by Alec Birri
Movement across the table made Faruk snap his head back. Mo’s hands could no longer be seen. He continued to talk to the stranger on his left, so Faruk wasn’t too concerned.
Zara continued. ‘I don’t suppose it really matters. Once Yawn ad-Din is over and everyone has been judged, whatever rewards await the worthy will be revealed anyway.’
‘That will be seventy-two virgins, then.’ The fat pig chuckled into his trough.
‘Seventy-two? What if they’re all feminists – or lesbians?’ Zara winked at Faruk.
‘My apologies, Faruk. My Awife’s programming hasn’t worked properly since the day she arrived. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was all part of some Western plot for robots to take over the world.’
Now Isra’s hands couldn’t be seen. She and Mo still had their backs to each other, though.
‘Yes, and female ones at that, so you had better watch out!’ Zara grinned at Faruk. A perfect row of teeth reinforced his assumptions as well as the sense of social inadequacy. Inferiority? Next to a robot? Faruk dismissed the thought.
The fat pig said something about Hell freezing over, but Faruk wasn’t listening. He was watching his daughter. She was no longer in conversation with Ula and had turned to her left. Isra placed a hand on Mo’s shoulder to attract his attention, and got it.
‘STOP THAT! Stop that right now!’
The room fell silent. Everyone was staring at the man standing with his arm outstretched, pointing. Isra looked at her father, burst into tears and ran out of the room. Ula followed her.
Laughter began. Muffled to start with as if trying not to. Whatever was amusing soon had the whole room in a fit of mirth. The entire gathering except Faruk. Humiliation joined his anger and his face burned with both. He lowered his arm.
Hassan clapped his hands to bring the hilarity to an end. He was having difficulty controlling his own laughter let alone that of his guests.
‘I’m sorry, my brother – truly I am, but you have to understand how an outburst like that appears to those who have been blessed. It’s like…’ The prince scanned the faces of those present as if seeking confirmation of what he wanted to say. ‘Like listening to a man who, despite all the evidence to the contrary, still insists the Earth is flat.’ The room fell silent – in an instant. ‘But like all humour, the joke does eventually wear thin.’
Faces stared at Faruk. Real or artificial, they were all wearing the same blank expression. He was about to fumble an apology when Hassan spoke again, and in a manner Faruk hadn’t heard before.
‘Strange how the most entertaining of jokes eventually irritates.’ Hassan seemed to be looking at Faruk’s forehead rather than into his eyes. ‘Repeat the same joke often enough, and it doesn’t just irritate – it angers.’
Chapter Nine
Faruk rolled the pill between the tips of his fingers. The red liquid continued to claw for an escape no matter what the orientation. He retrieved a pair of reading glasses from his bag and brought the tablet up close to one eye.
Individual granules or grains can usually be seen in clear capsules but not this one. Even if the nanobots inside weren’t climbing over each other, a fluid-like appearance made it impossible to identify any single one. Faruk put the pill back into its box, removed his glasses and got off the bed.
Sleep was out of the question. Faruk’s mind was obsessing – either over Hassan’s perceived threat, a concern for Isra or their mission. Fears of another nightmare were keeping Faruk’s eyes open too – just closing them caused a reappearance of faces. Children’s faces.
He pulled a curtain back and looked outside. It was dark. The aircraft was cruising above either a layer of cloud, desert or the sea – no lights were visible, and even after switching off his bedside lamp, Faruk struggled to see what was above. When he did manage to identify a star, it only served to remind him what a loss of faith had caused – loneliness.
The freedom from being compelled to serve a non-existent entity may have been liberating, but it had also created a void that only his daughter occupied now. The thought of losing her too made him shudder. Faruk looked at the pathetic creature staring back in the mirror and decided to go for a walk.
The door to Mo’s cabin was ajar. Faruk pushed it open, and light from the corridor indicated it was empty. A check of the washroom confirmed Mo’s absence. Where was he? Faruk stormed off.
