The following dawn, Kaffee woke up all fresh and crisp. The sound of the wind knocking upon his window brought a sense of calm to his chest, especially after the last few months of interstellar flight, an overdose of space vacuum. He looked towards the window, waiting for the shadow to clear and reveal the sky beyond. Today, rays of sunlight lit up scattered silver clouds, casting shadows of all shapes and patterns upon the landscape underneath. For the first time in a long while, he looked forward to a dull, uneventful day. He grabbed a jacket and headed down the stairs, where Spire was pacing in a frenzy.
“… not that, you stupid bird, the food supplies … there is no TIME.” Spire turned, ramming into Kaffee, who fell back with the droid on top of him. “INTRUDER, INTRUDER,” it wailed like a siren, punching him repeatedly with its large metal fists.
“Aaagh … get uff me … it’s me,” Kaffee panted.
The droid stood up, unembarrassed. “You really must be careful, Master Kaffee.”
Winded and staring at the droid in disbelief, Kaffee sat down on the last steps of the staircase. Pain radiated from his ribs, but what would be the point of inspecting the bruising?
The droid turned back to Nightjar. “What are you looking at? On with it!”—The bird resumed its duties, taking off with a bag of food and depositing it on a pile of supplies on the kitchen counter—“And when you’re finished with that, get that toolbox, and we’ll do another round to the hangar.”
Spire nodded as the bot complied, then turned to Kaffee. “Master Kaffee, Nightjar and I are ready. Your essential belongings are being restored to the ship, which will be ready for departure imminently.”
Kaffee sat baffled, his stupor not helped by Nightjar whizzing overhead as it continued retrieving supplies.
“What trip? We just got here,” Kaffee said incredulously.
“Oh dear, you forgetful man. Master Rafay said so when he was down on the terrace last night. He told me you planned to travel in the morning and that I should prepare your ship.”
His head in his hands, he spent the next few moments hounded by Spire’s questions as it sought to convince him he had forgotten about some urgent travels. At one point, Kaffee gave up, got up and crossed over to the living space and flopped onto a row of cushions near the terrace. “Restore my things.”
But the droid seized on this directive, prolonging the dispute. “Yes, I did that. Restored them to your ship.”
Kaffee jerked back onto his feet, roaring, “I mean … restore to the house, what was restored to the ship.”
To counteract his carelessness, he had programmed the droid to help prevent him from forgetting things. However, this was one of those moments where it seemed to be outwitting him, finding ways to reassert itself. Despite Kaffee’s assurances, Spire still seemed convinced that its master had forgotten some urgent plans and that Master Rafay needed to be awoken to settle this matter.
For a moment, Kaffee pressed his knuckles hard on his head, doubting himself: perhaps there was something he’d forgotten. Should he wake Rafay?
“How about if something does come up, you take care of that business?” Kaffee said.
This riddle seemed to strain Spire’s convictions, no doubt forcing it to reason with itself to figure out where such an autonomous assignment might take it. As always, Kaffee took great joy in Spire’s confusion – proof of which of them was really in charge.
Nightjar landed on the kitchen benchtop next to him and chirped.
Kaffee slapped his own forehead, “Nightjar, are you kidding me? Did Rafay actually say that to you? You’re saying he doesn’t want me to go anywhere. Spire says we’re going somewhere – I think my brain will explode. I bet he’s just trying to get back at me for waking him up last night.”
The bot squealed in objection.
“Never mind, I’ll talk to him when he wakes up.” Kaffee turned away, “Tell you what else I’m gonna do – I’ll never go near his room while he’s asleep.”
With Spire and Nightjar gone to retrieve his possessions, Kaffee bent to take a seat. The entrance door rang.
“Heavens,” Kaffee exclaimed, reversing course and heading to the door.
Three people waited in plain cloaks, but their stony faces and high-held heads gave them away – these were rangers from the Arckyle Order. Two of them were human, and on the right … was that a Haslen-kind? Kaffee had never met one, only heard about a Haslen’s gender not being easily discernible to individuals from other creeds and races. Kaffee stood cluelessly gaping at the Haslen until the ranger in the middle broke the silence.
