“For now,” Faisal said, all of them laughing.
“Will the Americans capitulate?” Garcia asked.
“I hope so,” Talib answered. “I truly hope so.”
They drove through the cotton fields, then the soybean fields … the rice fields … past the dairies … past the chicken farms. Housing was mixed throughout the fields, workers living close to their jobs. The housing came in the form of three-story blocks of apartments made from brick fired in New Cairo. Building was a major concern and always on full throttle. Lacking the proper equipment early on, the building industry was nearly biblical in its methods, something Talib wanted to rectify as quickly as possible.
He loved the respect with which he was treated these days. With Crane he had lived in the shadows. Here, he cast the shadow, and it was a large one. Most everyone thought of him, not Brother Ishmael, when the Islamic State was mentioned. It put the two men on a strange footing, especially since Talib didn’t regard Ishmael as his spiritual leader.
Dead magnolia trees and live people lined the roadway leading up to the pre-Civil War plantation house that served as the governmental and religious headquarters for New Cairo. Yo-Yu had been given permission to build a shield plant in the walled state and in exchange they were designing tree shields so that regeneration of the thousands of magnolia and cottonwood trees in New Cairo could get underway.
He wished his guests sahbah innoor, had the driver move them along, then began to push his way through the crowd thronging the front entrance to the government house. There were always crowds, either people complaining or, most often, refugees seeking asylum. As soon as he was able to put up another building, he was going to have Immigration moved to the farthest geographical point in New Cairo from where he was standing.
The people parted for him the moment they recognized him. He was a Presence, thought of as Ishmael’s word made flesh, and was treated accordingly. And he was NOI’s only statesman. Brother Ishmael refused to assume that role and refused, even, to visit New Cairo until, as he said, “all my brothers are free to journey home.”
So, to the citizens here, it was Abu Talib who ruled New Cairo. To date no request of his had been denied, so his overlord status was unchallenged. New Cairo’s first year had been full of hardship, emotional, physical, financial. But they had survived and the colony was succeeding, and he had been a large part of it.
It had made sense, when he’d decided to go on sabbatical, to come here. He was close to the action and respected, and he could work with the very soil that had thrown his EQ-eco out of synch to begin with. Also, Crane and Lanie were far away. He was working hard to forget both of them—with little success.
His lab had been a large bedroom with a wide veranda. He worked and slept there, leaving the French doors open to the breeze all night. Now he coded in and locked the door behind him.
“Assalamu ahlaykum,” came a voice from amidst his computers and seismos.
He turned in surprise. Khadijah was staring at him.
“Wiahlaykum issalam,” he said, crossing the distance between them to kiss her on both cheeks. “What brings you down here to Africktown? You’re a long way from the city, girl.”
“My brother has sent me. He wants me to ‘get used to the alluvial plain.’ Is it always this hot?”
“Most of the time,” he said and laughed. “I hate to say it, but it’s good to see you.”
“Thank you. I’m actually glad to be here.”
“Well, if you intend to stay for a while,” he said, “remember to wear a veil when you go outside. This is an Islamic state.”
She smiled. “I found out the hard way. Someone threw a rock at me when I was coming in.”
“What did you do?”
“Threw it back.”
He chuckled. “You’ll have to be put to work, too,” he said. “That’s the rule here. You gotta work.”
“In the fields?” she asked, horrified.
“Or construction, or plumbing, or shield maintenance—”
“Enough. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.” She pointed into the liquefier. “What’s that do?”
“When I’m finished inputting data,” he said, “I’m going to duplicate last year’s EQ. This is an exact geologic map of this area. I’ve filled it with tiny sensors to read changes. With luck, the river will alter its course and ultimately end up where it is today. If it does, it means I’ve calculated correctly. If it doesn’t, it’s back to the basics.”
“How many times have you tried this?”
He raised his eyebrows. “A dozen or so. There’s no instant gratification in science. But I’m getting closer.”
She put her hand over his mouth. “I hear the white woman is going to marry the earthquake man.”
He shook his head, freeing his mouth from her hand. “I like your subtle approach, Khadijah. Yes, it’s quite true that Lanie and Crane will marry,” he said, adding sardonically, “next week as a matter of fact and at a lodge in the Himalayas with a superb view of Mt. Everest. I’m sure Crane chose the location. He’s nothing if not dramatic.”
“The tone of your voice makes me believe you are free of her.”
Talib merely shrugged.
“She will not be yours?” Khadijah persisted.
“No.”
“Then I have a proposition for you.”
What now, Talib wondered, smiling wryly. “Does a proper Muslim woman proposition a man?”
She made an exasperated sound. “Look, you have no woman. I have no man. I am of the right blood. It’s a perfect political alliance.”
“What is?”
“Our marriage! What do you think I’m talking about?”
He laughed loudly. “Our marriage? Are you joking with me?”
“Oh, do shut up and listen to me,” she said angrily. “This is hard enough for me to do without you making fun. I know you are a … good man. You would be kind to me.”
“And keep you near the top of the power curve, huh?”
“What’s wrong with that? If you haven’t noticed, it’s kind of genetic … anyway, traditional with me and my brothers. I like excitement as much as the next person. I’d also make you a good wife and keep an Islamic home. I could give you children; I’m strong.” Her voice lost its power and she stared down at the floor. Speaking in almost a whisper, she added, “You would have my heart and my dedication forever.”
“Stop,” he said, quietly but sternly, taking her shoulders.
“Don’t … do this. We can’t marry. We won’t. I’m flattered and you’re wonderful. Soon, some man will—”
“I’m too headstrong for Islamic men.”
“Well, yeah … there’s that.”
“You will need to wed and father children. We’ll make future leaders together. Don’t you understand how right this is, how destined?”
“Khadijah, I don’t love you.”
“We’re not talking about love,” she said. “I could never love an egotist like you. Marry me. Your woman belongs to someone else.”
“That doesn’t mean I can just stop loving her!”
“Love again. What is this? Life goes on, Abu Talib, with or without you.”
His hands were trembling on her arms. “Leave me alone,” he said. He turned from her and walked through the French doors. He leaned on the veranda rail and looked at the bustle below, a neverending river of people snaking into history. He had accomplished so much. God, why did he feel such pain?
Khadijah was at his arm, touching lightly. “I’m still a virgin,” she said. “I will give that to you right now, if you’d like. I know I can please you.”