The hood of the jacket was raised but Clay could see the glimmer of a Maritime Protectorate cap badge inside it, and the man’s face; blockishly handsome of North Mandinorian complexion. His gaze was direct and focused, making Clay realise he was present in this scene, no longer just an observer of baffling mysteries; he was really here. The man regarded Clay with an expression of shrewd if cautious satisfaction, the face of a man receiving a debt he never expected to be paid. After a second he gave a soft grunt and turned to regard the great spire rising from the ice. “So,” he said in a voice
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