DERELICT
1529 4D
Deep in the City, a corridor opened in what had always been a blank wall of stone, and a decrepit, grizzle-faced human figure wearing multicolored rags emerged. The corridor closed and became a wall again.
The figure looked around, apparently bewildered. Two men of the blue-coveralled City police militia approached; they drew beam guns. One said, “Stop where you are. Identity check.”
The man said in a cracked and accented voice, “I wish to speak to this world’s governmental officials.”
“Here we are. Your IDer, please.”
“Come with us.” Each officer took one arm of the oddly-dressed man.
“Thank you. I bring an offer of trade.” The man’s face jerked into a smile.
“That’s right. What do you want to trade?”
“We have metal to offer in return for specified ores.” The man tried to reach into a pocket of the tattered, brightly-colored coat.
“No, you don’t.” The officers tightened their grip; some of the street crazies had weapons.
“I would like to show you–” The pocket ripped open and spilled a small flood of coin on the stone understreet. The coins jingled away; one officer stooped, snatched a coin and inspected it.
“This is out of date. It was supposed to be turned in when the currency laws were changed. Where is your certificate of pending reissue? You are supposed to carry it with all outdated coin.”
“Certificut?”
“Rolfar, he doesn’t have his certificate.”
“Too bad, isn’t it?”
“Where do these guys come from, anyway? That spaceship they’re showing on the sensi?”
“He doesn’t look so good. Let’s take him to the hospital.”
“I would like to speak to this world’s governmental officials.” The man wobbled between them.
“Don’t worry. Rolfar, look at this. His skin is peeling off.”
“Shit. Don’t get it on your hands.”
At the hospital, while the man protested, the doctors pumped him full of stabilization drugs that had no effect except to stop his breathing. Two andro attendants gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but the man died. The body began to decompose in minutes; the clothing shredded itself into powder.
