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AMBUSH

A Terran Empire vignette

by Ann Wilson

Copyright (C) 1992 by Ann Wilson

Palace Complex, 2578 CE

It wouldn't be easy ferreting out the identity of the field agent who'dsaved his bio-father's life twelve years ago. It wasn't supposed to beeasy--ideally, it would be impossible--and Nevan was sure he owed hisown life, perhaps several times over, to the Imperial safeguards he wastrying to break. More, he understood why those safeguards wouldn't berelaxed even to allow an ex-agent to search out a still-active one--buthe had what he considered two excellent reasons to do exactly that. 

The first was that his bio-father had died, and had wanted Nevan togive the anonymous agent his personal weapons: two forearm throwingknives, a belt knife, and a needler. The one he had sworn fealty tohad agreed that his father's wish made it a matter of honor that hetry, and had given him permission--but on condition that he use onlyhis own training and skills, taking no advantage of the fact that hewas sworn to one of the most powerful people in the Empire. Nevan wascertain in his own mind that if he failed, she would see that the agentgot the weapons intended for him, but his thakur's overt reason foragreeing was that it would make a good test of IntelDiv's security. Ifhe were arrested, she would have him released and commend the peoplewho had done it; if he got through, she would have security procedurestightened. Neither paid serious attention to the fact that if he werecaught under certain circumstances she would have no chance to protecthim; he would be shot on sight. 

Nevan thought that perfectly reasonable. He was a Sandeman warrior, after all, and his thakur was an Irschchan; risks were a normal part oflife for both of them, to be accepted and even savored for the spicethey added. 

He had done all he could here, in the Records Section; he lowered hismind-shield and reached out. *Thakur?*

Her answer was prompt, and he smiled to himself, enjoying the coolclarity of her mind-touch. *What results, thakur-na?* she asked. 

*About what we expected. Kelly told me the agent was Logistics Officerat a base on Piper's World during the Traiti counter-attacks there, buthe never told me which base, and the description he gave fits five ofthem. I was able to eliminate two of those because the LogisticsOfficers were female--but that still leaves three. I'm going to haveto go under cover to find the right one. *

He "heard" the amused purr that was the Irschchan version of a laugh. *A return to the field work you enjoy so must be a terrible sacrifice, my Nevan. *

Nevan let his thoughts lapse into High War Speech, chuckling. *Nay, Thakur, as thou knowest well--save that it does mean I must conceal thymark, lest it identify me and make thy object in this attempt no truetest. *

*Aye, but it should not be for long. *

*And I knew when I swore that I might have to do it, * Nevan agreed. *Until my success or failure, then. *

Three days later he was far from Terra, the violet-flower tattoo on hischeek concealed by synthiskin, in a small Kanchatka-class courier ship. That was a definite luxury for a private individual, though notunreasonable for a Sandeman warrior who'd done well securing privateemployment and wanted more--who was, in short, a very good, veryexpensive hired killer. There weren't many, granted; killing for itsown sake wasn't highly regarded on Sandeman, especially if anythingmore honorable was available, but there were enough to make his coverplausible. 

This, he had decided, was going to be fun. 

 * * * * *

A couple of days later, he was less sure. He'd come away from thePalace Complex with as much solid data as he'd ever had starting amission, and with as much enthusiasm, but he'd begun feeling less thancomfortable about this one. Part of it was because he was pursuingsomeone he would probably like to have as a friend; the unknown agentdidn't deserve to be hunted, though Nevan had to reluctantly concedethat it was probably the best way to accomplish his thakur's mission. The other part was that he couldn't seem to decide whether or not hereally wanted to catch his target. He wanted to make sure the weaponswere delivered, yes, and since his chosen lady wanted a good test ofIntelDiv's security, he had to want it too--but he wasn't happy aboutwhat those desires implied: It was almost inevitable that he'd have touse some of a field agent's less savory skills. He'd used them before, often enough, and without qualms--against the Empire's enemies. He hadnever used them against people who had done nothing to deserve suchtreatment, and he didn't really want to. 

He didn't have any choice, though. He would do whatever proved to benecessary to accomplish his objectives. 

