Azibo Arshaka
3/14/115
Mishi IV, Aridia Region
“I still think it’s a mistake, if you would pardon me for saying so my lord.” Dhorim said as he flicked his cigarette over a nearly spotless ashtray, a spec of ash falling on the dark, varnished desk. Of the four Mishi natives in the room the beefy overseer was the only smoker. He sat with two of the men across the desk, dressed in a simple grey tunic that stretched over his barrel chest.
“Pardoning you would just be air wasted.” Azibo replied, running a hand through his once dark hair, now streaked with silver. “I value your input, but I do not have difficulty hearing it. Yet you shared your opinion with me yesterday, and I suspect you will extend the charity again tomorrow.”
“Nevertheless,” his mousey brother in-law Cyril Shandr quipped. “We hardly pulled a profit from the port last year, and Jorroq Ho’Shan isn’t going to stop flooding Bahgrib with his cheap and flaccid produce. If your father wasn’t so established with the merchants in town, our friend Dhorim here would be out on the streets.” He smiled and straightened the collar of his deep blue robe. “Not to mention the substantial debt that we already find ourselves in. It does seem a bit foolish spend so many credits on such a frivolous affair.”
Azibo sighed as he clasped his hands together under his chin. “My father put you in charge of the port for a reason. Any lack of profit therefore rests on your shoulders. And I know I don’t need to remind you that your daughter accounts for a large portion of that debt.”
Cyril’s eyes narrowed but his smile remained. “You know as well as I do, that was not my decision. Your father made that choice for me,” he shrugged. “Besides, the old man said it himself. The money Naira will bring in will dwarf any investment your father made in a matter of months.”
Hazkiel Arshaka was ninety three years old, one of four minor holders under the lordship of Mezim Rhahadin who presided over the southern district of the city of Bhagrib. His holdings consisted of over 500 acres of farmland, a factory specializing in small parts used in handheld devices and other electronics, and a small spaceport that shipped off any produce or wares that were no sold in Bhagrib. While many holders of high status could extend their lives well beyond a hundred and fifty, he relied on his son to handle day to day business as he grew frail. Today was no different. Had Hazkiel been present, his son in-law would no doubt be choosing his words more carefully. Azibo was almost positive he saw Cyril glance up at the massive portrait of Hazkiel behind him, and he could not blame him. There were days when he could almost feel the cold stare on the back of his neck.
“It has been a year since she graduated, and yet the debt still remains.” Azibo said leaning forward. And yet as he said the words, he knew that they were unfair. When Naira was shipped off to Hedion University, she had been able to visit only twice in four years. When she finally graduated and came home, his father had insisted that she attend classes on advanced business and industry, as well as time spent in the Empire’s militia. “You are have been given a gift,” his father had said. “An opportunity to roam the stars unburdened by mortality. You will learn to utilize your full potential in service to me, the Empress, and God. ” She was home for less than a day before being sent off for nearly another year. To her credit, she took the news with the same nonchalant attitude as her father Cyril. Another year away from the planet she had spent her life on, facing more tedium, more classes, and the threat of real combat, and yet she didn’t weep or beg. Azibo wasn’t particularly close to his niece, but he admired her for that. The fact that she hadn’t disappeared the moment she could touch the stars was a miracle in itself.
“My lord, good friends.. I fear we are straying from the subject at hand,” said Fardin Kamir; the balding, wispy director of his father’s factory. “We are aware of our debts, and we all know that pitiful excuse of a lord Jorroq is sticking his fingers where they don’t belong.” At that Cyril chuckled, but Fardin continued, gesturing towards Azibo. “We are not here to debate your father’s orders, only to make them happen. Whether we like it or not, Lord Rhahadin and his other vassals will be here in two days, along with more than a few merchants of note from Bahgrib. Unless we can acquire a contract from some big shot like Noble Appliances, we are going to need the support of the merchants to keep the factory afloat and Dhorim’s fields profitable.”
“They aren’t my fields Fardin.” Dhorim said tersely. “I just keep my eye on them, that’s all.”
Azibo nodded and thumbed through a few files including a bill of goods, expenses, and a complete list of who would be attending. They had been written up a week ago by Cyril and Bijen, who was an accountant only ten years younger than Hazkiel, and was just as sharp. There would be a total of sixty six people attending. Lord Mezim Rhahadin would be accompanied by his wife and two children. The lords Ghajjel, Norizo, and Cydones would also have their wives and children with them. Fortunately Ghajjel and Cydones only had one child each, while Norizo had seven. The remaining thirty eight visitors were various merchants and business owners who operated in and near the south of Bahgrib, along with a few wives and children. On top of all that, there were Azibo’s five children and his wife Kisandra. His sister Bahiti, (who was Cyril’s wife,) would of course be there, and her daughter Naira was coming home tonight. Azibo had wished to include the paid employees and their families in the main hall as well, but they were short on space as it was.
The list of food and drink was almost as extensive as the guest list. Cyril had a knack for finding out which guest had a taste for what, and every person of importance was considered. There were six different kinds of wine, with at least three bottles of each. One particular vintage (Favored by lady Nessima Cydones) was nearly impossible to find in the Aridia region, and had to be brought in from a vineyard in Sarum Prime.
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