Desert Stars

by Joe Vasicek

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “It… looks good, I guess.”

  “Not the decorating, you idiot, the functionality,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes. “I installed a twenty-five hundred kilowatt micronuclear drive and hooked up a second CPU to the shuttle’s mainframe to cut down the system startup time. I’ve souped up the engines to give extra turbo thrust, and tripled the capacity of the chemical fuel tanks. If we needed to, we could take this baby to either of Gaia Nova’s moons and back again.”

  She beamed as she patted her hand against the nearest metal duct, clearly proud of her work.

  “You’re a mechanic?” Jalil asked.

  “More an engineer, but yeah, pretty much.”

  “I used to repair micronuclear engines in the desert.”

  Michelle’s eyes lit up at once. “Really?”

  “All the time,” said Jalil. “Though to be honest, I was more of a handyman than a mechanic.”

  “What the hell did you need micronuclear engines for? I thought those were just for low orbit spacecraft.”

  “We put them on our caravaneers—er, our long-range vehicles. A good one could ride for four thousand miles without refueling and still power a small camp.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said, nodding appreciatively. “So what do you think of what I’ve done here?”

  Jalil stood up and walked over to the micronuclear device embedded in the back wall. “Well,” he said, “it looks like you got a newer model here. Wiring looks fine, power transfer looks good—but you’ve got a problem with the central gauge.”

  “What kind of a problem?” she asked, already by his side.

  “It only goes up to two-fifty, but this drive model should run up around three hundred.” He stepped back to let her look. “Seems like whoever sold you this unit cobbled the gauge together from spare parts.”

  “Damn, you’re right. Do you think I should reconfigure it?”

  Jalil shrugged. “It shouldn’t be a major problem, but your readings are going to be a couple of marks off until you do.”

  Michelle swore again. Before he could answer, the door hissed open and Mark stepped through.

  “Hello, sir!” said Jalil, standing up at once.

  “Oh, hi there,” said Mark, completely unconcerned to see him alone with his daughter. “I see you’ve met ‘Chelle.”

  “Yes, I have. But don’t—”

  “Daddy!” said Michelle, giving her father a hug.

  “It’s good to see you, dear,” said Mark, hugging her back. “Did you have fun these past couple of days?”

  “Oh yeah! The snorkling trip was awesome—you really should have been there.”

  Mark chuckled. “Believe me, I wish I could have come. I’m glad you had a good time, though.”

  He allows her to go out by herself, Jalil realized. Either he doesn’t care what she does with men, or he knows that she can be trusted. Either way, Jalil was off the hook.

  “Well, let’s get ready for launch. I’ll get Gavin his contract.”

  While Michelle went up to the front of the shuttle, Mark produced a datapad and brought it to Jalil.

  “Here’s your contract,” he said, handing it over. “We can’t pay much and we don’t have much extra living space, but if passage to Karduna is all you’re looking for, we can hire you on for two hundred New Gaian credits per week, plus room and board.”

  Jalil took the datapad and looked briefly over the contract. “Where do I sign?” he asked.

  Mark laughed. “Whoa there! I haven’t finished yet.”

  Jalil blushed. A low humming sounded through the walls as the shuttle powered up.

  “The contract also includes six months’ labor at our warehouse on K-4,” Mark continued. “We don’t have much work for you to do while we’re en route, but we do have need for you when we get back. Wages are the same, though we can provide temporary housing for you at a discounted price. If we’re satisfied with your work, we may be willing to hire you on full-time at more than double the contract rate.”

  Jalil thought about it. Six months seemed like a long time—but if it meant passage to Karduna, that was a small price to pay for the chance to finally return home.

  “Great,” he said. “Where do I sign?”

  “Just making sure,” said Mark. “Before you sign, though, I need to see your passport. The port authority at Karduna is pretty liberal about immigration, but we’ll need to get all your documents in order.”

  Jalil reached into his pocket and pulled out the passport datachip. He handed it to Mark, who took it to the computer terminal next to Michelle.

