The Pandora Project

by Christine Myles

 

Chapter Five

Self-conscious, uncertain, I'm showered with the dust

The spirit enters into me and I submit to trust

The Rhythm of the Heat – Peter Gabriel

 

Upon awakening this time I was more than a little surprised to discover by the clock in the corridor that it was past 3 A.M. It seemed that my dream timetable was shifting, or perhaps had never really existed in the first place. In any case, the dream episodes were getting longer and longer. Of that much I was sure.

My first impulse was to seek out Shannon again, but I realized it was unlikely that the infirmary night staff would allow me to leave, and in any case, Scott was probably had us both under surveillance. Instead, I got up and climbed into the ensuite shower, standing underneath the blast and letting the flood gush into my open mouth, trying to rid myself of the sour aftertaste of dust, thirst, and fear.

I dried myself off and dressed, intending to track down Dr. Chandra; instead, unexpectedly, I found Shannon. She was in the room next to mine, lying motionless in a hospital bed, her eyes closed. Shocked, I entered the room and leaned over her. Her breathing was slow and regular, and as I watched, she sighed and rolled over onto her side without opening her eyes. Just asleep, I hoped fervently.

I continued down the hall, my urgency to speak to Chandra now redoubled. I found him in his office; Scott was there too. He looked up when he saw me and smiled.

"Aha!" he said brightly, "Sleeping beauty awakes!"

"What the hell's going on?" I addressed Chandra, "Why is Shannon here?"

He looked uncomfortable. "David, she passed out yesterday as well, around the same time you did, apparently."

"Is she okay?" I asked.

"She is sleeping now," he replied, "She passed out in the swimming pool. It was extremely lucky that there was someone else present who was able to pull her out. Otherwise…"

"Did you run any tests?"

"Yes of course," he said, "I performed a complete series on her. Like you, we found no anomalies. Nothing wrong, in fact, except fatigue.

"Nonetheless," he went on, "I would like to keep you both here for the next couple of days, for observation…"

"Oh, no can do, doc!" Scott broke in, "We have another experimental series teed up for noon today."

Chandra looked up, the alarm on his face obvious.

"What?" he protested, raising his hands, "No, no, Scott. These people are in no condition…"
"Come on, doc! You said yourself that there's nothing wrong with them. 'A good night's sleep', that's all you said they needed. Look," he went on, "we have a new auto-sequencing program we want to test out that ought to improve process timing, and the tech boys just installed the new Briggs generators that ought to produce a much more tightly focused field. We need to run tests. Several, for that matter."

"I said I couldn't find anything wrong with them, not 'there's nothing wrong'. There's a big difference. The diagnostic results may have been negative, but when two people pass out in the middle of the day for no apparent reason, there is obviously something going on that requires diligent investigation. I cannot sanction this, Scott. They should be here, in the infirmary, under observation for…"

"Sorry doc, but that's not your decision to make," Scott interrupted, "It's mine. And I say they've got a date at noon today. Please make sure they're ready."

Chandra stood up and looked Scott steadily in the eye. "Dr. Miller," he said formally, "I wish to go on record as indicating my objection to this course of action in the strongest possible terms. It is my medical opinion that these subjects are not physically or emotionally prepared to undergo any further experimentation at this time. I further believe that they should be kept under strict medical observation for at least the next forty-eight hours. I believe that further experiments ought to be suspended pending a resolution of this issue. I will be placing these recommendations in my next report."

"No problemo, doc," Scott was unperturbed, "If you like, I'll put it in my report too. But sorry, the series goes on."

"Where's Dr. Beth?" I asked pointedly.

"Dr. Gauthier is… on assignment. She ought to be back in a day or two."

"Getting too nosey, was she?" I replied, looking him in the eye.

He laughed. "Oh David, please! You're more paranoid than I am! Your friend and ally will be back in due time, don't worry….

"So," he continued, "See the three of you at noon?"

He winked, and strolled casually from the room.

 

Floating. The now-familiar nothingness of n-space surrounded me. There was no sense of time or location. There was just me, a disembodied, dimensionless doppelganger of me, lost in vast empty universe.

I floated, while a timeless time passed. But then… the powerful awareness of another presence… I willed myself to move toward it, and this time I was rewarded by the sight of a tiny spark of light, floating in the extreme distance before me. As I watched, it grew brighter, and larger. The sense of the presence another being became overwhelming. And then I was floating at the mouth of a huge, cloud-banked tunnel. The light at the end of the tunnel was extremely bright, but not unpleasant. It exuded a comforting warmth.

Later, after I awoke and reflected on the experience, I would recognize the uncanny similarity to the many near-death experiences I had read about. But at that moment, I had no awareness of anything beyond a desire to seek the light, to move toward it, to merge with it, to become one.

The walls of the tunnel began to move past me, the blazing light growing bigger and brighter, the warmth enveloping me…

 

I awoke still in my chair, Shannon beside me, groggy but conscious. Dr. Chandra hovered nearby, the concern evident on his face. He pulled the sensors from my body and wrapped the cuff of a sphygmomanometer around my arm and pumped it, all the while listening to my pulse through a stethoscope.

After a pause, he let out his breath in a long sigh. "Well, it appears that your vital signs are returning to normal, as before. But I will say you both gave us quite a fright. You were out for nearly ten hours, and you were completely unresponsive during that time. Comatose, I would suggest. We were on the point of disconnecting you and moving you to the infirmary, despite the risks. I would say you two were quite fortunate… This time!" he concluded, looking pointedly at Scott, who was a short distance away.

"What's the prognosis, Doc?" he asked at length.

"The prognosis is 'lucky'," said Chandra, raising his voice, "But Dr. Miller, I refuse to be responsible for what happens if these two are subjected to any further experimentation. You have my recommendations on file…"

"That I do, Doc, that I do," he replied laconically, and walked away, leaving Chandra sputtering helplessly.

Shannon and I were taken to the infirmary in wheelchairs this time. I myself felt uncertain about my ability to make it that far under my own steam, and Shannon looked to be in similar shape.

 

We were installed in adjacent beds in the same room, fed, and plugged in to monitoring equipment. Then we were alone.

"Did you experience the same thing I did?" she asked, "A white light, a tunnel of clouds?"
"Yes!" I answered excitedly, "Definitely. I think we almost made contact with… something… in there…"

"I know. I was thinking the same thing. Maybe we're coming closer and closer to experiencing the… the other world directly, instead of through our dreams."

"Perhaps," I responded after pondering this for a few moments, "You know, I am reluctant to admit this, even to myself, but… but I find myself looking forward to going back there… to becoming that other person. I feel like our personalities are… merging somehow. I am sure that the other person, this Kasha, is aware of my presence. And I don't think my presence is unwelcome, somehow. It's hard to describe. I could almost believe that we're… I don't know… the same person, perhaps, the same consciousness, the same soul… just in different continuums.

Ahh…" I went on after a pause, "On the other hand, I sometimes just think I'm going insane… Maybe that's the most likely explanation. It's all just too damn confusing."

