Silver Sahara

Chapter 1: New Marrakesh

Cold air funnels through a lonely window, built within a homestead far from city lights. The distant brown woodland breeze shakes the thin synthetic curtains. Pricks of frigid wind brush across sun-kissed human skin. Tired, frightened breaths temper the breeze, causing a white mist before a young man's dry lips. He attempts to calm himself, despite his restless mind replaying his name uttered from foreign lips, "Jay Harlow." Roused awake by recurring memories patched into exaggerated tales of horror.

He steps out from the low-bearing bed, various boxes and locked containers beneath it. Rubbing his face, he wearily steps to the open window. With heavy breaths, he fights his quivering body as another gust crashes like a wave upon his bare chest. A corporate commercial is heard for a moment; carried down by the wind, it dissipates like exhaust vapor. The young man winces before adjusting to the fluorescent lights peering over the midnight horizon; it was the city of New Marrakesh to the north. He has to travel there today collecting debts and finishing contracts. The stirring of his restless mind has him venture soon for the nightless city. Nevertheless, no matter what time he was to go, his unspoken plan was always "once I wake up." He eases himself within the sunless void. He wonders how many creatures scavenged amongst the sparsely lit realm beneath the moon's eye.

Sunlight begins to shine from the edge of his vision. Dry grasslands and thirsty trees slowly create silhouettes amongst the dwindling darkness. A slow-moving creature catches the young man's eye. As the world grows brighter, the beautiful tan summer coat of a coyote can be seen lurking just beyond the bounds of the homestead. He recognizes it—the thick, nearly black line running down from the nape of its neck to the tip of its tail. The creature was here several nights ago, lurking just as it does now. With curious eyes, he fixates upon the creature, presumably hunting the livestock several times larger than itself.

"So eager and ambitious for something so small." He says softly. His voice causes the beast's ears to twitch. A ray of light fires into his eyes suddenly. He blocks the sun's luminescence and rests his gaze once again upon the coyote. The lean creature stares back with intuitive eyes. Its pupils pierce the dry morning air, a fluttering nervous sensation fills his gut as the two hold eye contact. They stared at one another for an indescribable amount of time. Smelling the incoming morning rain carried along the breeze, the young man readies himself for the day. Retrieving his holstered revolver as he looks out the window one last time. As if it were a mere dawn-struck hallucination, the aspiring coyote was nowhere to be seen. Placing a brown drifter hat upon his head, the young man leaves to start his journey.

Jay Harlow steps upon the hot concrete of New Marrakesh's city plaza. As he walks, an old hologram welcomes travelers. "Though not an old city by any means, New Marrakesh holds an archaic post-modern look. The seemingly ancient design is a testament to the founder, Eugene Argos, the fifth CEO of Phaethon Energy. The architecture calls back to a better time, new horizons, yet great challenges still ahead. New Marrakesh was the first step into the New Sahara. This city holds the first WCS (Weather Control System) placed by Phaethon Energy in 2781." The old tourist greeter repeats itself after a short delay. To the citizens of New Marrakesh, the hologram is nothing more than white noise within the busy metropolis. A nearly forgotten attraction within the city square. Grandiose towers, bright flashing lights, elaborate advertisements for the next "Data Binger" episode, or a tablet able to change someone's organic eye color. The tourist greeter has little to no attention. With holographics just a few years old, it can't rival the holograms and luminous corporate logos that soared overhead the city center.

Farther within the city were low-bearing buildings that only climbed higher on the march to New Marrakech's industrial district. Rising above the superficial motels, blood-stained dive bars, amoral tourist traps, and litter drowned alleyways were pillaring holograms bellowing vibrant products. The claustrophobic streets and commercial centers echoed the symphony of travelers. Every word spoken and each sound made compiled into one singular noise that vibrated the thick bullet-proof windows of every building. Trailing through the squarish roads and nonuniform architecture roughly resembling brick and adobe structures of the 21st century, the residual scream of the city crashes and recedes like a warm Mediterranean wave. Yet there is never a moment of complete silence.