Star Sailor #2: Otto al-Kara of Rangpur, Page 3

shoulder-jabbing pace had dulled slightly in the heat, and everyone dripped of sweat. Najima sat, panting like a dog, under a desert tree that seemed to droop under the same heat. "This is just oppressive. I don't remember this heat from the last time I was here."

  She brushed her black hair out of her face, wiping away the sweat with her dark arms, which would tan even darker by the end of the day. "I guess I should go find a shop that has some supplies then. Why can't we magically float around instead of walking?" Reluctantly, Najima rose and began the exhausting trek back toward the spaceport. Weaving through the sidewalk's pedestrian traffic, she took notice of all the people lining the road, as well as the skyline of tall buildings. She thoughts about how the skyline might have looked without those monoliths, like when she was a child. But she couldn't remember the image - lost to time.

  The citizens of Nanda, however, seemed very much the same as she remembered. Border planet or not, these people were poor. Almost all of them were working class, even before the war, including those who zipped around in Doyels. Nanda was one of the few territories reclaimed by the Dravidian Empire after Commonwealth occupation, and only then after dozens of battles fought above the planet and on the surface of Nanda IV. The constant changing of hands between the Empire and Commonwealth left the people and their regional economy tattered.

  When Najima first came here with her family, they traveled by Doyel through a poor district of the capital on Nanda. She could still remember all the people who crowded the vehicle, desperate for food, piasaz, or anything they could get. She had asked her father why the people couldn't drive in anti-grav cars like her family did, and her father didn't reply.

  The beggars here could be found hunched in the shade of doorways, or haggling cheap goods from corners to passers-by who didn’t care. This was the downside of the economic utopia the Stream always talked about: in the Empire, there were winners and losers.

  One of these losers was a small girl: she had brown hair and olive skin, with a worrisomely thin body. She was busy stacking rocks in the shade of a building Najima was walking past. She looked thin and hungry, and couldn't have been older than Najima's little sister, Zu.

  The girl beamed when she saw Najima, and waved her dusty hands before returning to her architectural marvel. Najima smiled and waved in return, and wondered what would have happened if her family had not been one of the winners. She wondered if Zu would smile like this girl as she starved on the side of the road. Then Najima thought about her anklet, which she could feel along the curve of her foot. She didn't want to think about her anklet.

  KATHUNK!

  The sound shook Najima from her thoughts. It came from an alleyway she had passed, followed by hushed voices and whispered yells. "We are trying to be quiet!" and "Way to go!"

  Whoever was there, they were certainly not staying unheard. Najima walked into the shade of the alleys and approached what appeared to be three people trying to climb a wall to a high window above a door.

  "Let me try!" said a young man, who darted straight to the wall. He scrambled his feet at the vertical building in an awkward jump, and rose nearly 2 meters before toppling backwards onto his rear. A slim, young girl about Najima's age and a second boy, who was a bit chubby, grumbled at their misfortune.

  "What are you all doing?" Najima asked, which took all three by surprise. As soon as the young man, still on the ground, saw Najima he reached to a holster on his leg, which held a ballistic pistol, loaded with bullets. Najima saw his movement straight away, and before he could finish raising his weapon, she spun, and kicked the gun straight from his hand; by the end of her spin, she had already produced her own pistol, and aimed at his head.

  "Now that wasn't very nice." Najima said, gun unmoving.

  "Don't shoot us!" the chubby guy pleaded. The young man who was disarmed sneered in return, and the girl was shaking with fear. They seemed harmless, besides the angry one, and seeing no other weapons, Najima returned her pistol to its holster on her hip, making a quick motion to grab her daggers from her satchel and place them discreetly in her pocket, in case they were needed.

  "Why are you jumping at a wall and pointing guns at people?" Najima asked.

  "You pointed a gun at us!" yelled the angry one.

  "You did first!"

  "And I would've shot you right here too if you tried to stop us!"

  "Brat, can we not do this! I thought you said be quiet," the chubby one begged, trying desperately to moderate Najima and the guy, apparently named Brat.

  Najima wagged her finger at the angry Brat. "You're useless. You two," she said, turning her attention to the others, "What are you doing? What's this all about?"

  "Priya, don't," the girl said.