"David," she said gently, "Maybe nobody else would understand, but I do. Perfectly. I've been thinking exactly the same things you just said. And yes, I believe that the 'other' me in the dreams is somehow aware of me... this me, and isn't threatened or frightened, and that perhaps we are in some strange, indefinable way the same person. Let's face it, time and space are not only weirder than we imagine but weirder than we can imagine. I'm finding that this other world is exerting a really strong pull on me. Do you feel the same? I'm finding that I want to go back. I don't know if good or bad… but I know one thing, I am looking forward to sleeping tonight!"

She stretched out her hand across the gap between our beds and I took it. She squeezed my hand tightly.

"David," she said quietly, "I want you to know how much you mean to me. We've shared something that nobody else could understand, only each other. You're very important to me…"

We looked into each other's eyes for a time without speaking. I felt my own fill with tears.

 

The room is spacious, brightly lit with torches, and seems at first glance to be filled with women, although there are in reality perhaps a dozen. They sit tensely on padded ottomans, or lie on cushions or on the many beds that line the walls. Some pace the up and down restlessly. There are many windows; all are barred. The women are mostly young and pretty, and dressed in costumes similar to mine.

I scan the room quickly and my heart leaps as I see Saree, sitting with another young woman in the far corner. The woman is crying and Saree is apparently trying to comfort her. She sees me at the same moment I see her. A look passes between us, and Saree shakes her head very slightly. I understand. We must conceal our friendship from the guards.

I look away and wander over to the nearest window and gaze out. It is full night. The guards cast leering glances around the room at the assembled women. They mutter between them, then burst out in raucous laughter. Still chuckling, they depart, bolting the door behind them.

I wait a discreet moment, then run to Saree. We embrace fervently.

"Oh God!" I whisper, "I was so worried about you! When we were both taken, my strength and courage almost failed me, but I knew that I must be strong so that I can accomplish my task and get us both to safety!"

"My love, I was so worried about you too!" she says in a rush, "We were taken by a roaming patrol. That was not planned. There was nothing we could do… Kasha, these women are terrified, and they have much reason to be! Barely an hour ago a young girl was taken away. She was surely no more than twelve! This horror must cease! Kasha, you must complete your mission! The lives of these women, and the very life of our people, depend on it!"

We talk for a while in hushed tones, then together we move through the room, speaking to each woman in turn, offering words of comfort, and giving solace where needed. Time passes.

Then, abruptly, the door opens and Jamal, the Visir's personal guard, enters. A sudden tension grips the room and silence falls. In spite of herself, Saree looks at me, horror written on her face.

"My God!" she whispers urgently, "He never comes twice in one night! I fear that poor girl may be dead at Al-Bishir's hands!"

I don't have time to reply. Jamal stalks through the room and we separate quickly, He looks about him, examining each woman in turn. Then his eyes fix upon me. He walks over and looks me up and down. My heart pounds in my chest; I could almost believe he can hear it.

"You," he grins wickedly, "You will do nicely, I think. You look sturdier than the last one. Come, "he commands, "Am-Kathaq-Al-Bishir is waiting."

My heart in my throat, I follow. As we leave the harem, past the guards posted at the entrance, I am suddenly afraid that I will never see Saree again; I turn and look at her one last time. Our eyes meet, and as we gaze at each other for a few fleeting moments, a strange feeling overtakes me, the odd awareness of some hidden familiarity. Saree and I are friends and lovers; yet, somehow, at this moment it is almost as if we have known each other even before we met. Unbidden, a strange, foreign word comes to my lips, and I whisper it as the door closes, hiding her from my sight.

"Shannon…"

 

Jamal leads me down a long, wide passageway, lined with columns, and bordered with intricate stone mosaics. We climb a flight of stairs, then another. A wide corridor leads away to the left. I try to maintain a sense of where I am within the palace, but the maze of passages and halls quickly confuses me. More corridors, more doors, more guards, more stairs. Then, we pause before wide, richly ornamented double doors flanked with tall marble columns. Armed guards stand on either side. Jamal nods curtly to them and they open the doors. He leads me inside, then nods at me, smirking, and retires. The door closes behind him, and I am alone.

I am standing in a huge chamber, the largest I have seen so far. It is sumptuously decorated, the walls hung with rich tapestries, intricate carpeting on the marble floor, heaps of great velvet cushions, a huge bed hung with gauzy curtains. Many torches and candles cast a warm, golden glow throughout the interior. Beyond a large, pillared opening is a balcony that looks out on the darkened land below. I sense I am high in the palace, perhaps the uppermost floor. From where I stand I cannot see any sign of the city below.

I intend to walk to the balcony and assess my escape route, but before I can move there is a loud commotion at the doors of the chamber, and Al-Bishir enters, and I see him in the flesh for the first time. He is a huge man, not fat, and not particularly muscular, just big all over. He wears a long, intricately woven, hooded robe, the hood thrown back. He is barefoot and wears nothing on his head. My first impression is that he appears a lot less "regal" than I had pictured.

He sees me and smiles.

"Well, I see Jamal has chosen better for me this time!" he booms.

"Come here, my lovely. Let me look at you." It is eerily like the rehearsals I played with Saree.

Timidly, I approach. He reaches out and cups my face in one large ham-like hand. "You are just what I seek!" he exclaims, "Perfect!"

He gestures toward the huge bed. "Lie down, my pretty. Lie down and prepare yourself for the honor that awaits you."

So saying, he slips the robe from his shoulders. He wears only a tiny loincloth beneath. I hesitate, as Saree and I rehearsed, trying to appear shy and diffident.

"Come!" he booms again, grabbing my hand roughly, "When Al-Bishir commands you to bed, then to bed you must go!"

He pulls me to the bed and flings me effortlessly onto the mattress. Without ceremony he climbs upon me, one hand reaching down to thrust his loincloth aside. He pushes my skirt and underskirt up out of the way. Then he reaches down again and freezes suddenly. He looks down for a moment, then his eyes bore into mine.

A look of consternation crosses his face, and for a moment we are frozen in time; neither of us moves. Then Al-Bishir rears up suddenly and roars, "What treachery is this! Who are you? You are no woman!"

Again, his words bear an uncanny resemblance to Saree's, as she played Al-Bishir's part in our play.

I reach up to my hair, searching frantically for the poisoned pin. But he grabs my arm and flings me to the floor as easily as he would a cushion. I skid across the naked marble and my chin slams hard against one of the columns that support the ceiling. I taste blood.

"Are you an assassin?" he shouts, and a stab of fear pierces my gut. I am discovered! "Do you know what we do with assassins here in Bashir? We flay them alive and then feed them to the dogs!

"Guard!" he bellows. He approaches me again and aims a vicious kick at my groin. I roll quickly and the kick lands upon my hip. I gasp in pain.

A door opens and the two black clad guards enter quickly.

"Guards!" he snarls, "Take this… this thing to the dungeon immediately! I will decide what to do with it later…"

Terror grips me like a fist, and at the same time, despair. I have failed! I have failed my village, Al Kamar, Al Saíd, my people… but most of all I have failed Saree, and now, all that awaits me is torture, and grim death. The guards seize me and pull me to my feet. They brutally grasp my arms and begin to drag me from the chamber.