 * * * * *

Three weeks, five planetfalls, and almost 1500 light-years of routinechecking later, Nevan discovered his quarry's name: Kiyoshi Owajima. So far he'd had to resort to nothing more drastic than reading andcasual conversation, but learning he was after Owajima left him bothdisgusted at the gods' whimsical ordering of things and positive thatthings would be getting unpleasant rather shortly. He'd never metOwajima, though he'd wanted to, and when Nevan had left IntelDiv onswearing fealty to Ranger Losinj, Owajima had taken over the top fieldagent rating. Owajima was no Sandeman, but IntelDiv rumor had himclose; he was supposed to have been a Kai-school ninja before joiningthe Corps, and his exploits since hadn't done anything to contradictthe rumor. Nevan scowled at that; he hated having to depend on rumor. Doing that tended to get agents killed--but unless you worked in theclassified section of Personnel Records or knew the agent personally, rumor was all you'd have on one. And in Owajima's case, as in Nevan'sown, there wasn't even much rumor. 

 * * * * *

Kiyoshi Owajima concealed a scowl when he finished decoding hisinformant's message and read it. He had a pursuer, it seemed--aSandeman warrior named Vance DarLowrie, and the informant was convincedDarLowrie was one of the rare, expensive, and fearsome Sandemanfree-lance assassins. That conviction was strengthened by the fact thatDarLowrie had his own ship, the Last Resort, and it was registered tohim personally rather than to Clan Lowrie. The Sandeman would neitherconfirm nor deny that occupation, of course, but the simple fact thathe was attempting to trace an IntelDiv field agent lent still furthercredence to the informant's conclusion. 

Owajima would have liked more information, but it seemed prudent to acton the informant's suspicions. The Sandeman had filed a flight planfor Olathe, where Owajima had spent some time and built up arespectable net; that seemed most promising. It was unfortunate, Owajima thought, that he was unable to investigate DarLowrie himself;that would have to wait until he was finished with the final touches onhis present case, a matter of a day or two. 

Still, he could begin making preparations. He would be entitled to aleave after this mission, and he had planned to take it at home onNippon-Ni; that was now an even better idea. His contacts on his homeworld made his networks elsewhere, good as they were, seem likechildren's clubs--and it should not be difficult at all to permitDarLowrie to "discover" those intentions. It would undoubtedly beunpleasant for the one he discovered them from, since it was unlikelyDarLowrie would believe information he obtained too easily. 

That, however, was not a serious problem; a number of his Olathenetwork owed him enough that he could call on them even for such aservice. It would take DarLowrie perhaps a week to reach Olathe, another week and a half to get to Nippon-Ni; that would give Owajimatime to make adequate preparations, then visit with his family forseveral days. He smiled to himself, transmitted the necessarymessages, and returned his attention to his immediate mission. 

 * * * * *

Nevan entered the Lucky Bull, a medium-priced bar near the Olathe Cityspaceport, and ordered a glass of chocolate milk before finding a tablenear the rear of the main room. In the early days after Annexation, he'd heard, bars had carried alcoholic beverages almost exclusively, and Sandemans were made fun of for drinking only the non-alcoholicvariety, but by the time he'd started frequenting bars as an excellentsource of information, the sweet high-energy beverages Sandemanspreferred were as normal as alcohol. 

If he had Owajima figured correctly, someone at one of his last two orthree stops should have been in his target's network, and contactedhim. Even if, as Nevan thought probable, Owajima was working on theBracei case, he'd make time to have a presumed assassin investigated. That was why Nevan had made no secret of his last destinations, following his flight plans precisely as he'd filed them. That, and thefact that a Sandeman hired killer shouldn't display the subtleties andprecautions that would mark him as having had Imperial training of anysort, particularly a field agent's training; the two simply didn't gotogether. 

A tall man in Marine service dress with captain's bars approachedNevan's table, carrying a drink. "Mind if I join you, warrior?" heasked. 

"If you wish, Captain. "

The other sat, looking him over; Nevan returned the scrutiny, waiting. 

"I'm Kim Johansen, of SecuDiv, " the Marine said at last. "You're VanceDarLowrie, just in on the Last Resort?"

Nevan nodded. "I am, Captain Johansen. What of it?"

