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Who will pay them, now?" "Why, the Mastership, of course," Ridgerd Schferts said. "My Management my Lord-Employer's, I mean will issue the money to pay them." "You may need a new printing-press," Lanze Degbrend said. "And an awful lot of paper." "This planet will need currency acceptable in interstellar trade," Erskyll said. Everybody looked blankly at him. He changed the subject: "Mr.
"Nifflheim, no! This government doesn't need revenue. This government supports itself by counterfeiting. When the Mastership needs money, they just have Ridgerd Schferts print up another batch. Like everybody else." "Then the money simply isn't worth anything!" Erskyll was horrified, which was rapidly becoming his normal state. "Who cares about money, Obray," he said.
Chmidd and Hozhet and Zhannar and Khouzhik and Schferts and the rest of the Citadel chief-slave clique. Among them, they controlled all the armed force. The bickering and rivalries must have been part of the camouflage. He supposed that a few of the upper army commanders had been in on it, too. A communication-screen began making noises.
"My fiscal man's getting in touch with Ridgerd Schferts; the Elegry heirs will be paid in Adityan stellies, and the Imperial crowns will be held in the Commonwealth Bank, or, better, banked in Asgard, to give Aditya some off-planet credit. And we'll do the same with our other expenditures, and with the slave-compensation.
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