Star Sailor #2: Otto al-Kara of Rangpur Read online

crowds bustling their way between stalls which sold all manner of local produce and wares. Doyels, a type automatically driven vehicle powered by the same anti-grav engines as Najima's raft - hummed a meter above the paved streets, in an effort to keep the skies clear of congested grids of floating traffic. They hummed down city blocks, and idled as pedestrians crossed streets, while these hat wearing citizens chattered gossip like crows through the bazaar, which sat like an island of commerce surrounded by a traffic circle.

  "Busy, busy," Najima said to herself, taking a moment to gather her bearings. Using her Multiscope, she plotted a route through the town, and weaved through the bending streets toward her destination.

  She came to a regal affair. The building was 4 stories tall, but much ritzier than its neighbours, directly on a major thoroughfare near the Civil Protection offices. With a covered courtyard for an entrance, guarded by a black gate that shimmered a beautiful hue of some type of deep-space metal, the building’s main floor was the second floor, allowing the first to accommodate a large riad with lush grass and a tree. Najima felt slightly uncomfortable about entering without a sari, feeling underdressed, looking down at her brown legs which bared dark bruises. After double-checking the directions she had been given, she rang the comlink which sat patiently on the exterior wall, before speaking into the device.

  “Saar Patil. My name is Najima Dezetoiles. I'm here with a delivery from Yala."

  There was a long pause and no answer. Najima was prepared to call again when the gate unlocked and slid open by itself, and Najima entered, climbing the nearby staircase to a decorated door which slid aside for her. The entryway was decorated magnificently, with pristinely polished hardwood floors, a long hall ahead of her, and a sitting room to the right. The halls had glass floors, which looked straight down to the courtyard below. The sound of a twangy sitar and laughter filtered from somewhere deeper in the home.

  She stood aimlessly, almost afraid to disturb the gentle mood of the entryway, before a woman rounded the corner. She was majestic, with impressively long hair that ran over her shoulder and past her chest, and was dressed in an elegant yet conservative sari trimmed with gold. “Hello, Matam.”

  “Hi. I’m Najima Dezetoiles. I was looking for Saar Patil?”

  “Yes Matam Dezetoiles, you are in the right place. I am Saar Patil’s stewardess.” She curtsied. Najima was definitely underdressed, and awkwardly half-bowed, half-curtsied, pulling the ends of her shorts as if it were a dress.

  “I have a package for him, from his family in the Yala system.” The stewardess curtsied again, and asked Najima to follow her, as she led the way down the rich hallway lined with oil paintings and lush flowers on small tables. It reminded Najima of the houses she used to visit before she began sailing through space. .

  “Who is that, dear?” called a woman’s voice from further down the hall. The voice had a thick Imperial accent, all lofty tones, all the emphasis on the vowels.

  “A package for your husband, Matam.”

  “Don’t forget to offer them some mango lassi. We also have some pakoras.”

  The stewardess asked if Najima would like some of the offered food, and Najima agreed to both, hiding the fact that she hadn’t eaten a decently flavoured meal in days. She was led to an ornate room that overlooked the tree in the garden below, windows on one wall, deep brown wood facing the hall, glass under foot. The stewardess excused herself before returning moments later with an orange drink and spicy fritters on a platter.

  Najima did her best not to completely devour the food after the stewardess left to fetch Saar Patil. Fortunately, the biting spices in the pakoras kept her eating slow, although the whole glass of lassi was gone after only a moment, every ounce of mango goodness coating Najima’s taste buds.

  She had been so focused on food that it took her a moment to realize the sitar music had stopped, and was replaced by a bubbly jazz tune played from speakers. The clap of feet on stairs came as Najima looked to the door, where a man with an impressive mustache and wide smile entered. He wore a casual maroon-coloured suit with nice shoes. He was followed close behind by the stewardess, who idled in the doorway. “Hello!” he said with a jovial voice, hand in the pocket of his blazer, which further rounded his portly figure. “I am Mayor Patil.”

  “Hello, saar.” Najima rose instantly, this time avoiding awkwardness with a brief bow at the waist. When she spoke now, she did so with a stronger lilt of an Imperial accent, something she normally tried to put away. “I’m sorry for my attire. I had no idea you were the mayor.”