"If you're what rumor calls you and your ship's name implies, I'dadvise you to lay low. The Baron here takes a dim view of assassins. "

"Most people do, except those who have need of one. I thank you foryour concern, though; I will be careful. "

"Good. " Johansen sipped at his drink, frowned. "A warrior of yourclan saved my life during the war. I feel a certain obligation torepay that debt, even if I don't particularly approve of youroccupation myself. "

"There's no proof I'm what you guess. "

"The fact you don't deny it will be enough for most. " Johansen showedbrief distaste, swallowed the rest of his drink, and rose. "I can'twish you luck, since that'd mean wishing someone else dead. But I canwish it for your clan, and I do. "

Nevan rose to bow. "I will pass your wishes, and word of yourrepayment, to the Lowrie. Go in peace, Captain Johansen--and pleaseaccept my wishes for your well-being. Whatever you think of me or myprofession--" most Imperials were as dubious of field agents as theywere of assassins--"I want only the best for the Empire and itsofficers. "

"Sandemans don't lie, so I accept that, " Johansen said. Then, grudgingly, "Thank you, warrior. " With that he left, abruptly. 

Nevan allowed himself a small smile, then went to get more chocolatemilk. Not too promising so far, but he hadn't been here long, either. 

Perhaps half an hour after he returned to his table, another manapproached, this one in an expensive suit. "Vance DarLowrie?"

"Yes. " Nevan recognized the type; a businesser who'd made enemies andwanted either protection or one of them eliminated. "I am notavailable at the moment. "

"You have other employment?"

"That's none of your concern. "

The businesser sat. "It is if your target is Kiyoshi Owajima, as I'veheard. I have reason to want him . . . Out of the picture. "

"Oh?" Nevan remained noncommittal, but allowed himself to show a traceof interest. "I understand he's an Imperial officer--a dangeroustarget. Killing him would earn the death penalty or lifeimprisonment--death, if done simply for pay. That's a foolish risk, when there are any number of almost riskless targets around. "

"I can tell you where he's going when he finishes his current mission. "

"Interesting, if true, " Nevan acknowledged. 

"It's true, " the businesser said. 

Reading his face and body language, Nevan agreed. The man knew, waseager to say--and would report to Owajima as soon as he could. Nevanmade himself look skeptical, which wasn't hard; this was obviously asetup. "Even if he were my target, which I do not say, I would wantmore than your unsupported word. Will you submit to truth drugs, orshall I use Sandeman methods?"

"Torture, you mean. " The businesser grimaced. "In my position, Idon't dare submit to truth drugs. And I've no desire to use my pain toconvince you I'm telling the truth. "

Nevan shrugged. "Those are the alternatives. " He didn't particularlylike torture himself, and especially disliked using it on one of afield agent's network. But an enemy would have no hesitation, anduntil he caught up with Owajima--or was caught himself--he was actingin that capacity. "If you are convinced Owajima is my target, and youwish to assist me in finding him, you will choose one. Otherwise, youwill depart. "

The businesser looked angry, but Nevan could see he'd expectedsomething of the sort. "The torture, then. When and where?"

"My ship, now. " Nevan stood. "Come along. "

 * * * * *

Nevan scowled down at the unconscious businesser. He'd restricted hisopen questioning to Owajima's plans and next location--his homeworld, not surprisingly--but he'd done some questioning covertly as well, making comments about Owajima and reading the answers from hissubject's face and body language. The man had confirmed an opinionNevan had formed early: given the opportunity, he and Owajima couldeasily become friends. 

This man, for instance. He'd owed Owajima a debt, true, but it hadbeen loyalty rather than obligation that had led him to help the way hehad. Assuming he was successful in this mission, Nevan thought, he'dhave to see the businesser got some sort of compensation. Though theman had definitely been in serious pain, Nevan had inflicted no realdamage beyond bruises; when the man woke, he'd be able to functionnormally. 

Nevan was tempted to clean the man up, put him to bed, and dose himwith rapid-heal--but that wasn't how one with his cover occupationwould act. Instead, he got an injector of energine and triggered itinto the businesser's carotid artery. Seconds later, the man's eyesopened and he groaned. "Are you done yet?"

