bath.
He sighed, "Might I ask just what this Project Shepherd is?"
"It's my project," she said grandly, chin high. "We'll provide you with a suitable escort, someone experienced in the difficulties and dangers of star travel. A guardian, a guide—a shepherd."
"Oh. How long will I be gone? And my escort—who is he? Or she?"
Bear became curt. "You'll meet your escort quite soon and go through a brief orientation. You'll also be given your letter of Free Import."
"Free Import?"
"Yes. But all that will be explained in good time. In the interim, put your affairs in order at home and at your workplace. Then hold yourself in readiness." She stood, and he did too.
"There's one more thing, citizen." She'd left a shoulder bag at the end of the sofa. Now she opened it and drew out a wide, flashing band of some golden-red alloy. "You're to wear this, beginning immediately."
He took it from her in astonishment. It was a belt of placques so heavy that they dragged at his hand.
Each was decorated with cryptic characters and odd symbols. And each bore the same device, a broken slave's collar. The craftsmanship was superb; the placques glittered and chimed as they struck one another.
Deeply engraved on the back of the buckle was the name
HOBART FLOYT.
"It's an Inheritor's belt," Bear explained. "The executors' instructions require that you wear it from now until the Willreading." Her eyes lingered on it covetously. "It's too bad it can't remain here while you're gone."
She looked him in the eye. "Did I mention that it appears to contain some mechanism we don't understand?"
Floyt was foursquare opposed to putting it on, but she glared at him pointedly. With a sigh of surrender, he drew the belt around his waist and clasped the buckle. It closed with a heavy click. It was a perfect fit.
"It wouldn't shut for me," she said absently, her gaze fixed on the flashing, barbaric splendor of the thing. "It wouldn't shut for anyone. We didn't dare tamper with it."
Floyt considered that. "It perhaps read my DNA code? Or pore pattern or—but no, how would offworlders have known those?"
Bear gave him a hard stare then, without answering, turned to the door. "I'll be in touch with you when I've picked the person I want to serve as your escort. Precisely the person I want."
When she was gone, he removed the belt and examined it, reading his own name again, running his fingertips across the letters. It was odd to think that the artifact had crossed light-years. His heart sank once more at the thought of the danger and hardship the Inheritor's belt represented.
He stood looking at it for a long time there in his cluttered hallway, and reflecting upon his high compliance quotient. Resignedly, he replaced the belt around his middle.
When he clasped the buckle, it engaged with a sound of finality.
CHAPTER 5—VOLUNTEERS
Floyt had finally wrapped up his work. it took him longer than it should have; his mind was elsewhere.
He'd spent a good deal of his time distracted by fear of what was to come—of a thousand horrifying forms of death or mutilation, and of never being able to return for any of an almost infinite number of reasons. Inventing new and even more terrifying possibilities seemed to be the only thing at which his mind could work with complete clarity.
He damned Earthservice in his heart. He raged silently against Caspahr Weir. He hated Balensa and anyone else who didn't share his bad fortune. He condemned the job assignment that had long ago brought him into contact with genealogies.
He'd been able to ignore his immediate superiors' unspoken resentment—that was one small consolation. No one, peer or boss, even mentioned the Inheritor's belt he now wore throughout his waking hours. Word had obviously been passed that Floyt wasn't to be questioned or bothered.
His fellow workers had wished him well, in ones and twos, briefly and surreptitiously, on his "new assignment."
Supervisor Bear called just as he'd completed his
He sighed, "Might I ask just what this Project Shepherd is?"
"It's my project," she said grandly, chin high. "We'll provide you with a suitable escort, someone experienced in the difficulties and dangers of star travel. A guardian, a guide—a shepherd."
"Oh. How long will I be gone? And my escort—who is he? Or she?"
Bear became curt. "You'll meet your escort quite soon and go through a brief orientation. You'll also be given your letter of Free Import."
"Free Import?"
"Yes. But all that will be explained in good time. In the interim, put your affairs in order at home and at your workplace. Then hold yourself in readiness." She stood, and he did too.
"There's one more thing, citizen." She'd left a shoulder bag at the end of the sofa. Now she opened it and drew out a wide, flashing band of some golden-red alloy. "You're to wear this, beginning immediately."
He took it from her in astonishment. It was a belt of placques so heavy that they dragged at his hand.
Each was decorated with cryptic characters and odd symbols. And each bore the same device, a broken slave's collar. The craftsmanship was superb; the placques glittered and chimed as they struck one another.
Deeply engraved on the back of the buckle was the name
HOBART FLOYT.
"It's an Inheritor's belt," Bear explained. "The executors' instructions require that you wear it from now until the Willreading." Her eyes lingered on it covetously. "It's too bad it can't remain here while you're gone."
She looked him in the eye. "Did I mention that it appears to contain some mechanism we don't understand?"
Floyt was foursquare opposed to putting it on, but she glared at him pointedly. With a sigh of surrender, he drew the belt around his waist and clasped the buckle. It closed with a heavy click. It was a perfect fit.
"It wouldn't shut for me," she said absently, her gaze fixed on the flashing, barbaric splendor of the thing. "It wouldn't shut for anyone. We didn't dare tamper with it."
Floyt considered that. "It perhaps read my DNA code? Or pore pattern or—but no, how would offworlders have known those?"
Bear gave him a hard stare then, without answering, turned to the door. "I'll be in touch with you when I've picked the person I want to serve as your escort. Precisely the person I want."
When she was gone, he removed the belt and examined it, reading his own name again, running his fingertips across the letters. It was odd to think that the artifact had crossed light-years. His heart sank once more at the thought of the danger and hardship the Inheritor's belt represented.
He stood looking at it for a long time there in his cluttered hallway, and reflecting upon his high compliance quotient. Resignedly, he replaced the belt around his middle.
When he clasped the buckle, it engaged with a sound of finality.
CHAPTER 5—VOLUNTEERS
Floyt had finally wrapped up his work. it took him longer than it should have; his mind was elsewhere.
He'd spent a good deal of his time distracted by fear of what was to come—of a thousand horrifying forms of death or mutilation, and of never being able to return for any of an almost infinite number of reasons. Inventing new and even more terrifying possibilities seemed to be the only thing at which his mind could work with complete clarity.
He damned Earthservice in his heart. He raged silently against Caspahr Weir. He hated Balensa and anyone else who didn't share his bad fortune. He condemned the job assignment that had long ago brought him into contact with genealogies.
He'd been able to ignore his immediate superiors' unspoken resentment—that was one small consolation. No one, peer or boss, even mentioned the Inheritor's belt he now wore throughout his waking hours. Word had obviously been passed that Floyt wasn't to be questioned or bothered.
His fellow workers had wished him well, in ones and twos, briefly and surreptitiously, on his "new assignment."
Supervisor Bear called just as he'd completed his
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