  “Nonsense, it doesn’t trouble me in the slightest,” he said with that type of laugh that only the more rotund can pull off as gracefully as he did while the stewardess watched quietly from the hall. “And I hear you have something for me.”

  “Yes, from Yala, saar.” Najima reached into the small satchel that fell along her hip; digging past her laser pistol and twin plasma daggers, she pulled out the small, ornate wooden box she had been given, and handed it to the man. After inputting a code, the man opened the small box and began examining the contents. He held the box low enough for Najima to steal a peek at various jewelry and sentimental belongings.

  One item he brought out to look at the light, a beautiful blue stone-necklace that gleamed as it spun on its chain. “Very good. Thank you very much, my dear. My wife and I have not seen my sister-in-law and her family since long before the war. She will be so pleased when she sees this. Hopefully traveling over the border was not an inconvenience.”

  He put the necklace away before closing the box and peering at Najima, who quickly became self-conscious. It was the type of gaze which one gave when they were trying to see whether someone had food stuck in their teeth, and Najima thought he was looking at her clothes. She knew better to come into a house like this without being properly dressed, especially in front of an Imperial mayor. Imperial people of high class were always very focused on aesthetic presentation.

  But instead, the man rubbed his mustache and said, “My stewardess mentioned, but I didn’t catch it: what did you say your name was?”

  “Najima Dezetoiles,” she replied with a nod of the head and a smile.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be the same as the Dezetoiles from Sundarban, would you?”

  Najima’s eyebrows rose. He was right. Nobody had recognized her family name since she left home. “Yes saar, the same. You know my family?”

  The mayor shook his head. “I do not know them personally. But one of your relatives used to own the entire south end of town. Donated the land to the military during the war to to support the Empire’s fight against the Commonwealth. You saw those skyscrapers while entering the city? All built on your family's land. Even this very manor, all thanks to the Dezetoiles.”

  “How fascinating.”

  “Now if you’d excuse my rush, but I am entertaining guests at the moment. Busy hosting Nanda’s new governor, and his family, We’re planning a big parade for them, and I cannot keep them waiting. My stewardess will handle the remainder of our affairs. But I humbly thank you once again. Fair travels.” The mayor left the room, leaving Najima alone with the stewardess.

  The stewardess motioned Najima toward her, “I’ll pay you for your troubles,” she said, waving a Paycard that was no doubt linked to the mayor’s account.

  Najima produced her own from her bag. “He seems nice.”

  “Unfortunately, he has been quite nervous lately. Organizing the parade is only one concern of many” The two placed their Paycards together, whereupon the two small pieces of crystal clicked together. The sound of money passing from one account to another was punctuated by soft, swift bleeps from the cards, until the sound slowed, then stopped.

  Najima disconnected her card from the stewardess’s, and looked at the touch pad: 10,932₱. It wasn’t much, but was more than she expected, and would be enough for new supplies for her next trip off-world. Najima thanked the stewardess. “What is the other problem??”

>   “Unfortunately, Matam Dezetoiles, we seem to have trouble with a terrorist.”

  “A what?” Najima asked, but the stewardess already provided by strolling to the coffee table where a tablet rested. She turned on the screen and made her way to a local news outlet on the Stream. The top story read: Otto al-Kara Strikes Again.

  “The Stream has been saying he’s an anti-Imperial,” the stewardess explained. “He’s been lurking between several towns in the region. Stealing things, interfering with government buildings, and causing a mess.”

  “CP can’t handle them?” Najima asked. CP stood for Civil Protection, the police force of the Empire, characterized by their bulky, white uniforms and ominous masks that distorted their voice. Normally they were very vigilant themselves.

  “al-Kara and his followers are quite well organized. They only seem to attack Civil Protection and Imperial Army compounds. But it has had Saar Patil tense for some time, especially with the governor in town..“

  “Understandable,” Najima sighed. “Thanks for your time.” After a few more exchanged pleasantries, Najima was escorted out the front door and back to the streets beyond the black gate, which shut behind her.

  ∞∞∞

  The market remained busy at midday, even as the sun scorched down on the planet. Everyone's