"Wait!" Al-Bishir calls.

The guards stop, still gripping my arms.

"Wait," he repeats. He comes over to me and looks me up and down several times.

"Leave us," he commands to the guards. They hesitate for a moment, then release me and move slowly to the door, casting malevolent glances at me over their shoulders.

"So," Al-Bishir sneers at me when they are gone, "So, you wish to receive the honor of Al-Bishir's loins, do you? Well then, you shall have it!"

And so saying he reaches up and in a single motion rips my top open. With one hand, he crudely begins to knead my right breast, hard. I gasp in pain and lurch backward, but before I can regain my footing he seizes me by the arm and pulls me savagely to him. Then, shifting his balance, he flings me violently across the room and onto a tall pile of cushions. My face again hits the floor and I feel a painful crack in my nose. Blood begins to flow. Before I can move he is upon me. I feel him lift my skirt, exposing my buttocks.

Then, pain. The pain is more than I could have believed, drowning out the trivial throbbing from my jaw and nose. I cannot contain it. I scream.

"Yes, my pretty!" he exclaims, "Now you shall taste of the loins of Al-Bishir, as you wished!"

I reach desperately for the hairpin, fumbling and dropping it as I do so. It skitters across the floor, out of my reach. Frantically, I stretch out my nearest arm, my fingers clutching for it. My fingertips touch it, but just barely.

"No, no!" says Al-Bishir scornfully, "Worry not about your pretty baubles! The only bauble you need think of now is mine!"

And with that, he thrusts harder. I cannot see for the tears that fill my eyes and course down my cheeks. I hear my own breath coming in high, whimpering shrieks.

Blindly, I reach out one last time, stretching my body beyond the bounds of what I would have thought possible. My fingers close upon the shaft of the hairpin.

Half maddened by the pain, I immediately whirl violently around, my hand holding the pin arcing toward Al-Bishir's chest. He lurches backward and suddenly I am on the floor, on my back, gazing up at him. He sits back on his heels, motionless for a few seconds, gazing down at the ornamented shaft of the hairpin as it sticks out of his chest just below his right shoulder. Calmly, he reaches up and pulls it out. Then he grins down at me.

"So," he says, grinning evilly, "So, you are an assassin! How nice! Sadly, you are but a pitiful shadow of a real assassin, and soon you will come to regret that you ever heard of the name of Al-Bishir… Indeed, you will soon lament that you did not die in your mother's womb…"

I leap up and snatch the hairpin from his hand. As he laughs at my desperation, I plunge it again and again toward his chest, seeking the heart.

He grabs me by the wrist, freezing my arm in mid-stab, and squeezes. Pain shoots up my arm and I am sure that if he were to tighten his grip any more he would crush my bones. Then he stands and pulls me up to him, grinning malevolently.

"You think you can harm the great Al-Bishir with a mere trinket?" he begins to chortle with triumphant laughter, "So, they send a pathetic mutant to do battle with me, armed with a hairpin!" He throws back his head and laughs louder still.

"Come, tell me, how come you by these breasts?" And so saying, he grabs my left breast in his hand and begins to squeeze it cruelly.

Then, a look of puzzlement crosses his face, and he stops. He raises his eyes to mine, and his mouth opens, but he makes no sound. He seems to hold his breath for a few moments, then lets it out in a single, ragged exhalation. His eyes widen in surprise.

"Poison?" he whispers. A look of complete incredulity crosses his face. Then, as I look on, horrorstruck, his eyes gradually lose their focus and glaze over. He turns slowly and stares out through the balcony windows to the darkened sky beyond.

"Poison," he breathes again. His head tilts back and, infinitely slowly and with scarcely a sound, he crumples to the floor and lies still.

Nothing moves for a long time. I discover that I am standing and grinning down at the corpse. My face aches, my nose and chin throb and blood still oozes from my nostrils. Something runs down my leg, more blood, probably. I shake my head, trying to clear it.

Escape! I must escape! I have already wasted much valuable time. I must move, now.

I run onto the balcony. There, just as I had been told, a ledge runs along the edge of the building and disappears into the darkness beyond the lights of the Visir's bedchamber. It looks much narrower than I had expected. I peer over the railing, and confirm that I am indeed in one of the highest places of the palace. It is a very long way down.

Hiking up my skirt, I climb over the balcony railing and onto the ledge. As I do so, I am chilled by sudden doubt. The escape route we had so carefully planned with the aid of secret sympathizers within the palace was intended only for me. By following it, I am fairly sure I could escape the city undetected. But the plan did not include rescuing Saree from the harem. As I creep out onto the ledge and began shuffling carefully away from the safety of the railing, I realize that I have only the vaguest notion of where the harem is located, somewhere within the labyrinthine halls and corridors of the palace.

I kick my smooth-soled sandals off and let them fall into darkness. I am more certain of my footing with bare feet. Breathing deeply and telling myself over and over again not to look down, I move cautiously along the ledge, farther and farther away from any handhold or refuge.

The wall above me is perfectly smooth, offering nothing at all to hold onto. The best I can do is flatten myself against it as I edge my feet along. A night breeze plucks at my skirt, swirling it up around my legs and threatening to upset my balance. Resolving not to let that happen again, I gather it in one hand and tuck it into my waistband.

I work my way slowly toward the corner of the building. I have been told that, some distance along the next wall, there is a cluster of pillars, down which I can climb safely to an unused room two floors below, and from it I can escape down a network of servants' corridors to the lowest level of the palace. There I am to meet with a palace worker sympathetic to our cause, who will give me further instructions.

Painfully slowly, I edge around the corner, feeling desperately exposed. Below me, I can hear the faint conversation of several palace guards. Should any of them chance to look upward, I am finished. As I make my way along the second wall, I am unpleasantly reminded that some sections of the palace are very old. Here, the ledge along which I creep has been worn by the relentless desert winds. In some places, the stone is crumbled and weak; a little further along, there is a section that has broken away completely, forcing me to take a long sideways step across the gap. Again, there is nothing to hold onto. The section of ledge on which I step cracks beneath my weight and a fragment breaks free, tumbling off into space. I gasp in fright and try my best to merge with perfectly smooth wall before me. I stand there for a few moments, my arms spread wide, my torso pressed tightly up against the stone surface, while my breath gradually returns and my heart slows a little. Then I continue.

After what seems like a terror-stricken hour, but was perhaps five minutes, I see the cluster of pillars a short distance ahead. I shuffle further along, but realize that, about an arm's length short of the nearest pillar, the ledge ends. There is no choice. I must stand on the last of the ledge, then lean out across the gap and grab the pillar just as I lose my balance and begin to fall.

I take several breaths to steady my nerves, then allow myself to fall toward the nearest column, and frantically wrap my arms around it. It proves to be easier than I thought, but then seconds later my bare feet slip on the slick marble, and for a heart-stopping moment I hang by my arms, my feet scrabbling at a tiny flange around the pillar.

I regain my footing and, determined to avoid a repetition I wedge myself between two adjacent pillars and shin down between them. One floor, two floors. There is a balcony, an arm's length away. I swing toward it and roll over the railing, coming to rest on my back on the stone floor, where I lie for a few moments, panting.

