Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

Nevan was tempted, but he shook his head. He'd have to leave as soon as he could; now that his cover was blown, he had no choice but to give up 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; I didn't realize. But when you do, promise me that you'll find a w'woman or warrior and get a decent natural release."

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

"DarLowrie went to the open house, Colonel--and one of those on the destroyer static display recognized him. His name is Nevan, and he has accepted 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. "Is there a tattoo on his right cheek?"

"There is not."

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

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

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

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

Owajima smiled slowly at that. Very well, he would take all possible precautions, though he no longer believed they would be necessary. Nevan DarLeras had a powerful and trained Talent, something "Vance DarLowrie" had shown no traces of--so he was not using either that or Ranger Losinj's position to simplify his mission. An exercise of some sort, then--security, in all probability. If true, it could be proven easily, Owajima thought, and he would have the pleasure of meeting his predecessor.

* * * * *

Nevan enjoyed both the cookies and the talk, though he kept an eye on the time and didn't let himself relax too much. Owajima was alerted now, and field agents tended to have a rather violent reaction to someone stalking them for unknown purposes. Nevan couldn't blame them; he'd reacted the same way when one of his net had warned him someone was on his trail. About the best such a pursuer could expect, unless @ was able to ambush the agent first, was that the agent wanted information 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 his mind while he caught up on news from home. His first son, with the lady Dallas, was doing well in his warrior training, though both he and his half-brother--Nevan's with the lady Morna, who looked more than a little smug, telling him--were giving Sean and Ellen fits trying to keep up. Nevan couldn't help laughing; Sean and Ellen had fostered him, too, and he remembered how good they were--and how frustrated Sean got--with a child-warrior's hyperactivity. Other news was almost as interesting to him, if less personal: the warrior Leslie had broken his leg in war games with the Combat Division Marines stationed at Shangri-La Base, and the clan had been asked to train more assault-lander pilots.

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

He spent the drive back to his ship going over his options. Things didn't look quite as unpromising as they had earlier, even though it still 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 from zero; he had a name and a reputation to work with, and a few days to dig out some background would give him more data.

He had resigned himself to starting over by the time he got back to the spaceport. Not even the sight of half a decade secret police making no secret of their surveillance of his ship disturbed him; he grinned at them as he palmed open the outer hatch of his ship, giving Owajima points for letting the locals handle the presumed assassin. He'd just have to take more precautions the next time around-- Oh, gods, the inner hatch was ajar, and he hadn't left it that way!

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

When Nevan woke, he was spread-eagled, tied to his bunk with a grim-faced Oriental man holding a gun on him. That should have been frightening, but Nevan couldn't help grinning; the feel of air on his cheek instead of synthiskin agreed with the tiny indications he could read from his captor. Owajima was disciplined, beautifully so, but not well enough to hide everything. "I'm honored to meet you, Colonel Owajima. Either I'm losing my edge, or you're about to take over the top-ever rating; I should've seen some sign of your entry on the outer lock."

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

"What? Ohhh." Nevan did so, surprised for an instant though he knew he shouldn't be. Since his chosen lady had discovered psionic Talent in humans nine years ago, it had been found that strong Talent was generally linked to strong abilities in one or more other fields. That wasn't a direct correlation, since there were multi-field geniuses with none at all, and people with no conventional talents and powerful Talent--but well over ninety percent of the time, conventional and psionic abilities went together. Owajima wouldn't be the top-rated field agent without exceptional ability--of both types.

*Also, unlike most Sandemans,* came Owajima's amused thought, *I was eager 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 a mission for her?*

*I am, though the mission is partly for her, partly for myself,* Nevan confirmed. *Stay linked while I report; she'll want to commend you personally.* He sensed Owajima's agreement, and reached for his chosen lady. *Thakur?*

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

*It's tight,* Nevan confirmed. *And I'm really impressed by Major Owajima'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 make your acquaintance, Major,* she sent. *I apologize for any difficulties you experienced as a result of Nevan's pursuit; his purpose, at my request, was to test the security protecting field agents, including his 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 in your records.*

*Thank you, sir.* Owajima smiled. *It is good to know our protections are 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 been ordered to Terra for a tour with OSI.*

*You won't like it,* Nevan predicted. *Assignments think they're doing us a favor when they give us a planetside tour--a rest break, I heard one 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 do after setting Nevan on your trail.*

*I will, sir, and thank you.*

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

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

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

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

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

Nevan sat up, rubbing his wrists. "Same here, maybe more so. I was after you in particular because my bio-father left you his personal weapons 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 I had 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 would have been dead and your ship confiscated for my trip, to be turned in to the Navy at the Antarctica base. My things are already aboard."

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

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

Nevan nodded, returning the smile. "That makes me feel better. I got blown when I visited the base--didn't know about the open house, and ran into some clan-mates. I was afraid I'd let that distract me--but if you were using Talent, that wasn't my problem. Mind showing me how it works?"

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

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

Owajima became noticeable again. "It is less effective against a number of people, particularly when--as you did--they know I am present. But against few, or those who have not already seen me when I begin 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, and telepathy were common to everyone with Talent, the specialized aspects varied widely from person to person. "Would you like to see your inheritance?"

"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 to himself. He'd been favorably impressed by the reports of Owajima's accomplishments; he was even more favorably impressed by the man himself. Not too many standard humans could take out a Sandeman warrior, 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 Sandeman weapons. And call me Kiyoshi, please." Owajima smiled. "I think this will 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 lady Morna. My foster-parents are fostering both of them, as well. I've got a holo, if you'd like to see."

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

END