“Doryn Fell,” he said with an air of superiority as if the only acceptable response was for Kaffee to drop onto his knees and kiss the ranger’s feet.
“Who’s fell?” Kaffee asked.
“Me.”
“Huh … which one?”
“What?” the man replied, taken aback, looking to his companions for assistance.
“Which door fell?” Kaffee continued. “… and fell from where?”
“My name is Doryn Fell, you lunatic. We’re here for Captain Shadijin.”
Unfazed, Kaffee pressed Snick – the blue light on the wall console – and casually said, “Cap … Rafay! There’s a Fell Yu Lunatic here for you.”
Suddenly, Doryn lunged forward like a wild beast in assault mode. He got close, but his companions got a hold of him.
“Brasker-uff ... wautreel—” Rafay’s voice interrupted.
Still struggling to hold Doryn back, the rangers and an artificially indifferent Kaffee paused in their individual struggles and turned to the gismo to listen to Rafay’s groans.
“—Goska.” Rafay finished.
Kaffee turned back to the trio. It’s certainly not easy to stay calm and casual when a lunatic’s hand, mimicking the claw of a wild animal, is within grasp.
“Hmm, do any of you speak gibberish?” Kaffee asked.
The Haslen looked at Doryn, and Doryn turned to the other guy. Then both looked at the Haslen.
At last, the Haslen growled in Doryn’s ear, and the three stepped back and straightened themselves.
“Marsh-all Shaad-jin is summoned to the Old Junk Yaa-rd tomorrow, an hour aa-after midnight, for aa-n urgent commission,” the Haslan said with a coarse voice.
“What for, another peace patrol?” Kaffee said.
Doryn stepped forward, breathing loudly. “We can wait for him.”
“Wait as long as you like.” Kaffee swung around, pressing the console.
The door slid shut, and he paused, his back resting against its cold surface.
“Does he expect us to wait here?” one of them said from the other side.
“Maa-be he’s coming baack?” the Haslen replied.
“You could’ve asked him to let us enter, you imbecile.”
“He should’ve invited us in,” Doryn said, his voice wavering. “Err … let’s just go.”
Kaffee took a deep breath as he heard them leave. He’d been sweating at the thought of the door malfunctioning and him ending up in their midst – sure would’ve been awkward.
He turned to the wall panel and retrieved a thin piece of steel. Snick, the white dot bouncing around it, turned blue. Kaffee placed it below his elbow. The metal plate curved and fixed itself there.
He crossed the living space and went out onto the terrace. There weren’t many people about on the lawns.
Pop.
Thud.
He turned and found Nightjar standing atop a bag of clothes on the kitchen bench. It peered at him in silence.
“How did you get back?” Kaffee muttered.
The bot pointed at a flap in the kitchen wall.
“Oh right, the airlift. Wanna come to the lawns?”
The bot hesitated.
“Spire can deal with the mess its created. Come!”
The bot flapped its wings cheerfully and leapt into the air, shooting out the door. Kaffee headed down the short, open staircase to the gardens.
It was a beautiful bright day, though a chilly wind prevailed. Still, the warm sunlight softened Kaffee’s skin with all the nutrients it could offer. The wind and sunlight balanced each other out to perfection. The weather could’ve been spoiled had the sun been slightly warmer or the air any cooler, though he wouldn’t have cared if it swung either way, especially after having been confined to his starship these last several months. He had spent too much time trading in the darker alleyways of the galaxy and being chased by pirates and marauders.
Capable of enjoying itself, Nightjar flittered around the gardens, flying close to Kaffee, turning when he turned, then whizzing off in circles, only to return.