I regain my breath, get to my feet and slip through the balcony doors. Like the other rooms I have seen, this one is richly decorated, but has a stale, musty smell; it is lit only by the faint glow filtering up from the courtyard below. A layer of reddish dust coats everything. I move quietly to the door and open it; an empty hall is beyond. I run down the corridor, then down a flight of stairs, then another. I am following remembered instructions, and I pray that my memory is accurate.

More deserted corridors, then another flight of stairs leads downward. Below is a dingy, windowless passageway, sparsely lit by widely spaced torches. The slap of my bare feet echoes loudly on the stone floor as I run.

I reach a junction at the end of the passageway. The air is rank with the smell of horses, stale sweat and cooking, yet I see no one, and hear no sound save the dripping of water somewhere out of my sight.

I am about to start down the left hand corridor when an arm as thick as a tree branch wraps around my throat, and a hand is pressed over my mouth. I can see little, but I know that the arm is clad in the black leather sleeve of the palace guard.

 

 

Chapter Six

Smash the radio (no outside voices here)

Smash the watch (cannot tear the day to shreds)

Smash the camera (cannot steal away the spirits)

The Rhythm is around me, the Rhythm has control

The Rhythm is inside me…

The Rhythm has my soul

The Rhythm of the Heat – Peter Gabriel

 

"Listen to me!" a voice says urgently in my ear, "I am going to remove my hand. You must not scream. I am Al Hammat, cousin to Al Saíd, the healer of your village. I am here to help you."

He removes his hand and relaxes his grip. I turn and behold a tall, heavyset man with a thick black beard and purple and silver headscarf, the sign of a neighboring tribe.

"Did you succeed in your task?" he asks in an undertone. I nod.

"Praise be to God!" he whispers excitedly, "Our liberation is at hand! You have done a great thing, O Kasha! A blessing upon you! Now, quickly! We must go!"

He begins to walk down an adjoining corridor that curves away to the left, indicating that I should follow. He sets a quick pace.

"It may not be long before his corpse is discovered. We must move quickly. I will lead you to safety." His eyes stray to my breasts and then scan the rest of me as we run down the passage.

"Gods!" he exclaims, "Al Saíd has certainly wrought a miracle! I was not told you would be so… comely! No wonder the Tyrant of Bashir picked you so quickly! He was always one for a pretty face."

"It was Jamal who chose me," I pant, "He took me to Al-Bishir. But listen, Al Hammat! We cannot leave yet! One of our people was taken as I was! It was not planned. She was supposed to escape while I was captured, but we were set upon unexpectedly! She is in the harem now! We cannot leave without her!"

He slows for a moment, then continues to run at my side. "But we must. I was told that I must help you escape. That is what we planned. Many of our people have placed themselves at great risk to help you. They are distracting the guards at this moment, keeping them away from our path. We must not fail them! We must continue. Your companion will be safe enough. The regime will not long endure once Al-Bishir's death is known. She will be freed soon, like as not."

I stop running. "But we cannot leave her! I cannot leave Saree here! She is… special…"

Al Hammat stops as well and looks me in the eye, "So, she is 'special' is she? She is your lover, perhaps?"

I say nothing, but feel myself blush.

"So, the assassin of Al-Bishir looks like a girl, but loves like a man!" he grins, then the grin fades, to be replaced by a thoughtful look. He strokes his beard pensively. I wait.

"No." he says decisively, "No, I am sorry, but it is not possible. The harem chambers are far away in the castle. We would waste valuable time and risk capture when your deed is discovered, were we to try to reach them now. I am truly sorry, Kasha, but it cannot be done."

"It has to be done!" I stand firm, "I will not leave here without her! I will rescue her myself if you will not help me. I would rather be captured myself than leave this place alone!"

A Hammat looks at me somberly. "Then you know not of what you speak," he says grimly, "to wish capture upon yourself. But I believe you are in earnest. I believe you really would attempt to rescue her by yourself, wouldn't you, even though you would be doomed to fail…"

He is silent for a moment, then, "Come!" he says, and his sudden grin splits his thick black beard, "Come! Let us rescue your lady! Never let it be said that Al Hammat stands in the way of true love!"

"Thank you, Al Hammat!" I shout, "I am in your debt!"

We turn and backtrack. We pass our first meeting place and continue up the passage, then up a flight of stairs.

"We must invent a ruse to get past the harem guards," he ponders, "Otherwise our adventure will be a short one."

"Since you are dressed as a palace guard," I suggest, "and I as a courtesan, why do you not pretend that you are returning me to the harem, after I have lain with Al-Bishir? My clothing is torn, which would lend credence to that tale."

He thinks this over. "Alright!" he concludes, "Yes, it could work. But, let us hurry!"

We run up a flight of stairs and along a wide marble corridor, then up another flight.

Al Hammat pauses at a junction for a few seconds, looking around, then points, "This way!"

We run more, then climb a final flight of stairs to a narrower, familiar hallway. Partway down, there are guards outside a large, double doorway. We pause, just out of sight.

Al Hammat peers around the corner, then he places his hand on my shoulder, and we emerge and walk down the hall. As the guards look up, Al Hammat pushes me roughly, cursing, then we stop in front of the doors.

"This one has returned from Am-Kathaq-Al-Bishir's chambers. She will need some rest!" he says, and laughs coarsely.

But the guards do not laugh. Instead, one approaches us, his eyes narrowing. "I do not know you," he says suspiciously, looking at Al Hammat, "Who are you? What company are you with?"

"I guard the royal mounts in the stables," Al Hammat replies smoothly, smiling at the other, "My name is Am Sakar. I was asked to perform Jamal's duties while he is… indisposed."

The other's face loses none of its suspicious countenance. He comes close to Al Hammat, and stares directly into his eyes. "Then what is the password?" he demands.

 

 

I glance at Al Hammat, ready to run should he do so. But he simply gazes back calmly at the guard and says, "Red rain."

We stand in a frozen tableau for a few agonizing seconds. Al Hammat continues to smile quietly. Then the guard steps back and relaxes. "You may enter," he mutters.

He opens the doors for us and we enter. I see Saree immediately. She sees Al Hammat next to me and looks away hastily. I run over.

"It's okay, Saree!" I whisper, "This is no guard, but a cousin to Al Saíd! He is here to help us escape!"

"Oh Kasha!" she breathes, wrapping her arms around me and holding me tight, "Thank God! I was so worried! You came back for me!" she lowers her voice still further, "Does this mean that your task is complete?"

I nod.

Her eyes fill with tears. "All praise! Oh Kasha, you are so brave! You are a miracle! Yes, yes! Let us leave this place, now!"

Al Hammat stands close beside me, concealing his actions from the rest of the room with his body. He reaches into a leather satchel at his side, pulls something out and hands it to me. It is a length of stout wire with a wooden handle at each end. He pulls out a second one, which he keeps.

"Do you know what this is?" he asks softly.

I nod. "A garrote," I answer.

"Yes. Do you know how to use one?"

