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Django would, when he was cross, throw his weight around. Raven often complained, when he wasn’t prone to parody. And right now the prospect of becoming the Saviour of five systems worth of humans was making him fairly angry indeed.
“Do you have any idea what my people did to me?” he demanded. “They gave me a golden crown of thorns! They made me king of an island that nobody wanted! They had me… organising things. Things I never wanted to care about. I just wanted to free my people and tell the Tu'atta to go rot! What business have you to tell me that I have to be here and watch freedom happen through five systems?”
“People need to see their Saviour,” said the very calm Othersider who had become more than used to listening to his daily rants.
“I am Lord High Admiral Django Ali, King of Cursedland, Saviour of Hevun - for my sins… I should be able to go where I want, when I want.”
“Ideally, yes,” said the captain. She had been selected from a surprise stash of captains who worked with Wapun on survey missions. Unlike Wapun, she was a tall and bulky amazon with close-cropped red hair and a dragon across her face. “But your people need a symbol, and what better symbol than their own Saviour?”
Sahra appeared, Simy in tow as always, by some spontaneous magic. “Reckon we aughta send home fo’ the crown?” she asked. “Crowns is pretty impressive.”
“You wear one, then,” growled Ali. “Why do you keep sneaking around like that, all the time? I can never tell where you are, let alone where you’re going to turn up.”
Sahra gave him a snaggly grin. “I got where I is by stayin’ quiet and outta notice. Now you want me to change?”
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