Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 03

The king's eyebrows shot up. "You demand it? You? Demand it? Have you lost your mind? It is I who demands. I demand and you concede, and don't you forget it."

Unable to gain ground, the prince swabbed his face with the tail of his keffiyeh, sweating in spite of the aircon "But father... this is just not fair."

"Fair?" his father echoed. "Listen... I'll give you fair... Go back to your palace. I will have one hundred young girls sent over, each more beautiful than the last. While you're busy fucking yourself raw, I promise, the memory of this harlot won't cross your mind."

"I don't want a hundred girls. I want that one!"

The king looked away in disgust. "This is exactly how it was when you were a boy. If you wanted ten things and I gave you nine, you would totally ignore the nine for the one. Cars, horses, airplanes, women... no matter what I gave you it was never enough."

"Says you! Who could have anything you want in unseemly abundance. Yet now I ask this one simple thing, the return of this one, rude, unruly, discourteous whore, suddenly she's all you desire. Keep the nine, I'm telling you. Keep the nine and just give me the one."

"She's already in the Bird House." the king said. "It's a matter of state. Rules and protocols and laws and traditions. Acquaint yourself with them and they will confirm. It just can't be done."

Arm outstretched, the prince levelled a finger. "You are only holding onto her because you know I desire her. Admit it. You're just trying to punish me. Punish me like you've always done."

"My boy," the king said wearily, "if I wished to punish you..."

"Then why? Why her? I've seen a dozen different beauties down in the Bird House. High-bred, noble. Educated and beautiful. Any one of whom would kill for the chance to be yours."

The king fiddled with some dates on a silver platter. How close the prince had just come to the crux of the matter.

"Or perhaps..." the prince said shrewdly.

The king looked up. "What?"

"Perhaps it's just because she looks so much like a boy."

The king heaved his bulk upright. "Says the only officer I know who keeps a man in his quarters."

"My Aid de Camp? Why wouldn't I?"

"Aid de Camp?" the king scoffed. "So you're telling me you need him twenty-four hours a day?"

"Ask my troops. I am a man of action, Father. A warrior. I might issue orders any time of night or day."

"There's only one thing you issue!" the king said under his breath.

"How dare you!" the prince seethed. "Have you forgotten? I am a fighter pilot, a knight of the air. The British call me 'Lion of the skies'."

"You might want to check how they spell that." the king said. "If I know the Brits."

"Well what about the enemy.? Even they are in awe. They call me the Scourge."

"Scourge?" the king hooted. "I'll say. Except it's my air force that trembles with dread when you get airborne."

"That's a lie!" Rashiid bridled. "Have you seen my medals? I am already an ace!"

"And who bestowed those medals upon you? Hmm? Oh that's right. You did."

"My men cried out for it. For downing those aircraft."

"What aircraft? You mean my Hawk? The one you lost when you ran out of fuel, trying to hit a target, any target, at the gunnery range? Or my two-seat F-sixteen, the one you landed long in spite of the instructor yelling at you to go round? It's still out there in the desert you know, off the end of the runway. Or that other F-sixteen, the single seater. Remember? You landed with the wheels-up in spite of perfectly good undercarriage, after colliding with another F-sixteen and killing the pilot? You are the only pilot I know of with more take-offs than landings."

"Accidents happen all the time in training." the prince said sullenly. "When the fighting spirit takes hold. But what about my kills? My aerial victories?"

"On the western border?" the king demanded. "When you were the last to get airborne, then flew in the wrong direction for one hundred miles."

"I was trying to confuse the enemy."

"Confuse him? He was rolling around the desert with laughter."

"Until I shot down three of his aircraft."

"You mean the medevac helicopters? The ones you ordered your wingman to shoot? Because you'd used up all your ammunition without hitting a thing? Then you took the credit, at least sparing a decent pilot the shame. Oh that was a great victory. Twenty killed, mostly wounded soldiers and medics. Thank god for there were a few pitiful survivors. Had it not been for your brother the world would have turned on us."

"My brother?" the prince curled his lip. "The pacifist? Don't talk to me about that weakling!"

The king surged to his feet and jammed a finger in his younger son's face. "Insult me all you wish, but don't say a word against your brother. He's endured the very worst warfare has to offer."

"Working in a field hospital? Putting on band aids? Pah! That's women's work."

"Band aids?" the king glared. "He is a doctor! A surgeon! And more of a man than you'll ever be. Don't forget it was he who went out to the rescue. To save those non-combatants you'd just shot down. Had it not been for him this country would be a pariah."

