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TWO WORLDS MERGING TO FORM THE ONE Neom City, Saudi Arabia October 2, 2030 He was not armed heavily – that could not be risked with the security drones programmed for firearms or direct-energy caps. The kill would have to be Old World – swift and by the blade. The assassin was dressed for the occasion – in formal white; he’d be a face in the crowd, a presumed participantin the regional wealth ofthe Greatest Show On Earth. Ishmael’s orders were simple:eliminate the great Infidel, MX Leon, enemy to both the people and the state, not to mention to Allah himself. The devil Leon was a creature beyond the sands, possessed of magic and technology that could only be characterized as the epitome of evil and an anathema to any True Believer. Leon promulgated more than technology – he espoused heresy, madness, and vile ideas for the future of Man. He had to be destroyed. In the name of Allah and all that was holy, no matter the cost, no matter the loss. The young assassin knew this was a suicide mission – his probability of success was one in a thousand. It would be hard trying to corner MX in private. Yet try he must. He gripped his curved knife, a jagged thing, serrated and unforgiving. Once thrust into human flesh and withdrawn, internal organs would be eviscerated, strewn into a gaping heap of dying flesh. The key was proximity. He took a breath and followed the royal sheiks – bedfellows to the Great Satan known as MX Leon. Patience … patience … such was needed in a time to kill. * * * Once everything was better - even the prospect of a superior future. We are a city on a hill – and the eyes of the world are watching us.MX Leon could not help but reflect on those glorious words by John Winthrop, the first governor of the Pilgrims on their journey to the New World five centuries ago. What Leon was witnessing today epitomized that holy sentiment; today was not so much an event as it was a phenomenon, the like of which he felt, if there was a God, He was surely here and in earnest participation. Neom City was a technological marvel of architecture with towering edifices a mile high juxtaposed against the Saudi desert. The grandeur of its opening ceremony was fitting, an extravagant affair attended by the wealthy and the glamorous. Nothing like it had been seen in this part of the world for a millennium. To the average camel and herdsman, it was a spectacular frenzy of light and sound. To MX Leon, the U.S. Ambassador of the United Corporations of America to Space, it was a piece of landscape which could be leveraged, utilized – exploited. More importantly, Neom City was emblematic of the people who helped create it – Saudi sheikhs, who both admired MX Leon and feared him. The fear was certainly economically based, but MX Leon represented something far more dangerous to the ruling class: he was the existential threat to their up-til-now undisputed reign over petrodollar windfall. The culture of a thousand years gave sway over all other things in this part of the world; the needs of the few outweigh the needs of the many. And few put up vociferous objections. Yet, in a way, Saudi money held much influence in the scheme of things, and MX recognized this; he had twenty-four hours to sell his luxurious overpriced space capsules in order to further his goals of creating an inviolate space surveillance system. This was a self-imposed window, of course… MX Leon needed no one for anything. Time was his premium, to be allocated accordingly. Still, there were alliances at play here, relationships, trusts of a sort. An honor among thieves, if you will…One could ostensibly be the most powerful man on the planet, yet still needed the will of the people, even if that will was manipulated regularly for the greater and singular good. Now, as MX Leon took in the vastness of this ancient terrain, presently illuminated with a million lights and sets of lasers shooting skyward over Neom City, festooned over every building, every turret, every walkway, he marveled privately how much the world had changed in the past decade. To the north, he could see the silver railway that a joint Israeli/Chinese endeavor had been realized back in 2023. Chinese domination of the maritime gateway in the Middle East was now a foregone conclusion. There were hints that China was moving beyond traditional commercial partnerships and sought to displace the US’s security role in the Middle East. A military base in Abu Dhabi port and the route between the Port of Neom City and Port of Haifa, currently handled by China’s SIPG, was of considerable concern to Leon. His one great adversary in China, Ion Enterprises, was responsible for this vast interconnectedness, and this threat would have to be addressed soon enough. Leon had already formulated plans to create his own port highway, and this one would also include a space elevator in the Port of Haifa (should all things go swimmingly with the Israeli endorsement). In this way, China would be properly intimidated and more open to negotiation for a “sharing of the pie” down the line. But as it stood now, the SIPG operation was an impressive achievement. Another technological marvel layered in the sands. Once, Leon thought in his more melancholic moments, of which there were few, the past had seemed like a simpler place. 