Ambush: A Terran Empire vignette

by Ann Wilson

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