"Right." Rashiid scoffed, "He risked his neck to save a few of the enemy. Maybe he is the one who deserves a medal."

"Faisal is a doctor. He swore an oath, 'Do no harm'."

"And I am a warrior. And I swore an oath. To serve and protect."

"Serve yourself, you mean. And god help anyone you try to protect."

"Faisal's any better?"

"Better? Cambridge educated. With eighteen years of medical training. Who has saved countless lives. Versus a puffed-up, strutting buffoon who doesn't know east from west. Is he any better? Now, let... me... see..."

The prince snorted with derision. "Faisal has renounced the crown, remember? Because he is too weak to lead. Perhaps you might treat me with a little more respect, since it looks like I'm next in line for the throne."

The king pulled back, glaring. "Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"You mean Iskander?" the prince said, inwardly cursing. He'd been hoping against hope his younger brother's name wouldn't come up. "He's barely out of diapers."

"Iskander is already an experienced squad commander. Steady under fire and revered by his men!"

"And a half-blood round-eye! The offspring of a commoner!"

"How dare you!" the king growled. "Of all my wives, Lady Niqiya was my most beloved!"

Rashiid shot his father a glare. "Indeed? Then why did you cut her away?"

The king blustered briefly then summoned up his indignation. "Lady Niqiya gave her own life for her son! In childbirth! She died so Iskander might live."

"Come, Father." Rashiid scoffed, "Everyone knows the truth."

The king extended a warning finger. "Be careful, Rashiid. That loose tongue of yours could just cost you your head."

For a few heaving breaths, the prince held glaring eye-contact, weighing his options. Outnumbered and surrounded by an armed and loyal security, he grudgingly backed down. "At least my mother was royalty."

The king huffed and puffed, his face beetroot red, on the brink of a date with his live-in heart donor. "Of all my wives," he snarled, "she is the only one I would have gladly killed. Had god almighty not done the job for me. Your brother's mother, on the other hand, was as sweet as an angel. Commoner or not, she was intelligent and loving and as pure as driven snow. Disrespect her memory at your peril."

"The people will sing my mother's praises when I am king." Rashiid said, turning away.

"Sometime next century." his father taunted, "After the long and glorious reign of Iskander."

"Your golden-haired boy? Not if my people have their way."

"What?" the king asked, "Both of them?"

The prince turned and looked his father up and down. "Mock me all you like, Sire. Long have you ruled, and long may you continue. But the winds of change are blowing, and if the people sense your grip is failing..."

"Then what?"

"The country must come first. If I must choose between family and country... then for the good of my people I shall..."

"As I live and breathe." the king said in dismay. "Are you threatening me?"

"It is not for a son to threaten his father, nor a servant his master. Nevertheless, we must be realistic."

The king shook his head. "I should have had you drowned at birth," he said, "then beheaded your mother."

"But you didn't. And as much as I pray for a peaceful transition, if I must fight for the crown, then, so be it."

"Fight?" the king mocked, "You? Make no mistake. I've cut the throats of braver men than you."

"While they were down on their knees," Rashiid said, "bound and blindfolded. Yes, I know. I was there, remember?"

"How could I forget? They were bound and blind folded for you. But I had to do it instead, for you were too gutless."

"I was ten years old!"

"The same age as I when I vanquished my first enemy. Now away with you, I have work to do." Leaning over his desk, the king stabbed a button on the intercom. "Commander? Please come and see the prince out."

Almost immediately, the doors opened up and several of the king's personal body-guard swept into the room. The king placed his hands on his son's shoulders and they kissed, left, right, left. The prince bowed his head. "Your Majesty, beloved of the people. May god keep and protect you."

"And you, my son. May heaven bless you with peace and abundance."

Flanked by security, the prince turned to go, then paused at once and looked over his shoulder. "And my thanks once more for giving shelter to my property. I shall return in time to reclaim it."

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Ally stood at the cell door, forearms propped on a rail, ankles crossed, peering down the long concrete corridor. To her left, at the front of an adjoining cell, 90 degrees to her cell at the corridor's end, she watched a crowd of prisoners mill around, all hot and bothered after the evening meal. The same scene on permanent loop, hour after hour, day after day. Fingers between her lips, she let rip with a whistle. "Oi!" she yelled and a few wan faces turned her way, "Is Penny there?"