2030 was much different than 2020. Much different indeed… On this second of October, but a few months short of the year 2031, at the vast young age of fifty-two, MX Leon sat astride a rather irksome camel. His host, one Prince Mohammed, the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia, rode parallel to Leon, clicking to his own camel – the distinguished Zahra – a magnificent nine-million dollar marvel renowned for her victories in prestigious camel races. “What do you think of our utopian paradise?” Mohammed asked Leon while reaching out to scratch his camel’s ear. Leon chuckled and nodded. “Indeed, it is a suitably chic address for shady Monegasque and Russian oligarchs. Then there is Tong Xin, the famous Chinese industrialist, residing along with a litany of retired crypto hacks on the floating gardens that stretch toward the magnificent Italian-style villas. Reminds me of Silicon Valley with Monaco thrown in for good measure. It’s opulence at its evil best. What’s not to like?” “Yes, it is rather remarkable,” the prince replied proudly, taking in the vastness of a city he planned to resource for hundreds of billions of dollars. “That, my friend, is an understatement,” Leon remarked amiably. “This is where it all began, MX Leon,” Mohammed said with undue formality. “And I thank you for attending the Neom City opening. I realize how busy you are.” “Never too busy for a good friend.” Leon nodded politely to the prince. In fact, Leon was rather impatient for the ride to end. As the founder of Space Tease Enterprises, he had places to go and promises to keep. Not to put too fine a point on it, but time was money. Bad enough he had to be here for this ignominious event, but in a few hours, he was expected by the powers that be to attend a science event in Israel. Another annoying distraction to his main agenda of motoring the world to the stars. Still, there was etiquette that had to be observed. These abysmal niceties had to be endured. Mitra, Leon’s camel, snorted discreetly from the wrong end. Leon rolled his eyes as the stench of the animal’s rectal issue assaulted his nostrils. The prince seemed not to have noticed. The man is probably used to the toxic foulness of camel farts. Probably thinks of them as Chanel No. 5. MX turned to the Prince. “I am still somewhat astounded, that after the fortune you made, not so long ago, with the Aine Formula-1 roll-out, that you still carry on with these camel extravaganzas.” Mohammad smiled indulgently. “Call it nostalgia.” MX laughed and reached out, touching the prince’s arm affectionately. “You are a romantic after all, my brother.” “It is one of my many failings,” the Prince admitted. “I call it a virtue, sir,” MX gave a slight head-bow. A moment of silence passed between them. “Remind me of what TEASE stands for again,” Mohammed said. “It’s a rather complicated acronym.” “Technological Empowerment and Advancement of Space Exploration,” Leon said tonelessly, knowing quite well that Mohammed understood what TEASEmeant. “Yes, yes. I just like to hear you say it,” Mohammed said. The heat was unsurprisingly oppressive, and MX Leon’s current inappropriate sartorial choice of suit and tie was not helping. Leon looked up at the sky, the sun bearing down through a pellucid blue, commingling with the ubiquitous swirling of sand coalescing over the surface. Though the city was a behemoth of technological prowess, it seemed to Leon yet to remain subservient to the vastness of a hostile landscape. He recalled a poem by Shelley, composed hundreds of years ago to temples of this vast desert, this wasteland of the desiccated macabre: I met a traveler from an antique land, Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: Leon sighed and nodded to himself. And I am now that traveler… Leon had learned the hard way about the harshness of an inhospitable terrain. The two habitats he had established on Mars had come at a cost; nine astronauts had been lost in the construction of Ares One and Two; the powerful tornadoes that formed out of nowhere at the base of the solar system’s largest volcano, Olympus Mons, had all but eradicated Aries