Harat al-Qadi. The Quarter of the Judge. The place where judgement is passed.
Zahid al-Basra couldn't help but smile at the irony. A sad, defeated smile.

The Harat al-Qadi was not a very good ship.
"It's a piece of *****", said an aging man wearing a similarily aging yellowish jumpsuit. His name was Selim el-Koufri, a lifelong friend of the al-Basra family. They never knew exactly what it was he made a living doing, as the man seemed to know a little about everything. He ended up becoming the family advisor in regards to ships.
"I realised that, Selim" said Zahid, gently.

He had been to the hangar indicated by his father's letter, a lonely thing at the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. He'd used the codes to unlock the storage unit where the Al-Qadi was parked. It was an older version of the rugged Dromedary line of freighters. Zahid knew enough about ships to distinguish between a functional craft and a wreck waiting to happen. He thought it best to seek Selim's counsel, though he didn't expect any good news to come out of it.

The two men were walking around the ship, Selim pointing a menacing finger at various areas as he growled along.
"Half the guns are dead. Power distribution got them. Two turrets are missing. What's left is terribly mismatched and I doubt any computer could calculate a firing solution from this configuration. You'd be lucky to hit Razgriz even past the event horizon."
Zahid nodded. Trying that didn't seem that bad of an idea, in that "last thing to do with your life" genre.
"Not that it matters terribly : the shields' capacitors are busted. They have no way to store energy, so they'll only function on the bare minimum. A veil, enough against space dust and cosmic rays, but anything worse than that and it'll go right through your unprotected hull."
Zahid started at that. "Unprotected ? How come ?! This ship has been through hell and back, surely armour plating can't just... Cease to function ?"
"No, you're right. There was armour plating at some point, you can still see the mark where the bulkheads were reinforced, the traces of the bolts... But it's gone. Probably scrapped for cash. These systems used to be worth three times what they are now."
"Still more than I could afford."
"Armour wouldn't have helped. You get into a fight with this, you might as well enter the desert without water."

Zahid nodded again, sobered. Up until now, he was in limbo, as if this was not entirely real, some sort of distant dream. That last sentence brought him back.
"What about navigation ? Hull integrity ?"
Selim smiled. "I saved it for last. The Al-Qadi, despite all appearances, can fly, Zahid. I detected no breach in the hull whatsoever, you should be able to pressurise it without issue. The engine is one of those older budget items ; it's rustic, chugs fuel like an ogre and is as noisy as they get. But it won't let you down and it's easy to keep up. Same with the power generator. It'll do, but don't expect a miracle. It's not actually under a lot of stress, since most of your systems are either absent or underperforming anyway..."

Both men allowed themselves a laugh. They left the hangar and sat down on the stairs that were leading up to it. Selim produced two Corona beers and they toasted, in thoughtful silence. A moment passed, as they gazed into the rolling hills ahead of them. The high grass was caressed by the dying light of sunset and the gentle winds.

"What are you going to do, Zahid ? Is this about your father ?"
"Yes. I must try something, Selim. I'm all he has left."
"Well, you and that piece of ***** back there."
"Yes. Me and that piece of *****."
"There's not much it can do, besides..."
"Yes. The family tradition." Zahid had a bitter smile.
Selim looked forlornly at his bottle. "I know it is part of our customs, our lifeblood, even... But it's not for everyone. You have a gentle soul, surely you could..." he trailed off for half a second.
Zahid started, more aggressively than he'd intended. "I could WHAT ?! What, Selim ? What's there for me out there, that'll get my family away from these ***** ghouls ?! Should I do pottery ? Fix computers ? Go... Bounty hunting with the Al-Qadi ?!" He was on the verge of yelling that last sentence. He laughed at himself. Then he cried.

Selim looked smaller and older, his face an expression of sorrow and powerlessness. He laid his arm around Zahid's shoulders.
"There, kid. You've not chosen this path, but that doesn't mean you'll need to walk it for your entire life. Picture it as a... Quickfix. To get the Al-Basra away from their torments and back on the valley of plenty."
Zahid's shoulders sagged and he relaxed. He chose not to mention his father's plans for building an empire. An empire of slavery and drug-running. Riches beyond his imagination, and not a care in the world once the cogs are in place. But what of his soul ?
"You're right, Selim. This will be a time of challenge and ordeal, a sacrifice to found a better future for us... But I need to know I'm making the right decision. I must hear it."
"But whom could you ask such a thing ? Who could know ? Who could answer ?" Selim asked, thoughtfully.
"The Djinn. That is who I'll seek. That will be the beginning of my journey."
Selim paused. "It may be a one-way trip. Especially in the Al-Qadi..."
"It's a trial", Zahid replied. "All of this. Surviving the Siniestre onboard the Al-Qadi will be the first step. Consulting with the Djinn will be the second."
"And what if they condemn your path ? What if they don't bring you the answer you seek ?"
"Insh'allah", replied Zahid, and they both returned their gaze to the vast plain ahead of them.

God's will.