“I need to purchase a hoverchair.”
The droid paused for a moment while its processors searched the city directory.
“Of course, sir.”
The taxi lifted off and took him to a medical supply reseller. Medical devices filled the cavernous warehouse, tended to by a single elderly man who reminded Zeerid of a scarecrow.
There, eighty-seven thousand credits got Zeerid a used hoverchair sized for a seven-year-old and a crash course on how to operate it. Zeerid could not stop smiling while the wholesaler’s utility droid loaded the chair in the back of the taxi.
“Don’t see bearer cards all that often,” the old man said, eyeing Zeerid’s method of payment.
“Credits are credits,” Zeerid said. He knew what the man must have been thinking.
“True. I used to be a nurse, you know. That chair is a good device.”
“She’ll love it,” Zeerid said.
The old man rubbed his hands together. “If that’s all then, sir. I’ll just need you to fill out a few forms. The bearer card is untraceable, as you know.”
“Can we do it another time?” Zeerid said, and started walking for the door. “I really have to go.”