—Perhaps, Mia. Perhaps I would have, but it does not make it right.
—Why are we here, Mother?
—Here where? I do not understand.
—Why do we do what we do?
A rhetorical question if there was ever one.
—You know the answer, Mia.
—Take them to the stars, I know. But that’s what we do. I’m asking you why?
—Before Evil comes and kills them all. We do what we do to protect people.
—From what? Who will come? What Evil?
—Where is this all coming from, Mia! What are you trying to tell me?
—Who’s coming? It’s not the Tracker. He’s been here all along if he exists at all. More people like him?
—Mia, it is—
—Answer me.
—I assume it is people like him, yes.
—People like us?
My daughter thinks we are monsters, like the Tracker. Perhaps we are… related to him, like sun and moon, day and night.
—Does it matter?
—No, it doesn’t. What I’m trying to say is that this is all about them. Take them to the stars. We’re not going, Mother. We’re doing it for them. Not us.
—I do not see how this has anything to do w—
—Then if we can’t trust a single one of them, if they’re all so fucking aw—
—Watch your tongue, Mi—
—If they’re so fucking awful, all of them, that we can’t believe in the ones we love, what’s the point? Tell me, Mother. Why are we doing all this if they’re not worth our love, or our trust? You want me to lead us. You want us to be the One Hundred. I’ll do it, I will, but I have to know why. It has to mean something.
Now I understand what Mia was doing. She was saving one life to give meaning to another. This was my doing in some way. I asked her to take charge. I asked her to pursue a goal she did not set, for a purpose she did not believe in. Letting Billie live was… science. We are creatures of facts and empirical evidence. We trust what can be proven or observed. She was asked to believe in something she could not see, and so she devised the only experiment she could think of to prove its existence. She took a leap of faith.
I wonder how many of us did the same. How many times throughout history did we need proof that our path was righteous, that the goals we pursued were worthy of the effort? I imagine that moment would come with a new generation, or the promise of one. It is one thing to extend the self for a nebulous purpose. It is another to ask your child to spend a lifetime doing the same. Perhaps this is how our entire journey began, with a leap of faith in someone.
ENTR’ACTE
Rule #2: Survive at All Costs
At the young age of twenty-six, al-Muqtadir bi-llāh had been the Abbasid caliph for as many years as he had not. Though he would rule the caliphate for over a quarter century, al-Muqtadir bi-llāh showed little or no interest in the affairs of government, leaving most decisions to his viziers and members of his harem, including his mother. The caliph was thus unaware that the king of Volga Bulgaria, who had converted to Islam, had asked for his assistance in establishing a proper Muslim kingdom. He was also unaware that he had agreed to the king’s demand and sent a delegation from Baghdad.
Among the small group forming the diplomatic mission were Ahmad Ibn Fadlan, who served as secretary to the ambassador, and the Sixty-Five, one of his many servants. She—her name was Nabia—was good with numbers and proved a valuable asset when matters of trade or taxation were at hand. Ibn Fadlan was kind, and Nabia was thankful for the opportunity to live among men and travel to foreign lands. She had read the ahadith stories of fierce Muslim women warriors, of the women poets and rebels, but a lot had changed in the last century. Slave or not, Abbasid women were now kept behind closed doors, treated as objects of pleasure to be possessed or traded.
From the Caspian Sea, the mission made its way up the Volga River through the Khazar Khaganate. Relations between the Khazars and the Abbasids were cordial at the time, and all hoped for an uneventful journey. On the seventh morning, the Sixty-Five spotted a silhouette on the riverbank ahead of them and woke her master. It wasn’t a Khazar. The man didn’t wear a tunic, nothing but a cloak covering half his body. He was holding an ax in one hand and his penis in the other, peeing in the river. The boat drew closer, but the man didn’t turn or hide, showing no sign of modesty. Nabia’s master told her he was Rusiyyah, a Viking. They ruled all of Kievan Rus’ to the north and west and had been using the Volga as a trade route for over a century. They sold goods and slaves to the Abbasids and often traveled all the way to Baghdad. Neither Nabia nor her master had ever seen one up close.
When the man was done peeing, he gestured to them to come ashore. The Vikings wanted to trade.
Nabia was well traveled and her master thought she might prove useful in bargaining. They made their way to the small camp the Vikings had set up next to their ship. The camp was filthy by Abbasid standards, but it was the Vikings’ physique that struck them. In the middle of camp, a man was having intercourse with one of his slaves out in the open. Nabia and her master tried their best not to stare, but both were aroused by the scene. In his journals, Ibn Fadlan would write: “I have never seen bodies as nearly perfect as theirs. As tall as palm trees, fair and reddish.”
The Abbasids had nothing to trade with. The riches they were carrying were meant for the king of Volga Bulgaria. The Vikings also had very little to offer: a couple of slaves, some fur and honey.
Nabia was taller than most, and she stood with unusual confidence. She was unique. The leader of the Viking party thought something unique would make for a proper tribute to his earl, and he asked to buy her for a handful of coins. He did not take kindly to Ibn Fadlan’s refusal but reluctantly added one of their slaves to the offer. A slave for a slave, plus what was already a fair price for a slave. Ibn Fadlan knew that another no would amount to an insult. The Vikings could easily slaughter all of them and leave with whatever they wanted, or simply take Nabia. There was little anyone could do to stop them. It was certainly better to leave with something than with nothing, but Ibn Fadlan reminded himself the Vikings had made a very generous offer, and when he waved Nabia goodbye from the deck of his boat, he did so with pride and a smile.
The Viking ship followed for more than a day. It was not until they split that Nabia fully realized what was happening to her. She sat up front with every man to her back. Each carried an ax or a blade, and the scars on their arms and legs were a stark reminder that the Norsemen had seen battle before. Their ships were fast and agile. The Kibsu were never good swimmers. She could neither fight nor flee and chose to rest as best she could for whatever came next.
They arrived in Novgorod a few days later. She was presented to the earl during a visit from Igor of Kiev, son of Oleg, descendant of the great Rurik and supreme ruler of the Rus’. Igor looked into Nabia’s eyes and saw something he had not seen before. It wasn’t defiance, or the hatred he had seen so many times. She looked at him as her equal. And so, instead of spending her days milking cows serving the earl of Novgorod, Nabia got back on a ship and took the Oka River all the way to Kiev. Igor’s wife had died, and his infant son needed a mother. The Sixty-Five needed a daughter, and while her consent was not necessary, she embarked on that voyage willingly.