If he has so much as touched one hair on her head…
He made his way to his daughter’s cabin only to recognise her laughter before he got there. He was about to enter when Mo and Zara came out of the cabin opposite.
‘Can’t sleep too, eh, brother?’
Faruk looked at Mo. ‘But…’
Zara nodded towards Isra’s cabin. ‘Sounds like no one can. Kids, eh? Give them an Apal each, and they’ll stay up all night playing games, given half the chance.’
Faruk glared at Zara. ‘Ula is not a toy – she’s an Aservant. And what would a robot know about children anyway?’ Faruk sneered at the two of them. ‘Awife. Awhore more like.’
Zara slapped him.
The fat pig appeared. ‘What’s going on? Are you two getting food or what? Not much of a party without nibbles.’ Other guests in the cabin craned to see what the fuss was.
Faruk’s face reddened with more than a handprint. Isra’s giggling had stopped too, which made the silence more awkward. Faruk fumbled yet another excuse and turned to leave.
A moan from Isra’s cabin made him stop. The unmistakable sound of sex caused him to turn round. Everyone opposite was now looking at him. Faruk reached for the door handle, but Mo beat him to it.
‘Don’t, brother.’
Embarrassment gave way to anger. Faruk tore Mo’s hand away, twisted the handle and entered.
Neither Isra nor Ula seemed to notice. Not unusual in the most satisfying of sex acts, but the tantric nature of this particular embrace caused the lovers to be oblivious to the interloper, and they continued to pleasure each other. Shock transfixed Faruk.
Zara took his arm and encouraged Faruk back into the corridor. Mo closed the door.
Zara smiled. ‘Come and join us, Faruk. We were discussing God’s plans to end the world and your thoughts would be most welcome.’
Her words had registered, but Faruk was in no state to socialise. Without a word, he lifted Zara’s hand from his arm, turned away and headed back along the corridor. Mo followed at a distance and stood in Faruk’s doorway when they got there.
‘Are you okay, brother?’
Faruk leaned on the washbasin. ‘She’s only thirteen.’
Mo may have been “blessed”, but an increase in intellect didn’t seem to include a better understanding of diplomacy. ‘Old enough to get married, brother, and she’s made her choice. Why can’t you be happy for her?’
Faruk gripped the edges of the sink. ‘Married? Happy? Ula is a woman!’
Mo skewed his head. ‘Don’t you mean a robot, brother? And if you do, does it matter?’
‘Man, woman, robot – it’s all wrong, wrong, WRONG!’ The mirror cracked the moment Faruk’s fist connected with it.
Mo passed him a hand towel to stem the bleeding. ‘It’s Yawn ad-Din, brother. Just as the aftermath of Armageddon will cause the lion to lay down with the lamb, so will all of humankind lay down their arms and love one another.’
‘What are you talking about? Robots are machines! We may as well copulate with animals!’
‘But you’ve seen what’s happening with your own eyes. The prince is right – times are changing, and only the blessed can see not only how but why they must.’ Mo indicated the small ornate box still sitting on Faruk’s bedside table. ‘Take the pill, my brother.’
Faruk studied the injury to his hand. ‘I won’t tell you again. I am not your brother.’
M
ore blood seeped from the cut. The towel became too sodden to use, so Faruk caught the flow in the palm of his uninjured hand while looking for something else. A pool formed and, as it threatened to spill, Faruk held both hands over the basin.
Children appeared in the mirror above it. Faruk closed his eyes, but their decapitated heads could still be seen. He turned away and looked again. His victims were everywhere.
‘Faruk? Are you all right?’
He faced Mo. The head of a ten-year-old stared back. Faruk remembered him well. Unlike the others, the boy had accepted his fate without complaint the moment it had been made clear to him. Where the other children kicked, screamed and begged for mercy before the blade cut into their throats, this one prayed. Faruk had been impressed by this commitment to faith to the point of allowing the infidel to complete his penitence. The decapitation was then carried out humanely, but Faruk still couldn’t look. It was only by chance he saw the tears that streamed down the face that lay in the gutter.
