[ WP ] In a world where people can buy and sell skills , you work at a skill pawn shop and someone is trying to pawn a skill that you ca n't value or appraise .

The Skill crystal clinked as the tired-looking man set it on the counter. “ I need to sell this, ” was his only explanation. He stood expectantly as I lifted the crude glassy lump. 
 
 I held it up to the window as I gave the Skill a cursory examination. The thing was huge for a Skill crystal, riddled with cloudy inclusions, its surface pitted and irregular. “ Home extracted, ” I clucked dismissively. Damned inefficient, a waste of materials. He didn ’ t respond, but he was already out of my mind other than a footnote of irritation. The Skill had nearly my full attention—I couldn ’ t immediately identify it. 
 
 At first, I blamed the amateurish extraction job; people who do it themselves at home, they never manage to pull the single specific skill by itself. They try to get just their knowledge of a secret family recipe, and accidentally give up a dozen little cooking techniques with it. Or the try to crystallize their Skill at driving commercial vehicles, and also lose “ how to parallel park. ” That kind of cross-contamination muddles the clarity, and makes the resulting crystal something of a mess. 
 
 This one must have been years ’ worth of learning and experience. Extracted properly, it might be half the size, but it would be a nice, attractive gem of a Skill, compact, easy to absorb, without the various boring life skills this man in front of me would come to miss in a few days or weeks. 
 
 But I began to feel some concern; I couldn ’ t even *begin* to read its contents. I turned it over and over in my hands and only got the vaguest notions of what it might hold. What I do isn ’ t a Skill—people have tried to buy it from me, even though it ’ s not something people can learn. Although I ’ ve worked at it like one would any normal skill, you have to have the … innate ability first. Normally, I can identify and rate Skill crystals instantly. 
 
 And the blob resisted my efforts. If not for the tingle of power, if not for the slow, swirling movements of the extraneous talents included in this Skill, the thing could have been ordinary glass. 
 
 There was a Skill there—several, actually—but they weren ’ t anything I ’ d encountered before. 
 
 I looked from the blob to the man, giving him a closer look. “ Tired ” wasn ’ t the right word, and neither was “ man. ” This teenager was exhausted. That was unusual; teenagers were the biggest Skill *buyers. * They collected talents like hoarding magpies. He wasn ’ t paying attention, just staring off into space, waiting. He looked like he ’ d had a rough week or so; his short hair was greasy and his clothes had a few days ’ wear on them. Though they looked expensive, they hung on him, a few sizes too large. 
 
 I reviewed the types of Skills that a youngster would dedicate the hours to master. There was nothing athletic in the Skill I held. It felt vaguely academic, but I could only get the foggiest of impressions; it had lots of on-the-job learning. 
 
 After several more minutes of fruitless guessing, I gave up. I waved a bit to catch his attention. “ What is it? ” I asked. His eyes came into focus and he blinked. I repeated the question. 
 
 His face crumpled, like he was about to cry. The effort to control himself made sweat bead on his forehead. After a few moments of rigidly-controlled breathing, he swallowed, wiped his eyes, and tried to speak. “ I-it ’ s my family. Dad and everything he learned, Grandpa, Great-grandma, going all the way back to … back. ” 
 
 I couldn ’ t hold in my gasp as I made the connection. 
 
 I was holding a Legacy. 
 
 I stared, stunned, at the ugly, lop-sided Skill Crystal, then back to the boy. Then back to the crystal, amazed. I ’ d never held a Legacy before. I ’ d never seen one. These things did *not* end up in the hands of Skill Brokers. They never left their families. Heck, the damn things were *locked* to prevent theft or use outside of the bloodline. Usually. 
 
 I felt no locks on this one. I could feel all of the little intrinsic qualities of the crystal itself, I could even feel the little trigger that would release the Skill from its physical matrix. Now that I knew its identity, I could recognize how rushed the extraction had been. 
 
 For a moment, my mind rested on that trigger. I could take this boy ’ s Legacy, the compounded knowledge of generations, right now, and get out of this place. Take my innate talent and apply it to things more interesting than assessing crude Skill crystals filled with junk skills like “ efficient gift wrapping ” or “ writing mirror-image letters. ” 
 
 The temptation passed. I put the Legacy back on the counter and closed my eyes, trying to think through the best course of action here. 
 
 “ All right. I … don ’ t know who you are, but there ’ s really nothing I can give you that is worth your family ’ s Legacy. ” I ’ d built a reputation on being honest, and I wasn ’ t about to compromise it now. “ This is invaluable. It ’ s not something I could ever sell, not … not properly, not legally. ” Even trying would probably get me arrested. “ Why haven ’ t you incorporated it? ” 
 
 He shifted a little in place, and again suppressed anguish. “ I … it ’ s not allowed, I ’ m too young. ” He launched into an explanation, some of the secrets of the Legacy Families that I had never before heard. Apparently the custom was that a person could only absorb a Legacy in their thirties, or after they were married and had raised a child to the age of five. It was, he tried to convey, a way of ensuring that the inheritor did not get his personality overwritten by the ancestral talents, that he had a chance to learn and develop his own natural Skills before borrowing from his progenitors. It made sense, but it left this boy handicapped. 
 
 I looked at him, then to the door. Business was always slow this time of day, but I went around the counter and locked us in. I flipped the “ closed ” sign, then, staying on the customer side of the counter, I crossed my arms a few paces away from him. “ So. You ’ re in trouble. Someone ’ s after you. And you ’ re the last Heir to this Legacy. ” I didn ’ t phrase these statements as questions, but he nodded. I held up a hand as he tried to explain further. “ The less I know, the safer for both of us. Helping you … is a big risk. But I can ’ t let you walk out of here, ” I sighed. “ Not without trying. So I ’ ll make you a deal. ” 
 
 I went to the big display case behind the counter and dismissed the protective field. I began setting Skill crystals in front of him. Dozens of them. Most were faceted little gems, bright, dull, and a few glowing, all about the size of a fingernail. Evasive piloting, self-defense, using stealth fields. I sorted through the Skills decisively, pulling some from drawers and others from secret safes. I even laid out a few illegal talents like evading security systems, lockpicking, shoplifting, and pickpocketing. The boy would need every advantage he could get. 
 
 These skills, together, would give him everything he needed to break clean of whatever it was that was after him. An impromptu assassin-spy, more in line with the fictional idealized version than the mundane reality, but I tried to anticipate every contingency, as best I could guess them. 
 
 And when he got out of this mess, whatever it was, he ’ d owe me. When he came into his rightful place in the world, someday, he ’ d remember the Skill Broker who was generous, who had helped him, and who had kept his Legacy safe. 
 
 Safe, so long as whoever had murdered his family didn ’ t come after me. 