I should come back more often, Kaffee thought. But he’d always struggled with acting on this sentiment. Despite his reclusive tendencies, he disliked being alone at home. Besides, the galaxy still fascinated him, and the life of a wanderer suited him – a solitary lifestyle where there was a chance of meeting alien beings alongside a guarantee of parting whenever he felt he, or they, had outstayed a welcome. This dynamic helped sustain his solitary ways, as pure solitude was a path to madness. Every now and then, during their breaks, Rafay or his friend Iras would join Kaffee on his travels. Otherwise, he always had his droids with him.
For a moment, Kaffee halted, lifted his face to the sun, took a few deep breaths, and then wandered near the edge of the lawns. Below, similar gardens were staggered every fifty levels down the height of the building, the distant ones only just visible through thin blankets of fog. He stood there for a while, looking out at the metropolis, sunlight cutting through the fog-ridden edifices of the shorter buildings surrounding Laggar Heights while others remained hidden behind a grey veil.
“My delivery,” he exclaimed, catching Nightjar’s attention. “Maybe that’s what Spire was referring to.”
The bot squawked back.
“Oh, so you disagree?” Kaffee said. “What would you know? … Err, wait, you’re right. It’s nothing to do with readying the ship.”
He thought back to his most recent venture on a faraway planet, where he’d found himself in the middle of a row between two warring tribes. Both were trying to lay claim to a mass of resources – a special kind of seaweed called girsh, valued for its healing properties and brewing into a luxurious ruby-pink tea – in a part of the sea that both tribes claimed to own.
A middleman by trade, Kaffee had just finished loading the seaweed on his starship after acquiring the girsh from one of the tribes when the other tribe literally caught wind of the transaction. Through their innate ability to decode distant sound waves by sensing wind disturbances, they had arrived to claim their right to the earnings. As both tribes argued, threatening violence and terror on the other, Kaffee took off with the commodity without notice or payment to the seller. What else was he supposed to do when such disputes between tribes could last for years, and the weed, while pricey, was prone to swiftly rotting while oozing a terrible girshy smell?
He’d spent the next few days trying to dispose of the loot for a hefty price. As it turned out, goods and resources tend to be incredibly profitable when the labour that extracted them was not adequately compensated.
Kaffee then heard that his sudden departure had brought the two tribes together, and they had vowed vengeance on him and his “sneaky” droids. He passed the next few months trying to approach the offended tribes, dodging the assassins they sent. Ultimately, he was a man of honour, so being killed with a debt hanging over his head seemed somewhat inconvenient.
When he eventually managed to turn up to pay his dues, the tribes had joined forces and double-crossed him by holding the droids hostage until he turned over all the earnings, including his commission – a strange way of showing their gratitude. However, they promised to pay him at a reduced rate later on.
But Spire had a different assessment. “I think they were rather thankful; they seemed to appreciate how you ended up uniting them. They agreed that you had taught them a valuable lesson.”
“They’re teaching me a valuable lesson by not paying me! This is a huge loss,” Kaffee said.
“Don’t be so silly, Master Kaffee. They promised to compensate us in girsh from a future batch. It’s always valuable. And we could easily have been victims of their innovative forms of torture.”
What do you mean “we”, you stupid piece of metal? He’d thought at the time, though he didn’t say it since Spire had a point. He could count on Spire this way – to be reasonable when Kaffee’s anger subsumed him. And the tribes had recently made good on their promise, so Kaffee had arranged for it to be delivered to him by freighter, scheduled to pass Adessan space anytime now.
He looked up to Nightjar. “Summon Spire and tell it to enquire about the freighter’s status. It should’ve passed us by now.”
As Nightjar flew away, Kaffee pressed the gizmo strapped on his arm. The dull green dot brightened. He’d better check with the Central Systems of the Apothecary Guilds (CSAG). “Snick, make inquiries with the CSAG about a shipment of girsh becoming available soon. Amount will likely be four to six canisters … Likely to be fair to moderate quality, nothing better.” After all, he didn’t expect the tribes to change their sordid ways. He was lucky to be paid since such transactions could often end in larceny or with one of the parties dead.
