[ IP ] Fit for a king .

Major Tycho Novak sampled the sights and sounds of the bazaar, the clouds of shisha smoke wafting out of the hookah dens and coffee lounges. Men and women dressed in flowing robes and tunics filled the cobbled lanes with all manner of goods and services for sale. Next to a stall selling shawarma a pair of aged men played backgammon, their long beards thick with white where it was n't grey. A tri-vid seller hawked their wares, thousands of memory cases carefully stacked in neat rows. 
 
 *'Three for twenty, five for thirty. Action, Theatre, Philosophy,'* the sign said in both Arabic, Urdu and English. 
 
 Somewhere from within the cool interior of a coffee bar spilled a storyteller's feverish words, punctuated by the clanging of sword against sword and the cheers of an audience. The Major smiled and ducked his head inside, walking down the short steps and into the blessed cool of the sunken space. His eyes took time to adjust to the darkness from his time in the bright glare of the midday light but once his vision came to he saw the scene pack with bodies, men and the occasional woman with headscarves all listening with rapt attention at the gnarled storyteller, his small troop of assistants clashing with live blades in front of the seated peoples. 
 
 `` You speak Arabic, Major Novak?'' 
 
 Tycho turned his head to see a man in his late forties with an aquiline nose and jet black hair cut close to his head, his mustache neatly trimmed. Novak smiled at the man and warmly shook his hand. 
 
 `` Arun, you sly jackal! I thought you were Lesnovo.'' 
 
 The slightly older man shook his head and motioned for Novak to take a seat at his table. A waiter dressed in a clean shirt and vest hovered in to take his order before quickly weaving his way through the crowd. 
 
 `` Indeed I am not. I was invited here by the Dean of the University of Sharqah as a guest lecturer. My principal talk will be *The Golden Age of Islam amid the Inner Sphere. *'' 
 
 Novak nodded, thanking the waiter as he returned with his cup of Turkish coffee. 
 
 `` Finished that book did you? Congratulations.'' 
 
 `` Thank you, Tycho.'' The professor of anthropology took a sip of his iced coffee before continuing, saying, `` I must admit my surprise. Last I heard you were coreward of Regulan space.'' 
 
 Major Tycho Novak shook his head and took a deep sip of his own drink, forgetting how strong the stuff was. Putting some sugar in the tiny cup he said, 
 
 `` I was. Just finished up with some pirate hunting out in the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey.'' 
 
 `` Ah. And you were successful in this endeavor?'' 
 
 Novak smiled, a terrible toothy grin like that of some oceanic predator. 
 
 `` Shot'em down like dogs, burnt them out when they ran to ground.'' 
 
 `` Excellent! Disgusting savages, preying on the efforts of honest men and women. The galaxy is a bit more safer thanks to your efforts. But I am intrigued, what brings you this far rimward?'' 
 
 Major Novak took another sip of his coffee, the patrons erupting into cheers as one of the actors dressed in golden robes and wielding a curving blade mock stabbed a large eagle puppet that took two men to operate. 
 
 `` Planetary governor hired me and my Grave Guards for two years on a garrison contract. Afraid the Canopians are going raid.'' 
 
 `` Yes, that is something on many peoples' minds here,'' Professor Arun Kaul said somberly. His eyes flickered over to the action on stage. `` You are likely wondering what the play is about.'' 
 
 Novak cracked a wry grin. 
 
 `` It crossed my mind, yes.'' 
 
 `` It's an ancient tale from Terra, actually a story within a story. It is about a legendary sailor called Sinbad and his adventures. This particular one is about the voyage where he and his men are attacked by giant birds called Rocs.'' 
 
 `` Sounds interesting, how long does the story last?'' 
 
 At that the anthropology professor laughed. 
 
 `` My dear friend, there are a thousand and one nights worth of stories from this ancient collection. You truly do not know of Scheherazade and her tales?'' 
 
 Novak spread his hands in defeat. 
 
 `` Arun, I barely squeaked by in League history. Ancient Terran literature's I've barely scratched.'' 
 
 The far more educated man laughed and gestured with his chin towards the scene where the actor playing Sinbad returned to his ship and crew with a chest full of gold, telling an even more condensed version of what happened filled with hyperbole and exaggeration. 
 
 `` There is no time like the present to be educated in the classics, then.'' 
 
 
 

