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Updated: May 12, 2025
To her surprise he grinned at her, raising his hands. "I'd call that conclusive advantage, Sir Corina," he said. "With abilities and reflexes like that, you should've been born Sandeman I'm Lieutenant Nevan DarLeras. Welcome aboard." Corina replaced the soul-blade at her belt and stepped back, returning his courtesy with a bow.
Besides the usual sporran and soul-blade everyone carried, the Sanctioners wore their collars of office, gleaming gold bands snug at their throats. And their blasters, normally worn on belt clips, were all pointed in her direction. Pitting around the muzzles showed Corina, as if she had needed the confirmation, that the weapons had all seen use. She made her body relax.
Awkwardly, hampered by the way her hands were fastened and by her need for haste, she dug through his sporran for the handcuff key and fumbled it into the lock. The cuffs opened after what seemed hours, but could have been only seconds. Then she retrieved her soul-blade from his belt, half tempted to use it on him. She refrained; he had pitied her, and the killing would not be justified.
Medart's night was equally disturbed, though since Corina was younger and had had a more peaceful life, his dreams were less troubling. He saw/was Corina, about seven years old Standard, receiving her soul-blade from an elderly Order initiate in a ritual as old as the Order itself.
Two stood back, perhaps three meters from her and an equal distance from each other, their blasters steady on target. The leader, staying carefully out of their lines of fire, approached her. He unclipped the soul-blade, sheath and all, from her belt and attached it to his own.
Surely he would not strike her . . . but he was angry, and a Marine, and shielded Her hand, seemingly of its own volition, went to the hilt of her soul-blade as she felt a surge of fear. "No." Greggson shook his head, backed off a step with visible reluctance. "I won't give you the satisfaction, you little " Corina interrupted, fear suddenly overcome by exasperation.
Thark switched the blaster to maximum power, placed his soul-blade on the floor, and fired. Then he screamed, a long full-throated yowl of absolute, terrifying loss that subsided to broken whimpers as he collapsed beside the smoking metal that had been a blade. "What " Nevan exclaimed in astonishment. "Psychic shock, Lieutenant," Corina said.
He strode to meet her as she descended from the dais, drawing his bloody soul-blade as he went. Corina unsheathed her own blade, the movement attracting Thark's attention to the bit of metal at her belt. A human would have paled in deep shock; Thark's only visible reaction was an agitated twitch of his ears. "You? A Ranger?" It was too much for him to accept.
She closed her eyes, taking her soul-blade and its sheath from her belt, and scanned for other presences as she would if she were entering hostile territory. Despite the distractions of the crowd, she quickly sensed her five opponents and got an unpleasant shock.
"Perhaps it will be easier if I am not armed." Medart took the soul-blade, too surprised not to. Unlike Dawson, he knew the blade's significance, and could appreciate Corina's action. She had to be really determined about this working, he thought. Thark's betrayal must have hurt even more than he'd gathered earlier. "Let's give it another try, then.
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