"Yes. You may get dressed and leave. I would advise you to waste notime; liftoff is in ten minutes. "

"I'll be gone. " The man struggled to his feet and into the small'fresher, where Nevan had had him leave his clothing; less than twominutes later he was leaving the ship. 

Nevan had his flight plan ready by then. He transmitted it to thespaceport controller, got clearance, and was lifting off at thespecified time. Not long afterward, he was far enough from the planetto make the transition to hyperspace, and did so. 

 * * * * *

Owajima smiled as he read his agent's decoded message. DarLowrie hadacted precisely as could be expected from a Sandeman assassin, itseemed, though Owajima was pleased his agent reported nothing moreserious than bruises. He frowned, though, when he reached the lastparagraph. 

"Personal impressions: I can't pinpoint it, but something about himreminds me of you. The feeling you give me of being looked into morethan at, maybe. It's not the typical Sandeman arrogance that makes youfeel like you're not worth the bother of looking at--it's more likebeing under a microscope. I'm sorry to be so vague, but as I said, there wasn't anything definite I can point to. "

A feeling of being looked into rather than at. Owajima frowned moredeeply. That bore an uncomfortable resemblance to a particularlyobservant person's reaction to someone who was reading @'s face andbody language. That was not a common skill, particularly amongSandemans--though he had to admit it would be as useful a skill for anassassin as it was for a field agent. 

In which case, it was possible DarLowrie had obtained more informationthan Owajima had intended--including that the information had been setup for him to find. And where had DarLowrie learned such a skill? Noton any of the Sandeman worlds, which weren't given to such subtleties. The only places Owajima knew, in fact, that taught more than the mostbasic such reading were the Kai school here, and the Imperial fieldagent school on Terra. No Sandeman had ever studied here, and he wasaware of only one who had successfully completed field agent training--hispredecessor as top agent, Nevan DarLeras, now sworn to the CrownPrincess by the totally-binding Sandeman personal-fealty oath. 

That left a graduate of one of those two schools as DarLowrie'steacher. An ex-field agent was by far the more likely, if only becausethere were many more of them, and few Kai-school ninjas left Nippon-Ni. Take that as a working hypothesis, then. In that case, was it likelythe agent had taught DarLowrie only face and body reading?

It would be safest, Owajima thought, to operate on the worst-caseassumption that DarLowrie had learned most, if not all, of an agent'sskills. He would need them, if he had any intention of assassinatingOwajima on his home territory and then escaping. 

Should he simply eliminate DarLowrie, or would it be better to captureand question him? The second, Owajima decided almost immediately. That would be more difficult, but it might be a good idea to discoverthe agent reckless enough to teach such skills to anyone able to pay--anddiscourage . . . 

He was going to do it himself. He could and would ask for help fromhis former colleagues, the Shogun's secret police--but attempted murderof an Imperial officer was an Imperial crime; they didn't havejurisdiction. He could call in assistance, but that was somethingfield agents were, as an occupational characteristic, disinclined to dounless there was no other way to get the job done--which, at thispoint, was not the case. 

 * * * * *

Nevan spent the first two days of his flight to Nippon-Ni studyingeverything the Last Resort's ship-comp had available about that planet. It sounded interesting, and he decided he'd like to visit sometime whenhe could do so openly; it had been settled by Japanese who wanted toreturn to the days of the Samurai, without giving up modernconveniences or an industrial base. They even called their Baron the"Shogun", on-planet. 

But it also looked like a dangerous place to operate. The Shogun'ssecret police force was made up of the Kai-school ninjas Owajima wasrumored to have been, and it seemed possible he'd been one of thembefore joining the Corps. If so, he'd undoubtedly use them forbackup--which meant going in, Nevan thought, would be like sticking hishead in a balik's den. A female balik's, with newborn cubs. One alertedfield agent would be bad enough; a police force of agent-equivalents. . . The smart thing would be to call it off, go back to Terra, set upa new identity, and start over. He did know who his quarry was, now; hewouldn't be starting from scratch. 

