The General strutted into the room. Yosef thought he looked something like a peacock. The General was a large man, tall and broad. He was anxious about something, the Sheikh could tell. Yosef had grown up around anxious men, his father more obsessed with living forever than he was with running the country. The former Sheikh had left the Kazhim’s destitute, lacking the former respect the people had for them. Yosef had been charitous, spending every Dinar that came into his possession on infrastructure and job creation in the City. He thought he had done plenty for his people.
Finally, the General said to Yosef, “Sir, we’ve lost contact with Depot 1.”
The Sheikh was taken aback. “I was under the impression that our efforts in Outer Kazhimistan were doing well…”
The General responded, “Of course, Sir, your humanitarian efforts have not gone unnoticed by the people of Outer Kazhimistan. They are your loyal subjects.”
Yosef muttered, “If they are so loyal than how did Depot 1 fall?”
The General didn’t respond, just stared at the Sheikh dejectedly. After a moment of silence, there was a knock on the door to the room they were speaking in. The Sheikh stood and opened the door. In the doorway stood a woman, plain looking, standing at a similar height to the Sheikh.
“Greetings…” The Sheikh started.
“There is no time for greetings Great Kazhim. I am Amil. I work with the RDF.” She stated, matter-of-factly.
The General shouted, “Traitor! I will have you arrested and hung!”
The Sheikh stood there for a moment, puzzled. Then, remembering his morning briefing, was amazed. A member of the Radical Democratic Front right in front of him. There was so much he wanted to ask her. All he needed to do to get to talk to her was order the General to leave.
“General! Stand down. Leave this room.” Yosef ordered.
The General did as he was ordered, glaring at the woman the entire way out.
The woman moved into the room, and Yosef shut the door. All of a sudden, the Sheikh felt nervous, he was alone with a terrorist. His nerves quieted when she said, “There is much to discuss, Sheikh.”
“Yes, there is.” He replied.
“We at the RDF have a few demands for you.” She started.
“Well, I’ve a few of my own as well.” The Kazhim said.
“Unfortunately sir, this is not a discussion, you will acquiesce to our demands or you will continue to suffer.” She stated.
“I see,” he said.
“The RDF demands that you cease these excursions into Ghwahali. Furthermore we demand that you create legislation to ensure the blatant violation of the citizen’s of Ghwahali’s rights ends. Additionally, we demand that the free movement of people between the City and Ghwahali be restored.” She started, before the Sheikh interrupted.
“Let me stop you there, Amil. Besides the blatant contradictions present in these demands, I can not guarantee anything. My advisors have been demanding that the City regain its influence in Outer Kazhimistan for years, they demanded the same of my father. This ‘Ghwahali’ nonsense will not be permitted in this nation. If your organization continues to defy my will, then you will suffer the consequences.” Yosef said.
“My Sheikh, it is you who will suffer the consequences of not listening.”
The Kazhim thought on this for a moment. Yosef knew what he needed to do. It harmed every ounce of his Kazhim blood to even consider the grotesque prospect of democratization. But it had to be done. The only way to keep Outer Kazhimistan, which the country needed to prosper, and the best way to secure the Sheikhdom forever was to give up some amount of his own power.
“You’re right.” He finally said.
The RDF agent took a quick step back, obviously shocked by the Sheikh’s response. She hadn’t planned for this, the RDF had expected to walk in and kill the Sheikh and leave the City to rot without their precious Kazhim. Killing the Sheikh was the goal, not this. There was to be no discussion, just a bullet between his eyes. But she couldn’t kill him now, not when he’d relented.
The last time the RDF had set foot in the palace was during a failed negotiation with Yosef’s father. The RDF delegation would not leave the palace ever again. This mission was to be the comeuppance that the Kazhims deserved.
Amil recovered quickly, the Sheikh not noticing what had occurred, and said “You do not understand Great Kazhim. You will be giving up control of the nation your ancestors created. The nation the al Kazhims had carved out of the jungle and birthed themselves.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Amil. The people of this nation are what I am supposed to serve, all the people. It’s something my father never recognized, and his father before him. Kazhimistan is more than the Sheikh, it’s more than me. You called your home ‘Ghwahali’, correct? Then that is what it shall be known as. I welcome a discussion that can bring peace to all the people of Kazhimistan, and bring about a prosperous new future.” The Sheikh’s voice trembled at points, but he stood steadfast. No more would Kazhimistan be separate between the city and the denizens of “Outer Kazhimistan.”
Amil shook his hand; joy in her eyes. The Kazhims she had been promised in her youth were real. Perhaps he was the last good resident of the City, or perhaps the Sheikh was one of thousands who longed for peace and prosperity.
The Sheikh guided her out of the palace, and into the small car she had driven there. He waved her off. And for the first time in his life, Yosef al Kazhim did not know what awaited in his future.