Kaffee crossed back over the lawns up to the terrace. When he reached the house, he froze at the first whiff of the stench.
Spire was descending the last steps to the living space, Nightjar flying disappointedly behind it. “Master Kaffee, you will be delighted to hear that the shipment has arrived, and I have had the canisters of girsh placed in a vacant room next to yours. I handled this all on my own as you commanded.”
“Delighted?” Kaffee mumbled to himself. “Should’ve seen that coming.”
The foul, burning smell made his head spin. If the scent was oozing from the canisters, it was clearly rotting already. They must’ve sent their most inferior batch, Kaffee concluded.
It was pointless squabbling with the droid, though; the more the girsh rotted, the less valuable it became. He would be lucky if anyone bought this turdy weed. He sprang into action, instructing Spire and Nightjar to place the canisters down in the hangars near his ship for the time being while he thought of a responsible way to dispose of the shipment before Rafay woke up and, more importantly, before the smell became permanent. What a blunder. He would never hear the end of it from Rafay.
*****
Rafay woke in the afternoon after an uneasy sleep that had seemed frequented with interruptions – had he been told to “shut up” by someone and scolded to “go back to sleep”? And what was that stench? He tried to sit up but fell back, his body aching. He soon remembered why – Que’s aerogram was still on his bedside table, and memory of its contents came swooping back.
He summoned Spire, who relayed Doryn’s message while tidying the room. “Your external communications are piling up, Master Rafay. For one, your friends are clamouring to see you. They would like to visit you to discuss certain ‘rumours’. They have all been summoned to some ‘junkyard’.”
“The Old Junkyard – that’s what we call headquarters.”
“What an awkward designation,” Spire said as it started folding Rafay’s clothes and inserting them into neat packets made of a feathery-translucent fabric.
Rafay’s thoughts turned to the rumours his friends were referring to. Maybe they were tied to the “straight passage” part of the aerogram. Surely, reaching his objective couldn’t be that straightforward? After all, he had already explored any connections his brother had in territories under the jurisdiction of the Arckyle Order.
“Ask my friends to come over this evening. When’s the Spring Equinox?”
“It was last night, sir. I’m afraid you missed the celebrations.”
“Really, I don’t recall seeing anyone on the lawns?” Rafay said. “Never mind, we’ll sit on the lawns then. It won’t be too crowded if the festivities are over.”
“As you wish, however, there is more pressing news. Your father has tried to get in touch with you several times. He is concerned for your well-being. He was under the impression that you were going to quit the Order. He wants you to contact him urgently.”
“I don’t feel like it now. I’ll contact him later.”
“I suggest you do so at the earliest. He seems to be getting increasingly unpleasant. Doesn’t seem to like the word ‘no’.”
“Anything else?” Rafay asked impatiently.
“Yes, Master Kaffee is in a terrible mood. He withstood a tirade from your father …”
Rafay sighed; luckily, Father was in hologram form, or it would’ve turned into a physical brawl. Then again, his father and Kaffee were constantly at each other’s throats.
“Your father intends on paying you a visit tonight, so I would sincerely suggest keeping Master Kaffee as far away as possible.”
Rafay wondered why his father had reacted so vehemently. After all, Wilbur had always wanted Rafay to stay in the Order and follow in his footsteps. The only explanation he could come up with was that the expedition might entail the greatest danger, and Wilbur wouldn’t be able to use his connections to keep his son safe. It made sense. Wilbur had always been an overprotective father.
Rafay asked Spire to fetch Kaffee. At first, he was surprised Kaffee was still around to tell the tale of his encounters with crooked tribes and assassins.
“You’re an idiot for thinking they’d pay you,” Rafay said.
“Well, to be fair, they did pay me in girsh.”
“Rotten girsh,” Rafay corrected him. “I’m guessing that’s what the stench is. What did you do with it?