A moment later, the familiar form of the young Englishwoman appeared at the bars. She hung her arms over the rail in the same manner as Ally, then pretended to spit. "Mighty fine crop o'corn you've got there."

Ally play-spat a pretend wad of tobacco. "Mighty fine indeed. Still... lower forty's looking a might dry. Prayin' for rain."

"Y-yyup." Penny nodded. "Thinkin' of turnin' them steers onto the barley. Bottom fell out of the market since them no good varmints banned the beer."

Ally spat again. "Bannin' the beer. Ought to string 'em all up. Ride 'em outta town on a rail."

Penny hooked her hair back. "Ain't seen yiz around these parts for a while."

"Done got me'self stuck in detention. Grounded. For a week."

"Whut fer?"

"Done had me a ruckus."

"With the Rooshian? So I hear."

"Done wiped her purdy face all over the outhouse floor."

"Ya don't say. Worth it for a week in the naughty corner."

"Say... how's about you drop over fer a visit? Could use me a laugh."

Penny glanced at a make-believe watch. "Whut time's visitin' hour?"

"Lemme find out."

Being head bitch came with a number of fringe benefits, apart from the death-warrant being drawn up by her predecessor. One of those perks was the opportunity, now and then, of summoning the screws to bargain for favours. "Someone call the hall monitor." Ally yelled, "Pass it on."

The request went down the line from cell to cell, till it reached the unit closest to the stairwell, at the top of which sat the on-shift screw, with her baton, taser and capsicum spray, whiling-away a 12 hour stint on a hard wooden chair. Ten minutes later- the standard wait- a familiar figure appeared at the far end of the corridor, scuffing towards her in that inimitable style- the desert shuffle- head down, shoulders stooped, barely lifting her sandalled feet.

It was the screw they all called Dumbo. Tall and thin, she had a long, vacant face, with dark, drooping eyes and perpetually slack jaw, as if the sheer physical effort of closing her mouth was beyond her. And she had big, protruding ears. They stuck out to the sides like the tangs of a wingnut, made all the more prominent by the way she wore her hijab- behind the ears, not over them. Slouching to a stop in front of Ally, she sucked up some drool and stood, hand on the butt of her baton. One of the few screws who could speak passable English, she asked, "What do you want?"

"Please Mum. Can Penny come over to play?"

The woman stood in silence for a while, as some remote part of her brain decoded the message. "No." she said, "Is not permit."

"Naww..." Ally teased, playing the screw for her fellow inmates' entertainment, "that's not fair. I've done all my homework."

The screw pondered Ally's words then threw off a shudder. "No."

As she turned to go Ally called out to her retreating back. "Then can we at least turn off the fucking lights?"

The guard teetered to a stop, then turned around and slowly returned. "That is not permit."

"But why?" Ally whined. "Why do they have to be on all the time?"

"For camera."

Ally looked around. "What camera?"

The guard snorted, scouring her throat. "There is no camera." she said, and the term 'sharp as a bowling ball' crossed Ally's mind.

"Hang on," Ally frowned, as her cellmates gathered around her, "there's no cameras, but we have to keep the lights on for them?"

Dumbo nodded.

"How does that make sense?"

Dumbo scoured her throat again. "Is the rule."

"Aww come on," Ally cajoled, "just a little. Can't you just twiddle the rheostat?"

"No." Dumbo shook her head then turned to walk away. Ally's cellmates slowly dispersed, many let down, having thought the little hellion might pull off a miracle. Watching her go, Ally couldn't help but notice the woman's firm, round ass, at least one saving grace, defined to good advantage by her uniform pants. Dumbo had barely gone ten meters when another impulse struck her, and she teetered to a halt once more.

Ally summoned up her friendliest smile as the guard pulled up in front of her. "Did you miss me?"

"You are pilot." Dumbo said, ignoring the jibe.

Ally tilted her head. "You asking or telling?"

"Are you?"

"Who told you?"

"I saw your file."

"Did you now? Well, what if I am?"

"Ever since I'm little girl," Dumbo said wistfully, "all I ever wanted was to fly."

Ally blinked, taken aback by the candid admission. "Well, what's stopping you?"

The screw took a step back and gestured at her body from head to toe. "What do you think?"

Ally shook her head, mystified. "I don't know. What?"

"I am woman."

Ally wanted to say, 'Barely', for the enjoyment of her cellmates, but felt a fleeting pang of pity for the young woman. Not quite a stab, more of a nick. "Well that shouldn't stop you."

"In this country, yes."

"But..." Ally frowned, "I've heard lots of chi... female pilots. Over the radio."