He was reluctant to do that, though. He'd done nothing even the mostfanatical secret police could legally arrest him for; it seemed a shameto abandon his mission when he was so close to accomplishing it. Beingarrested without cause would be justification for mind-calling histhakur, and he was sure she'd intervene; Owajima had to be the onlyagent with an entire planetary police force to call on for backup, which made him an unrepresentative opponent. Besides, Nevan admitted, he relished the challenge. He hadn't had the opportunity to really usehis abilities in longer than he cared to think about. 

 * * * * *

Owajima answered his phone, to see the chief of spaceport security. "Yes, Captain?"

"The Last Resort just called for landing, Colonel. Do you want us todetain DarLewies?"

"No, thank you. Permit him to land and do as he wishes, but keep himunder close surveillance. Discreetly, of course. "

The security chief smiled. "Of course, Colonel. We will keep youinformed at all times. Will you need any further assistance?"

"I do not believe so, but if I should, I will ask. "

 * * * * *

Nevan had to land at the New Tokyo civilian spaceport, but he waslikeliest to be able to get current information about Owajima at thenearby Imperial Navy base, so he rented a car and drove the twentykilometers north. He'd been on so many worlds that he didn't findNippon-Ni particularly remarkable, though he was pleased that thetemperature was high enough he didn't need a jacket. And the smell ofchocolate chip cookies or a close local equivalent coming from a shophe passed was tempting enough to make his mouth water, but he keptgoing; Nevan DarLeras' fondness for those was well enough known in thewrong circles that he didn't dare indulge it when he was under cover. 

Things were definitely not going his way, he decided as he neared thebase. Traffic was too heavy for a normal workday, and he found out whywhen he got close to the main gate: a banner over the road welcomedvisitors to the annual Base Open House. Nevan addressed a caustic, "Why me?" to the gods he only half-believed in, but it might looksuspicious if he turned and left; instead, he kept going with traffic, which took him to a parking area that would need major help to looklike a lawn again after being used this way. 

There wasn't anything useful he could accomplish during an open house, with all the base offices closed, so he decided he might as well bow tothe inevitable and try to enjoy himself. Such events did have theirgood points; the various units' hospitality stands tried to outdo eachother, so the quality and variety of food and drink available was trulyimpressive. He should be able to find treats he liked almost as wellas chocolate chip cookies, but ones that wouldn't blow his cover. Hewalked toward the exhibit-covered landing field, glad that he'd kepthis identity as a Sandeman warrior; as crowded as the area was, he wasgiven plenty of room to move. He was impressed despite himself by theexhibits, too. Whoever was in charge of this open house had managed toget a heavy destroyer for a static display--and while those werenowhere near as big as the kilometer-diameter battle cruisers, whichwere far too big to land, they were quite big enough to have thevisitors making awed comments. 

Curious, Nevan walked around the ship until he found its ID--and thenhe sent another caustic comment to one of the newest gods. *Dammit, Kelly, if you want me to deliver your blades to Owajima, how about somecooperation instead of all these problems?*

The destroyer was the IHD Warleader Riordan, a ship from the FiftiethFleet, which meant it was crewed primarily by Sandemans. That was badenough, but a good percentage on this particular ship were from ClanLeras, so even the ones not directly related to him would know him onsight. And they weren't IntelDiv; they wouldn't know not to recognizehim. He turned and began walking away, hoping against hope that thecrew was still all aboard ship. He'd been lucky enough not to getcaught in such a situation during his active career; maybe that luckwould hold long enough for him to get out of this one. 

"Nevan!"

The happy voice from behind him made it all too clear his luck hadchanged. He turned and bowed respectfully to the approachingwarriors'-woman in Imperial Marine service black. "Good day, LadyMorna. You're looking well. "

She looked at him with affectionate appraisal, and shook her headruefully. "I can't say the same for you, I'm afraid. How long haveyou been on the meds?"

"Almost a month, " Nevan admitted. He might have been able to get awaywith lying to another w'woman, but the lady Morna could tell--whetherby looking or by some form of Talent--almost to the day how long awarrior had been using anti-need medications. And she didn't approveof them being used any longer than was absolutely necessary. 

"I thought so. Are you going to be around long enough for me to giveyou a natural release?"