Kaffee shook his head. “Spent all morning trying to get rid of it. At first, I had the droids place it down in the hangars. But the building’s central systems hounded me to remove it. People weren’t too happy about the smell. When the apothecary guilds refused to take it, I turned to the underground markets. They took only two of the canisters for a quarter of the price. So, on my way back, I dumped the rest of it in a dumpster.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t kill you to get their hands on the droids and the ship.”
“Lucky you weren’t there to advise them,” Kaffee smirked. “They would’ve regretted it, though. The droids would have driven them to insanity. So what’s this thing you wanted to talk to me about?”
Rafay nodded. “I had intended on permanently parting with the Arckyle Order, but Doryn’s visit means I might have to stay a bit longer. Can you accompany me during this last task for the Order?”
Kaffee scratched his head, opened his mouth, and then closed it.
Rafay watched Kaffee closely. Things had not gone well in Aarsythe when Kaffee had joined him for a commission under the auspices of the Order. The trial that followed had seen Kaffee expelled and defamed. But Que would get him back in, and with Rafay’s ascension into the captain’s class, he was entitled to his choice of crew.
Finally, Kaffee relented. “What kind of task?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. But I believe it will bring me closer to performing my own errand. Why don’t you accompany me to headquarters so we can both find out what they want?”
“Wasn’t I banned from ever returning?”
“Well, getting you into my inner circle is impossible since you’re not a ranger. But I have a way to get you added as an adjunct. Regarding my errand—”
“It’s all good then. As long as they don’t throw me out of headquarters as soon as they see me.” Kaffee shrugged and got up, to Rafay’s surprise. “I’m starvin’. Wanna eat?”
Rafay stared blankly. He’d been preparing to disclose his pursuit of Wasay, but now he didn’t want to, “—I was saying, umm … forget it. No thanks, you go on. I’ll be down in a while.”
Rafay turned towards the window and the lawns beyond. The garden bloomed green with aspiration. With a blink, he again pictured Hashif’s pale face, taking his final breaths, red dots of blood scattered upon the snow around. Nowadays, when he closed his eyes, he often saw Hashif, especially his silver beard stained with blood, as senseless a sight as pure lustrous milk being poured on mud.
Rafay bowed his head. He would need to disclose his secret to Kaffee sooner rather than later. Keeping Kaffee in the dark would be unfair.
He looked back out. A cloud now cast a shadow over the gardens. Rafay pressed his lips. Does Que know where Wasay is hiding?
“Master Shadijin, you have a new message from Mistress Ellena,” Dribble said from his bedside table.
Rafay took the contraption in his hands, “Show me.”
“It is only a voice one, Sir.”
Rafay’s spirits dampened.
“Rafay, I’m coming with you wherever you’re going,” her hologram said. “I’ve asked ‘him’, you know. I’ll get reinstated.”
By “him”, she meant her uncle. Ellena had never been comfortable saying “Que” in case it aroused unnecessary suspicion. Rafay could picture her all nervous and fidgeting with a strand of her black hair, fearing the wrong ears would intercept her message.
On the prospect of her accompanying him, Rafay’s heart lifted in excitement. It was selfish, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind. He hadn’t seen her since the night they exchanged vows six gruelling months ago. While he attempted to reunite with her after Hashif’s passing, but the Order prevented it.
So he only asked her to relay a message to Que:
Kaffee must accompany us.
His anxiety briefly dissipated when his friends arrived, his anguish melting away with the merriment that accompanied them. But still, he carried a burden in his heart – the question of Ellena’s safety.
*****
As evening spread, sunlight slowly fading away, Rafay strutted around the lawn wearing a plain white shirt and grey pants, a muffler around his neck in a haphazard knot. As expected, his attire invited a few dirty looks and tattling whispers from his neighbours, who wore fine city cloaks.
It was odd being back in Adessa among people who lived in horror of wearing a colour that did not harmonise with the evening light. The abundance of choice significantly complicated this, as most people had extensive wardrobes with a rich selection of cloaks and gowns for each shade of dusk. The darkening sky had a mustard hue at the moment, an ode to the planet’s rings known as the ‘rings of fire’. It seemed more like a banked cinder track encircling the planet, gleaming golden in all its glory. Hence, his neighbours wore a selection of uptight cloaks, from ruby mustard to mauvy green.