  "Do you have a better idea?" he replied, and she shrugged. “What’s your name?”

  “Najima Dezetoiles.”

  "Well, I'm Priya," he said, then pointing to the others. "That's Bratindra - we call him Brat - and this is Brishti, but she prefers Bri. We were trying to get into that window. This door doesn't have a keypad, so the only way in is up."

  "What's inside?" Najima asked.

  "Food," the girl said quickly, although a bit meekly. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and continued, "I mean, I'm sure you've seen the people here, walking around. It's rough to look at everyone sometimes."

  "So do you three make a habit of stealing food from people for the poor?"

  "Actually, in a way, yes..." Priya said, although he was again chastised by Brat, who rose to his feet and went to fetch his gun.

  "Go ahead and tell the stranger everything about us," Brat hollered. "In two minutes we'll be in electromag cuffs."

  "But look at her," Priya said with a point. "She doesn't seem like Civil Protection. And that kick! Maybe she could help us."

  "He's got a point, dear," Bri chimed in.

  Najima couldn't help but laugh while Brat grumpily returned to his efforts of trying to scale the wall, to no avail. "Why would I want to help out some thieves?"

  "We don't want to just steal stuff. We are kind of, well, against the government..." Priya said, his voice turning into an odd mumble, as if he were telling a secret he wasn't entirely sure he should be telling.

  Bri sighed again, searching for confidence. "What he means to say is: we work as a team against the Empire. We don't think the Empire treats their people with respect. So we do things to let them know people are frustrated with their treatment. I mean, whether you're Vengali or Dravidian, I'm sure you've had a bad experience with the Empire."

  Najima's mind flashed to her anklet. She didn’t want to think about that. "I guess I might have."

  "And this isn't just any building," Priya said, pointing to the door. Najima hadn't noticed, but the door had an Imperial seal on it: the bright red, seven-pointed star bursting at the ends from a closed circle, with the bolded letters CP on either side. "It's Civil Protection's supply warehouse. A whole building filled with supplies, tools, extra uniforms, and most importantly, instant meals. Preserved curries, mac & cheese, fruit salads, heaps of naan. Even desserts!

  “CP regulations say they have to have an overstock of food at all time in case of emergency, all while people who actually need a meal starve. Inside there is everything that could keep a family fed for days as long as they have a stove or microwave, or even a campfire."

  "We're not just punks," Bri said defensively. "We chose this place. Doing this is a headache to the government, and if we can help people on the street not go hungry for a couple nights while annoying the Empire, it's worth it. At least to me, or... us. I mean, if you could do something to help make someone's life better, wouldn't you? Even if it was maybe a little fuzzy with the law?”

  It was true, as Najima was not known for respecting every little law. But more importantly, Najima thought now of the girl she had seen only moments ago, building her rock-skyscraper. Her perfect smile that was just like Zu's. That little girl was starving, just like Najima's sister would starve.
/>   "Yes, I would help."

  "So... you want to help us?" Bri replied hopefully.

  "I hate to break it to you," Brat grumbled as he slid off the wall from another failed scaling attempt, "but all this gossiping isn't getting us indoors. And if we loiter around this back door too long, someone's going to call CP."

  "Well, what's the plan?" Najima asked.

  Priya mumbled a reply, "Well, normally, I could just hack the keypad to the door, but..."

  "But he can't," Brat griped, "because there is no sodding keypad. But if we can get up there, to that window, we can crawl down and unlock the door. I don't even bloody care anymore if you want to help or not. But if you do, stay out of the way and let me get up this freakin' wall." Brat growled and charged at the wall. This was his worst attempt yet, as his scaling completely failed, leading him face first into the wall. Bri couldn't help but giggle, which made Najima and Priya spout a laugh as well.

  "Yeah, laugh it up, you three. I don't see you being useful Najima Dezetoiles. Any bright ideas, eh?"

  "Yeah, I’ve got one, tough guy. Bend over."

  "Excuse me?" he muttered in disbelief. Najima merely repeated herself to the confused Brat before grabbing him by the neck and pushing him to the ground. She told him to stay hunched over as he obeyed while cursing at her. She took a slow blink, and a deep breath as she backed up to the parallel wall of the alley.

  As she exhaled, Najima raced straight