Nevan was tempted, but he shook his head. He'd have to leave as soonas he could; now that his cover was blown, he had no choice but to giveup this try and start over. "I'm afraid I have to get back to Terra. "

Morna nodded, glancing at the synthiskin-covered cheek. "Of course; Ididn't realize. But when you do, promise me that you'll find a w'womanor warrior and get a decent natural release. "

"I will, lady, " Nevan replied, grateful for her understanding. "Or aTraiti; some of the Palace Guard have given me good combat releases. "

"That will do. " Morna smiled at him. "At least you haven't gone sixmonths on the meds, the way you had when I first met you! But can youstay a little while? Our autochef bakes good cookies. Includingchocolate chip. "

Nevan chuckled, deciding that an hour or so shouldn't really make anydifference. "I'd like that; thanks. "

 * * * * *

The receiver in Owajima's ear chimed softly; he turned on his throatmike--not the surgically implanted comm unit many ranking Imperialswere given, but the external type used as far back as pre-atomictimes--and answered. "Owajima here. "

"DarLowrie went to the open house, Colonel--and one of those on thedestroyer static display recognized him. His name is Nevan, and he hasaccepted an invitation to visit the ship. "

"Nevan!" Owajima exclaimed. "What clan, do you know?"

"It was not said, but the largest clan group aboard is from Leras. "

"Ah. " Owajima was silent for several seconds, absorbing that. "Isthere a tattoo on his right cheek?"

"There is not. "

"Interesting--thank you. I will need some assistance after all, itappears; I would like to get into his ship with as few traces aspossible. "

"An entry specialist will be with you in ten minutes. Is thereanything else?"

"Not at the moment. Owajima out. " So his pursuer's true name wasNevan, Owajima thought, troubled. And the ship's largest contingentwas from Leras. Knowing both Sandemans and the unconditional nature ofthe personal fealty oath, he found it hard to believe his pursuer'sidentity. What had gone wrong, to turn a Sandeman warrior fromthakur-na to renegade assassin?

Or . . . Had anything? If Nevan had either deserted or harmed hischosen lady, it would have been all over the news channels, and therehad been nothing. The likelihood, then, was that he was on a missionfor her--a mission that somehow concerned him. 

Owajima smiled slowly at that. Very well, he would take all possibleprecautions, though he no longer believed they would be necessary. Nevan DarLeras had a powerful and trained Talent, something "VanceDarLowrie" had shown no traces of--so he was not using either that orRanger Losinj's position to simplify his mission. An exercise of somesort, then--security, in all probability. If true, it could be proveneasily, Owajima thought, and he would have the pleasure of meeting hispredecessor. 

 * * * * *

Nevan enjoyed both the cookies and the talk, though he kept an eye onthe time and didn't let himself relax too much. Owajima was alertednow, and field agents tended to have a rather violent reaction tosomeone stalking them for unknown purposes. Nevan couldn't blame them;he'd reacted the same way when one of his net had warned him someonewas on his trail. About the best such a pursuer could expect, unless @ was able to ambush the agent first, was that the agent wantedinformation enough to use a non-lethal form of attack or defense--until@ learned enough to satisfy @'s curiosity, at least. 

But Nevan was able to put the hazards of his mission in the back of hismind while he caught up on news from home. His first son, with thelady Dallas, was doing well in his warrior training, though both he andhis half-brother--Nevan's with the lady Morna, who looked more than alittle smug, telling him--were giving Sean and Ellen fits trying tokeep up. Nevan couldn't help laughing; Sean and Ellen had fosteredhim, too, and he remembered how good they were--and how frustrated Seangot--with a child-warrior's hyperactivity. Other news was almost asinteresting to him, if less personal: the warrior Leslie had broken hisleg in war games with the Combat Division Marines stationed at Shangri-LaBase, and the clan had been asked to train more assault-landerpilots. 

The hour was all too short, but Nevan didn't let himself stretch hisvisit beyond that point. He left the destroyer after a final promiseto Morna that he would get off the meds as soon as he could, then madehis way through even thicker crowds to his rented car. 

He spent the drive back to his ship going over his options. Thingsdidn't look quite as unpromising as they had earlier, even though itstill seemed that he would have to go back to Terra for a fresh start. This time, he reminded himself, at least the start wouldn't be fromzero; he had a name and a reputation to work with, and a few days todig out some background would give him more data. 

