The Price of the Stars: Book One of Mageworlds Read Online Free PDF

without answering, began dealing out a new table full of cards.
    “Besides,” LeSoit added, as the crown, coronet, scepter, and orb of trefoils fell one by one onto the tablecloth in front of the gambler himself, “it’s not the people who lost money that I’d be worried about.”

II. NAMMERIN: SPACE FORCE MEDICAL STATION; DOWNTOWN NAMPORT
     
    L IEUTENANT ARI Rosselin-Metadi crossed the open ground to the Med Station’s Number Two aircar with easy, unhurried strides. A hard rain was falling on the landing field, but only newcomers to the station tried to escape bad weather. Here in Nammerin’s equatorial region, rain fell every day for half the year, and violent storms roared through at least twice a week during the other half. This was the drier-but-stormy season, and the downpour plastered Ari’s thick black hair against his skull.
    In the shelter of the aircar, a lean, fair-haired man stood waiting. His uniform was less rain-soaked than Lieutenant Rosselin-Metadi’s, but only because there was less of it to get wet. By most standards Nyls Jessan would be considered tall, but Ari was nearly seven feet in height and massively built, with powerful muscles overlying long, heavy bones—the legacy of a paternal grandfather whose name not even Jos Metadi had ever known.
    “Our chariot awaits,” said Jessan, with a theatrical flourish toward the aircar’s open door. “We’ve got a civilian casualty requesting an assist at gridposit seven-two-eight-three-four-nine-two-five.”
    His speech carried faint traces of a Khesatan drawl. Nobody at Nammerin’s Medical Station could figure out what an aristocrat from the most elegant and civilized of the Central Worlds was doing in the Space Force, and Lieutenant Jessan, in spite of his ready flow of light chatter, had never volunteered the information.
    Ari climbed into the waiting aircar. In a few minutes, with Jessan at the controls, they were flying in and out of drifting patches of grey cloud, with the lush vegetation of the equatorial zone spread out beneath them.
    Nammerin was a young world, plagued by constantly shifting weather patterns, but the civilized galaxy was hungry and expanding in the aftermath of the war. So—to keep the agricultural machinery on Nammerin’s vast water-grain farms from rusting untended while other worlds went hungry—the Space Force’s medical and disaster relief teams worked overtime on behalf of the planet’s scattered population.
    “Well,” said Ari, as soon as they’d leveled out. “What do you think is waiting for us?”
    “Could be anything,” said Jessan. “While you were up-country on leave we got three cases of Rogan’s Disease at the walk-in clinic.”
    “We shouldn’t be seeing Rogan’s here at all,” protested Ari. “It’s a dry-world problem.”
    Jessan shrugged. “We’ve got it anyway, and tholovine’s scarce in this sector. It’s not even part of the standard kit.”
    “You can thank the Magelords for that,” Ari told him. “Tholovine was a big part of their combat chemistry. Ever since the war ended and word got out, none of the major supply firms will handle the stuff. The dry worlds make just enough to handle their local problems, and that’s it.”
    The Khesatan lieutenant raised an elegant golden eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve been hitting the journals.”
    “I had an interest,” said Ari shortly:
    Jessan opened his mouth and then shut it again. The Domina’s murder had rocked the civilized galaxy only a few Standard weeks after Ari first reported for duty on Nammerin. Around the Med Station, by unspoken agreement, the subject was never discussed.
    The wind picked up as the aircar continued on. On the ground below, tall trees bent and tossed like stems of grass, and drainage ditches raged like turbulent rivers. Stiff gusts buffeted the craft as it flew.
    Ari was the first one to break the silence. “It’s going to be a wild ride coming back.”
    Jessan glanced over at him. “Are you