around, but nothing happened. “What do you mean?” he asked curiously.
“Look!” said Talman, pointing. A cloud of dust could be seen in the distance, like an approaching vehicle.
“What is that?”
“It’s the gas truck,” said Talman simply. The dust cloud was drawing closer, now seeming certainly to be a tanker truck of some kind.
“We’re not out of gas already, are we?”
“Just the question I was waiting for,” said Talman finally, shaking his head. “No, we’re not out of fuel, yet we’re still going to need more gas nonetheless.” He pointed up the hill. “It’s the altitude,” he said simply.
“What?”
Talman was beginning to feel exasperated. “Remember how blimps work. If you want one to fly higher, what do you do?”
“You add heat with hot air balloons. But I think with blimps you add more helium, right?”
“Good. Yes, so to get up this hill we will need to raise the platform by adding helium from the gas truck.” A dusty attendant had arrived to do just this. Soon he was clicking a supply line into the craft’s hull. Talman began to direct the MULE uphill, the truck now following them laboriously, still hissing and popping as it delivered the compressed gas.
Dajjal immediately lost confidence in the vehicle. “But we look ridiculous!” he said. “We’ve gotta drive around with this stupid truck attached to us now?”
“Such as the technology now stands,” replied Talman, “but it’s fixable.” He raised his hand to paint both the gas truck and the hose connected to it out of their perceptions by the power of the holographics engine. Within seconds he had impressed innumerable buttons in the air before himself – none of which were visible to Dajjal – and the effect was achieved. Again they appeare
d to be proceeding uphill on their own steam, floating along effortlessly.
“I see,” said Dajjal thoughtfully.
“My purpose has been to groom the MULE for service as your royal conveyance. There’s no denying that seeing a monarch float by on a flying saucer leaves a stronger impression than seeing one in a BMW. Right?”
“There is something regal in the smooth way it moves along. Yes, something kingly.”
“Just imagine yourself surrounded by several of these crafts. On one your harem awaits. Another bears your guards and servants. But before all will come your royal float.”
“It would be like a fair, or a parade, I suppose.”
“Yes, people love to follow a grand parade,” agreed Talman. “Combine all this with the holograms and the power of death I’ve granted you, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for supreme domination.”
Talman was looking at him impressively, perhaps waiting to be complemented. They had reached the top of the hill; Dajjal could hear the attendant unhooking the gas line even if the holograms prevented the man from being seen. Neither Talman nor Dajjal said a word for a moment, until they heard the gas truck speed away, both confronted suddenly by the breathtaking vista before them.
“This is the poor village of Nadi,” said Talman, extending his arm. “A remote place, yes, but perfect for what I have planned today.” The side of the hill which faced the town ended in a steep cliff. Dajjal saw that there was very little to the place, just a main street surrounded by various shacks. At this distance it looked almost like a ghost town straight out of the American Old West, though naturally it could not have been any less western.
“What is it you have planned, Talman?”
“Practice,” was Talman’s simple reply. “It is one thing for you to have access to so many fine technologies, but using them together to their greatest effect will take practice.”
“Oh,” Dajjal responded blankly, before repeating himself in surprise. “Oh!” Briskly Talman had snapped his fingers, and startled Dajjal by disappearing completely.
“What we are going to do today,” continued Talman, not bothering to acknowledge that he had just done anything out of the ordinary, “is enter the village in the manner of a visiting ruler.”
“Which one?” asked Dajjal without thinking.
“Yourself, you idiot! You’re the King of Iraq, remember?!” It was just as well that Dajjal could not see Talman’s face as he said this.
“Right.”
“Now, when a ruler visits,” continued Talman, doing his best to feign patience, “there are things which are expected of him.”
“Like what?”
“Like knowing when to shut up! Listen. I’m going to remain invisible while you appear to enter the town alone on the MULE. Don’t worry about working the holograms, as I’ll take care of them for you this time.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Shhhh!” insisted Talman irritably. “I’ll do whatever comes to mind. The main thing is that you’ve got to get out there and be social – get to know each person in that town. Get to know them and their problems, but be listening for me to whisper in your ear once in a while. I’ll have instructions for you. Now hold onto the reins.”
Dajjal did as he was told, gripping the lines once again for support. Suddenly the MULE shot away from the cliff into the airspace high above the little town. They were alien invaders, ready to descend upon unsuspecting prey.
“I am releasing some helium, allowing us to descend,” whispered Talman. Immediately they began to lose altitude, as an obligatory hiss reached their ears.
A sudden flurry of fabric and scent caught Dajjal’s attention. At Talman’s signal the MULE had been instantly bedecked in fine silk coverings. Rose petals were falling with the craft into the little town square. The townsfolk of Nadi, hovering nervously in doorways and windows, had spotted him.
“Sit comfortably,” whispered Talman, and Dajjal obeyed. So it came to be that the first glimpse the people of Nadi had of him was utterly serene. There he sat, legs crossed on a bed of holographic silk, hands folded and gazing upward like a whimsical desert muse, come to visit his unsuspecting beneficiaries for the first time.
