gured 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. That, and the
fact that a Sandeman hired killer shouldn't display the subtleties and
precautions that would mark him as having had Imperial training of any
sort, particularly a field agent's training; the two simply didn't go
together.

A tall man in Marine service dress with captain's bars approached
Nevan's table, carrying a drink. "Mind if I join you, warrior?" he
asked.

"If you wish, Captain."

The other sat, looking him over; Nevan returned the scrutiny, waiting.

"I'm Kim Johansen, of SecuDiv," the Marine said at last. "You're Vance
DarLowrie, just in on the Last Resort?"

Nevan nodded. "I am, Captain Johansen. What of it?"

"If you're what rumor calls you and your ship's name implies, I'd
advise you to lay low. The Baron here takes a dim view of assassins."

"Most people do, except those who have need of one. I thank you for
your concern, though; I will be careful."

"Good." Johansen sipped at his drink, frowned. "A warrior of your
clan saved my life during the war. I feel a certain obligation to
repay that debt, even if I don't particularly approve of your
occupation myself."

"There's no proof I'm what you guess."

"The fact you don't deny it will be enough for most." Johansen showed
brief distaste, swallowed the rest of his drink, and rose. "I can't
wish you luck, since that'd mean wishing someone else dead. But I can
wish it for your clan, and I do."

Nevan rose to bow. "I will pass your wishes, and word of your
repayment, to the Lowrie. Go in peace, Captain Johansen--and please
accept my wishes for your well-being. Whatever you think of me or my
profession--" most Imperials were as dubious of field agents as they
were of assassins--"I want only the best for the Empire and its
officers."

"Sandemans don't lie, so I accept that," Johansen said. Then,
grudgingly, "Thank you, warrior." With that he left, abruptly.

Nevan allowed himself a small smile, then went to get more chocolate
milk. Not too promising so far, but he hadn't been here long, either.

Perhaps half an hour after he returned to his table,