He had resigned himself to starting over by the time he got back to thespaceport. Not even the sight of half a decade secret police making nosecret of their surveillance of his ship disturbed him; he grinned atthem as he palmed open the outer hatch of his ship, giving Owajimapoints for letting the locals handle the presumed assassin. He'd justhave to take more precautions the next time around-- Oh, gods, theinner hatch was ajar, and he hadn't left it that way!

He barely had time to spot a stunner muzzle in the opening and startreaching for his needler before his ambusher fired and he slumped tothe airlock deck. 

 * * * * *

Owajima was a little surprised at the ease of his success, though therewas no way even one as skilled as DarLeras was reputed to be could havedetected any sign of his entry. He went to the outer lock and signaledhis success to the watchers, then carried the Sandeman to his cabin andsecured him to the bunk. Then he went into the 'fresher, foundsynthiskin release in the medikit, and used it on the Sandeman's face, smiling as it peeled free to reveal the tattoo so familiar from newsshows. That was conclusive enough for Owajima; if, contrary to allother evidence, DarLeras had gone renegade, he would have removed thetattoo rather than simply covering it. 

 * * * * *

When Nevan woke, he was spread-eagled, tied to his bunk with agrim-faced Oriental man holding a gun on him. That should have beenfrightening, but Nevan couldn't help grinning; the feel of air on hischeek instead of synthiskin agreed with the tiny indications he couldread from his captor. Owajima was disciplined, beautifully so, but notwell enough to hide everything. "I'm honored to meet you, ColonelOwajima. Either I'm losing my edge, or you're about to take over thetop-ever rating; I should've seen some sign of your entry on the outerlock. "

"If you had, it would be I who was losing my edge. However, I willtake that as a compliment from one who still holds that ranking. Dropyour mind-shield. "

"What? Ohhh. " Nevan did so, surprised for an instant though he knewhe shouldn't be. Since his chosen lady had discovered psionic Talentin humans nine years ago, it had been found that strong Talent wasgenerally linked to strong abilities in one or more other fields. Thatwasn't a direct correlation, since there were multi-field geniuses withnone at all, and people with no conventional talents and powerfulTalent--but well over ninety percent of the time, conventional andpsionic abilities went together. Owajima wouldn't be the top-ratedfield agent without exceptional ability--of both types. 

*Also, unlike most Sandemans, * came Owajima's amused thought, *I waseager for Talent training. We both know it is impossible to lie, mind-to-mind, so: you are still thakur-na to Ranger Losinj and on amission for her?*

*I am, though the mission is partly for her, partly for myself, * Nevanconfirmed. *Stay linked while I report; she'll want to commend youpersonally. * He sensed Owajima's agreement, and reached for his chosenlady. *Thakur?*

*Here, thakur-na, * was the immediate response--then Nevan shared heramusement as she 'felt' his bonds. *You are satisfied with security, then. *

*It's tight, * Nevan confirmed. *And I'm really impressed by MajorOwajima's skill. He got past my ship defenses without leaving a trace. It was a beautiful ambush. *

*It is he I sense linked with you?*

*Yes, Thakur. *

Nevan felt her attention center on the other. *I am pleased to makeyour acquaintance, Major, * she sent. *I apologize for any difficultiesyou experienced as a result of Nevan's pursuit; his purpose, at myrequest, was to test the security protecting field agents, includinghis target's self-protection. As you heard, he is satisfied. So am I, and since you proved able to stop him, I will place a commendation inyour records. *

*Thank you, sir. * Owajima smiled. *It is good to know our protectionsare adequate against one of the warrior Nevan's ability; any other, then, could penetrate them only by chance. *

*True. * Corina projected amusement. *Are you on assignment?*

*No, sir. I have just finished a post-mission leave, and have beenordered to Terra for a tour with OSI. *

*You won't like it, * Nevan predicted. *Assignments think they're doingus a favor when they give us a planetside tour--a rest break, I heardone call it--but those always bored me. *

*If it gets too bad, Major, * the Ranger sent sympathetically, *see me, and I will have you given a field assignment. It is the least I can doafter setting Nevan on your trail. *

*I will, sir, and thank you. *

*Before I break contact, thakur-na, is there anything further youneed?*

*Not really, Thakur--if you don't have anything else for me, I'll offerMajor Owajima a ride back to Terra. *

*That will be fine. Enjoy the trip--I must endure this reception forDuke Shirley. Until your return, thakur-na. *

*Until then, Thakur. * The contact ended, and Nevan grinned up at hiscaptor. "Satisfied, Major?"

