This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

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'd saved his bio-father's life twelve years ago. It wasn't supposed to be easy--ideally, it would be impossible--and Nevan was sure he owed his own life, perhaps several times over, to the Imperial safeguards he was trying to break. More, he understood why those safeguards wouldn't be relaxed even to allow an ex-agent to search out a still-active one--but he had what he considered two excellent reasons to do exactly that.

The first was that his bio-father had died, and had wanted Nevan to give the anonymous agent his personal weapons: two forearm throwing knives, a belt knife, and a needler. The one he had sworn fealty to had agreed that his father's wish made it a matter of honor that he try, and had given him permission--but on condition that he use only his own training and skills, taking no advantage of the fact that he was sworn to one of the most powerful people in the Empire. Nevan was certain in his own mind that if he failed, she would see that the agent got the weapons intended for him, but his thakur's overt reason for agreeing was that it would make a good test of IntelDiv's security. If he were arrested, she would have him released and commend the people who had done it; if he got through, she would have security procedures tightened. Neither paid serious attention to the fact that if he were caught under certain circumstances she would have no chance to protect him; 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 of life for both of them, to be accepted and even savored for the spice they added.

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

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

*About what we expected. Kelly told me the agent was Logistics Officer at a base on Piper's World during the Traiti counter-attacks there, but he never told me which base, and the description he gave fits five of them. I was able to eliminate two of those because the Logistics Officers were female--but that still leaves three. I'm going to have to 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 thy mark, lest it identify me and make thy object in this attempt no true test.*

*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 his cheek concealed by synthiskin, in a small Kanchatka-class courier ship. That was a definite luxury for a private individual, though not unreasonable for a Sandeman warrior who'd done well securing private employment and wanted more--who was, in short, a very good, very expensive hired killer. There weren't many, granted; killing for its own sake wasn't