Equally important was striking the right style and showing the right amount of skin. Social gatherings were a spectacle, requiring an artistic sense of style. Even the risk of hypothermia on colder nights was superseded by the need to soothe one’s ego by attracting the gazes of onlookers. Meanwhile, on the other end of Kasmania, in Hutsies neighbourhood, people made their version of ‘sacrifice’ by struggling to put food in their children’s stomachs at least once daily.
“Raf, we’re here!”
Rafay turned around to find Taha, Neira and her younger brother Razearious settling on a couple of emerald-green cushions around a bonfire. They wore grey hooded cloaks, and the fabric had lost much of its glow.
Taha and Neira were in a relationship, though theirs was classed as an ‘informal-temporary’ union, so not as frowned upon as far as the Order was concerned since it wasn’t permanent. The only downside was that they were barred from advancing into senior ranks. On the other hand, adultery within the ranger class remained rife and unpunished; the Order simply looked the other way. The funny thing was that it had somehow become the most socially acceptable way of having a relationship, which people did not bother to hide.
Neira’s brother, Razearious, always tagged along with them like some sidekick. He pat Rafay on the back, “Thank heaven you’re staying in the Order. None of us could’ve lasted a day without you, least of all Iras.”
Rafay laughed, “That cousin of yours is trouble. Where is he?”
“Should be along. Probably writing a poem to that new love of his, Hara.” Razearious chuckled.
A frown appeared on Taha’s forehead, but he stayed quiet as the group observed a moment’s silence for the last ray of sunlight to reach their region of the planet. The sky darkened overhead, and only a soft reddish tint remained.
“Rafay, can I have a quick word?” Taha said.
Rafay got to his feet and accompanied Taha away.
“Are the twins coming?” Rafay said, referring to Tassie and Bree.
“I don’t think so,” Taha said.
“So, what’s up?” Rafay said as a soft breeze hugged his face.
Taha hesitated, “Well, it’s regarding Ellena.”—All of a sudden, the wind on Rafay’s face seemed ice cold—“… As you’d probably know, she was a member of Amos Enavlein’s inner circle. He doesn’t seem to be taking your stunt with Ellena all that well.”
“It wasn’t a stunt. I swear,” Rafay blustered. “I didn’t know he fancied her. They grew up together, and even she didn’t know he liked her that way.”
Taha eyed Rafay suspiciously.
Hoping Taha would just look away, Rafay added, “While their parents had hoped they’d eventually get together, I think Enavlein wanted to stick to the rules and ensure his advancement.”
Taha’s face turned to the skyline, “Losing a crewmember to a rival team is embarrassing enough for a marshal, but losing a love interest is grounds for reprisal. His stupid honour is at stake.”
“Great, now I’ve got to wait for him to get back at me.”
“Well, he already has.”
Rafay froze in his tracks.
“He’s gone after Hara, Iras’s new love. Enavlein and Hara are together now. I think Hara has been leading Iras on for sport.”
“I sure hate this planet,” Rafay said. “I can’t believe I’m in the middle of such nonsense.”
Men use women as objects, and women use men the same way – sure does rhyme.
“And someone’s gotta tell him before he makes a fool out of himself. The other thing is that Iras wants Hara in Hashif’s vacant spot in your inner circle. He’s going to come to you.”
Rafay shook his head, “That’s not an option, and I’ll make it clear to him. Ellena will be reinstated to the Order, and she will be taking Hashif’s old spot. Besides, it’s hard enough to manage the people we already have.”
Taha nodded.
“Do you think Enavlein will do something else?” Rafay said.
“Nah. He’s ambitious and won’t dare lock horns with Wilber Shadijin’s son. He won’t come at you directly. But I’ll keep my ears open and report back if I hear anything.”
