A series of images flashed through Omar’s mind, the motions that Daisuke wanted him to execute. He blinked. “There must be an easier way than that!”
There isn’t, the ghost replied.
Omar grimaced. There wasn’t time to argue. The rope was right in front of him and the gondola’s hull was a mere hand span above the crewman’s chest. Omar exhaled and drew his sword. The sun-steel blade flashed bright white as it slashed through the rope, dropping the crewman’s leg and leaving him motionless on the grass as the Halcyon ’s belly smashed down into the earth just beyond his feet. The gondola gouged a deep brown gash in the dirt, scraping the grass away.
But Omar had no time to see any of that. At the same moment that he drew his sword in his right hand, he drew his scabbard from his belt with his left hand. As the blade severed the rope, spinning his body to the right, he chased the bright sun-steel with the clay-lined scabbard, and as the rope fell slack Omar gracefully slid the scabbard up over the exposed blade. His whole body continued to spin in midair until he fell face-down on the cool grass with his sheathed sword lying flat beneath his chest.
Omar blinked into the crushed grass. I did it. The blade was only visible for half a second. I did it! Thank you, little brother. That was truly inspired. I’ve never been so graceful before in all my life.
The dead samurai appeared for a moment on the field beside him to bow his head, and then he vanished again into the netherworld of the seireiken.
As he pushed himself up, Omar saw one of the crew men kneeling beside his dazed comrade and the other two were wrestling the Halcyon to a full stop and lashing it to a pair of iron rings buried in the earth.
“You all right, old timer?” Morayo jogged up beside him. “That was a hell of a thing you did. The captain never mentioned you were a fighter, too. If I’d known that, it would have been even easier to convince the others to let you come along on the Finch.”
Omar brushed the grass from his clothes as he turned to her. “Ah, so you were my advocate in there? But we’ve never even met. Did you think the expedition really needed a translator or a doctor that badly?”
“Not really.” The young engineer grinned. “But we sure as hell could use a good cook.”
The two of them headed back to the hangar once again and passed close by the Halcyon ’s cabin. Morayo slapped her hand on the window, startling a young woman inside. “Hey Taziri!” Morayo yelled. “Have you figured out where everything goes yet?” And she laughed as they walked on, leaving the other woman glaring out through the glass.
“Who was that?” Omar asked.
“That’s Isoke’s flight engineer. She’s not even a real engineer, she’s an electrician. Can you believe that?”
“Ah. And she’s having trouble finding her way around the Halcyon?”
“No. I just like giving her a hard time that she hasn’t had a baby yet. They’re waiting, she says.”
Omar frowned. “Why give her a hard time about that?”
“I don’t know. Why not?”
Back inside the hangar they found Captain Ngozi and two men standing beside a long wooden table and speaking in low voices. When Omar and Morayo walked up, the captain asked, “What was all that noise out there?”
“Just Isoke and Taziri trying to crash that new boat of theirs and kill all the ground crew at the same time,” Morayo said dully. “But our new cook saved the day.”
“Our new cook?” Riuza asked. “You told him?”
“It may have slipped out,” Morayo said. “But I promised him you would do the whole lecture about protocol and command and everything anyway.”
The captain sighed. “Never mind.” She shook Omar’s hand. “We’ve all discussed the matter and decided that we’re willing to trade you a seat on the Finch for a copy of your map. Welcome aboard, Mister Bakhoum. You have one day to buy a very warm coat and to notify your next of kin that you’re probably not coming back. You’re going to Europa.”
Chapter 3. Civil war
Captain Ngozi motioned for the tall man beside her to step forward. “Mister Bakhoum, I’d like you to meet Mister Kosoko Abassi, our resident cartographer and geologist from Timbuktu. He’s been with the team for three years now.”
The men shook hands briefly. Omar guessed from the traces of gray in the taller man’s hair and the deep lines around his eyes that they were of the same age. Or, more precisely, that Abassi was the same age that Omar had been when he stopped aging.
“And this is Professor Garai Dumaka of Gao University, our naturalist and anthropologist. Technically he’s been on the team for five years, since before the Finch was rigged for northern flying,” Riuza said. “He helped get the entire exploration program off the ground, so to speak.”
The professor was shorter and younger than the cartographer, and he wore a pair of circular spectacles on his small nose. The rest of him wore an over-tailored green suit of many pockets full of pens and small tools. Omar shook his hand politely.
“All right, well, that’s all the time we have for standing around,” Riuza said. She handed Omar a slip of paper. “Here’s a list of everything you’ll need. Clothes, mostly. We’re adding extra food for you. The weight shouldn’t be a problem, but there’s absolutely no room for any personal gear. No trunks full of special equipment or a secret companion you conveniently forgot to mention.”
Omar smiled. “I take it you’ve had trouble with such things before.”
“Let’s just say there used to be a fifth member of this team, and she had trouble listening to directions. So now she’s no longer a part of the team.”
Omar nodded. “I understand completely, dear lady. No surprises. Just myself and the clothes on my back, as soon as I can buy them. Thank you all very much. You won’t regret it, I promise you.”
“We leave tomorrow morning at six thirty,” Riuza said. “Be on time.”
“Don’t worry. We won’t leave without that map of yours,” Morayo said with a wink.
The captain glared at her lieutenant and sent her back to work on the Finch.
The rest of the team went back to work as well, and Omar strode out of the hangar with a bounce in his step that he hadn’t felt in decades. He crossed the field, left the gates, and hurried back down the hill to grab the first person he found to ask for directions to a tailor’s shop.
It took three people to give him directions because none of the three could agree on which shop had the best prices, but Omar took all of their advice with a good-natured smile and set out for the closest clothier’s establishment. But he soon found it would take all three of the recommended stores to find everything on his list. Still, with every shop eager to accept his Eranian darics, he stepped out into the streets of Tingis fully attired shortly before noon. The canvas trousers were stiff and rough, the tall leather boots with the steel toes squeaked when he walked, and his several layers of shirts and sweaters made him feel like a hippopotamus wallowing in the mud. But he rather liked the full-length wool coat with the fox fur trim, even with its pockets crammed full of spare leather gloves and wool hats. And his favorite purchase of all wasn’t even on the list, but the blue-tinted Mazigh sunglasses were simply too pretty to pass up. And besides, he reasoned to himself, they would shield his eyes from the glare of the sun on the vast Europan ice.
Probably. And if not, then at least the ladies should find me dashing and mysterious in them.
Eager to break in his uncomfortable trousers and noisy boots, Omar set off down the road with his old clothes bundled over his shoulder and his sword hooked on his new belt. After a few minutes of sweltering in his new clothes, he decided it was time to sit down for a long lunch and he ducked into the first eatery he came to, not bothering to look for a menu outside. Inside he found long rectangular tables, not the small round ones from the cafes near his hotel, and he sat down near a group of roughly dressed men in the middle of their midday meal.
A young man appeared at Omar’s elbow a moment later carrying an unexpected but welcome fish sandwich and bowl of vegetable soup, so Omar took the offered food and paid his coin and settled in to his working class lunch. He had just discovered exactly how spicy a Mazigh sandwich could be when the shouting started.
