Desert Stars

by Joe Vasicek

  “What is it?” she asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

  “Well… the headscarf isn’t forbidden here,” said Jalil. “I thought you might, ah…”

  Mira swallowed nervously. She remembered the cantina girls, and how Jalil couldn’t stop staring at them.

  “I thought it would be better if I didn’t wear it,” she said softly. “None of the domer women do, and I don’t want to seem too out of place. Besides,” she said, tossing back her hair, “it’s such a beautiful day, I thought it might be nice to keep it off for a while.”

  Jalil frowned, but his eyes lingered on her for a half second before he bent down to retrieve the bag.

  They walked a short distance from the border checkpoint to join a growing group of mercenary soldiers. One was missing an eye; his head was shaven, with strange geometric lines and patterns crisscrossing his scalp. Another had a prosthetic arm made of metal—he made a big show of sharpening a curved knife on its surface. All of them carried guns.

  “What now?” she asked softly.

  “We wait for Lucien,” said Jalil. “He’s Gregor’s second-in-command.”

  As if on cue, a tall, muscular man stepped out of a passing hovercar and began barking orders. He had deep-set eyes, pure black hair, and a carefully trimmed beard. The soldiers quickly formed a line and began marching down the hill; Mira didn’t know what else to do, so she stayed with Jalil, walking alongside him.

  At the base of the hill, they marched past a concrete wall and through a small checkpoint with a tall metal guard tower next to it. The guards at the gate all carried heavy assault rifles, and the tower housed some kind of larger gun, probably a plasma turret. Mira was used to seeing fortifications in the desert, but this was the first time she’d seen any since they had started their trip at Aliet Dome. It made her worry that they were in danger.

  The landscape beyond the wall was half-covered in forests, with checkered farmland and scattered settlements breaking the deep green carpet. A dusty road led from the checkpoint to a large town full of peaked red roofs. Though the town was much bigger than any of the settlements they’d seen in Aliet Dome, most of the buildings were no more than three or four stories high. It reminded her of New Amman, except that the buildings were red and gray instead of white.

  “Look over there,” Jalil said, motioning with his gaze since both his hands were occupied with carrying their baggage.

  “Where?”

  “Down the hill. Look!”

  It took Mira a second to see it, but when she did, her breath caught in her throat. A cluster of burned out, half-destroyed buildings stood by the side of the road, amid a clump of wild bushes. Across the dusty side street, the other buildings bore scorch marks and bullet holes.

  “Listen,” said Jalil, as if he sensed her growing fear. “Gregor hired me to fight for him, but my first obligation is to take care of you. They’ll probably try to keep you with the main convoy and send me out in the advance guard, but I think we should stick together. I don’t trust any of these men.”

  Mira nodded. She’d been thinking much the same thing herself. The wind blew a strand of hair across her face, and she pulled it back behind her ear.

  “So you’re for it?” Jalil asked, looking her in the eye.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then promise me that you’ll be careful. Stay low and keep close to me at all times. Do you understand?”

  The light in his eyes reminded her how he’d fought off the thieves in Aliet Dome. Her cheeks flushed and her heart beat a little harder.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Good. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  She had no doubt that he was sincere.

  A small hovercraft with an open truck bed in the back roared into view from the other side of the road, coming to a stop in front of them. Lucien climbed on board and motioned for the others to do the same. As the others joined Lucien in the hovercraft, Jalil tossed their bags onto the truck bed, then helped Mira climb up. There was only one seat left, and he let her have it, holding onto the railing instead.

  With a lurch and a loud whine, the hovercraft took off, tearing across the empty road and turning off into a fallow field. Lucien, who stood at the front next to the driver, shouted above the roaring of the engine so that all the others could hear. Mira couldn’t understand what he said, but from the way Jalil paid rapt attention to him, she knew it was important.

  Before Lucien finished, they slowed down and entered a walled compound. Inside, Mira saw dozens of vehicles, most of them hovercraft. Some were small, with armor-plated sides and plasma turrets mounted above the narrow cabins, while others were much larger, obviously built to carry freight. They came to a stop in front of about fifty armed men and began to dismount.

