“Indeed I do,” Tarek replied. He was a huge man, easily two meters tall and at least 120 kilos, with a fierce-looking black beard and a plumed turban that added another fifteen centimeters to his height. For all his size, he was a superior athlete, quick and nimble, and if his dress uniform was just as impractical as the Léopard’s parade paint scheme, the mag pistol holstered at his hip was not just for show. He helped Ranya down from the grav tank, and climbed up to take her place. At once he and Major Cheney fell into an animated discussion.
Salem el-Fasi approached Ranya and salaamed when he reached her. “Good afternoon, Amira Ranya,” he said. “Did my eyes deceive me, or were you climbing on top of that tank just a moment ago? That hardly seems like the sort of thing that would interest a princess of the royal house.”
“I wished to educate myself on my uncle’s next major purchase, Bey Salem.” She returned his salaam. The bey pretended to disapprove of her involvement in military procurement, but he’d long ago given up any serious hope of shooing her into the sorts of pursuits he thought more fitting for a princess of the royal house. “What brings you to the palace today?”
“Business, my dear,” Bey Salem replied with a wide smile. Ever since her parents had been assassinated by extremists, seven years ago, Bey Salem had insisted that she could look on him as her special protector. He had been one of Sultan Kamal’s political allies and a key figure in the old regime, although Sultan Rashid had installed his own favorites after assuming the throne. Ranya had gradually developed the sense in the years after her father’s death that he hadn’t particularly trusted el-Fasi; as a class, the beys had always been quite wealthy, and contact with foreign powers had benefited Gadira’s nobles more than anyone else on the planet. The beys practically bathed in offworld money these days, and Ranya was sure that some had foreign patrons who might someday want to put a different puppet on the throne. Of course, the fortunes of Salem el-Fasi were closely tied to those of the el-Nasir sultanate.
Bey Salem motioned toward his companion. “This is Mr. Otto Bleindel. He represents Dielkirk Industries, a major manufacturer based in Dremark. We are discussing importing and licensing arrangements for establishing a plant to build Dielkirk power cells here in Gadira. Mr. Bleindel, may I present Amira Ranya Meriem el-Nasir, niece to Sultan Rashid and Crown Princess of Gadira?”
Bleindel refrained from offering his hand, and bowed from the waist instead. Evidently he had been briefed on Gadiran etiquette about introductions to women of high rank. “Amira,” he said in accented Jadeed-Arabi. “I am honored to meet you.”
“Welcome to Gadira, Mr. Bleindel.” She studied the offworlder with interest. Bleindel was a young man, probably not more than thirty standard years or so, with a slim build and refined features. He had the brownish-amber skin tone common among the offworlders from the great powers of human space, with dark blond hair and a pair of spectacles shaded against the bright sun. Seemingly without effort, he projected an aura of confident competence. “Why don’t we walk under the palms as we speak? Our sun can be harsh for those who are not used to it.”
“I am grateful for your consideration, Amira,” Bleindel replied.
“Just one moment more,” Ranya told him. She turned to Ambassador Nguyen. “Thank you for arranging the inspection, Ambassador. Have your military attaché forward the proposed terms for the purchase to my secretary. I will review them and speak with my uncle about how many Léopards we need.”
“Our pleasure,” Nguyen replied. “We will send you all the information by the end of the day.”
“And thank the major for me when Captain Zakur finishes with him.” Ranya glanced up to the grav tank’s turret, where Major Cheney and her guard captain were still discussing armament. “Perhaps we can arrange for a firing demonstration soon. I don’t think Tarek will be satisfied until he sees the cannon blow up something.”
“I’ll have the major set it up. Until next time, Amira.” Nguyen bowed.
Ranya nodded to him, and turned back to Bey Salem and his Dremish friend. She noticed Bleindel studying the grav tank with a thoughtful expression while waiting for her to finish. A soldier? Something in Bleindel’s pose suggested that he had a more than casual interest in the armored vehicle, but she could not see his eyes beneath his dark spectacles.
“Are you a military man, Mr. Bleindel?” she asked as the three of them strolled beneath the palms, trailed discreetly by two of her guards. The shade felt quite pleasant after the baking heat of the dusty parade ground; the noise and bustle of the surrounding city subsided as people settled down for the midday qaylulah, the time for rest or quiet work indoors to escape the heat of the afternoon.
“Ah, no,” Bleindel said. “My education and experience are all in business matters. But as the bey remarked, it struck me as unusual that a Gadiran princess would be knowledgeable in modern military technology.”
“Have you met many Gadiran princesses?” Ranya asked him. Bleindel hesitated, perhaps trying to determine whether he’d offended her. That’s two offworlders skewered in the space of ten minutes, Ranya, she told herself. If you keep that up, no one is going to come to you about anything. She gave the businessman a small smile in an attempt to soften the sting of her words, waving away the question. “Forgive me. I understand that visitors from the Coalition worlds aren’t sure what to expect when they learn that Gadira is a sultanate with a planetwide religious tradition. However, our Quranism is derived from the reformation movements of the twenty-second century, not the hadith teachings that gave rise to the Terran Caliphate. We are a good deal more liberal than you might think.”
“I see,” said Bleindel. “You are correct, of course. I have some familiarity with Caliphate worlds and I assumed Gadira would be similar.”
“You might be surprised by how things work beneath the surface even in the more restrictive Caliphate worlds, Mr. Bleindel.” Ranya had never visited them herself, but her family had ties to aristocratic houses in the Terran Caliphate. Over the years, she’d had some very interesting conversations with visiting relatives. “But, to answer your original question, it’s true that few women of my station are familiar with military affairs. Unfortunately the house of el-Nasir has a distinct shortage of princes, which means that the events of the last few years have compelled me to take an interest in such things.”
“The rise of the caids?” Bleindel stumbled a bit over the Gadiran word.
Ranya nodded. “It’s ‘cah-eeds,’ not ‘ky-yeeds.’ But yes.”
“My apologies, I am still learning, Amira,” Bleindel said with a small smile. “My company’s security consultants provided me with only a basic overview. The desert chieftains do not like your uncle’s dealings with the Montréalais, correct?”
“The Republic of Montréal isn’t really the problem,” said Ranya. “It’s the explosion of interstellar commerce. In the past, Gadira sometimes went decades without a starship visit. But since Montréal reestablished regular contact a couple of generations ago, our people have seen their native industries wiped out by the flood of cheaper, better goods from other worlds. They’ve seen their financial system swallowed up by interstellar banks. They’ve seen the popular culture of the great powers overwhelm their entertainment, drowning their children in what they regard as borderline pornography. Montréal is simply the face of the modern world to Gadira’s more traditional people, and they don’t like what they see.”
Bey Salem snorted. “They want to turn back the clock, and they are frustrated because it can’t be done.”