Quid Pro Quo

"There is trust between us," I said to Lucius Verus, recently returned to Ar.

"Delightful, Poet," he answered. "But your faith is not shared by the rest of us."

"I do not have the resources," I responded.

"You will be held responsible for this choice," he told me.

"I am well aware of the gravity of my decision," I answered.

"I should have stayed in Lara," he muttered.

Lucius was once of the Caste of Scribes, he wore the Blue in the finest city of Gor. Respected. Trusted. A foremost researcher of a wide variety of subjects. During the Occupation, he was asked to compromise his ethics to support the puppet regime. When he refused, he was discredited. His residence was razed. His libraries were burned. Rather than suffer further ignominy, Lucius Verus left the city of his birth. His status in the Caste of Scribes was removed in absentia. He is a traveling peddler now. He sells trinkets and baubles in cities along the Vosk River, but mostly in Lara. Gaunt and tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed, he wears an unlikely turban and long robe more suited to a swarthier sort in a desert clime. The slander I've endured pales to that which Lucius suffered. The loss of his Caste was a serious blow. They did not ban him from the city, but the import of their actions were clear. It is not hard to comprehend why Lucius is cautious with trust. He will not stay long. What I've shared should not be shared, but I do not have the resources to solve this dilemma. I do not have a choice. Quid pro quo. An equitable exchange. I must change the Game. I will not surrender the Home Stone to the collective ego of the elite.

"Find the salt," I said to her.

Exposing the culprits and colluders, the guilty and the guileful, will benefit us both. Snakes and favors, a secret for a secret.