"Yes… I… I think so, although I have never done so." I reply, hesitantly.

"Well, you may have to learn fast. Let us go."

We stand before the doors and open them quietly. Both guards are slouched inattentively against the columns that flank the entrance. They do not hear us. Al Hammat nods to me and raises his garrote toward guard nearest him. I do the same. We stand, motionless. My eyes are fixed on him. He meets my gaze, then nods and lunges forward, raising his arms. I lunge at the same moment.

My garrote goes around the guard's neck; frantically I pull the handles together and cross them, pulling with all my might.

The ferocity of the guard's struggles astonishes me. He leaps off the floor and begins to thrash around like a fox caught in a trap. I hold on for my life. He manages to get his feet on the wall and kicks away, knocking me on my back, his body on top of me. I do not loosen my grip. Then, gradually, his struggles fade. His eyes glaze, and he sinks to the floor at my side. Shakily, I stand up, breathing heavily. I look over at Al Hammat. He is standing over his guard, who lies motionless at his feet. He looks over at me. I wonder if I look as frightened as I feel.

This activity has certainly attracted the attention of the other women. They rush over, asking excitedly if we are attempting to escape, and begging us to take them along as well.

Al Hammat stands up before them and waves his arms. "Please!" he begs, "Ladies! I am sorry, but we cannot take you now. But hear me!" he raises his voice over the sudden din of protest, "Hear me! We will return for all of you! The day of our deliverance is at hand! Have faith, be patient! You will all be free soon, this I promise! Do not follow us now. You will risk capture and death. But if you stay here I give you my word you will be rescued within a day and a night. Have faith!" he repeats.

Without waiting for a response, we are out the door and down the corridor, taking the stairs three at a time. My naked feet hurt from all this running on hard marble floors, but I scarcely notice. Saree and I run hand in hand, following Al Hammat down the labyrinth of stairs and passages, moving lower and lower through the palace.

At last, we emerge into a wide stone passage, its floor covered with straw.

"This way leads to the royal stables," he explains, "Follow me!"

He takes us into a large barn lined with many stalls. There is a sleek black steed tied to a rail near the stable doors. He runs to another stall, emerging with a second horse, while I untie the first.

"You must ride quickly!" he urges us, "Ride to freedom! We will handle things here. Return soon, when things settle down. Now, ride! Ride!"

"Come with us!" I urge, "This is your chance to escape!"

"I cannot," he replies decisively, "I am needed here. There are many changes to come, changes for the better, we believe. But once the death of Am-Kathaq-Al-Bishir is discovered there will be much confusion and turmoil, and I shall be needed here, to help protect the many slaves and captives who remain in the palace still. Soon enough, the moderates within the council will seize power, and there will be a move to return to the old republican government. Soon, all within the walls of Bashir will be very different. Different, and better!"

As he finishes speaking, we hear the sound of distant horns. The call is taken up by more horns, first closer, then farther away. We hear shouts and commotion start up above our heads.

"Your deed has been discovered!" Al Hammat cries urgently, "Go! Now!"

We need no further encouragement. We leap upon our mounts as Al Hammat opens the stable doors.

"A thousand blessings upon you, Al Hammat!" I shout, "We are forever in your debt. Thank you for your help!"

Then we urge our mounts onward and ride through the opening. We are outside the walls of the city. Ahead, the endless desert stretches away into the night. The desert, the black of night, and freedom. We ride like the wind.

 

Upon awakening the following morning I called the duty nurse and asked her if I could see Dr. Chandra. She looked uncertain and promised that she would try to locate him.

But time passed, and Chandra did not appear. Feeling impatient, I rose and dressed, then wandered the corridor for a while, looking for someone I could perhaps convince to discharge me that morning. To my surprise, nobody was around. I looked in the nurse's station, walked to Chandra's office, the lunchroom, the lounge; the place seemed deserted. Eventually, I simply walked out of the building, and headed off across the grassy quadrangle to the residence cafeteria. I chose some food from the counter, and sat down in the nearly deserted dining room to eat and reflect upon the events of the last few days.

I was midway through breakfast when Shannon entered, looking flustered. She spotted me and ran over immediately.

"David! David, my God, something is going on. Come on!" and so saying, she grabbed my hand and pulled.

"Easy, Shannon!" I protested, "Just what is going on?"

"Well, for starters the Lab is locked up, and the guards aren't letting anyone in. I can't find Scott, or Chandra or Dr. Beth anywhere. Most of the tech staff is gone too! I don't know what the hell's going on, but I want to find out! Come on!"

I abandoned my breakfast and followed her outside. We ran first to the Lab. As Shannon had predicted, there were half a dozen armed guards standing at the entrance; two guards was the usual number. I recognized Roy among them.

"Roy!" I called, "What the hell's going on here?"

"Sorry Dr. Connor," he began, walking over to meet us, "The lab's closed. Dr. Miller's orders. Beyond that, I can't say." He looked uncomfortable, and avoided my gaze, "Mornin' Dr. Keogh," he continued, looking at Shannon.

"Roy!" she exclaimed, "Roy, please! You have to tell us what's going on! Please!"

"Sorry Dr. Keogh," said Roy hesitantly, "I'm under orders. We're not to allow anyone into the Lab apart from Dr. Miller or Dr. Chandra. No exceptions."

"Roy…"

He hesitated, looking around nervously.

"Well, Dr. Connor…" he began, keeping his voice low, "Since it's you… I will tell you this: I think it might have something to do with your car accident yesterday. Glad to see you're feeling better, by the way. Anyway, the state police were here late last night, asking questions. They were here a long time, and then this morning about five A.M. Dr. Miller got a call from Washington. He talked on the phone for almost an hour, then he called the Officer of the Watch into his office, and the next thing we know, we're ordered to guard the Lab and the data center and told to let absolutely nobody in. Not even you two…"

I patted Roy on the shoulder. "Thanks buddy, I owe you one. You've been a big help."

Shannon smiled her thanks at him and we headed over to the administration building to track down Scott and get some straight answers.

To our surprise, Scott was in his office. He looked up as we entered.

"So you're probably wondering what's going on, right?"

We nodded.

"They've pulled funding, the bastards," he growled, slamming his fist down onto his desk, "I've been given orders to put everything on hold, lock the lab and the data center, pending an audit. An audit! There's some Pentagon motherfucker flying down from Washington as we speak. Should be here within the hour…"

"Does this have anything to do with my accident?"

He hesitated. "Yeah, that sure couldn't have helped. But perhaps it was on its way anyway. The accident might just have been the last straw. I don't know."

He ran his fingers through his hair.

"By the way," he continued, "Don't bother trying to get into any restricted areas. All of your access codes have been revoked. Mine too, for that matter. All except my office and the Lab. At least they left me that much, for now."

The three of us walked outside, and as we crossed the quadrangle toward the cafeteria the sound of a helicopter emerged out of the silence and grew louder.

"There," said Scott, pointing. It swept toward us over the desert, executing a wide turn over the administration building and settling toward an empty area of the parking lot. It landed and the main rotor slowed but didn't stop. Two nearly identical men in identical black suits and identical dark, wrap-around sunglasses jumped out and ran across the lawn toward us. CIA, I thought to myself, but do they have to be so obvious? Another older man in a gray suit emerged a few seconds later and followed, carrying a thick briefcase.

