The Pillars of Eternity

The swathed man turned to indicate a table in the centre of the room where a dumpy, togaed individual sat talking desultorily with two others and toying with a set of gambling cubes. His eyes were downcast. Boaz recognized him as a person who spent most of his time waiting. Waiting for the right customer to come along.

‘See that alec over there? He has the numbers. He’s one of about ten people on Sarsuce who have them. But it’s information that costs a lot.’

‘Why should it? Meirjain will become visible soon.’

‘Not soon enough. Haven’t you heard?’ The other raised his eyebrows. ‘The Wanderer’s been put off-limits. An econosphere cruiser is on its way. Nobody is going to get down on Meirjain that isn’t able to jump the gun and get to the co-ordinate point ahead of that cruiser. So you see, it’s the co-ordinates or nothing.’

‘This is a wild story. I don’t believe you.’

The man sighed. ‘How blunt. It’s almost quaint, really. You needn’t believe me.’ He reached into a swathe and placed a news card on the table, tracing his finger round the dial. ‘See for yourself.’

Boaz picked up the thin wafer. The holoflash hit his retinas. In urgent, colored script, he read: ALL CITIZENS ARE ADVISED AND WARNED THAT THE PLANET KNOWN AS ‘MEIRJAIN THE WANDERER’ AND ASSOCIATED WITHIN THE LIMIT OF THE BRILLIANCY CLUSTER IS BY ORDER OF THE DEPARTMENT OF LOCATIONAL AFFAIRS PLACED UNDER ABSOLUTE PROHIBITION. NO LANDING IS TO BE MADE ON SAID PLANET NOR ANY SCAN CARRIED OUT EXCEPT BY OFFICIAL ORDER. PENALTIES WILL BE POSTED IN THE AMOUNT OF TWENTY YEARS LABOUR OR FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND PSALTERS….

Thoughtfully he laid down the card. The penalties were largely bluff. The econosphere, as the great rambling empire of man-inhabited space called itself, was in a state of semi-disintegration; spasmodically tyrannous, but just as often unable to impose any effective government whatsoever over innumerable worlds. The government would depend on the arriving cruiser to enforce the edict….

‘If you still don’t believe me,’ his informant said softly, ‘there’s a public announcement on every two-hour.’

‘In these circumstances,’ Boaz pointed out, ‘no one is going to land on Meirjain.’

‘Some people reckon they can. Econosphere law doesn’t count for a lot in this neck of the woods; that cruiser has a long way to come. Word has it that those who know in advance where the Wanderer is due will beat the law to the drop.’

Boaz’s mind turned to what might be behind the ban, which bore all the hallmarks of official panic. There was uncounted wealth on Meirjain; its dead civilization was a treasure house. But most valuable of all, of course, were what Boaz was after – time-jewels, gems able to refract light through time as well as space. It was the only known example of time modification by physical – and probably artificial – means.

Something about these gems frightened the econosphere government, Boaz reasoned. He had tried to track down some of the jewels that had been taken from the Wanderer on the first landing three centuries ago. To all intents and purposes they had vanished from existence, hidden away, secreted – perhaps even destroyed, he suspected – by government agencies.

His conclusion gave him hope. If the authorities feared the gems, then they had a use….

‘The alec’s name is Hansard,’ Boaz’s informant was saying. ‘Do you want me to talk to him?’

‘I don’t have money in the amount he would probably ask.’

‘You have a ship. A fine ship.’

Boaz grunted. ‘Without a ship, what good are coordinates?’

‘Leave it to me.’

While Boaz watched, the swathed man walked to Hansard and leaned over to talk to him. Hansard glanced at Boaz, a perfunctory, predatory glance. He nodded, as his eyes returned to the table.

The swathed man beckoned. The others left the table as Boaz stepped over and took the seat that was offered. Hansard’s gaze flicked up to him and back to his cubes again. He was smiling to himself.

‘A fine ship you have, I’m told. What’s its name?’

‘It’s my ship; it doesn’t need a name.’

‘Well, never mind….’

Hansard scattered the play blocks and reached in his pocket. He pulled out a memory cube and held it up. ‘I had four of these. I’ve got two left. I paid good money for them and I’d like to make a profit, but I’m not adamant about it. I place it in the lap of the gods.’

‘That’s normal commercial practice.’

‘Correct. I’m a gambler. Double or quits. One throw. If you win, you have the numbers and you still have your ship so you can use them. If I win, I take your ship. You won’t have any use for the numbers then, anyway.’

‘I guess not,’ Boaz said. The idea that he would gamble with his ship as a stake caused him a wry amusement. He had known this was all wrong from the outset, and now the beam that stretched out to him from the ship ground confirmed it.

He cheats; the blocks are loaded, his ship whispered to him. And then: Also, his merchandise is worthless.