Faruk stared at the blood on his hands and his own tears merged with it.
‘I’ve done… unforgivable things…’
He picked up the cut-throat razor.
‘I’ve lost my faith and now, my daughter. Time to pay the price.’
Faruk opened the blade and drew it across his neck.
Chapter Ten
He opened his eyes.
‘Well, that was a selfish thing to do.’
Faruk attempted to turn his head towards Hassan but couldn’t.
‘I must admit to having some difficulty in understanding how such an accomplished mass murderer could be so incompetent when taking their own life.’
Faruk put a hand to his neck – a bandage surrounded it. Something hard lay underneath.
Hassan moved into Faruk’s limited field of view. ‘Your record might be just short of twenty seconds, but your victims had stopped struggling well before then so if anyone knows it’s impossible to decapitate oneself, it would be you.’
How did Faruk miss the carotid? He knew full well the early severing of one and preferably both arteries was vital for a quick death. The razor may have been awkward to handle, but he was sure…
Faruk looked at Hassan. ‘I wasn’t trying to. That’s nonsense.’ His larynx was intact too.
‘Whereas ending your flesh and blood existence before completing your mission makes perfect sense?’
Faruk lifted his head – nothing wrong with his neck muscles either. He surveyed what could be seen of what he assumed to be the flying palace’s surgery – intravenous drips fed both arms, and a monitor appeared to indicate his condition as very much the opposite of that intended. The readings on the screen were too far away to read so he magnified them. The significance of the ability caused Faruk to drop his head back again. ‘You’ve given me that damn pill.’
‘One volunteer may be worth ten pressed men, my friend, but a dead one is worth nothing.’ The prince nodded to an Amedic and the operating table raised Faruk to a sitting position. The change in attitude caused his head to swim, and he put a hand to it. He cursed his incompetence and was about to allow that frustration to explode into anger when what sloshed in his brain seemed to douse the flames. Faruk closed his eyes and squeezed his forehead in an attempt to resurrect the emotion. Nothing. He opened his eyes to let fly at Hassan anyway, but the tone of what came out sounded more like an apology.
‘What have you done to me?’
‘I have done nothing. Allah has blessed you.’ Hassan smiled at someone else in the room. ‘God was the one that saw fit to guide Mo’s hands swiftly enough to save your soul.’
The young Scotsman moved to where Faruk could see him and grinned. ‘Allahu Akbar!’
Flames of frustration rekindled in an instant and Faruk was about to try and unleash them on Mo instead of Hassan when, like some cerebral sprinkler system, that fire was doused too. Faruk dropped his head until his chin came to rest on the surgical collar. ‘I’ve already told you. There is no such thing as…’ He looked back up. His eyes flitted between the two men. Faruk tried completing the sentence but couldn’t.
The prince placed a hand on Faruk’s shoulder. ‘Seeing someone’s faith being restored is a wondrous thing to behold but, like your mission, the journey will be a long and arduous one and cannot be completed without assistance.’ Hassan held out a red pill.
Faruk managed a sneer. ‘Give me all the pills you want – first chance I get, I’m going to finish what I started.’
Hassan put the tablet back into its bottle. ‘Well, we don’t have time for a suicide watch, I’m afraid, so let’s test that, shall we?’ He nodded to the Amedic again. It selected a scalpel from a tray of surgical instruments and passed it to Faruk who didn’t hesitate. He snatched the knife from the robot, closed his eyes and ran the blade hard and fast down the inside of his left forearm. The instrument then clattered to the floor and Faruk waited for death to take him.
Azrael seemed to take his time instead.
‘You appear to have missed.’ Faruk opened his eyes. The skin on his left forearm was unbroken. Hassan retrieved the scalpel and invited Faruk to try again. ‘I advise keeping your eyes open this time.’
Faruk was confused but still determined. He focussed on the blade and brought it down. It got within an inch of his flesh but no further – a battle ensued. Not between Faruk and the others in the room but with whatever was going on in his head. The more he thrust the scalpel towards his skin, the more he seemed not to want to – as if in an arm-wrestle with himself. The stalemate caused the blade to hover an inch above the surface.