  “Ah,” he said, “I forgot about this Gaia Novan design. ‘Chelle, got a port converter?”

  “Yeah,” said Michelle, opening one of the side cabinets and pulling out a small conversion device. The male end was identical in shape to the one on Jalil’s locket.

  Mark plugged it in and looked over the data readout for half a minute. The humming from the walls became louder, and a series of lights on the ceiling came to life.

  “Looks good,” he said, unplugging the chip and handing it back to Jalil. “Once you’ve signed the contract, I’ll upload a copy for your own records.”

  “Great,” said Jalil. “Uh, what do I sign with?”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Mark. He reached over and pulled out a stylus from a slot in the datapad. “Use this.”

  Jalil took the stylus and glanced back down at the contract.

  Here goes nothing.

  He marked an ’x’ on the line at the bottom of the screen and handed back the pad and stylus.

  “Excellent,” said Mark. He smiled and offered Jalil his hand. “It’s good to have you with us, Gavin.”

  * * * * *

  Twenty minutes later, they were airborne. Jalil sat in the second row, just behind Mark and Michelle who sat in the pilot’s and copilot’s seats. The engines hummed as the smooth, glassy landscape passed beneath them, reflecting the deep blue tint of the cloudless sky overhead.

  “Attention orbital control,” said Mark, speaking into a transmitting device. “This is Bridgette One requesting permission for orbital insertion.”

  “Copy,” came a voice over the speaker. “Taxi into position and await further instructions.”

  Michelle looked over her shoulder at Jalil. “Make sure you’re fastened in nice and tight. This next part’ll be a bit rocky.”

  Jalil ran his hands over the enormous seat restraints around his waist and shoulders, making sure they were secure. His heart beat a little faster as he looked out the forward window at the sea of glass before them.

  There are clouds under that glass, he thought to himself. We’re flying almost a mile above the clouds.

  “Roger, Bridgette One,” came the controller’s voice. “You are cleared for orbital insertion. Proceed to escape velocity at present altitude.”

  “Copy,” said Mark. “How are we looking, ‘Chelle?”

  “Everything’s good to go.”

  “Great. Let’s fly this bird home.”

  The shuttle banked hard to the right, giving Jalil a clear view of Terra 2 Dome. The sun reflected hard off of the glassy surface, making him squint, but where the glare of the sun wasn’t so bright, he thought he could see the outlines of clouds above the ocean. He looked a little harder, and realized that he could see the islands as well. From high up in the air, they looked almost like boulders sitting in the midst of a sandy wash, as seen from the top of a high mountain.

  Mira is probably on one of those islands, he realized. A lump welled up in his throat as images from the past few months flashed across his memory. The two of them chatting at Lena’s wedding; the night at Sarah’s, sharing the blanket in the chill night under the light of the stars and satellites. He remembered her warm smile as she cooked for him and the others under Etilan Dome, and a deep yearning welled up inside of him—a yearning that made him wonder if he wasn’t making a mistake to leave her. It was bizarre: only a few months a
go, she had been just another sister—a beautiful sister, but a sister nonetheless. Now, what was she to him? He didn’t know exactly, but it was clear she was something more.

  As his thoughts wandered, memories of the night at the spaceport came to him, stabbing him like a knife to the chest. He cringed as he remembered how she’d straddled him, slipping off her clothes like the whores at the cantina. How close he’d come to defiling her that night—to defiling himself. And to think that her parents had set it all up—if that was true, what did it make all the other moments that they’d shared? Was it all just a lie?

  He clenched his fists and stared out the window at the flat horizon, putting those thoughts out of his head. Whatever had happened before, it was over now. He had a new life ahead of him—a life far from the Najmi family.

  The shuttle leveled off again. “Beginning stage one acceleration,” said Michelle. “Stand by.”

  The pitch of the engines shifted up two or three octaves. The roar increased steadily until it drowned out everything else. Jalil covered his ears with his hands and felt the force of the acceleration press him back against his chair.

