Escape Velocity: The Anthology (16 page)

      
The first human foot to touch this ground in a long time,
Jacob thinks. He looks around, keying his retinal map system.
Kidron Valley,
database informs him. A hill rises at the far side of the valley. On its top are the massive stones of the Old City walls.

      
Jacob strides up the hill, winding between the collapsed walls of buildings, mounds of pale yellow stone, the bones of this skeletal land. He doesn’t activate his power boots. It feels good to use his body, his muscles. As he walks, he wonders if there are still any atoms in his organic structure which originated here, on this tired and abandoned planet.

      
He gains the hilltop, and stands at the base of the great walls, below the Temple Mount, Mount Moriah, the
Haram al-Sharif.
He could grav over the wall, but he decides instead to continue walking, to approach the City as the inhabitants did. He turns to his left and walks along the base of the wall. The height of the wall descends as he walks, the top broken and rough. Here and there are sections of notched ramparts.
To shoot through,
Jacob thinks in wonder.
People actually fought here — with weapons, of all things. Killed and died.
A shiver creeps up his spine.

      
He comes to an immense opening in the Wall, an old Gate, its sides now collapsed.
Dung Gate,
says database. 
This is the route through which they removed waste and dead bodies.

      
He walks up a sloping ramp of broken paving stones. Ahead of him he sees the truncated hill of the Temple Mount, in the center of which is an octagonal structure topped with a broken-in golden dome, like a cracked Easter egg.
Dome of the Rock Mosque,
remarks database.
Holy to Moslems as the place from which Mohammad ascended to heaven.
At the base of the Mount rises a wall of grey stones.
Western Wall,
confirms database.
Indexed as the Wailing Wall. It is a remnant of the Second Temple, a holy site for Jews from Roman times until Exodus Two.

      
Jacob steps up to the Wall. He touches it with his fingers. Through the lamsuit he thinks he can feel an electric current. He downloads into his retinal scanner images of fervent Jews gathering at this very wall.

Jacob lies on his back inside a forcetent, staring up through the clear field at the stars. He sees starlight glinting across the plaza on the broken golden dome of the old Mosque. He keys up images of this place in moonlight, and wishes it looked like that now, but the old Moon is long gone, mined and burned in the furnaces of human expansion, like the other rock planets.

      
There comes a grinding above him, and Jacob starts to sit up, surprised at the loud noise on this silent planet, where the only sound has been the keening of the thin wind. Rocks plunge through the darkness, carom off his forcetent with a hum, and crash out onto the floor of the plaza, echoing. Jacob looks around in shock. A damn good thing he’d set the tent at max. Building stones loosened by frost? But there is almost no moisture. He shines a light above him, where steps and walls climb almost as high as the Temple Mount. A shadow moves. Is it the corner of a wall, caught by the angle of his light? But he is unable to duplicate the effect.

      
He activates a motion net around the tent. Then he lies back down with his eyes wide open and his ears straining. He thinks about returning to his ship, where he can stim, instead of this silly, anachronistic gesture of camping,
sleeping,
in the City. He can call the ship in an instant, but he doesn’t want to abandon his original vision for this journey. Finally, he falls asleep and dreams of his childhood, learning the old Hebrew letters.

Jacob has come to Jerusalem because of a construction project, galactic development. The children of Sol ply the gravity rivers of the cosmos with ease. They trundle stars and planets where they need them, like so much furniture. And now it happens that the needs of this or that spacetime require that Sol be made nova, be teased until it inflates, and swallows its remaining planet, explodes, and so enriches the regional energy runoff.

      
There was some mild popular objection to the notion of destroying the planet of human birth, but for the most part the human family has forgotten Terra, does not care, and was not willing to pay for Terra to be moved to safety. Humans live by the light of ten thousand new suns, and the light of Sol no longer matters.

      
Jacob is not a tech, and does not much care how the chairs and tables of the universe are arranged. He is an historian, a rare occupation. When he heard of the plan for Sol, he conceived the notion of coming here, alone and simply, a pilgrim, to see Jerusalem, to bid farewell to the planet, and to write a brief article. His pilgrimage was to be jointly paid for by the tiny Historical Society and the Jewish Association. He kissed his wives and cohusbands and children goodbye, and set off in the family ship.

In the morning, weak sunlight spills over the old buildings like lemon juice. Jacob rises from his tent and retracts its field into his belt, swallows some tabs, and sets off to explore the City by foot. He sees the rocks that hit his tent lying out on the plaza floor, fragments of mortar and coping stones.
Had to have been frost,
he thinks.

      
He walks down a narrow alley in the Jewish Quarter, between high walls. Ahead of him is a dark archway.
Sefardic Synagogue,
notes database.
Used by Spanish-speaking Jews.
Something moves in the broken door beyond, a shadow among shadows. Jacob freezes. Is it possible he’s not alone on this planet? He touches his belt and puts up a shield, then darts forward toward the door.

      
Empty, but in the dry dust at the threshold is a footprint, the outline of a human foot, already blowing away in the meagre wind.

Jacob gravs himself to the top of the Temple Mount, stands facing out toward the City, the yellow hills covered with a jumble of ruins. He’s taking a quick look at the Mount and its mosques, and then it’s time to get offplanet.  He has no idea where the footprint came from, but he’s sure the planet has been empty of people for millennia. Well, he came to see Jerusalem, and he’s seen it. It’s grand, and it’s amazing that it has endured so long, but there is no magic left in the old stones. In the end, it’s just the ruins of another deserted city. He has enough impressions for his article. It’s only a short time until nova anyway. He keys his belt and the ship to prompt him at regular intervals, and sets the ship to pick him up with adequate time to get past heliopause before nova.