Team One, and the subsequent sandstorm that followed (reminiscent of the infamous haboobs of the Saudi region) suspended habitat construction for months. But if he were able to bring real and lasting change, such were the rules of the game. The sand just beyond the barrier of the huge city’s warmth was an odd anachronism against so much technology. The low horizon, despite the yellow glare, gave off a tepid gray – an optical illusion that promised a hint of moisture but in fact was nothing more than a cruel mirage. Meanwhile, electric autonomous shuttles hovered around the main procession of royals and non-royals alike. Leon and Prince Mohammed continued their leisurely trek through the city’s gargantuan floating artificial garden – the product of advanced gravitational technology that Leon himself helped to develop back in 2027. Certainly, credit could be given to the Pasadena Institute of Technology and Raytheon Industries for their assistance and fine support, but it was Leon’s vision of hyper-gravitational matrixes that had given rise to what was once only imagined in the annals of science fiction. A fine thing, gravity. Leon allowed his mind to wander, trying to ignore the heat. It would one day allow Man to travel to the stars – first, Proxima Centauri at 4.2 light years away, then beyond. Sirius, next. Epsilon Eridani … and beyond. True, interplanetary conquest would logically have to come first: Mars, the inner worlds, then the gas giants and the Khyber belt. But Leon’s dreaming was universal and intergalactic in scope. The stars beckoned, as did no doubt other civilizations. And if no such civilizations existed and Mankind was the best thing out there, no problem. Man would be the progenitor race to one day colonize the galaxy … and beyond. Win-Win as far as Leon was concerned. On either side of the high-profile riders, a retinue of functionaries remained at a discreet distance. So did the security personnel that were in attendance. The crowd of a thousand or more could very well harbor those who did not rejoice in the Crown Prince’s indulgences. Another fifteen minutes passed until the mercury-blue Royal tents appeared. Thank God, Leon visibly sighed. This hellish sun will be the death of me… "I hope your ride was not too arduous,” the prince inquired politely, his gaze piercing and studious even in this moment of leisure. A man devoted to higher education and Western sensibilities, Crown Prince Mohammed had garnered great favor with allies in the region due to an innate political acumen and sensibility. And, of course, he was revered as a paragon of wisdom amongst his inner circle of tribal fealty. "Not at all, your Royal Highness." Leon smiled affably, patting his camel like an old friend. Even as his discomfort was apparent, MX kept a measured composure. "I apologize for the heat," the prince said sincerely. "May I offer you a traditional djellabahin lieu of your suit?" “I’d welcome that,” Leon wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Mohammed gestured to two of his assistants, eager young men who seemed to live on the very whim of the Crown Prince. "Would you help SyedLeon change before the Royal brunch,” Mohamed instructed them. “My sister, Princess Leila, embroidered this particular djellabahwith your initials, MX. You shall find it in the changing tent." “I’m flattered,” Leon gave a slight bow before being led off to another tent by the two acolytes. He gave them a dismissive wave at the tent entrance, and they respectfully departed with a bow. He closed his eyes momentarily, hanging onto one of the folds of the tent for support. His wrist com blinked, and the image of his personal fembot, Jennifer, appeared. “Are you well, sir?” she asked, her blond image fluctuating on his subcutaneous wrist band. Leon nodded. “Fine, Jennifer. It’s just hot as spilt fuck, that’s all.” “Stay hydrated,” Jennifer advised. Her image crystallized and her remarkable emerald eyes appeared brighter than usual. Her face was sculpted to Nordic perfection (a general preference in the female form for Leon). He noticed that Jennifer had let her hair down – a becoming detail he would compliment her on at a later date. “Yeah, talk later, thanks,” Leon said, switching off and wiping sweat from his lips. Damn this heat… Though in fit shape – and two-hour trials at the gym almost daily – Leon could feel this arid hell making him dizzy. He did not notice the young assassin, Ishmael, move deftly from the crowd, ever closer toward his destiny. * * * Yes. Victory! The evil one strode alone to a tent, without security, without even a shadow-drone. This was the time to strike. Ishmael lasered in on MX Leon, his hand white-hot on his dagger, preparing himself for the kill to come.