  “What did he say?” Mira asked as Jalil helped her down.

  “We’re splitting into teams. He put us on the advance guard; one of the recon squads is short a man, and he wants me to cover.”

  A large, wide-faced man stepped up and clasped Jalil on the shoulder. “Looking for your crew, brother?” he asked in the language of the high desert.

  Mira’s eyes widened. With his long, white robes, leather gunbelt on his hip, and chains of heavy ammunition strapped across his chest, he was definitely a fellow tribesman.

  “Yes,” Jalil answered, smiling. “The peace of Earth be upon you.”

  “And upon you as well, brother.”

  Two other men stepped forward, one short with a full beard, the other tall and red-haired, dressed in black and gold.

  “I am Kariym, and this is Abu Hassan and Ashraf,” said the first man, introducing them to the other two. Abu Hussan—the short one—smiled and lifted his hand, while Ashraf merely looked on.

  “I am Jalil,” said Jalil.

  “What’s your tribe?” Ashraf asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Mira cringed. She couldn’t place any of them, and a wrong answer might turn their newfound friends into bloodthirsty enemies.

  “We are Najmi,” Jalil answered truthfully.

  “Excellent!” bellowed Kariym, slapping him on the back. “Abu Hussan and I are Tarsene. Ashraf is Sarahiyn.”

  She sighed in relief. Thank goodness he didn’t mention that Lena’s husband is Jabaliyn, she thought to herself. The Jabaliyn and Sarahiyn tribes had been locked in a vicious blood feud for the last hundred years.

  “Who is this traveling with you?” Kariym asked, pointing to Mira. “Your wife?”

  All four men turned and looked at her, making her blush. Her headscarf—why had she refused to wear her headscarf? It seemed like such a foolish decision now, with the full weight of the men’s eyes on her.

  Jalil hesitated only a fraction of a second before answering. “Yes,” he said. “That’s Mira, my wife.”

  Her heart surged. Did he just say that?

  “Why isn’t she covered?” Abu Hussan asked.

  Before Jalil could answer, Kariym let out an explosive guffaw.

  “Oh, that’s a good one!” he said. “And I suppose every woman you’ve taken in the last month has been covered too?”

  “No, but none of them were my wives.”

  “And are your wives any more discreet?”

  “They have to be; they’re ugly.”

  The men roared with laughter while Jalil and Mira looked uneasily on. Jalil’s face turned red, and he seemed on the verge of starting a fight, but she took his arm and shook her head.

  Off to the side, Lucien barked an order. The crowd split up as the various crews headed to their vehicles, while the whine of hovercraft engines began to fill the air.

  Kariym turned to Jalil. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Say goodbye to your wife and send her with the main convoy. Our hovercraft is number five.”

  “Wait,” said Jalil. “I would rather my wife stay with me. I don’t want to leave her among… strange men.”

  Abu
Hussan nodded, while Kariym touched his hand to his chin.

  “We don’t usually take women,” said Kariym. “There’s not much room, and recon is a dangerous position. Still—”

  “Can she cook?” asked Abu Hussan, butting in.

  Before Mira could answer, Jalil spread his hands, palms outward, in an expression of mock offense. “What kind of a fool question is that? Najmi daughters are jewels among women—of course she can cook!”

  Mira smiled and blushed, while the others laughed. “It’s a deal, then,” said Kariym, slapping Jalil on the back. “Welcome aboard, brother.”

  * * * * *

  Once they were loaded, Jalil took the gunner’s position on the top deck, manning the hovercraft’s main plasma turret. Ashraf and Abu Hussan sat in the cockpit, behind the long, narrow slit of a windshield. Mira and Kariym seated themselves in the cabin, but that was fine; Jalil wanted some time alone.

  They skirted the edge of town, riding along a lightly trafficked major road. Craters littered the nearby fields, but they were all overgrown with grass; whatever battle had been fought in this place, it had happened long ago.

