Not a welcoming place to the outsider, and the large number of pirate craft that hung around the system, safe from police interference, was a further deterrent to sensible people.
Knowing all of this, and living in the middle of it, made little difference to Sura. Her town was the largest for some distance, and well enough able to defend itself against attacks by others. The people in it looked after each other - a result of no particular virtue of theirs but a necessity of survival. They were also as self- sufficient as anyone on Qudira could be, fortunately located on the shores of a lake at the desert's edge. Life inside was reasonably safe, and it was home.
The video flickered and went dead, and the hum from the other electrical equipment died out. Sura swore under her breath. She rose in annoyance, and ducked through to the small kitchen area. A fridge held a jug of cold water; she poured herself a glass and drank it before it had a chance to warm up. Returning the jug to the fridge, she ventured outside.
The heat of the sun was uncomfortable at this time of day, but it was a discomfort she was used to and capable of ignoring. The house was a simple single story building of sand-like stone, rising about six feet above the ground and with another couple beneath it. A metal ladder clung to the wall near the door, shaded for most of the day by the south facing wall. Sura climbed the ladder to her roof, hoping to see what was wrong with the solar generator unit that sat there.
As soon as she gained the roof she could see the problem. Somehow the solar panel had stopped tracking the sun, and was pointing away from it, in the shade. Without it generating she had been unknowingly draining the battery intended for night use. The roof reflected the heat back from it, and spending any time on it was unpleasant. Sura hoped that whatever was wrong with the unit was simple enough for her to repair, and quickly. It did not take her long to locate the cause of the problem; the casing of the gearing had broken and half of it was hanging loose from the other. The bottom half had filled with sand blown from the desert, clogging the machinery.
She assumed that if the sand was cleared out it might work again. The casing could wait until later, in the mean time it could be temporarily tied in place with some string. When she took hold of the metal it was almost burning hot, and grimacing in pain at it she yanked hard with both hands. The metal stayed put, but Sura's hand slipped and caught the teeth of a wheel. She yelped and grabbed the injured hand with her other one. The skin had been torn and the wound was bleeding slowly.
As she made her way across the roof back to the ladder a movement in the distance caught her attention, several patrol vehicles tearing out from the town. In response to raiders? Her stomach turned with an accustomed knot of fear, quickly ignored.
Descending the ladder with the use of only one hand did not prove difficult, and she was soon back indoors. Locking the door behind her she rinsed her injured hand and dressed the cut. She tossed the discarded dressing wrapper into a bin and sat down in her office, intent on finding out what was happening.
The terminal screen was dark. Of course, the power was out. Sura shook her head in disgust at her memory. Abandoning that idea, she helped herself to another drink and returned to her lounge. Throwing the curtain back to provide light, she picked up a half-finished book and tried to settle down, but she only managed to read a couple of pages before dropping it back down. Not knowing the situation was, she decided, worse than venturing outside. There was no sound of any trouble and no alarms had been sounded, after all. Her life was based around keeping track of everything that was going on.
Sitting in a cupboard was a jumble of a toolkit, containing various things useful and otherwise. On top of the pile was a heavy mallet, and somewhere in its midst she found a chisel.
Outside things were the same as ever, quiet, but most people stayed indoors out of the heat. With her good hand Sura pushed the tools up onto the roof, then climbed up to retrieve them. The injury was not serious, and she was able to hold the chisel despite it as she placed the tool under the damaged casing. After several strikes of the mallet the chisel was through. She wrenched it around, widening the hole, until sand started trickling out.
To her satisfaction it poured through when she pulled the chisel out, gradually revealing the machinery inside. Sura blew into it a few times to clear any remaining dust from the wheels. Lying on the roof next to generator was a crank that could be used to manually turn the panel. She slid it onto its bolt and pushed. Slowly at first, the gears began to turn, and the panel shuddered round. Squinting at the sun to judge the angle she continued to turn it until it was facing the sun, although it was pointing too low. Another bolt adjusted the elevation until it was facing square on.
For a few minutes nothing happened, and Sura waited, starting to grow impatient. At last there was a hum as the motors started up, tracking the sun of its own accord. Cheering to herself, Sura started back to the ladder, but suddenly paused, looking around. In the success of repairing the generator she had forgotten the patrol. There was no sign of it, although there was still a wisp of dust in the air in the direction it had gone. It might be out of sight, or it might have stopped. Sura shook her head and went back indoors.
The terminal was now working, sitting on standby mode. As she sat down in front of it the screen came on, presenting the familiar custom setup. A light touch brought up a list of names, one of which she selected by tapping it. The message "Ringing" flashed on the screen.
It was answered by an untidy-looking middle-aged man, his hair cut only so as to keep it out of his eyes, and a messy, bushy beard hiding the rest of his face. A couple of other people were sat at a table behind him, clearly arguing.
"Hey, Scruffy!" Sura called out to the man before he had a chance to speak. "Is there something going on?"
"What do you mean?" he snapped back at her.
"I saw a patrol go out about fifteen minutes ago," she said. "I want to know what's up."
The man rolled his eyes. "Poking your nose in, again," he muttered.
"Come on, not much happens around here that isn't useful to me."
"So? Why should I care less about that?"
"No reason. Let's put it down to our wonderful friendship."
"Getting you to leave me alone would be a better motive," the man replied sourly. "A couple of Gerijkls were spotted heading this way."
The man was trying to wind her up, Sura thought. The Gerijkls, the indigenous inhabitants of Qudira, refused to attempt to talk to anyone other than one person unless the circumstances were extremely unusual, and that person was Sura, apparently because she was the first person who spoke to them after their previous contact died. Sometimes they would announce their intentions to someone else, which usually only consisted of an order for Sura to come to them.
"I would have thought you would be letting me know straight away," Sura said in exasperation.
"Why?" the man grunted. "Two of them isn't enough for a trade party. Don't know if there's any point in talking to them yet, do we?"
Sura waited for a second, calming herself down, before replying. The man always irritated her, and he seemed to enjoy it, as if he thought of it as some kind of game, or a petty revenge for ignoring his advances. A quick hint of a grimace crossed her face. He was ugly, untidy, unpleasant, and quite a bit older than her, but an important person in the town, which he seemed to think made him desirable.