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.It didn’t bode well; in his time, it was unheard-of for a PA to be so lax.He sent access codes for the Holly’s credit line.Eighteen years ago it would easily have rented this cheap berth and bought some repairs.The schooner had been on Coba even longer than Kelric, sitting in an abandoned port.Despite some automated upkeep, its condition was worn.Repair costs had probably increased, but the credit line had a good cushion built into it.The fee schedule appeared.Kelric stared at the screen.He didn’t even have enough to land, let alone rent a berth.Repairs were out of the question.The console beeped.Funds insufficient.Please transmit an alternate access code.Neither the audio nor visual system on the schooner worked.So he typed at the antiquated keyboard: I don’t have an alternate code.How do you plan to pay your bill? the PA inquired.This vessel is in military use.ISC will cover the fees.That option is no longer available.The PA shaded its glyphs with impatience.Kelric blinked.Imperial Space Command no longer covered its officers? He found that hard to believe.Contact ISC.They have no representative available to contact about financial matters associated with this port.Why not?Unknown.How could it be unknown? ISC was—or had been—the single most powerful force in Skolian life.Now he couldn’t get enough credit to dock one old schooner? He had taken this ship from the planet Coba, where he had been imprisoned these past eighteen years while the rest of humanity believed him dead.As an ISC officer, he had the right to commandeer government property during an emergency.The schooner had made it possible for him to escape a war.Now, though, he wondered if he was landing in an even worse situation.He began to question the wisdom of revealing anything about himself.What work options are available? he asked.Unemployment in Porthaven is at 58 percent, the PA answered.Nor is a work contract likely to provide sufficient revenue to meet your obligation.Its nuances said he had less chance than an ice cube in hell of finding a job that would pay off his debt.What about a loan?We are willing to take your ship in lieu of payment Do you consent?Scowling, he almost refused.But what else could he offer? At least if he signed the ship over to the Edgewhirl PA, they would be responsible for its repairs.He debated options with himself, but in the end he answered, simply: Yes.Dazed and tired, Kelric walked along the starport concourse with everything he owned—his clothes.His suede trousers and white silk shirt were hand-tailored, of the highest quality, but wrinkles creased the fabric and scorch marks darkened his sleeves.His slight limp had been with him for eighteen years.He walked in bare feet.He had nothing else to his name.Except his gold and gems.Heavy gold guards circled his wrists and ankles, the metal engraved in a language no one spoke anymore.The guards were old.Ancient.So were the gold bands under his shirt, on his biceps, six on one arm, five on the other.Eighteen years ago the guards and bands would have summoned a fortune, more for their archaeological value than for the gold.The innocuous pouch hanging from his belt contained dice.But no ordinary dice.Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, opals, more: it held a glittering rainbow of wealth.Their worth didn’t lie so much in rarity; perfect gems could easily be made, using molecular assemblers to place atoms in crystal lattices.The value of these came from their authenticity.They had been formed by eons of geological processes, rather than in a lab, and they were almost flawless.It gave them a worth well beyond their mundane synthetic counterparts.He had no idea of the current value for his riches, but it made no difference.He never intended to sell them.They were his only link to the wife and children he had been forced to leave on Coba, the family he would never again see.So he continued along the wide, vaulted concourse.People thronged the area, a bustling, shoving, humming crowd.For the first time in eighteen years, he walked free.No guards watched him.No one tried to stop him.No political powers controlled his actions.Despite his towering height, massive build, bare feet, scorched clothes, and gold metallic coloring, no one spared him a second glanceHe soon saw why.Edgewhirl was a small, backwater planet, yet citizens from all over the Skolian Imperialate crammed its port [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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