Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)JanÅgeSolstad
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Oct 20, 2012
- Location
- NYC
Things had changed after the bomb dropped. Before then, Islam had had a center, a set point where all of its adherents could unite as equals in the eyes of their lord.
That was before 2020. On the first day of that year, everything had changed. Mecca, once the center of one of the world's largest religions, had vanished into a crater of glass and ash.
Hajj had been cancelled, and then rapidly reinstated in the Kingdom's attempts to prevent its religion from being subverted. But it was too late. New Meccas had popped up--in Indonesia, Pakistan, Syria, even one in Chechnya. Whereas Islam had once had two major branches, now there were dozens, and what had once been a united religion was now as fragmented as the Kingdom itself.
Each city was now a city state. Jedda was the biggest, but Riyadh, Riyadh was where things happened.
The highest level of the city's skyscrapers were serviced by all of the latest in technology, flying cars, robotic guards with jetpacks, good delivered by drones and more. These were where the elites lived; the descendants of royalty, businessmen, and the other very wealthy sectors of society.
The bottom was, fittingly, where the lowest in society lived. Here, where one could almost find the roots of the skyscrapers, everything had a price. Drugs, alcohol, weapons, even human beings were bought and sold, and offenses were responded to with force. One didn't get far there without a weapon, whether by using one or displaying it where everyone could see it.
And the middle sections of the skyscrapers... that was where he lived. Faisal Al Assad, son of a successful surgeon and the heir to the family fortune. He was barely aged twenty five, but a lifetime spent alternatively at school, at the gym, or plugged into the newest VR games hadn't equipped him with the skills to find a life partner of his own.
And that was where Islam had re-entered his life.
As it turned out, people still followed it. Good people like him, who didn't drink or gamble or have other vices. People from his social class, who might be interested in marrying him. Of course, it had taken some time for him to flip through the books filled with profiles of women listed like they were resumes, but in the end, his choice had been simple. Sameera was the prettiest of them all by far, and she was from a good family. She'd be a good wife for him.
Fais had dressed for the occasion. A western suit, polished shoes, he'd cut and styled his hair and now he stood in the highest grandroom his family could afford, a beautiful decorated place that offered a view of the ground below and the passing skycars and drones overhead. His family was seated already, and they, like him, were waiting for her.
The ceremony would be quick. A few words here and there and then they'd go back to Fais's flat, to... he adjusted his collar and looked to the door again.
Well. He'd cross that bridge when he got there.
That was before 2020. On the first day of that year, everything had changed. Mecca, once the center of one of the world's largest religions, had vanished into a crater of glass and ash.
Hajj had been cancelled, and then rapidly reinstated in the Kingdom's attempts to prevent its religion from being subverted. But it was too late. New Meccas had popped up--in Indonesia, Pakistan, Syria, even one in Chechnya. Whereas Islam had once had two major branches, now there were dozens, and what had once been a united religion was now as fragmented as the Kingdom itself.
Each city was now a city state. Jedda was the biggest, but Riyadh, Riyadh was where things happened.
The highest level of the city's skyscrapers were serviced by all of the latest in technology, flying cars, robotic guards with jetpacks, good delivered by drones and more. These were where the elites lived; the descendants of royalty, businessmen, and the other very wealthy sectors of society.
The bottom was, fittingly, where the lowest in society lived. Here, where one could almost find the roots of the skyscrapers, everything had a price. Drugs, alcohol, weapons, even human beings were bought and sold, and offenses were responded to with force. One didn't get far there without a weapon, whether by using one or displaying it where everyone could see it.
And the middle sections of the skyscrapers... that was where he lived. Faisal Al Assad, son of a successful surgeon and the heir to the family fortune. He was barely aged twenty five, but a lifetime spent alternatively at school, at the gym, or plugged into the newest VR games hadn't equipped him with the skills to find a life partner of his own.
And that was where Islam had re-entered his life.
As it turned out, people still followed it. Good people like him, who didn't drink or gamble or have other vices. People from his social class, who might be interested in marrying him. Of course, it had taken some time for him to flip through the books filled with profiles of women listed like they were resumes, but in the end, his choice had been simple. Sameera was the prettiest of them all by far, and she was from a good family. She'd be a good wife for him.
Fais had dressed for the occasion. A western suit, polished shoes, he'd cut and styled his hair and now he stood in the highest grandroom his family could afford, a beautiful decorated place that offered a view of the ground below and the passing skycars and drones overhead. His family was seated already, and they, like him, were waiting for her.
The ceremony would be quick. A few words here and there and then they'd go back to Fais's flat, to... he adjusted his collar and looked to the door again.
Well. He'd cross that bridge when he got there.