The Prophet's Ladder Read Online Free PDF

such were the orders of the Ummayid general. “Submit, or die,” were his terms. In this, he was merciful, for in truth he did not want these lands or its wealth for himself; rather, he sought the conversion of its people to Islam. He fought, as he always did, to save these people from themselves.
    Some Byzantine men and their families would not convert and attempted to escape the city under the cover of the evening darkness, heading north to the sea. Others took their own lives rather than abandon their deeply held Christian faith. Many more sought merely to pay lip service to conversion and would practice as Christians in secret, hiding their holy icons and imagery from their conquerors. Assimilation would take time the general reasoned, correctly. And though the Ummayid army would move on, a garrison would be left behind in Cyrene to ensure the true faith was kept: that the salat be undertaken five times a day, that the zakat be given to the poor and needy. Thus it was with all the caliphate’s new lands, for all eternity if Allah willed it.
    ****
    Todd arrived home to his one story ranch house in Palm Bay after he submitted his resignation notice on a Friday. He had been dreading quitting; his career after grad school had begun at NASA and he had both respected and admired his colleagues there. His supervisors had taught him a great deal, about aerospace engineering, robotics, the higher sciences, but also about navigating a bloated bureaucracy that sometimes didn’t give you what you needed to flourish. Oftentimes over the years, as he climbed the agency’s corporate ladder and began managing mission teams of his own, it was this morass of intransigent politicians, lobbyists, petty bureaucrats, and private interest groups that proved the greatest impediment to success. Quitting felt like letting down his friends, his team; Todd didn’t like to disappoint people. Still, it had all been worth it, the years of effort, that sense of accomplishment when you landed a piece of humanity, even if it was just a machine, on an alien world.
    Anne was standing by the kitchen counter scooping some kibble into Thor’s dinner bowl. A bottle of cabernet with a blue and white “Congratulations!” balloon tied to its neck, purchased from the supermarket, stood on the table. The balloon bobbed up and down from the current generated by the ancient air conditioner that hung in the nearby window.
    “Hey beautiful,” Todd nodded at the bottle. “You didn’t have to go through the trouble.”
    “Oh it wasn’t any trouble at all.” Anne was beautiful, more beautiful now in her late thirties than when he’d met her at twenty-seven. She wore a floral print sundress and her hair was dyed dark red, almost cinnamon, from henna; a habit she’d picked up whilst living in Africa. The color complimented her eyes, which were a greenish-grey; their pigment seemed to shift with her mood.
    Todd kissed her on the cheek. “Well it was thoughtful of you, regardless.” He began sorting through the mail that was piled on the counter. Thor, their belligerent beagle of seven years, marched over to his meal and began to scarf it down. “Want me to make dinner?”
    Anne shook her head. “Nope! I made your favorite, spaghetti with meatballs from the co-op.”
    “You cooked?” Todd was shocked. Anne hated cooking. How she survived the Peace Corps when she could barely make toast was still beyond his understanding.
    “The occasion seemed to warrant a special effort. And besides,” she nudged him as she delivered the dish of noodles to the table in the living room. “Spaghetti isn’t rocket science.”
    The joke was anathema to anyone who worked for NASA, but he let it slide this time. They would be moving in less than a week, with most of their possessions going into storage or to Anne’s grandmother’s place in Pennsylvania. Todd sat down to eat dinner at the table with his wife, leaving his tablet and smartphone in the den; there was a