Celebrity status was the last thing Zeina thought she'd achieve back when she’d subdued those Tusan Lieutenants at Timioune. Who was she kidding? She’d known word would travel the moment she’d unceremoniously yanked the first officer out of his tank. Back then she’d assumed her audience would’ve been amongst new recruits and vets, not every minor from the Sahara to the Sahel.
The ride –or crawl– from the town’s outskirts to The Cloud had been too lethargic to be true. Zeina didn’t have an inch of space to herself until security halted the trailing torrent of fiends at the resort’s entrance.
Majority of The Cloud was several cube-like structures rising in compact rows and columns by the banks of the town’s only natural source of water. The two oases she’d spotted earlier had been artificially engineered.
They were welcomed at the base of the polished stone steps by two of the resort’s staff. Both hostess and chauffeur wore identical blue Kaftans embroidered with white floral patterns along its borders and fringes and golden stitches around their chests and necklines. The chauffeur, a boy Zeina judged to be nothing older than 20 also wore matching blue trousers and a contrived smile. Trust me, I hate my job too.
“The Cloud’s doors are always open to those fighting for freedom.” said the smiling female attendee, she had earth brown skin, slightly slanted eyes and her hair would have been shoulder length if it wasn't neatly packed in a bun.
“Also open to those fighting against it I’ve heard.” Isa said, dismounting his hovercycle. The hostess thankfully ignored that. The last thing she’d wanted to hear was another rehearsed rendition of The Saharan nuances of Neutrality.
“You’ve arrived at the perfect time, the dining cube is just about to open, Hali will handle your hovers, Your rooms have already been prepared.” Her voice was high, calm and trained, same with her speech and enunciations.
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Zeina had been welcomed by hundreds –maybe thousands– of her type on this trip. That's what this was, a holiday, a fucking vacation. She had half a mind to skip dinner, ask for her room code and pass out, God knows she was tired. Her body betrayed her thoughts however. Dining. The mere mention of the word triggered a small earthquake in her lower torso. Solitude would have to wait.
The alleged dinner cube was actually a cuboid. It’s originally porcelain exterior shone in different tones under the influence of both natural and man-made lights.
Rock formations and Palm fronds sat and stood on either side as she ascended the steps, she reached the summit alone because unlike her, Isa and Adame actually enjoyed all the clamoring, they remained at the base taking selfies with a couple of teenage stragglers who’d managed to sneak past security. The first positive from the entire trip came when the fanatical trio darted away to avoid getting tackled. The smallest one skipped, veered and swerved past a guard before mimicking a sweeping motion Zeina had executed at Timioune while the guard literally ate the dust in her wake.
A wide red door automatically parted exposing a reasonably spacious and lush interior. Sets of circular tables and chairs sat atop the soft carpet, arranged with dexterous efficiency. The architecture was hybridized as was the case in most Saharan towns. Some parts, geometrically islamic. Some parts, colorfully Tuareg
The hostess pointed her crew to an empty table, urging them to order anything on the already displaying holomenu.
“Menu?” Isa asked in disbelief. “Send us whatever bread, meat and beer you have, we’re not picky.”
They spent the next seven minutes deciding on what stew to order and another three on meat and beer. The verdict was Goat, Beef, Lamb and smoked Fish.
Less than twenty minutes later and the gang had finished devastating a generous bowl of rich red, creamy stew alongside stacks of fresh flat bread, fruits and lemon cakes. 45 minutes later and the 3 pints of beer stood empty except for the froth sliding down the glass.
The guys wiped their mouths and hands then started for a table seating four young women who were clearly tourists. Probably here on a friend's retreat while braver women fought and perished less than a hundred miles east . Zeina had seen glances exchanged between parties and knew Isa wouldn’t waste an opportunity to achieve the warm legs portion of his three step agenda. She had no doubt the sturdy wood on king sized beds was about to be put to test –all night.