"Three." she said. "Royal family. They are there to make..." Dumbo snapped her fingers, frowning.

"A good impression?"

Dumbo snapped her fingers again and pointed at Ally. "Good impression, yes."

"Well have you tried? Have you applied to any flying schools?"

"No," Dumbo shook her head. "Not permit."

"Not permit?" Ally frowned. "By whom?"

"Father and brothers." the screw shrugged. "Would have to work with men. My parents would kill me."

"Oh," Ally scoffed, "they'd get over it."

"No!" one of Ally's cellmates said then whispered in her ear. "She doesn't mean they'll be mad. She means they will take her life."

"What?" Ally said, then huffed and puffed with indignation. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

"My family is very strict." Dumbo nodded.

"Well that's totally fucked!" Ally glared. "Tell you what, Sweetheart. You get me out of here and I'll take back you to my place. Back on my planet, you can do as you fuckin'-well please."

Ally's cellmates muttered amongst themselves as Dumbo vacuumed spit from the corner of her mouth. Looking left and right, as if checking the coast was clear, she said, "I have heard. There is a magic spell. That makes aeroplane fly."

"Magic spell?"

"L equals something something."

"You mean the lift equation?" Ally squinted. "Lift equals CL, half rho Vee squared S?"

Dumbo's eyes lit up and Ally caught a glimpse of an entirely different entity behind the mask. "You know it?"

"Well duhh."

Dumbo shivered with excitement. "Can you teach me?"

Ally looked around. She was treading a fine line, hobnobbing with a hated screw in front of her cellmates. "Why don't you just look it up on the internet?" she asked, sweeping her fringe aside.

"Not permit to see the internet." Dumbo said. "Is from Satan."

Ally palmed her forehead. "Jesus Christ. So you're telling me no one here uses the internet? I call bullshit."

"Only men can use." Dumbo said, undeterred by the white girl's derision.

"Only men?"

"Women not strong, can't to resist Satan."

Ally checked-in with her cell mates and got a few concurring nods. She thought of all the porn she'd surfed over the years, and the odds and sods of non-carnal stuff. Dumbo had a point, she had to concede. Not about women of course. About the internet. "Well, look. Sure I could teach you."

Dumbo stared at her, almost unable to believe her great big ears. "The magic spell?"

"No, the lift equation."

"You can?"

"Easy peasy." Ally nodded. "C L, half rho, v-squared S. Piece of cake."

"You think it is possible? I can understand?"

"Trust me, Sis, you'll understand. Even if I have to beat it into you."

"No!" the screw wagged a finger. "No beating."

Ally rolled her eyes. "It's just a saying. Sheesh."

"Then we will do." Dumbo said, but before she could move, Ally grabbed the sleeve of her uniform.

"Just one more thing."

"What thing?" Dumbo asked, ignoring the fact Ally had just lay a hand on her, an offence punishable by a month in the cage outside.

"Well, I can help you, but you have to help me. When you're on shift, is it daytime or night-time outside?"

"Night time, usually."

"Okay then, how about this. I will teach you the lift equation. You turn the lights down." Dumbo scowled and Ally raised a hand. "Just a little." she said, finger and thumb almost touching. "Say fifty percent."

Dumbo looked blindly around, weighing the deal. Eventually she nodded. "I will try."

"Seventy-five would be better," Ally inveigled, "and I'll throw in some diagrams."

The jailer thought about it again. "I will try."

"Just one more thing." Ally said as Dumbo turned to go.

The young woman stopped again then looked over her shoulder, her patience clearly wearing thin. "What?"

"What's your name?"

Dumbo looked around at the faces of all the inmates, scores of eyes boring into her. "Aisha." she said and the block drew a collective breath. "I will return."

*********************************************************************************************************

The doorbell rang and Maya flew through the kitchen singing, "I'll get iiit!" Sitting at the table, the old man watched her go with a shake of the head. So much life, so much vitality, wrapped up in such a gorgeous package. Just like Rebekah. Mooching over his breakfast, he heard voices in the hall and looked around as Tanya strolled in, towelling her hair. "Looks like we've got company." she said, as Hayley followed, herself freshly preened, wearing a formless floral dress.

Gulping down a last couple of mouthfuls, Watson finished his tea, then took his breakfast dishes to the sink before rinsing them off. Drying his hands, he ran his fingers through his short, grey hair then squared up his shoulders, steeling himself for the onerous task of meeting a stranger.