Scott left us behind and walked to meet them. Shannon and I stood and watched as they exchanged some words, then the four of them headed back to the administration building. Some two or three minutes or so later they emerged again, Scott struggling along with a heavy satchel. Dr. Chandra was with them. Together they all headed to the chopper and climbed in without a backward glance. As soon as they were inside and the doors closed, the whine of the helicopter's engine increased in pitch, the rotor blades sped up, and it lifted off. Within moments it had dwindled to a tiny white spot against the azure desert sky; then it was gone.

Shannon and I looked at each other. "I wouldn't want to be Scott right now," she commented soberly.

"Shannon," I said, "What are we going to do now?"

"What do you mean?" she inquired.

"I think you know what I mean," I replied, "I mean, how are we going to get back… back there?"

"David, I don't know," she replied, "The Lab is guarded, and our security codes have been changed. The project is over, David. It's over. I don't think we'll ever get back," she concluded, and tears welled in her eyes.

I was silent for a while.

"Well, I don't know about you, but… I have to get back. I have to! And I think you do too. I think our well-being depends on it. Maybe even our lives. Like it or not, we're linked to that other world, and those other people. Shannon, we have to get back in the Lab!"

"But… God, David!" she looked at me frantically, "How can we do it? I think you're right, I am feeling a powerful pull to the other world too, but how the hell can we get in there? And even if we did, how could we activate the equipment?"

"As for starting up the equipment, I don't think that's a problem. I read a little about the new auto-sequencing program when Scott wasn't watching me, and I think I could run it. As for getting in… I don't know."

We walked over to the staff lounge, adjacent to the cafeteria, and sat morosely on a sofa near the windows, looking out at the parched desert landscape. We came up with a few ideas, but after some analysis they all proved unworkable. We ended up talking for several hours. Then sometime in the late afternoon, the door to the lounge opened and Dr. Beth entered. She looked around nervously, then made her way over to us and took a seat.

"How are you two holding up?" she asked.

"Beth," said Shannon, "Can you get us into the Lab?"

Her face betrayed little surprise at Shannon's question.

"The Lab? Why would you want to get in there?"

She paused for a moment, then continued, "Does this have anything to do with that alternate universe, or whatever it is? Are you trying to return? Is that what this is about?"

Our uncomfortable silence was answer enough.

"Sorry," she said decisively, "But I won't be a party to anything like that. It's too dangerous. You two should know that as well as anyone."

"Beth, please!" Shannon continued, "David and I are aware of the risks, believe me. But there's… there's something going on that we have to understand. We have to get to the bottom of this phenomenon. We have to know what's going on!"

"I'm sorry, you two," she said after a moment of silence, "I understand the pull that you must be feeling, but it's just too dangerous. I can't let you go back in there."

"Beth," I began, "Look. It's true that Shannon and I both feel a… a scientific curiosity that's driving us to get to the bottom of this phenomenon and to understand it, but the simple truth of the matter is, we've got to get back. We have to re-establish contact with this other world. These beings are our alternate selves, we're sure of it. We've established some sort of inter-dimensional connection that has to be maintained. If we sever it now, we… and perhaps they, could be in serious trouble. We don't have a choice. We have to continue with this experiment."

Beth looked somewhat shocked by this revelation. She was silent for some time, then said, "Why didn't you tell me this before? This is a serious development. Perhaps we could have been working on some method of severing you from your counterparts, if that's what they are, without harming you both…"

"We only realized all this recently," I said with some urgency, "We would have told you if we'd known, but our understanding of this is phenomenon has been coming a little at a time."

She opened her briefcase and wrote something quickly on a small notepad. Then she closed it again, sighed and stood up.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I can't sanction any of this, especially now that the project has been officially suspended…"

She paused for a long time, looking intently at each of us in turn.

"Good luck to you both," she said, then left the room.

Shannon and I looked at each other.

"What did she mean by that?" Shannon asked.

"Maybe it has something to do with this," I said, bending over to pick up a piece of paper. It was from Dr. Beth's notepad.

It read, "Rear of lab. Access ladder to cooling towers."

 

It was about ten P.M. I was crouched behind the electrical shed on the far side of the Lab building, having dodged guard patrols twice now. I'd been there for nearly fifteen minutes, by my watch. Just over my head was the ladder that led up onto the roof for service access to the giant heat exchangers that bled off energy from the cryogenic cooling systems.

Where was Shannon? I wondered. Just then, I heard movement. I shrank back into the shadows and watched. The shadowy form that approached stealthily was female.

"Shannon!" I said in a loud whisper, "Over here!"

"David!" she whispered back, "Thank God! I couldn't get over here without being seen. There were two guards by the front of the Lab for ages, but they finally left to do their rounds. Where are they now, do you know?"

"Just went by a couple of minutes ago. We should have about ten minutes. Let's go!"

The ladder was well out of my reach. I jumped several times, but I couldn't get close to it.

"Shannon, here," I whispered, "I'll give you a boost, then you see if you can grab hold."

She climbed up on my shoulders and reached up.

"I've almost got it…" she said, straining upwards, "There!"

I felt her pull herself up. A second later, the section of ladder began to descend on sliders. I reached up and stopped it from slamming down and knocking her off.

"Okay!" I whispered urgently, "Okay, I have it. Go!"

She climbed rapidly upward, not looking down. I followed. The ladder curved, following the slope of the roof; as we climbed, the angle became shallower and shallower, until we were on the flat of the roof next to the first cooling tower.

"How can we get in?" she asked, looking around it.

We searched for several minutes, but couldn't find any access. I hadn't brought a flashlight, fearing that it might attract attention.

Using a broad flange on the side of the housing as a foothold, Shannon hoisted herself onto the top of the structure.

"Up here!" she whispered excitedly, "Come on!"

I climbed up beside her. The giant ducts that vented heat from the cooling systems were easily big enough for an adult to crawl through. But where did they lead? I started to climb down.

"Wait until I say it's okay," I said.

"And get spotted by the guards?" she retorted, "No thanks!" She began to climb down after me.

I reached the heat exchanger and followed a large duct to my right, treading gingerly on the thin coils of copper tubing.

"Down here, I think!" I called back.

"I pushed open an access hatch and found myself staring down onto a narrow catwalk, up near the ceiling of the Lab, which looked down on the milky cube of the experiment enclosure. We were inside!

Shannon joined me and we ran down the catwalk to a ladder that led down to the floor far below. We climbed down and quickly made our way over to the experimental preparation area.

"Suit up!" I told Shannon urgently, as I pulled my own jumpsuit from its locker. She opened her locker and extracted her own. We dressed quickly and ran to the entrance to the experimental floor. It was locked.

"Damn," I muttered. I pulled my key card out of its holder and swiped it. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

"Let me try mine!" Shannon urged. She swiped her card, to no effect.

"Shit!"

