Escape Velocity: The Anthology (17 page)

       “
Before nothing,” mutters Jacob. “Before I was too old.”

       “
Ah,” says Kasim. “I am over four hundred myself. I have been here two hundred years. I was born on Nureh, into the Islamic Brotherhood of the Holy Qur’an.”

       “
I had no idea there were still Moslems,” says Jacob

       “
There is much you do not know,” says Kasim. “We ourselves know that there are Jews, of course, dominant as you are in Galactic affairs. Knowing this, I came here to claim, at last, uncontested hegemony over the Holy Land.”

       “
Look,” says Jacob. “There
is
something. Galactic authority is going to nova Sol. There’s only a short time left.”

       “
Do you take me for a fool?” flares Kasim. “It is too late for such prevarication. I shall meditate on your fate now.” He rises, slips his sandals on again, and disappears through the door of the mosque.

      
Jacob immediately begins fiddling with his belt, which Kasim has not thought to remove. In a moment he has constructed a glowing energy node which he holds up in his hand. The node floats through the stasis field and settles over the stasis projector. The projector buzzes and goes dead, and the field vanishes.
Poor Kasim,
Jacob thinks.  He constructs another node. This one floats over the doorway. It expands, thins, and forms an invisible web covering the opening. Jacob continues to stand where he was, as if still held by the field.

      
Kasim comes back through the doorway. The nodeweb coats his body like glittering paint. Jacob touches his belt and Kasim stands frozen.

      
Time to nova, minus interval eight,
whispers database.

      
Jacob steps up to where Kasim is held. “You Arabs,” he says. “You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? Your obsolete ideas about honor and vengeance, they never stop, do they? I’ve read about people like you. You could have just made yourself known to me, and we could have shared these final moments as friends. But no....”

       “
What final moments?” grits Kasim, his voice distorted by the web. “Your final moments are the only ones of which I am aware. I was going to give you the honor of dying in Jerusalem.”

       “
That’s what I’m talking about,” says Jacob bitterly. “What arrogance. You people are like animals. You never had any claim on this place at all. Everything you did here just imitated us. You built a mosque on every Jewish holy place, and then made up some superstitious story to justify it.” Jacob touches his belt, and the web around Kasim enlarges, so that he can breathe more easily. Jacob starts out the door. “I’m calling my ship,” he shouts back. “I’m taking you to the nearest councilbase. I’m going to lodge charges against you for attacking a Galactic citizen. I’ve got everything recorded. Things are different now, you know. You can’t just go around declaring war on anybody you feel like. There
is
no war anymore. You’re living in a time that was obsolete ages ago.”

Jacob’s ship hovers over the Temple Mount. An ascent tube appears. Jacob manifests a grav field from his belt, walks back into the mosque. Kasim is gone. Jacob quickly pulls up a personal shield, glances around the shadowy interior. There is nothing to see. He throws out a motion field. It remains quiet.

      
How did he do that?
Jacob thinks in consternation.
And where did he go?

      
Kasim’s belt glitters on the ground. It is burned, fused and blackened.
He must’ve had a function that shorted out the web,
thinks Jacob,
but I bet it shocked the hell out him.
How can you reason with somebody like that?

      
Time to nova, minus interval six,
whispers database.

Jacob moves quietly down a narrow alley in the Arab Quarter, his shield wobbling around him, a motion field scintillating in front of him. In his hand he holds a cutter, which he has reconfigured so the beam is wider and will project further, perhaps ten or twenty meters. It is the only tool he has which can be used as a weapon.

      
Jacob catches sight of movement. He whirls and fires his cutter. The cutter beam pierces the stone of the alley walls. Dust flies up. But there is only his own shadow on the scarred stone wall beside him, thrown by the pale light of old Sol, slanting over jagged rooftops.
What am I doing?
Why don’t I just leave?
He walks on.
No, I can’t let the bastard get away with this. He’s spoiled my pilgrimage.  And anyway this is my city, not his.

      
Rocks rain down on him, pinging away from his shield. One rock bounces off another and penetrates the shield at slow speed, too slow for the shield to stop it. It strikes his cheek and sharp pain lances across his face. He leaps back, sweeps the cutter beam up, across the parapet of the rooftop across from him. Stones and dust geyser, and Kasim lurches up and back, and then out of sight again, clutching his arm.

      
Jacob’s cheek is on fire. He touches it carefully and feels it swelling. There is a crepitance of broken bone. His fingers come away wet with blood.

      
Time to nova, minus interval four,
whispers database.

       “
Shut up!” hisses Jacob.

Jacob huddles in a doorway, darting glances out into the street. He fingers the synth-skin on his cheek. He can’t stay where he is any longer. He grips his cutter tightly, shoves himself away from the wall and darts across the alley. Ahead is an open square. There! Across from him, something moving! He throws himself onto the ground, squirms forward until he is behind a broken stone pillar lying on its side on the ground. He rises and fires his cutter into a pile of rubble in the shadows on the other side of the square. Dust boils up.

      
Kasim suddenly appears from behind a different pile fifty meters to one side. He holds some sort of old energy weapon in his hands, the stock against his shoulder. There is a cloth tied tightly around one arm, stained with blood. He sights along the barrel of his weapon and fires at Jacob.   Jacob flops back into the dirt as nuggets of bright cohesive energy flash over him. Where they strike the walls behind they flare and burn, leaving charred craters. Jacob breaks into a cold sweat.  He isn’t at all sure his field will diffuse those energy pulses. His cheek is throbbing like crazy. Damn Kasim and his obsolete weapons!

      
Jacob sneaks a peek up over the top of the stone pillar. Kasim immediately fires. Jacob hugs the ground. He curls up and thinks furiously.