“Hello!” Dajjal could not think of anything else to say. Some children were hurrying across the dusty square now, though their parents remained hidden for the most part.
“Introduce yourself,” hissed Talman from somewhere.
“I am Mosi Mukasa! How may I help you?”
“This isn’t a drive-through window!” Evidently Talman’s faith in his powers of improvisation was not great.
Though still rather blindsided by this sudden encounter with his subjects, Dajjal knew this was his opportunity to shine. Talman was putting him through his paces, and Dajjal wanted a good showing. He must allow himself to be creative. “But who are you, little one?” he asked. A young boy had been the first with the courage to approach Dajjal directly.
“I am Haji.”
It had been a very long time since Dajjal had spoken with a real child, or even seen one up close. Freedom fighters, who nearly wore the crosshairs on their foreheads, were usually appreciated to keep their distance from the young and the impressionable. The boy’s skin was smooth and perfect, so unlike his own. Compared to Haji, Dajjal was naught but an old heap of cankered skin.
“And what is it that you like, Haji?”
The brave child gave no answer, now busy staring open-mouthed at Dajjal’s horrific appearance. Pop! A plush teddy bear had suddenly appeared in Haji’s arms – Talman’s doing. The boy had never seen such a thing, and ran excitedly off to show his mother. Quite satisfied, Dajjal felt sure he knew what direction to take the encounter from there. Standing, he stepped from the MULE carefully.
“Come out, come out, people of Nadi!” he shouted boisterously. “Your King is here!”
Haji had returned with many little friends. Most of the townsfolk were venturing from their huts now, if only to keep an eye on the strange situation which was unfolding outside. Pop! Pop! Pop! Every child had received a stuffed animal of their own, a fact which was drawing the sad decorum of the town quickly toward festivity. Kids were running everywhere, their high voices lauding the coming of the man who might be capable of materializing happiness itself. Four town elders soon arrived to recognize Dajjal. He stood calmly as they bowed low. Dajjal found himself wondering if these four were the only men left in the village. Women waited with baited breath in doorways everywhere.
“Blessings upon you, oh King,” said one, the first of the four to rise, and evidently their leader. “I am Sheik Aleman. Welcome to Nadi.”
“Thank you, Sheik Aleman. Please rise, all of you.” As he had no idea what he was there to say, Dajjal was beginning to feel nervous.
Luckily Talman was ready to head the problem off. “They need a makeover,” he whispered helpfully.
Dajjal was thinking fast. “My dear friends,” he said to the elders, “I regret it has taken me so long to visit your fine town.” Aleman seemed surprised by the remark, but said nothing. “Do accept some new clothes,” continued Dajjal.
He did not need Talman’s help for this one. Within moments he had opened up the appropriate program, selected the inhabitants of the town, and clad them all in identical white robes. For a moment Dajjal seemed to the onlookers to be gesturing wildly, as they could not see the desktop with which he toggled, and then shocked gasps went up all around him. The program had tailored each holographic garment to fit its owner perfectly. No one waited in doorways any longer; everyone was coming out into the sunlight to see their new garb more clearly. In truth they were all still wearing their old clothes, for these had only been covered up. In the coming weeks, as the holographic clothes continued to maintain their shine – and the sensation of their old garb remained suppressed beneath – perhaps the old rags would begin to rot off of their bodies, falling invisibly to the ground. They would never have any idea.
“These robes will
never tarnish or grow old,” Dajjal explained, knowing well the parameters of the program he had just used.
“You are too kind, King Mukasa!” Several elders were saying this, and all bowed once again, more fearful now than ever. The children had been whipped up into an absolute frenzy at this point, calling out to one another excitedly as they ran about the square.
“Tell them their town needs a little fixing up…” suggested Talman, whispering to him again.
“But I think Nadi could use a bit of a makeover too!” announced Dajjal confidently. “What do we think?”
The respondent cheer left no doubt, so Dajjal raised his arms authoritatively, as Talman sprang into action. Pop! The dusty ground had been replaced by an even distribution of shiny black stones. Poof! The town and all its outbuildings, though remaining the same in their essential structures, became suddenly refurbished, appearing now to be constructed of carefully set bricks and solid tile roofs. Gasps all around them were erupting into excited shouts. One of the elders had forgotten his manners utterly, dancing over to a fine new building which seemed to have replaced his old hut. Soon musical instruments had been found, and the lively notes of celebratory songs filled the air.
“Gesture toward the middle of the square.” Talman’s voice had spoken once more.
Dajjal obeyed. Pow! A massive fountain, complete with statues and water jets, had appeared. Within seconds the children began playing there happily, luckily not noticing that their new clothes had the strange tendency never to get wet, no matter how many times they were exposed to the water. Then Dajjal added a few finishing touches of his own. A few simple gestures later he had materialized numerous palm trees, a public garden, and several street lamps. Nadi had become an unrecognizable oasis of modernity.