I ran to the wall near the main entrance and stop in front of a large wiring panel, Shannon close behind me. I pulled out a key and unlocked it, pulling the door open. Inside were row upon row of BIX blocks, and a hideous tangle of hundreds of color-coded wires.

"Thank God they haven't gotten around to changing the mechanical locks!" I whispered gratefully.

I then pulled a diagram out of my pocket and opened it; a schematic of this very panel.

"I stole this from Scott's office more than a week ago," I explained, "It was just sitting on his desk. I had a feeling that it might come in handy…"

I began tracing pairs of wires through the myriad connections.

"Okay!" I said triumphantly after a time, "Unless I screwed something up, this pair here is the tamper alarm. If I short these two terminations, we ought to be able to override the lock on the door to the experiment floor without being detected…"

I went to one of the nearby desks, located a paperclip and straightened it into a U shape.

"Shannon, log in to that workstation over there and connect to this server…" I wrote down a series of numbers for her. She ran over to a nearby desk and began typing.

"I've got a login screen!" she called, "What do I do?"

"The ID is 'pandsec'!" I spelled it for her, "and the password is, exclamation point, y… m… x… s… eight… p… c… w!"

"I'm in!" she yelled back after a few seconds.

"Great, now watch the alarm indicators. I'm going to short these wires… now!"

I jammed the paperclip between them.

"Nothing!" she called in a moment.

"Excellent! Now I'm going to do the lock." I traced a set of six wires through the panel and located their termination points.

"Okay," I announced, "I've got the wires that control the lock. I think I ought to be able to just cut them all at once… we'll see! Keep watching the screen!"

I pulled out my pocket knife and opened it. Then I bundled the six wires together and, holding my breath, severed them with the blade.

"Still nothing!" Shannon said from across the room. I cut off several short pieces of wire and pocketed them.

"Alright! Let's go!" We ran to the sealed door and I pried the cover off the lock mechanism.

"Now, I think if I short these two wires here," I pointed to a pair of wires on the circuit board, "it ought to open the lock…"

I pulled a length of wire from my pocket and, using the knife quickly stripped some insulation from each end. Then, carefully holding it by the insulated segment, I laid it across the two leads. There was a bright white spark, and I heard the mechanism click.

"It's open!" I called to Shannon. She ran quickly to join me. Together we pried the door open and entered. The area was in semi-darkness. I didn't bother locating a light switch.

"Get in the chair!" I yelled to her. I ran up the steep metal staircase that led to the control room and entered. The main system control computer was powered on, displaying a colorful screensaver. I sat down and logged in using my own ID. It didn't work.

"Shit!" I muttered, "I hope to hell they haven't changed the root password…"

I tried again. The screen went black for a few seconds, and then I was rewarded with the startup screen for Red Hat Linux, our operating system of choice for the experimental control systems. It ran through a series of diagnostics and self-tests, then presented me with the root prompt.

"Excellent!" I said to myself, "Now…"

I typed in "startup". The screen cleared, and nothing happened for a several seconds, then a flurry of messages suddenly began scrolling up the screen one after the other, informing me that "Pandora 9.1.0" was running. More messages appeared, then a message appeared informing me that subsystem test routines had started. For the next few minutes I sat, buzzing with impatience, while a steady flow of test result messages flowed sluggishly up the screen. I noticed that the environmental subsystem check had failed. The environmental systems were offline, and I had no idea how to start them up. A test summary appeared and asked me if I would like to continue. I replied "yes". The following menu was unfamiliar to me; it requested I select an "auto-sequencing" program. I was unsure what to do, and with some trepidation simply picked the most likely sounding one from the list, a program called "primary". It began running immediately, and a large readout measuring the temperature of the cryogenic electromagnets began to count down in five degree increments. Within a few seconds it was below zero.

I ran out of the control room, thundering down the metal stairs three at a time. Shannon was already in her chair. As I ran up onto the dais and climbed into my own, she smiled at me encouragingly. I held out my hand toward her and she reached and took it, as the familiar chilly fog began to flow down the electromagnet towers and out across the floor toward us. I could hear the churning pulse of the cryogenic systems, and the cycling whine of the capacitor banks behind the shielding wall. The Briggs generators began to glow cherry red, then brighter. My chair still felt icy, due no doubt to the failure of the environmental systems, and I began to feel very cold. I could feel Shannon's hand begin to tremble slightly.

I turned to her again and smiled. "See you on the other side," I said.

She smiled back and said, "You too."

The generators continued to increase in brightness until they were emitting a brilliant blue-white glow. I could feel their heat radiating down on us, which warmed me, but only slightly.

Then, the blinding flash, and instantly I found myself floating, as before, at the entrance to the enormous, cloud-lit tunnel. The bright light at its end beckoned me, and this time I floated effortlessly toward it. Brighter and brighter it grew, and larger, until gently, it slowly reached out and enveloped me.

I was surrounded by warmth and light. I was bathed in perfect peace, perfect contentment. As I basked in the glow, I could feel Shannon's presence; I knew that she was in there with me. And so was Kasha, and Saree, and a million other people as well. It felt comforting, warm, and welcoming; it felt familiar. It felt like home.

 

 

Epilog

 

From: Dr. Sanjay Chandrasekhar <schandra@trinitymedical.edu>

To: Dr. Scott Miller <scott.miller@redsand.darpa.mil>

Subject: Re: Our star patients

 

On Monday, 17 September 2009 scott.miller@redsand.darpa.mil wrote:

>From: Dr. Scott Miller <scott.miller@redsand.darpa.mil>

>To: Dr. Sanjay Chandrasekhar <schandra@trinitymedical.edu>

>

>Subject: Our star patients

>

>So doctor, how are things? How are our two star patients

>making out? Any news?

>Has the situation changed any since I last heard from you?

>

>

>Scott

>

>Email: scott.miller@redsand.darpa.mil

>Crypto: AES 3.1 Classification level: Secret (0x00FF)

>No part of this email may be copied or distributed

>pursuant Sect. 17.1.7.1 NSCA 1 Aug 2007

>

–––––––––––––––––––––––––-

Dear Dr. Miller,

I'm afraid the news is not good. The subjects continue in a comatose state, completely unresponsive and non-reactive. Dr. Sanchez has recently authorized their transfer to the long-term care facility.

As you know, they were discovered, unconscious, under the Briggs field generators, having activated the system themselves via the auto-sequencing program. Security at the Saguaro Center is currently reviewing how they could have gained access to a locked, guarded, high security area. The medical team, including myself, was called to the scene immediately. We estimated that the patients had been subjected to the Briggs field at full intensity for approximately three hours, which is about six times longer than is standard for the experimental sequences we had undertaken up to that point. Also, the technician who first discovered them engaged the emergency shutdown subsystem, thus causing the field to collapse immediately, rather than going through the more protracted de-focusing procedure, as is usual. Either, or both, of these factors may have contributed to their current condition. Both subjects were also suffering from mild hypothermia, resulting from the failure of the environmental systems.

