ness for those was well enough known in the
wrong 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 the
base. Traffic was too heavy for a normal workday, and he found out why
when he got close to the main gate: a banner over the road welcomed
visitors to the annual Base Open House. Nevan addressed a caustic,
"Why me?" to the gods he only half-believed in, but it might look
suspicious if he turned and left; instead, he kept going with traffic,
which took him to a parking area that would need major help to look
like 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 to
the inevitable and try to enjoy himself. Such events did have their
good points; the various units' hospitality stands tried to outdo each
other, so the quality and variety of food and drink available was truly
impressive. He should be able to find treats he liked almost as well
as chocolate chip cookies, but ones that wouldn't blow his cover. He
walked toward the exhibit-covered landing field, glad that he'd kept
his identity as a Sandeman warrior; as crowded as the area was, he was
given plenty of room to move. He was impressed despite himself by the
exhibits, too. Whoever was in charge of this open house had managed to
get a heavy destroyer for a static display--and while those were
nowhere near as big as the kilometer-diameter battle cruisers, which
were far too big to land, they were quite big enough to have the
visitors making awed comments.

Curious, Nevan walked around the ship until he found its ID--and then
he sent another caustic comment to one of the newest gods. *Dammit,
Kelly, if you want me to deliver your blades to Owajima, how about some
cooperation instead of all these problems?*

The destroyer was the IHD Warleader Riordan, a ship from the Fiftieth
Fleet, which meant it was crewed primarily by Sandemans. That was bad
enough, but a good percentage on this particular ship were from Clan
Leras, so even the ones not directly related to him would know him on
sight. And they weren't IntelDiv; they wouldn't know not to recognize
him. He turned and began walking away, hoping against hope that the
crew was still all aboard ship. He'd been lucky enough not to get
caught in such a situation during his active career; maybe that