Desert Stars (18 page)

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, pray 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.”

She hummed as she worked,
thinking of the times she used to cook with her mother when she was
a little girl. The kitchen was
Shira
’s domain,
and she ruled it like a queen; men were forbidden to enter, and
nothing happened without her knowing about it. But when it was just
the two of them, she opened up and taught Mira all her secrets: how
to cook the beans and lentils just right, how to boil tough meat in
yoghurt until it was tender, what combinations of spices yielded
the best flavors, etc. By the time Mira was fourteen, her mother
claimed that she was the best cook of all her daughters—a claim
that never failed to make Mira blush, though secretly she held onto
it as one of the best compliments her mother had ever given her.
Now, with three burly tribesmen and the man she loved waiting on
her, she threw her heart into it, putting together a meal worthy of
her mother’s approval.

“
Mmm!” said Kariym,
strolling over. “That smells absolutely delicious. I knew it was a
good idea to bring you along.” He nudged her with his elbow and
laughed.

“
Not so fast,” said Abu
Hussan. “We haven’t got the proof yet—and if we don’t get it soon,
I might just have to fill my roaring stomach with
stones.”

“
Oh, you’ll get your proof
soon enough,” said Mira, smiling at Jalil from the corner of her
eye. “If patience is bitter, its fruit is sweet. And if my cooking
doesn’t bring back memories of your own mother, you can cook me up
and eat me instead.”

“
Oh, I don’t know about
that,” said Kariym. “Your young husband would have a debt of honor
to settle if we tried.”

Mira laughed and turned to
Jalil, but he stared off, a strangely morose expression on his
face.
We can’t have that,
she thought to herself.

“
That’s right!” she said,
hands on her hips. “My husband is a force to be reckoned with. He’s
the eldest son of a mighty Najmi sheikh, and has the skill of at
least five sharpshooters.” Her eyes glimmered with satisfaction as
Jalil glanced up at her.

“
Ho ho!” said Abu Hussan.
“I doubt anyone here can outshoot Ashraf. No one in Gregor’s convoy
is a better sniper.”

“
Is that so?” Mira said.
She turned to Jalil. “That sounds like a challenge, my
love.”

He stared at her without saying
anything. She cringed a little; perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea
to banter so openly with these men, even if they were her own
countrymen. But then, a familiar grin spread across his
face.

“
Indeed it does,” he said,
winking at her. “It looks like yet another Sarahiyn sharpshooter is
about to be outdone by a Najmi.”

Kariym threw back his head and
laughed. “That remains to be seen, my friend. But if you’re really
as good as your young wife claims, let’s have some fun before
dinner. You up for it, Ashraf?”

Ashraf was already checking the
chamber of his rifle. “I’m ready,” he said, not bothering to look
up. His rifle was not nearly as ornate as the one Jalil carried,
but it was a good half-meter longer.

“
All right,” said Kariym,
turning to Jalil with a sly grin. “Since you offered the challenge,
Ashraf goes first. Give him a target.”

“
No,” interrupted Ashraf.
“He’s still young; I’ll give the first target.”

Jalil folded his arms and stood in
mock indignity. “Oh, is that so?” he said. “Then choose, but choose
nobly. I won’t have you complaining later that you made things too
easy.”

Ashraf shrugged impassively. “As you
wish.”

Whatever target he
chooses, Jalil will hit it,
Mira thought
to herself. She felt like a princess in one of her childhood
stories, where all she needed was to believe in her man and he
would overcome anything set before him. Indeed, with the endless
fields of golden-green grass and rolling purple hills on the
horizon, it felt as if they were in a fairy tale world.

Ashraf looked out over the hill in
silence for some time, finally pointing to a relatively treeless
part of the plain. “There,” he said. “See that trunk?”

Jalil strained for nearly a minute to
see it. Mira shielded her eyes from the sun and peered in the
direction Ashraf had pointed, but all she saw was grass.

“
Yes,” said Jalil. “I see
it.”

“
There’s a branch jutting
out on one side. Shoot off the branch without damaging the trunk
itself.”

Kariym whistled, while Abu
Hussan shook his head.
Let them
doubt,
Mira thought to herself.
I know he’ll make it.