  Once past the town, they came to a river wider than any body of water Jalil had ever seen. In the desert, flash floods occasionally dropped enough rain to fill the gorges that cut deep into the mountainsides. The mighty torrents raged for a few days, sometimes even for weeks or months. Inevitably, however, they vomited forth their muddy contents into the great sandy washes, where the water quickly evaporated or sunk deep down into the rocky earth. Here, however, the water was smooth and placid, not like the harsh, violent rapids in the desert. The far bank stretched out almost a full mile away, thick with trees and brush that obscured the ground. Jalil didn’t know how deep the river was, but for the hovercraft, that hardly mattered. The surface of the water created the perfect road for their convoy, and soon they were racing ahead at full speed, kicking up a thick white spray behind them.

  The weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cool. Upset by the sound of their passing, flocks of pretty white birds took to the air like noisy, low-flying clouds. Down in the cabin, Kariym began to sing a lilting ballad about a young boy in love with his brother’s betrothed. His deep bass voice bellowed over the roar of the engine, lifting Jalil’s spirits. It was a good day to be alive.

  They rode upstream over the river for the next few hours, leaving the main body of the convoy far behind as they took the recon position for the advance guard. They passed a number of bridges, magnificent works of steel and stone that spanned the entire river. Most of the land, however, was empty and unsettled—nothing but long, straight stretches of thick green bush, with the occasional rocky outcropping to break the monotony.

  To pass the time, Jalil squinted into the wind and wondered how he would plan an attack if he were the enemy. The river provided excellent defense: the banks were too thickly wooded to allow easy access, and any artillery bombardment would risk sinking the convoy into the river, losing the precious cargo. With only the occasional sand bar or rocky outcropping to hide an ambush, the exercise soon grew tedious and boring.

  Inevitably, his thoughts drifted back to the girls in the cantina. Images flashed across his mind’s eye: the black-haired girl swaying sensually to the rhythm of the beat as she hiked up her top and let it fall to the side. His mind swam in a heady rush, followed by a wave of almost unbearable guilt. He bit his lip and tried to put the image out of his mind, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t make it stop.

  The sound of footsteps on the ladder snapped him back to the present. He turned and saw Kariym behind him, hanging off the railing with his robes billowing in the wet breeze.

  “Are you here to relieve me?” Jalil asked.

  “Not yet,” said Kariym. “I just wanted to enjoy the scenery.”

  Jalil nodded and returned to his watch. He was grateful for the company; it helped him push the cantina girls out of his mind.

  “So you’re on the pilgrimage, eh?” Kariym said, breaking the silence between them. “Headed for the Noble Sanctuary, am I right?”

  “Yes,” said Jalil, cringing with shame for entertaining such dirty thoughts while journeying to a place so holy.

  “You’re both pretty young for pilgrims. And tell me, since when do Najmi boys have blond hair and fair white skin?”

  “I wasn’t born Najmi,” he answered softly. “I was adopted.”

  “Ah, I see. But if that’s true, where are you from?”

  “I don’t know; that’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “By making the pilgrimage?” From the tone of Kariym’s voice, it seemed he had raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” said Jalil. “By consulting with the priests in the Holy Archives. I’m hoping that they will give me the help I need.” Without thinking, he fingered the locket underneath his shirt.

  “Ah,” said Kariym. “Well, I suppose a little spiritual help could do us all good. Can you do us a favor?”

  “Whatever you ask.”

  Kariym leaned forward, his expression serious. “Pray for us when you get there.”

  They drove on for a while without talking. The river curved slightly to the right, and the hovercraft turned with it.

  “What can you tell me about the war?” Jalil asked. “Are we in danger?”

  Kariym threw back his head and laughed. “Son, I’ve been working this job for almost two years. I’ve seen firefights that would make your blood freeze in your veins. Right now, we’ve got all our magnetic shields angled to the front of our ship, with false heat sensor relays all online. Anyone fool enough to attack would have to be damn lucky to hit us from the front. The only real danger is that someone will try to chase us, but we’re going so fast right now that we could easily lose them.”