“Good job, Taha. You’re a good supervisor,” Rafay said.
Taha raised his hand; a drumming in the distance devolved into a vrooming.
“Iras!” Rafay and Taha said in unison. Iras Wallin’s shabby old zoomer[1] was missing a silencer and made a racket wherever he took it.
He arrived just as Spire had finished serving the guests their choice of drink. Iras was younger and shorter than Rafay, and his unkempt hair suggested he had just been roused from a deep sleep – an impression supported by his constant yawning.
“Happy Spring Equinox, everyone,” Iras said. He grabbed a bowl of bluish-green water and gulped down most of it in a second. His stomach audibly grumbled as he handed his bowl back, then threw himself onto the nearest cushion. “Sorry, I’m late.”
“As always,” Razearious added.
Iras gave his cousin a contemptuous look, which Razearious ignored.
Iras was an expert “slacker”, which he did with extreme dedication. Whenever told to do something, he would do it so badly that one would swear never to ask him again. From humble beginnings, he had joined the Order to see the galaxy without the hassle of having to plan or pay his way through. But he was also an excellent all-rounder, a pilot and marksman, though he never showcased this skill out of fear it would land him responsibilities. Several times, he’d escaped immediate expulsion from the Order because he had Rafay to vouch for him. He would use Rafay’s name often, especially to avoid being dragged off to the frontlines. In this manner, Iras did what he pleased, went where he pleased and ate where he pleased.
Rafay didn’t mind since he’d never had friends until Iras came along. As time went on, a group formed around them both. Rafay had observed that treating his friends as peers, despite his superior family lineage and his father’s stature, generated a sense of reverence and loyalty towards him – commodities often bought but seldom earned.
“Spire, tell Kaffee that he’s welcome to join us,” Rafay said as his friends quizzed him about his sudden decision to stay in the Order. But when he finished brushing their questions aside, the discussion turned to the reason for their summoning.
“Didn’t your father tell you what it’s about?” Taha asked.
“He must’ve told you something. C’mon, you can trust us,” Neira said.
“I know as much as you all do. Though he says he’ll come to see me tonight, maybe I’ll get some details then, and don’t remind Kaffee about it. Father ticked him off by yelling at him, and besides, they’ve never really liked each other.”
“I can’t wait to find out where we’re going next,” Razearious said. “Any guesses?”
“Back to Hutsies,” Taha said.
“Somewhere new, hopefully,” Neira said.
As they speculated, Rafay’s gaze turned to Iras, who seemed irritated and unkeen about the entire enterprise – he looked to his nails, massaged his knuckles and then turned at the group assembled nearby. Iras had expected trouble ever since Rafay’s advancement, and now those fears were being realised.
Ultimately, he erupted, “I don’t get what you’re so excited about. We’re just getting back from a six-month-long patrol. Hashif got murdered, and Hutsies was gruelling. It’s unfair for the Order to cancel our hard-earned break.”
“Hutsies was gruelling?” Razearious repeated incredulously. “You spent all of your time there mingling with the common folk, not to mention that stunt where you wanted to marry that young woman.”
Rafay shivered at the thought of what had happened there. ‘Hutsies Neighbourhood’ was a group of three adjacent planets where he and his fellow rangers had frantically searched for Iras, assuming he’d been abducted.
Iras replied with an air of superiority, “Diplomacy requires interacting with local tastes and sounds, not with fire and rockets.”
“They had food shortages, cousin. And we found you pinching their vital rations,” Razearious snapped.
“I didn’t know they were rationing it until the very end,” Iras pointed his finger. “I only thought they were stingy hosts.”
*****
When Kaffee arrived, the group seemed to be at loggerheads, though they welcomed him as if he were an old friend. Since he’d only briefly met them, he wondered why they seemed so pleased by his presence. On the other hand, he and Iras – who appeared to be eyeing Razearious with disdain – were well acquainted, so he settled on a cushion next to him.
Iras leaned in. “I hear the girsh was pretty difficult to offload this time.”
