"You know he should have been accepted at the Academy," Turner continued. "In fact, Geoff, he would have graduated with your class."
"So why didn't he go?"
Turner shook his head. "Had the brains and then some. Good aptitude, problem was he wasn't officially a citizen of the Confederation."
"So what? We've taken candidates from outside the Confederation."
Turner chuckled. "Son, you sure are naive when it comes to politics. Every senator is entitled to two slots for patronage. There's a certain number reserved for sons and daughters of those who died while in service, the usual number who get in just through sheer ability. That leaves precious few slots for those outside the Confed. We take a handful for window dressing, and so we can thump our chests and say how democratic we are. But Mr. Kruger there fell through the cracks. Too bad. I have some memory of his application from when I was on the selection committee. He would have made a good officer. But you're right, Mr. Tolwyn, he is rather green as you put it."
"So why hire him?" Richards asked.
"The upgrades on his ship are rather impressive for this far out into the frontier. Plus, I'd rather a green one like him than some of the old hands around here."
"Why?"
"Because, gentlemen, there isn't that much love for the Confed in these quarters. Remember, the fleet's responsible for controlling smuggling and I'm willing to bet that at least one of the fellas in this room has lost a cargo to our patrol ships. Beyond that, they think we're nuts for not going after the Cats first. So, all things considered, we might hire ourselves a ship, get halfway out there, and then get spaced."
Tolwyn looked around the room again.
"Come on, let's get our cargo transferred," Turner said, standing up and heading for the door.
Geoff fell in behind him, noticing that he was walking slower than usual. Just as they reached the door, Winston turned with a quick, almost catlike movement, drawing a small blaster from his pocket. The report from the gun was muffled, the round impacting the chest of one of the patrons. The man sagged up against the bar and then slowly collapsed, a blaster dropping from his hand. Tolwyn looked at Turner and back to the dead man with wide-eyed surprise. It wasn't just the killing, it was the smooth, graceful ease Turner had displayed, as if he had been training for years for just such a moment.
Turner, his gaze fixed on the other patrons stood silent, weapon pointed straight up at the ceiling.
"Anyone else from the Sarns?"
Everyone was silent.
"Keeper, do you see the weapon in the man's hand?"
The owner of the bar slowly leaned over the counter-top to look at the body and then back at Turner. "I see it."
"And you saw him drawing it?"
The barkeeper nodded.
"Two other witnesses?"
"We seen it," a couple who had been standing next to the dead man announced.
"Then according to the laws of the Landreich the issue is settled," Turner replied. The other patrons nodded in agreement.
With his free hand Turner reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and tossed it to Geoff.
"Take out two hundred, that should cover damages and burial, and put it on the bar."
Tolwyn did as ordered. He looked down nervously at the dead man. There was a hole big enough to put his fist into dead center over the man's heart. He caught a sharp, almost metallic, smell and realized it was blood and felt a slight giddiness. It was, in fact, the first violent death he had ever witnessed. He had seen fellow cadets killed in training accidents, but in those situations it was simply a machine disintegrating, or bursting into flames, or slamming into the ground. It had always been distant, remote, followed a couple of days later by a polished coffin in the chapel. There was no smell of charred flesh and blood, or that shocked, wide-eyed look of a corpse gazing up at him.
He could sense the fear in the bar. Someone whom they had most likely assumed was nothing but a walking target had proved to have fangs. He stepped back from the bar and was surprised as Turner just turned his back and walked out into the main corridor. It hadn't been like the vids at all, where after the shoot-out the winner slowly backed out the door.
Turner did not even bother to look back.
Tolwyn came up by Vance's side.
"Damn, did you see that?" he whispered.
Richards simply nodded.
"That was old Winnie Turner in there," Geoff said. "Hell, I thought he was about as dangerous as a first year fleggie."
"You idiot," Richards whispered. "You never heard the rumors?"
"You mean about some sort of commando stuff? Come on, not Winnie," but even as he spoke he realized just how dead wrong they had all been. "I thought he was nothing but an old prof." Tolwyn looked at the hunched back of Turner as he continued down the corridor.
"Amazing."
Turner was glad that his back was turned to the two young cadets so they couldn't see his bemused smile. Spotting the Sarn hit man was easy enough; he was surprised Kruger hadn't picked up on him as well. The boy certainly was green. The only reason the hit man had not dropped Kruger right in the bar was that he probably wanted to keep it private and was simply waiting for them to leave. It had been a foolish act on the hit man's part to decide to take out Kruger's business associates. Something had triggered him and the damn fool had gone for his gun. Most likely it was that brief instant of eye contact when the Sarn hit man realized that Turner had recognized him.
Turner cursed inwardly; now the damn Sarn clan would be on his case as well.
Fawcett's World
Walking through the open-air compound, Jukaga nar Vakka looked around warily. It was, first off, the scent which was so damned disturbing. Since it was a new smell, and one not yet placed as that of prey or rival, his reaction was mixed. The humans, standing listlessly beyond the double strand of electrified wire stood silent, watched him pass. He could hear their whispers, high pitched, disconcerting. He had studied the holo tapes his father had forced him to watch and he tried to distinguish what they were saying.
One word caught his attention, illegitimate offspring. He stopped and whirled about.
None of the humans on the far side of the wire were looking at him.
A soft chuckled rumbled next to him.
"Ah, so you do know a few words of their standard speech."
Jukaga looked over at Harga, his father's oldest friend and most loyal retainer, who was responsible for running this outpost world, granted to the Vakka clan.
"Aren't we going to do something?" Jukaga hissed.
"What?" Harga replied. "Find who said it and kill him? Young Jukaga, if we did that, there wouldn't be a single human left on this world."
"I don't see why my father suffers a single one of them to live."
"Call it an indulgence," Harga said, motioning for Jukaga to step under the shade of a wide spreading ulanna tree, imported all the way from the home world in a small attempt to provide something familiar in this alien landscape.
Jukaga sat down on the silken blanket spread beneath the tree and accepted the ceremonial cup of greeting from Harga. Though Harga was not of the royal blood Jukaga knew enough to defer to him, first since he was a renowned warrior for the Vakka clan, and also because he was his father's closest friend.
Jukaga looked back at the human compound. Most had drifted away from the wire, returning to the fields to till the crops. As Jukaga took in the scene there was a certain pleasantness to it all; soaring blue-gray mountains on the horizon, a cooling breeze coming down from the hills, the only disconcerting note the alien scents.
"I rather like this place," Harga announced. "Never thought I'd one day be master of a world. Much preferred standing by your fathers side. How is he?"