  “What’s the likelihood of an attack?”

  “Almost none,” said Kariym. “Ever since the peace talks started up again last month, this convoy run has been a cakewalk. The petty bandits won’t bother us because we’re so heavily armed, and the rogue warlords won’t attack us for fear of drawing attention from the peacekeepers. I wouldn’t be surprised if we made it through without firing a shot.”

  Jalil nodded, then frowned. “But if the run is so easy, why was Gregor so eager to hire us?”

  “Cheap labor,” said Kariym. “Let me guess, he only offered you ten thousand?”

  “No—five.”

  Kariym laughed bitterly, and Jalil’s cheeks burned red with shame and anger. “You mean—”

  “That’s right,” said Kariym. “Gregor earns millions with this run. The regulars get paid twenty-five.”

  “This is outrageous!” shouted Jalil, lifting his fist in the air as he turned to face Kariym. “I should—”

  “Whoa there, brother,” Kariym said, putting a hand on Jalil’s shoulder to calm him down. “When the hired guns start causing problems, Lucien has been known to leave them stranded. You and your little woman wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Jalil gritted his teeth and shook his head. “No,” he muttered.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  It wasn’t the low pay that angered Jalil; it was the fact that he’d been duped so easily. He felt like a complete idiot for failing to drive a bargain. But then again, with the cantina girls distracting him, was it any wonder that things had worked out as disastrously as they had?

  “How does he earn so much?” he asked, returning to the present. “What are we carrying that’s so valuable?”

  “Gregor is a smuggler. Most of the stuff we’re hauling is contraband.”

  “Contraband?”

  “Yes—drugs, weapons, maybe a few slaves.”

  Jalil’s cheeks blanched. “Slaves?”

  “You heard me. Though I don’t think we’ve got too many of those this time.”

  Jalil shook his head in disbelief as a wave of dizziness came over him. “By all the stars of Earth…”

  “Like I asked before, brother, when you get to the temple, pra
y for us. Allah knows, we’re all pilgrims—but some of us are a little more lost than others.”

  You and me both, brother, Jalil thought bitterly to himself.

  * * * * *

  Mira peered over the railing as the hovercraft skirted the riverbank. The pleasant spray from the river quickly dissipated as they sped over a wide stretch of open grassland. She stared in wonder at the landscape around her; the purple mountains and golden-green sea of grass were so unlike the rust-red hills and rocky desert of her home. And yet as different as it was, she did not feel out of place—not with Jalil and the other tribesmen. These were her people, and Jalil was her man.

  The grassland stretched almost to the mountains on the horizon, broken only by scattered clusters of black rocky outcroppings. As they drew nearer to one, however, she saw that they weren’t actually rocks, but burned-out vehicles. The realization made her gasp; suddenly, the scenery didn’t seem quite so harmless.

  Still, it wasn’t much different from her life in the desert. The Najmi camp had its own fortifications, and at least one person was always on watch duty, even if it was only old Zeid. Tribal wars had ravaged the land before, and some of the family’s campsites were built on top of ruins spoiled from their enemies. Mira had never seen such things for herself, but Jalil and Tiera had told her stories.

  They drove for the better part of the day. The sun slowly diffused as it dipped lower in the sky, and the men finally stopped at a lone hill to make camp.

  Abu Hussan looked at her and grinned. “Now we’ll see if your husband is right about the Najmi women and their cooking.”

  “Oh, you’ll see all right,” said Mira, leaping nimbly to the ground.

  She immediately busied herself setting up the portable stoves and hauling out the food supplies. While Ashraf and Kariym set up the long range radar on the top of a collapsible pole, Jalil sat down next to the hovercraft, taking a rest. Mira smiled at him, and he nodded.

  “Need some help?” he asked.

  “No, not at all,” said Mira. “Just relax—I’ll have dinner ready before you know it.”