“Who told you?”
Iras chuckled. “A friend at the precious metals guild, as did a trader in the underground markets. So, did you manage to sell any of it?”
“Not much. It was delivered to me rotten; didn’t have much of a chance.”
“That rotten, huh.” Iras said. “People always take advantage of desperation on this planet.”
“We’d do the same if we were on the other side,” Kaffee said.
“I wish I could’ve helped, though.”
“There’s some left over. Spire could make you a hot drink?” Kaffee said slyly as if Iras would stay around the smell, let alone drink it. To Kaffee’s amusement, Iras went pale as he looked to his water bowl for a defence. “Well, it’s quite full, and I … uh …”
Kaffee took pity on him. “Actually, I think Spire threw away the last of it. I sure hate wasting food and drink. I tried finishing it as tea, but it was pretty rotten. Felt as though my throat was on fire.”
Iras took a rather long breath, then attempted a pivot. “I would’ve liked to join you on your next trip … if my break wasn’t being postponed.”
Usually, during their breaks, Rafay and Iras would accompany Kaffee in his travels. It didn’t always go too smoothly.
“Last time was certainly fun.” Kaffee chuckled as he remembered a mishap Iras suffered when a group of marauding ships pursued Kaffee’s ship, Nomad. During the fray, a metal bar came hurling towards Kaffee, and he dropped as soon as Iras alerted him of it. But with Kaffee out of the way, it slammed into Iras. Later, Iras confessed he had not realised he needed to drop, too.
“Rafay says you may be joining us at the Order,” Iras said.
“I dunno. Maybe,” Kaffee replied.
Neira cut in. “Iras, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Enavlein and Hara are together.”
“What … err!” Iras lost his balance and fell sideways from his cushion. “I told him I loved her.”
“You say that about everyone,” Neira said dismissively.
Iras recovered himself. “Well … I … I never said that about them.” He nodded towards Rafay, Taha and Kaffee.
Razearious, seated further away, lazily added, “Or me.”
Iras ignored him as he stammered, “How did he … why would he … I thought we were friends; that duplicitous git, sneaky little backstabber. Wait till I see him again. I’ll—” His anger was interrupted by his elbow slipping from the cushion again, followed by a descent to the floor.
“—fall on the ground?” Razearious finished, rolling his eyes. The others laughed.
For a moment, anger flushed Iras’s face. His knuckles whitened, his body tight, ready to pounce on his cousin. But he seemed to decide on verbally snapping back instead. He opened his mouth a few times, then closed it, lost for words.
Luckily, Spire interjected. “Master Kaffee, if any of you seek a full night’s rest, you would need to be in bed by now since it’s nine hours to midnight. I have prepared the extra bedrooms if any of your companions wish to stay over.”
Kaffee looked around the gardens and realised that there were fewer people around. Meanwhile, a few new congregations were taking the recently vacated spots.
When he looked back at the group, they were all in agreement. So, within a few moments, the party dispersed. As they went up the short staircase, Rafay yawned. “I’m looking forward to some natural sleep cycles; the last few nights were hefty.”
“Shouldn’t your father have come by now?” Neira asked.
“I doubt it. I’ll probably need to see him at headquarters tomorrow,” Rafay said. “Even if he does come tonight, he’ll just come to my room and wake me.”
Kaffee sighed at the thought, maintaining his silence on the matter. He only hoped that his damn droids wouldn’t make a scene. They had a tendency to be territorial when guarding a space.
He saw the guests to their bedrooms, and the lights soon faded. As he nodded off to sleep, he listened to the apartment’s ambient sounds – the wind blowing about it, the occasional buzz, hum or whir of the machinery within the walls and the droids down below. Neither of which ever slept.
*****
[1] A zoomer is a kind of hovering bike.
Chapter Three
"While he attempted to reunite with her after Hashif’s passing, but the Order prevented it." Remove 'but'
“Iras, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Enavlein and Hara are together?” Remove question mark.