At this time, EEG traces continue to show the spikes that we have previously identified as a characteristic of this syndrome. However, recent tests have indicated that not only are these spikes becoming less prominent in both subjects, but the EEG patterns of both subjects are becoming more and more closely synchronized. Assuming this trend continues, they will be indistinguishable within a few days, almost as if the subjects are somehow merging to become a single integrated individual. As before, EEG rhythms indicate a high degree of brain activity, consistent with a nominal waking state. This is, of course, a completely atypical observation in coma patients, yet this activity continues unabated. At the present time, pending further research, we have no reason to expect that these patients' condition will improve at all in the foreseeable future. We are, however, working in an informational vacuum; despite this, we are continuing in our efforts to understand what happened.

Regards,

Dr. Chandra

 

Trinity Medical Research Center and Teaching Hospital

Taos, New Mexico

Email: schandra@trinitymedical.edu

Crypto: AES 3.1 Classification level: Secret (0x00FF)

No part of this email may be copied or distributed

pursuant Sect. 17.1.7.1 NSCA 1 Aug 2007

 

I am in our tent. It is larger and more lavishly decorated than our previous dwellings. It is warm and cozy, and softly aglow with sunlight filtering down through the fabric roof. Saree sits cross-legged opposite me, smiling. I am holding a tiny infant in my arms, wrapped in a soft blanket. He is beautiful. I look down at him and smile, then make a silly face, crossing my eyes and letting my tongue loll from my mouth. His tiny mouth breaks into a smile, and I grin back. Saree laughs.

"Didn't your mother tell you if you keep making faces, your face would stay like that?" she rebukes me. We laugh together.

Meanwhile, the little one has grasped a handful of my bracelets in his tiny fist, and is pulling them with extraordinary vigor. They dig sharply into my wrist.

"Ah, Saíd!" I exclaim, still grinning, "Be careful! You will pull my hand off! You have such a strong grip!"

By way of an answer, he reaches up with his other hand and tugs at one of my earrings, gurgling delightedly.

"Ow!" I cry out, "Now you are trying to remove my ears!"

Saree laughs again. "He is strong," she comments, "But his hands are so soft! Perhaps he will grow up to be a healer, like his namesake."

"Perhaps," I reply, "But in truth I will be happy if he grows up to be anything, as long as he is healthy."

"His future is much brighter now," Saree says, "Thanks to you."

"Thanks to us," I reply.

Little Saíd is now nuzzling at my breasts, rooting around for something to suckle.

"Ah, you are hungry, little one!" I smile, "Well, I fear you search for a dry well. You must go to your mother for that!" And so saying, I pass him across to Saree. She holds him in her arms and slips her top down, baring a breast, and soon he is suckling away contentedly. I sit back and bask in the beauty of the tableau of mother and child.

Presently, I get up and wander to the doorway, gazing out. The scene outside has much changed in recent time. Our village is no longer itinerant, ever fleeing before the far-reaching Immat Kashim patrols. Instead, we have erected permanent structures here, a tall balustrade around our encampment, a permanent shelter for our herd animals, a large wooden cistern on stilts to hold water. Beyond the cluster of tents and buildings, green fields stretch away into the middle distance; it is the first season of crops planted by our own hands in many generations. I see men and women tending the fields; fragments of song drift to me on the wind.

"Kasha," Saree calls, "The delegation from Bashir will be here soon. Perhaps you should make yourself ready. I will too, as soon as Saíd has finished eating."

I sit at our dressing table and apply kohl to my eyes, red dye to my lips. I slip an intricate, beaded necklace around my neck and adjust it carefully. I brush my hair, now nearly waist length, hold it in place with combs, and slip on my headdress. I examine myself carefully in the mirror, then stand and straighten my skirts.

Many centuries ago, before the Imm Dal Ees came to this land and the gods still walked the Earth, the Mirkan shared this land with another people, the Indi. After the War of the gods, after the Bad Time, many of the Indi sickened and died, as did the Mirkan, from the poisons in the air, the land, and the water. But some survived, and when the Imm Dal Ees came to this land those that lived joined with them and in time the two peoples became as one.

But while they lived, the Indi, who, it is said, were a wise and noble people, taught our ancestors many things, and gave them the greater part of their sacred knowledge and wisdom. They taught our people about those that they called "two-spirits." In them, so it is said, the spirits of man and woman came together in one body. The two-spirits were highly regarded and revered as healers, shamans, and great spiritual leaders of unique insight and wisdom. Among my people, I am now known as a two-spirit; because of this, and also because of my bravery in putting an end to the reign of the tyrant of Bashir, I was asked to become the Al Kamar, the leader of our village, now that Kahn Al Kamar, our previous leader, has passed on. It suits me well; I am content.

 

"Saíd is finished feeding," Saree announces, "Would you hold him while I prepare myself? Al Hammat's sister Sahanna will be here soon to care for him, while we attend to the Bashiri delegates."

I sit next to her and receive the tiny child in my arms. He is tired, his eyelids drooping. His mouth stretches into a yawn. Meanwhile, Saree sits at our dressing table and begins her ablutions.

"Ah, little Saíd!" I coo softly to him, "You have drunk your fill, and now you want your sleep! Oh, the life of an infant! No delegations to meet, no disputes to arbitrate, no council meetings to lead. How I wish we could trade places, so that I could suckle my wife's breasts until I am sated, and then sleep the day away!"

Saree is listening. "Oh! You think so, do you, Kasha Al Kamar?" she chides playfully, "And your wife will toil away at her chores, while you bask in dreamland? She thinks not!" She pretends to throw her hairbrush at me.

"Ah, it was only a passing fancy!" I pretend to sigh with regret, then I tell her in earnest, "My love, in truth I am content to be the Al Kamar, or a tradesman, or a farmer, a water seller, or even a humble beggar, if only I am with you."

She smiles at me in her mirror. "I too," she replies softly.

I begin to rock my child in my arms, murmuring softly to him a simple, wordless tune. His eyes slowly close, and he yawns again, uttering a tiny sigh.

There is a quiet knock at the entrance to our tent, and two men enter. They bow briefly to Saree and me, and then one says, "A thousand pardons, Kasha Al Kamar. The delegation from Bashir has arrived at last. They request, with great respect, to meet with you and your wife, to discuss the final arrangements for tomorrow's trade negotiations."

"Thank you, Al Khassam," I say, "Please make them comfortable and see to their needs. Are their quarters prepared?"

"It has been done according to your directions, Al Kamar," he replies, "All is in readiness. They shall not lack for amenity while they are here."

"Excellent," I tell him, "Now please go to the delegation and inform them that Saree and I will be with them as soon as possible. But for now, as you see, I am rocking my child to sleep…"

They nod in unison, smiling. "It shall be done, Kasha Al Kamar," they promise, and retire, closing the tent door as they go.

I rock little Saíd gently, and his breathing becomes more regular. The simple tune returns to my mind, and with it, words. I have no idea where the song comes from, or where I might perhaps have heard it before. The words are in the ancient tongue of the long-gone Mirka, a language I do not understand. I do not know what they mean, but the tender sounds and calming melody appeal to me, so I sing it softly to my baby, as he drifts away into the gentle, contented sleep of the very, very young…

 

"Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top…

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock…"

 

The End

  

  

  

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