Intermix Nation

Solomon smiles, says, “Only the way thatflesh knows bone, the way the moon knows its craters.”

“Right …” replies Aldrik uncertainly.

Nazirah glances out the window. Even thoughit’s dark outside, the red dust illuminates the chimericallandscape. Olag weaves the limo through the winding, precariousstreets of Rubiyat at breakneck speed. He overtakes a caravan andseveral donkeys, waving his fist angrily.

Solomon shakes Adamek’s handenthusiastically. “And the handsome Mr. Morgen,” he says. “You arelooking much better since last we met! Glad to see that lip healednicely.”

“Now hold on just a moment!” Aldrik demandsangrily. “Who are you?”

Solomon bows low again. “Solomon Salaahi,”he says. “At your service, Mr. Slome.”

Olag swerves sharply, narrowly dodginganother caravan. Solomon flies headfirst into Nazirah’s lap.Nazirah blushes profusely and helps Solomon to his seat. She handsSolomon his minute fez, which he shoves onto his head, slightlyaskew. He proceeds to utter several guttural curses directed atOlag in Deathlandic. Nazirah has no idea what Solomon says, butAdamek snorts appreciatively.

“You’re Solomon Salaahi?” Aldrikasks, clearly shocked. “TheSolomon Salaahi?”

“Expecting someone taller?” he responds,winking at Nazirah.

“Okay, Solomon,” Aldrik grumbles. “I’llbite. Where exactly are you taking us?”

Nazirah is wondering the same thing. Shereally hopes they don’t have to sleep in the prison. The telephonein the limousine rings and Solomon reaches for the receiver.“Enough with the questions!” he bellows, voice surprisingly deepfor so small a person. “You are my guests and you are welcome in myterritory with open arms! Please relax and enjoy the beautifulscenery!” He begins conversing loudly in Deathlandic with theperson on the other line.

Aldrik leans in close to Nazirah. “And howexactly,” he hisses, “is an Eridian-born intermix so tight with thefamous Solomon Salaahi?”

“He’s famous?” she asks evasively. Nazirah’strip to bargain for Adamek’s amnesty is not something she is opento discussing, especially not with the likes of Drill SergeantPatch.

Aldrik gets extremely agitated. “We have amission to accomplish on this campaign, Nation!” he snaps. “If youboth keep hiding things from me, we’re going to fail …spectacularly.”

“Hiding things from you?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he growls. “I know you’vegot the village idiot act down pat, but it doesn’t work on me. Didyou think I wouldn’t notice the two of you sneaking off last night?And what was that shit you pulled today, in the slums? I don’t careif you both have lovers from Rafu to Kivar. While you’recampaigning – until we storm the last skytower in Mediah, for thatmatter – you will present a united front to the country! Peoplealready think you’re in love, so you better start acting likeit!”

“Easy to say,” she mutters.

The limo turns onto a long, hidden drivewaybordered by cacti and lemon groves. They are definitely not at theprison, much to Nazirah’s relief. Olag eventually pulls in front ofa large mansion and kills the engine. Nazirah hops out of the limo,unable to keep the awe off her face. Terracotta urns taller thanshe is guard the front entrance. A huge azure door, embellished ingold, welcomes visitors inside. Vines hang from a ceiling trellisof dark wooden beams. Minarets and marbled columns tower above her.It’s open, flowing, and completely unlike anything Nazirah has seenbefore.

“Beautiful, is it not?” asks Solomonhappily, standing beside her.

“This is where we’re staying?” she asks,shocked. “How is this still Rubiyat?” It’s such a far cry from theseedy i

“Yes,” Solomon says proudly, waving his armsaround. “Welcome to my riad, my home. You will be safe here for aslong as you need to stay in this territory. You deserve a trueDeathlandic welcome, Miss Nation, and that is exactly what youshall get!”

“You live here?” she asks inastonishment.

Solomon nods, beckoning for everyone tofollow him indoors.

“As if you didn’t know,” says Aldrik,whistling in appreciation. “This is more like it!” He runs a fingerover a marble column, leisurely walking through the gatedentrance.

Nazirah turns to Adamek. “How well do theypay at the prison?” she asks in a hushed voice.

“Solomon’s not just head of security,” hesays. “He comes from one of the wealthiest, oldest, most respectedfamilies in all of Renatus. He chooses to spend his days at theprison because that’s what he finds fulfilling, I suppose. Myfather has tried to win his family’s allegiance for decades, butthe Salaahis are famous for their neutrality.”

They walk through the entrance. All aroundNazirah are beautiful mosaics, tiles in various shades of blue.Iron lanterns, illuminated by candlelight, hang at varying lengths.Gold leaf flakes the ceiling. Now Nazirah is sure she’s dreaming.“He doesn’t seem very neutral,” she says skeptically.

They stop under an archway. “He’s not,”Adamek says. “But this riad is a longstanding sanctuary ofneutrality, which is why we can safely stay here.”

“My friends,” Solomon addresses them, theperfect image of a dapper host. “Olag will show you to your rooms.Please have a restful night. We will discuss more unpleasantmatters over breakfast in the morning … a true Red West feast.”

Solomon gives a short bow and departsquickly, leaving the three of them with Olag. They follow himthrough a stu

Nazirah is confused by hisplayfulness, until she sees Aldrik nod approvingly at them.Play along, Adamek’seyes say. Nazirah smiles slightly, trying to ignore the rush shefeels at his touch. Olag gives them a curious look, before leadingtheir party indoors again and up a flight of stairs. They walk intoan open corridor, constructed of graceful arches that make it seemlike they’re still outside. Olag stops in front of a door, noddingat Aldrik. Aldrik doesn’t even look at them before slamming thedoor shut in their faces. The smell of fried hair and booze lingersin his stead.

Olag leads them a ways down the corridor,pausing in front of another door and inclining his head towardsAdamek. Adamek nods at the two of them, wordlessly entering hisroom. Olag continues walking, stopping before a final door.

“Goodnight, Olag,” Nazirah says. She isabout to enter when he hands her a small scroll of paper.

Nazirah unfurls the scroll as she enters herroom, inhaling the scents of amber, myrrh, and musk. An iron-framedcanopy bed sits atop a large geometric rug. The bed overflows withdeep satins, velvets, and gauzy drapes. The room opens onto a smallbalcony, overlooking the courtyard garden, and is alight withornate hanging lanterns and waxy candles. Speechless, Nazirahenters the bathroom. It’s covered in mosaic tiles, replete with asunken tub and open shower.

Nazirah returns to the bedroom, dives ontothe bed and rolls around on the silky sheets. She reads the scroll.It’s from Solomon, inviting her to tea tomorrow afternoon. Solomonalso tells her that he’s taken the liberty of buying her someclothes as a welcoming gift. Nazirah hops off the bed, walks pasther ratty luggage, and opens the armoire. She pulls out designerdress after designer dress. Awestruck, she prances over to thefull-length mirror leaning against the wall. One garment isprobably worth several months’ work, in Rafu.

Nazirah stops suddenly. Only a few hoursago, she watched the Medis destroy nearly everything the slumdwellers had, including their lives. She thinks of them now, asleepin their huts, every last one of their meager possessions literallyinches from their fingertips. She thinks of Cayu, the crashing surfand crying seagulls his lullabies. Nazirah may not have grown up inthe slum, but those are her people. That is where she belongs. Nothere, with these fancy dresses and quixotic dreams. This isSolomon’s reality, Adamek’s reality, but not Nazirah’s.