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Updated: June 17, 2025
It had been a noble dream, but it was now at an end, and he had only one thing left to do. "I will need a blaster." Corina nodded. "Lieutenant DarLeras," she called. Nevan joined her. "Yes, sir?" "Give Thark your gun." Nevan wanted to protest, but resisted the urge and handed the weapon over with a warning. "Try to harm her, Master Thark, and you're the one who'll die."
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.
The man knew, was eager to say and would report to Owajima as soon as he could. Nevan made himself look skeptical, which wasn't hard; this was obviously a setup. "Even if he were my target, which I do not say, I would want more than your unsupported word. Will you submit to truth drugs, or shall I use Sandeman methods?" "Torture, you mean." The businesser grimaced.
"In my position, I don't dare submit to truth drugs. And I've no desire to use my pain to convince you I'm telling the truth." Nevan shrugged. "Those are the alternatives." He didn't particularly like torture himself, and especially disliked using it on one of a field agent's network.
She wished she could read his thoughts, but after the first mention of fighting, she had no doubt of his answer; not even Marine discipline could make him hold back a smile, and his eagerness was evident in his steel-gray eyes. "I believe that is everything," she said at last. "The choice is yours, and you may refuse without prejudice." For Nevan's opinion of this, see NEVAN "No, sir.
Nevan entered the Lucky Bull, a medium-priced bar near the Olathe City spaceport, and ordered a glass of chocolate milk before finding a table near the rear of the main room.
The Palace Guard opened the door to Medart's office and stood aside to let the Sandeman pass. Medart rose to greet his visitor, then gestured him to a chair and sat back down as Nevan took the seat. "Your note said you'd like to see me about a personal matter, to be discussed under warrior privacy. What's the problem?"
When they got to the bay, most of the team was standing near the lander talking in low tones, about half in armor, but Nevan was off to one side, kneeling with upraised arms, chanting softly in a language she didn't recognize.
If he had Owajima figured correctly, someone at one of his last two or three stops should have been in his target's network, and contacted him. Even if, as Nevan thought probable, Owajima was working on the Bracei 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.
The Shogun's secret police force was made up of the Kai-school ninjas Owajima was rumored to have been, and it seemed possible he'd been one of them before joining the Corps. If so, he'd undoubtedly use them for backup which meant going in, Nevan thought, would be like sticking his head in a balik's den. A female balik's, with newborn cubs.
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