  “We’re at mach three,” said Michelle. “Engaging ramjets.”

  The roar of the engine died suddenly, replaced by a lower, quieter sound. The pressure against Jalil’s chest, however, increased steadily. He glanced out the window from where he sat, but all he could see was the sky, lighter on the horizon and darkening rapidly above their heads.

  “Mach five,” said Michelle. “Engaging scramjets in three, two, one…”

  A mighty roar sounded beneath them, and the whole shuttle began to shake. Jalil grabbed his armrests as the invisible hand pressed him against his seat with double, then triple, then more than quadruple the force as before. His cheeks pulled back against his face, exposing his cheeks and gums, and it seemed for a moment as if he were lying on his back, traveling straight up. It was the strangest sensation he’d yet felt, and it disoriented him so much that he had to stare at the horizon ahead to keep from panicking.

  As he did so, the shuttle nosed suddenly up, and he felt as if his bowels had dropped out from underneath him. For a few frightening seconds, the world went black. Gradually, his sight returned and his bodily sensations returned to normal.

  After a little over a minute, the roar slowly faded into silence. Outside, the familiar blueness of the sky had completely disappeared, replaced by a blackness deeper than night.

  He took in a deep breath and wiped his forehead, but when he relaxed his arm, it didn’t fall back to the armrest. He glanced up at Michelle and saw that her hair was waving lazily, as if she were submerged in water.

  He looked out the forward window and gasped. The horizon traced a bowed arc, glowing bright blue where it met the black velvet of the starless night sky. Clouds of white gathered in swirls across the deep red backdrop of the desert, while seemingly miniature mountain ranges traced their way from the horizon to the blue-black domes that covered half the planet. Above them, the sun shone like a brilliant yellow orb.

  “Orbital insertion complete,” said Michelle. “Switching to extra-planetary propulsion.”

  “Good work,” said Mark. “‘Chelle, do you have a bearing on the Bridgette?”

  “Yup. She’s just up ahead, bearing two degrees. We’ll intercept in about twenty minutes.”

  “Excellent,” said Mark. “Hail the boys and prepare to dock.”

  Jalil looked out past the domes at the bare red desert below. Somewhere down there was the Najmi camp—and with it, the wreckage of the ship that had brought him to this world. He scanned the landscape long and hard, but nothing looked familiar—not from this distance.

  A movement caught his eye. He twisted his head—carefully, in the weightlessness of space—and saw a small speck against the shimmering backdrop of the planetary domes.

  That’s another starship, he realized, not sure how he knew it. We’re flying parallel to it—otherwise, it would rush past us so fast we wouldn’t even see it.

  As he watched, the shuttle gradually drew close enough to make out more details. The starship was shaped like a short, slightly flattened rifle barrel, tapering towards the front and widening towards the back. Its hull was a light gray color, with a line of dark, narrow windows running down the top.

  “Attention, Bridgette. This is Bridgette One,” said Michelle. “Open the docking bay, if you’d be so kind.”

  “Copy,” came a boy’s voice over the intercom. “How are you doing, ‘Chelle?”

  “Doing great,” said Michelle. “We’ve picked up an extra crewman for you to train.”

  “What the—are you serious? Who is he?”

  Mark laughed. “We’ll chat once we’re all on board.”

  “Right on, right on. The bay’s open; syncing now.”

  The ship drew closer, filling their view. The open bay was at the rear of the ship, near the engines.

  The puffing sound of small jets broke the silence as Michelle maneuvered them in. Gradually, they inched forward until they were inside. Jalil gripped his armrests, and the sound of metal scraping against metal rung softly through the walls.

  I’ve heard that sound before, he realized.

  “Docking complete,” said Michelle as she and Mark unfastened their seat restraints.

  “Copy,” came the voice. “Airlocks engaged; beginning decompression.”

