----------------------------------------------------------------------------- [u][b]May 27th. Hargeisa: The Capital of Al-Himyari Somalia[/b][/u] ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Azima stood above the gate of an old stone fort. It was the monsoon season, and though it hadn't rained for several days, water flowed from the mountains through the shallow river cutting through town. The desert bloomed green, and a herd of antelope grazed peacefully on the boon. But out beyond them, coming from the distant mountains, she saw dust, and heard the high pitch whine of a familiar type of engine. The [i]Doofarka[/i] was a Somali invention, one of the few boons of Emir Hassan's obsession with military science. They were bare bones cars with tough frames, built light enough to skip over desert terrain, unburdened with armor except for that which protected the driver's feet. Two thick semi-circular bars arced from the front to the back, allowing the thing to role if it needed to. Five of these scrappy vehicles skipped into view now, machine gun turrets gleaming, driving the frightened antelope away in every direction. The Al-Himyari flag flew from each of them. Her father had arrived. She grabbed her quarterstaff and walked down the crumbling stairs to the dusty courtyard below. She wore her dress girded around her loins, bearing the legs beneath her knees, a circumstance that would be considered scandalous if she was another woman. A scarf worn dervish style hid her features. Down in the dirt courtyard, a number of men in dervish uniform stood at attention. These men were new to the dervish, used to the macho chest pounding of the regular forces, and though they were smart enough not to laugh at the young woman standing shorter than her staff, none of them took her seriously. She stopped in front of them, staring them down like the good guy in an American western film facing the bandits in the street. Nothing happened. Somewhere outside the walls, the whining [i]Doofarkas[/i] shut off. The first man came. He ran at her with his staff in the way they always do, wielding it like a spear, fulling intending to to use his weight. She stepped aside, slid her staff down his before he'd realized what she'd done, and smashed his knuckles. This distracted him, and she struck him on the knees, then on his stomach, and brought him down. "You do not underestimate your enemy." she screamed. Her voice was shrill against the wind, but she'd proven herself in front of them, making the sound of her voice irrelevant. "A peasant blusters and shows his strength, but the person who practices [i]furusiyya[/i] knows that nobility and danger can come from any source." She offered the beaten soldier her hand. He refused it, got up, and awkwardly assumed a stance. He still held his stick like a spear, but less certain this time, trying to find something he'd seen in her but didn't understand. He went again. When he swung at her, she deflected, always making sure the blows had somewhere to be. She wasn't stupid - if he managed to bring his weight into this, he'd have an advantage, so she kept the weight moving elsewhere, sliding away. She had two things he didn't; speed, and a minded trained for strategy in this type of fight. He swung too hard, left himself open, and she took him down a second time. His staff rolled into the dust. "Do not rely on your arm strength. That is only one weapon in your arsenal. Use your entire being, all at once, head and heart and legs." She grabbed the man's staff and presented it to him. He took a moment, gripping it hard when he finally gave in, and walked back to the group. Another man tried her. They sparred again, and she could tell this man had learned the lesson of his comrade's beating, as he was paying more attention. She still moved faster, but when she struck the man in the leg, he didn't go down. A hit to his shoulder caused him to falter, and she took the opportunity. Soon he was in the ground. She saw her father enter the courtyard surrounded by a Dervish guard. He didn't announce his presence immediately. As if he wasn't there, she finished her lesson. "It is common to enter a challenge assuming you can know everything by simply thinking about the problem, but you cannot prepare with thought alone. You must do, and learn in the doing. This is true with all things in life. There are no experts, only men who are practicing to become better. I want you all to practice now, with each other, taking in all I have shown you." "Emir Hassan Al-Himyari" one of her father's Dervishes announced, his voice ringing in the calm desert air. The men turned and saluted. They stayed at attebtuib while Hassan crossed the yard and met with his daughter. "You are a tough teacher" he said to her. Before she could answer, he turned around and signaled the Dervish practitioners to be at ease. "Would you want anything else for your Dervishes?" she asked. He was her father, and the only family she knew, but there was no warmth in their meeting. He smiled in his typical amiable way, but it was the same smile he used on merchants and soldiers. "I have interesting news from Addis Ababa" Hassan said, "And something for you to do for me." Those two sentences together intrigued her. She walked with him. "The Emperor is selling a battleship to the Phillipines." "Okay." she responded, "I don't know what that has to do with us. Or me." "The Bahr Negus doesn't know about it." Her father said. They walked up onto the broken parapet. "Oh." She stopped, putting a hand on a merlon. The antelope were grazing again. "It sounds like you don't understand what this means." he said. "I do, I know." she replied. He looked at her. She watched the desert below. "Politics is your world. I don't think about it as much as you." "You will some day." he said coldly, "You are my heir." She doubted she could be his heir. She'd been the focus of scandal and rumor for most of her life. Women were not supposed to be raised as men, such a thing implied the decadence that caused the west so much grief. Her life and everything she'd been allowed to do in spite of tradition she did because of her father. With him in power, she could be whispered about, but not opposed. After he was gone though... "Hamere Noh Dagna is a difficult man" Hassan said, "But he doesn't know how to act around women. He won't play politics with you in the same way he would with me. He'll be hurt by the Emperor's decree. I think he'll be open to talks." "About what?" Azima looked up at him. "Politics isn't a single act. You'll have to learn about this if you are to replace me, or else you'll become like our Emperor. You make one move at a time. Maybe I know what I want Hamere for. Maybe I don't. But either way, the time to start earning his support is now, so when I need him, I have him." "So you need me to go to Mogadishu then?" She asked. "Mogadishu" he said, "And remember, keep your eyes about you. There is always something to learn in a city like that."