Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) by John Hindmarsh Page A

the most expeditious way to purchase his commission as a junior officer in the Imperial Fleet. His first step was to visit the bankers where funds were waiting on his arrival. Undoubtedly a number of palms would want to feel the weight of his gold before he received his commission papers.
    “Come, Tziksis,” he directed. “You can be my guide again. First to the banking district and then perhaps to the Imperial Fleet.”
    “Imperial Fleet? Are you sure, your humanness? Do you jest with Tziksis?”
    “Why ever would I do that? I intend to buy a commission and you will be able to assist. I believe junior officers are permitted to take a servant with them and you can be my servant on board, if you wish?”
    The little alien clicked furiously. Steg was intrigued to see the color of the alien’s carapace lighten from dark violet to almost pure white and then back again. He could not decipher the mutterings and clicks, and he could not determine whether the alien was excited or frightened. He shrugged.
    “Come on now, first we must visit a bank. Then we shall see what your problems are with the Fleet.”
     
    The banking district was more of the same with tall gray buildings that stood in row after row, street after street. However here the passersby were less gaudily dressed and private guards protected the outward sanctity of each nest of bankers, ensuring that nothing untoward disturbed the deep waters of finance. Steg’s Complex-provided destination was a bank that he surmised was either controlled or owned by Homeworld interests.
    The autocab dropped them in front of one of the buildings and they climbed the broad sweep of stairs leading to the columned entrance of the bank. Past the heavy metal and glass doors was a vast and characterless foyer with cold marble floors and walls. A severely featured security guard stopped their progress before Steg managed to enter the large antechamber. The guard imperiously held out his hand, arresting Steg’s progress.
    “Your weapon, sir.” The request was conveyed as an order.
    Steg placed a steadying hand on Ebony; the sword was slung from his shoulder. “I am afraid not,” he declined with a brief but unamused smile. “I am here on business. My sword remains with me.”
    “We cannot permit anyone to enter the bank who is armed, sir,” responded the guard with barely a facade of civility. His watching companions appeared to brace themselves and Tziksis clacked away to himself, his eyestalks bouncing in concern.
    “In that case we must do business from here.” He mentioned an astronomical amount. “Please arrange the withdrawal.”
    The guard paled and stepped back to his console. “You have a card, sir?” he queried. Steg handed across the card given him with his identification and other papers by the dying Acolyte.
    The guard spoke softly into his intercom; however, Steg could not hear the one-sided conversation. He assumed a sound damper protected such conversations from being overheard by waiting bank clients and idle passersby. He waited patiently, ignoring curious glances from other bank customers who were passing through the entrance, under the supervision of the other two guards. At last the guard finished his conversation and returned the card.
    “Please place your hand here, sir,” he instructed. “Our security system will verify your identify with our records. Then our Mr. McWhimple will speak with you.”
    Steg followed the guard’s instructions and placed his hand firmly onto the palm reader. He did not know what identity arrangements had been communicated, he just hoped the Complex had been thorough. He moved back at the guard’s request and stood waiting quietly with Tziksis while the slow machinery of the bank churned through its routine security processes. At last a newcomer arrived from within the bank.
    “Sir,” he addressed Steg. “I’m to accompany you to our Mr. McWhimple. Please come with me. Yes, bring your sword.” He led the way back