  Mark turned to Jalil and offered his hand. “Welcome to the Bridgette.”

  Chapter 12

  “Here we are—do you need a little help with that, dear?”

  “Yes, please,” Mira whispered, handing the heavier of her two bags to Nawal. Her aunt had filled it with gifts almost to the point of bursting: a tin full of sweets and jams, a bag full of new clothes, seashells for her sisters, and a pair of swords with fine coral handles for her father. Nawal grunted as she hefted it up and led the way through the glass doors into the spaceport.

  Mira was too absorbed in her own melancholy thoughts to pay much attention to the sights around her. The past few days had passed in a teary-eyed blur, leaving her empty and numb. The only thing she felt was the weight of the heirloom rifle strapped across her back—the gift from her father that Jalil had rejected; just like he had rejected her. Part of her wanted to throw it away, but honor demanded that she bring it home—the same honor that she’d sacrificed to snare the man she loved.

  In time, they arrived at the ticketing kiosk. Attendants put the bags and the rifle on a conveyor belt, while Nawal pulled out a cash datachip from her purse.

  “It’s okay,” said Mira. “You don’t have to pay; I can—”

  “Nonsense, dear; I’m not so poor I can’t help my own family. Besides, you’re much too young to spend all your money on something as boring as a spaceplane ticket.”

  Mira nodded, and her eyes started to tear up again. Nawal lived so far from the rest of the tribe, she probably only saw family whenever someone made the pilgrimage. This might be the last time they ever saw each other.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning forward to give her aunt a hug.

  “There, there,” said Nawal. “Don’t apologize. I know how you feel—I was once a young girl too, you know.”

  I’ve botched everything, Mira wanted to say. Instead, she nodded and dried her eyes.

  The kiosk spat out a plastic card with a magnetic strip. A strange logo graced the other side, one with stars and planets.

  “Take care, dear,” said Nawal. “May the peace of Earth be upon you.”

  “And upon you as well,” Mira whispered. Even if it never graces me.

  She stepped into the checkpoint and raised her arms as the security scanners cleared her. It took a moment for them to check the heirloom rifle, but they returned it to her without any trouble. When she was through, she glanced back one last time at her aunt before picking up her carry-on bag and proceeding through the concourse to her gate.

  The noise of the bustling crowds mingled with announcements from
the loudspeaker, all in a foreign language that Mira couldn’t understand. She pulled her headscarf tight as the crowds buffeted her like the waters of the ocean buffeting the island shore.

  Just as she found her gate, she noticed a group of white-robed holy men on the opposite side of the terminal. She almost turned away without giving it another thought, but a familiar bald head caught her eye. For a moment she stood frozen to the spot, but then she was walking across the hall, her feet carrying her forward almost against her will.

  “Master Rumiya?” she said, her voice trembling.

  The old sufi master turned to face her, and his eyes lit up almost immediately. “Why, hello, my child! You’ve come a long way since last we met.”

  Mira nodded silently.

  “It makes me happy to see you again. Did you find on your pilgrimage the thing you were seeking?”

  No.

  He eyed her for a moment, as if listening to her thoughts. “You seem troubled,” he said softly.

  You lied to me, she wanted to say. You told me that we all get to choose the world we live in, but I never chose for Jalil to leave me.

  “Your teachings aren’t true,” she blurted. Blood rushed to her cheeks, but her words hung in the air and she was unable to retract them.

  Rumiya paused for a moment, while heads began to turn in their direction. “How do we know anything is true?” he answered cryptically.

  “It’s—it’s not possible,” she stammered, heart pounding. “How can we all live in the world we want?”

  “Ah,” he said, giving her a knowing smile. “I see you have misunderstood me. I never said we live in the world we desire—only that we live in the world of our own choosing.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  A small crowd began to gather around them, making Mira wish she’d never said anything.

  “Consider the prisoner who refuses to submit to his imprisonment. Is he truly a prisoner? So long as he opposes his captors, they will never own his spirit.”