      
The view from the Mount is wonderful. There, off to the right, are severe grey spires.
Church of the Holy Sepulchre
, points out database.
Christians revered Jerusalem too,
Jacob remembers. So many religions and sects and cults and creeds have called this place their own, and so much blood spilled because of it. But that is long past, and the children of Sol do not care any longer for these old passions. Jacob is one of only a few who remembers such things.

      
Jacob turns around to face the Dome of the Rock Mosque, looming behind him. Its walls, so high above the city, are scoured by eons of blowing dust and sand, but he can still see traces of the old mosaics. He records them in database, then looks through the door. The golden dome is broken, its wreckage filling the interior. Light spills in, where once it must have been dim and quiet.

      
Jacob starts inside, and as he steps through the arched entrance, a shiny net drops over him. It can’t touch him, shielded, but it’s anchored and he is held, shield and all. He touches his belt and manifests a lazercutter, such as a fabricator might use. He polarizes his shield and trains the cutter on the net. The net sparks, but isn’t severed. It’s impervious, some plasteel synthetic.

      
A figure gravs down from above, a man, dressed in black robes, barefoot, a strange cloth wrapping covering his head. Over his face is an aircatcher, an old style, long obsolete, and he is wearing an archaic databelt.

       “
The net is constructed of duraplass,” says the man in stilted, old-fashioned Galactic. “You cannot cut it.” He peers closely at Jacob. “Are you not a Jew?”

      
Jacob stares back at the man in astonishment. “I’m a Jew, yes, of course,” he finally says. “That’s why I’m here.”

       “
I knew this!” shouts the man. He shakes his fist at Jacob. “I intended to allow you to leave unmolested. Had you confined your wanderings to the Jewish Quarter, I would have done so.”

       “
Was it you that dropped the rocks on my tent last night?” asks Jacob.

       “
Quite so,” says the man. “Remembering the compassionate teachings of the Prophet, I sought only to frighten you away. But now you have defiled the Holy Mosque and your life is forfeit.”

       “
You want to kill me? But why?”

       “
Jerusalem is ours,” says the man. “It is not yours. I have claimed it. I have dwelt here. I keep the Holy City for the Holy Faith. Because of me, the City hears the Holy Qur’an sung again, as it was in the glorious past.”

       “
Who
are
you?” asks Jacob.

       “
I am Kasim,” says the man proudly, striking his chest. He slips sandals onto his feet, then touches his belt and manifests a gravfield. He floats Jacob, inside his shield, and the shield inside the net, out of the Dome of the Rock.

      
At the other end of the Temple Mount are the ruins of a huge grey building.
El Aqsa Mosque
says database, oblivious. Kasim steers toward it.

      
Kasim floats Jacob through the broken doorway of the grey building. He removes his sandals. Inside the walls of the ruin a small round house has been constructed from the wreckage piled all around. “My house,” says Kasim. He parks Jacob in a corner of the ruin and settles him to the ground. “I will put you in a stasis, if you will close your shield,” he tells Jacob. “Then you may eat and drink. I will not have it said that Kasim of Jerusalem treated his prisoner ill.”

       “
But I don’t understand,” protests Jacob. “Why am I a prisoner? I don’t believe this. People don’t do this to each other anymore.”

      
Kasim waves his hand at the city, which lays hidden beyond the grey walls. “What city is out there?” he asks.

      
Jacob shrugs, puzzled. “Jerusalem of course.”

       “
And what city is Jerusalem?” persists Kasim.

       “
The city founded by King David,” answers Jacob, not knowing what else to say. “Where the First and Second Jewish Temples once stood, Capital of Israel, United Nations, Terra. Until the Second Exodus.”

       “
No,” whispers Kasim, pressing his face against the net. “It is the City of David, yes, but stolen from the Canaanites, ancestors of the Palestinians. Later it was the place from which the Prophet Mohammed leaped into heaven, the completion of His Night Journey, Allah be praised. Jewel of the Umayyad Empire, Crown of the Ottomans, capital of Palestine, United Nations, Terra.”

      
Jacob stares in disbelief. “But that’s all ancient history,” he says. “Jerusalem is a Jewish city, it always has been. We still sing about it at every holiday.”

       “
So do we,” says Kasim. “Do you want something to drink?”

      
Jacob retracts his shield. Kasim activates a stasis field around him, placing the stasis projector on a nearby stone block then dematerializes the duraplass net. He fills two cups from a brown bottle that looks as if it might be made of glass. He passes one of the cups in to Jacob. There is a clear liquid in it. He sips from his own cup, and after a moment Jacob sips from his. He gasps.

       “
Arak,
” explains Kasim. “Anise liquor.”

      
Jacob takes another sip of arak, more carefully, and glances at the stasis projector on its block. “What are you going to do with me?” he asks.

      
Kasim sits on the floor, stares into his cup. “I am considering that very question. I might send you away in your ship. I might kill you and return your molecules to the mother planet. I might keep you prisoner, and your captivity would be penance for your people’s old dispossession of my people, and for your attempt to wrest the Holy Land from me even now.”

      
Time to nova, minus interval ten,
whispers database in Jacob’s ear. “I’m not wresting anything from anybody,” he says.

       “
Yes, you are always the innocents, you Jews. Because you see yourselves as God’s chosen people, to the exclusion of all others, you assume whatever you do is right. You claim the land of others, land that holds the bones of their ancestors, and justify the theft because it must be God’s will, since it is your will.”

       “
Jerusalem is the original home of my people, and I simply came to see it before...” Jacob trails off.

       “
Before what?” demands Kasim.