      
Then he wriggles around in the dirt, careful not to show himself. He unfurls his forcetent, contracts it, puts it on max. He removes his belt and places it inside the tent, in order to maintain the field. He takes the tent control and his cutter and scuttles away, taking care to remain low, behind the pillar. The pillar intersects a low wall which runs along the near side of the square. When he reaches the wall he crawls along behind it, as if he has done such things all his life, until he is halfway across the open area, opposite where Kasim is concealed. He keys the tent control so the tent expands, appearing like a bubble above the top of the column.

      
Kasim rises and fires at it. At the same moment Jacob fires his cutter and Kasim’s weapon sparks and leaps from his arms, disintegrating into pieces. The energy pulses from Kasim’s gun batter the force tent, which flames and collapses and flares up in a white hot ball and vanishes.

      
Jacob stands and aims his cutter at Kasim who stands and faces him, his mouth pressed grimly closed. Jacob takes a step closer, and Kasim closes his eyes. Jacob closes his own eyes and presses the trigger of the cutter.

      
Nothing happens. Kasim stands unharmed. Both men open their eyes. Jacob presses the trigger again. Nothing.
My belt!
He thinks with horror.
It powers the cutter! It blew up with the tent.

      
Kasim glances from Jacob to where the tent had been, and back to Jacob. His face suddenly lights up in a grin of understanding, and he jumps over the rubble and rushes across the square toward Jacob. As he runs he reaches into his robe and withdraws a long plasteel knife. The knife glints red in the sunlight.

      
Time to nova, minus interval two,
says database loudly.
It is time to exit planet.

      
Jacob grits his teeth, presses the firing button on his cutter one more time, hopelessly. Then he reverses it, holding the barrel. He swings the thick butt of the tool against his hand. It feels heavy, as if it were real metal. He steps over the low wall, and strides toward Kasim. They meet in the center of the square, stopping a few paces apart. They circle, glaring, crouching low. Kasim holds his knife out. Jacob holds his club up. Their chests heave, their weapons tremble.

      
Kasim lunges with his knife, missing, and Jacob counters, swinging his tool harmlessly through the thin air.

A deep shadow slides silently over them. Kasim looks up in surprise. Jacob’s ship stops directly overhead, fifty meters above. A siren begins to wail, beating the air.

       “
Who is piloting your ship?” demands Kasim. “You claimed to be alone.”

       “
It’s just the ship, on auto.”

       “
This concerns the two of us alone,” says Kasim, angrily. “Why is your ship interfering? Are you such a coward?”

       “
It’s
warning
me, damn it.” Jacob glares up at the ship and the siren stops.

      
Kasim stands up from his crouch. He points at Jacob with his knife. “Of what is it warning you?”

       “
I tried to tell you before,” says Jacob. “Galactic authority is going to nova Sol.”

      
Kasim steps back, opens and closes his mouth. “That was true?” he finally shouts. “Nova Sol? How dare they? Have they no regard for what is holy? For what purpose are they doing this?”

       “
Some building project,” says Jacob. “I don’t know. And anyway there’s nothing either of us can do about it. That’s why I wanted to come here, to be the last Jew to walk in Jerusalem.
Jewish
Jerusalem.”

      
Kasim spits on the ground. “And I,” he says, “apparently I will be the last Moslem of
Islamic
Jerusalem.”

      
The two men face each other, still holding their weapons.

      
Then Kasim lowers his knife. Jacob lowers his club. Kasim looks up, past the ship, at the pale blue sky, and beyond, toward the invisible stars. “It is useless,” he says. “I wonder that the Brotherhood of Islam could not prevent this.”  His face twists into a grimace of sorrow. “The Holy Qur’an will not be heard again here, but only on strange worlds where the Prophet never walked.” He blinks. “A new Prophet will arise,” he whispers. “A new Prophet in a new
el aqsa,
a new
furthest place.
But I have guarded Jerusalem until the end.” He glares at Jacob. “How long?” he asks.

       “
Now,” says Jacob. “Minutes.”

       “
I could kill you,” says Kasim. “You know nothing of fighting. I
should
kill you, unbeliever.”

       “
Perhaps you could,” says Jacob. “It’s been a long time since we were fighters. But you don’t really understand. My ship could have rescued me any time.” He shrugs. “Anyway what does it matter, now?” He tosses his weapon into the dirt. “I’m through with this. The war is over.”

       “
So then, I have won,” says Kasim. He tucks his knife back into his robe. “Jerusalem is ours. It is settled.”

      
Jacob faces him. “Nothing you say nothing you do, will make Jerusalem anything less than a Jewish city, founded by Jews, loved by Jews.”

       “
Jerusalem will always be holy to Islam....” begins Kasim.

      
The ship’s siren wails again, louder, slicing through the dusty air, slapping at the men.

       “
That’s it,” says Jacob. “There is no more time. Do you have a ship?”

       “
It is long since used up. I never intended to leave.”

       “
I can take you on my ship,” says Jacob slowly. “Back to Nureh, or wherever you choose.”

      
Kasim pulls up the collar of his robe and covers his face. “No,” he says. “I will stay. I shall witness the final moments of Jerusalem on behalf of the Brotherhood of Islam. Allah will be with me.”

       “
Why die for nothing?” says Jacob. “Come with me. I promise you safe passage.”

       “
Thank you, but no. I do not fear you. But it is right that a Moslem should be here at the end.” He pauses. “I shall witness for
all
the Children of Abraham,” he says, “our common Patriarch. The Jews as well. And the Christians, if there are any of them still.”

       “
Thank you,” says Jacob.

      
A fitful wind, like the breath of the city, stirs the old dust between them. The dust settles on their gloved hands, and on their feet.