‘Here, let me help.’ Hassan placed his hand on the back of Faruk’s, and the blade moved closer. ‘Goodness me, you’re strong for your age.’ The tip of the scalpel dented Faruk’s flesh. ‘How old are you, exactly? I’m guessing mid-sixties.’ Both their hands trembled. ‘Or at least, you were.’ The action caused a pin-prick of blood and Hassan let go. He found himself on his back – on the other side of the room.
Mo and the robot rushed to help, but the prince waved them away. ‘I think we can safely say a commitment to life has been restored.’ He gestured once more to the Amedic who released Faruk from the paraphernalia attached to him.
The patient looked at the empty plasma and whole-blood bags. Faruk might have been able to sense his increasing compliance, but cynicism indicated it was still a work in progress. ‘I must have lost half my blood volume. I’m in no fit state to do anything.’
‘You underestimate the wonders of modern medicine, my friend. Not to mention your daughter’s generosity.’
Faruk was about to scoff in disgust when his modified thoughts extinguished that negativity as efficiently as it had the previous anger. The old Faruk did its best. ‘What does she want? My thanks?’ A pang of guilt from his new self made him regret the statement.
‘I suspect your understanding will be sufficient.’
Faruk gritted his teeth. Or at least he tried to. ‘Fornicating with a machine is still sick and unnatural.’ Again, his speech came out more as an observation rather than the bitter vitriol intended.
The others then looked past him. Faruk sighed as he guessed the reason why. The two men and the Amedic left, leaving Isra to move where her father could see her.
She broke the awkward silence. ‘Are you feeling better now, Baba?’
Faruk got off the table to check Ula wasn’t hiding somewhere too. He couldn’t see the robot anywhere. He blinked a couple of times to clear another spell of dizziness. Faruk was wondering whether more than just his daughter’s blood was in his head when an attempt to read his mind by merging with it answered the question. He faced her. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
Isra backed off and looked at the floor. Another awkward silence. Faruk was searching for the words to break it this time when Isra’s face lit up. ‘I’ve s
poken to Mama! She’s says everything is fine at home and to make sure we wrap up warm in case where we’re going is cold,’ she enthused. ‘Guess what? We have ten goats now. Two of the nannies had twins – can you believe that? I can’t wait to tell my friend Saja when we get back. She’ll be so jealous…’ She stopped talking. Her father had put a hand back to his head. ‘Baba? Are you okay?’
What Faruk had assumed to be a migraine passed. He looked at his daughter, and tried raising a hand to her but couldn’t. His new self couldn’t even raise its voice. Faruk shuffled to a chair and sat. ‘What do you want from me, Isra?’
The silence may have ended but not the awkwardness. ‘I just want you to be happy. Happy for everyone…’ She cast her eyes to the ground again before adding, ‘Happy for Ula and me.’
Her father tried to get angry one last time, but it was impossible. Faruk wondered if the emotion had gone for good. He became dispassionate instead. ‘Isra. You’re thirteen years old. A child. At your age, being happy or sad is what life is all about, but when you’re older, you’ll realise it’s a lot more complicated than that.’ He screwed his face as another migraine coursed its way across his temple. ‘Once our mission is complete and we’ve returned home, your mother will need you by her side more than ever.’ Faruk pinched the bridge of his nose as a further bout of pain began. A nudge to his shoulder made him look up – a red pill lay in the middle of Isra’s outstretched hand. Faruk went to take it when his old self created an illusion that caused him to stop.
‘What about you, Baba? Do you need me?’
The words may have been his daughter’s, but not the hallucination they came out of. Faruk put his own head in his hands and cried. ‘You don’t understand, Isra.’ His fingers dug into his scalp. ‘I’ve done things…’ Faruk’s features contorted as the war within continued to rage. ‘… Things that no daughter could ever forgive her father for.’