"Perfectly, warrior. And I will accept your offer of a ride. " Owajimaholstered his gun, then undid Nevan's bonds. "I have wished to meetyou for some time; I regret only the circumstances. "

Nevan sat up, rubbing his wrists. "Same here, maybe more so. I wasafter you in particular because my bio-father left you his personalweapons when he died last month. "

"Oh? Knowing Sandemans, I assume there was a reason. "

"Uh-huh. He was the one you gave need-release to on Piper's World. "

"Ah. " Owajima smiled. "I should not have broken cover to do so, but Ihad seen one warrior die that way when we were prisoners of the Traiti, and I could not let another go through such agony unaided. "

"That's what he told me, not long after I finished my agent's training. Do you need to get anything before we go?"

"No. Had you been the enemy I originally thought, by now you wouldhave been dead and your ship confiscated for my trip, to be turned into the Navy at the Antarctica base. My things are already aboard. "

Nevan chuckled. "Good thinking. Unnecessary, since this baby alreadybelongs to the Navy, but I like the plan. " He led the way to hisship's control room, got clearance for takeoff, and set course forTerra. Then he escorted his guest to the ship's small lounge. "I'vefollowed your career for a long time, Major, " he said, getting coffeefor each of them. "It's been brilliant--at times incredible. Likegetting into this ship without leaving traces. "

Owajima smiled. "I left traces, warrior. Not many, and notsignificant to one without the training we share, but enough that youwould have observed them. My particular Talent specialty, however, issingularly appropriate for one in this field. " His smile grew. "Ican, when I desire, make myself and my handiwork unnoticeable. Ittakes a particularly strong mind-shield to block that ability evenpartially; you saw nothing because I wished you not to. "

Nevan nodded, returning the smile. "That makes me feel better. I gotblown when I visited the base--didn't know about the open house, andran into some clan-mates. I was afraid I'd let that distract me--butif you were using Talent, that wasn't my problem. Mind showing me howit works?"

"Not at all, though since you are already aware of me, the effect willnot be complete. "

If that was incomplete, Nevan thought seconds later, Kiyoshi Owajimamust be capable of practically turning invisible. He knew the otherwas there, could see him perfectly well--but it was almost impossibleto pay any attention to him. "Nice! I could've used that quite a fewtimes. "

Owajima became noticeable again. "It is less effective against anumber of people, particularly when--as you did--they know I ampresent. But against few, or those who have not already seen me when Ibegin using it, you are quite correct; it is most effective. "

"Too bad you can't teach it to all the agents. " But that, Nevan knew, wasn't possible; while mind-screen, or the stronger mind-shield, andtelepathy were common to everyone with Talent, the specialized aspectsvaried widely from person to person. "Would you like to see yourinheritance?"

"Very much. The needler and blades in the clothing storage?"

Nevan chuckled. "That's them. Do you want to get them, or shall I?"

"There is no further need to invade your privacy, warrior. "

"Nevan is fine--I'll go get them, then. " He did so, grinning tohimself. He'd been favorably impressed by the reports of Owajima'saccomplishments; he was even more favorably impressed by the manhimself. Not too many standard humans could take out a Sandemanwarrior, even using Talent!

Returning to the lounge, he gave Owajima the box holding the weapons. "Here you are, Major. Use them in good health. "

"I shall, whenever my cover does not prohibit the use of Sandemanweapons. And call me Kiyoshi, please. " Owajima smiled. "I think thiswill be an enjoyable trip, and that by its end we will be friends. "

"I think so, too. Do you have a family?"

"I am married, but we do not yet have children. You?"

"Two sons, both warriors--one with the lady Dallas, one with the ladyMorna. My foster-parents are fostering both of them, as well. I'vegot a holo, if you'd like to see. "

"Very much. " Owajima accepted the small folder, settling in for anenjoyable discussion. 

END