“Oh, Lesries is a Unioner,” she explained. “Commando-trained in their military, trained to kill. Union supposedly gave him permission to settle here, but he’s still Union. On detached duty, as we see it, here to stir up all the trouble he can. Our treaty says that we can’t touch him, and every time we file a complaint they say we have no evidence. Him and his lackeys earn their bread and beer by poaching; they sell langie pelts on the black market. Several times a year we find a ranger dead, his neck broken, and nothing left of his herd but skinned carcasses. That’s his trick. He breaks your neck with one swift kick. He’s done that to about five of our boys here in town.”
Velmeran frowned. “What is this business about your being his girl? You seem to think otherwise.”
Lenna nearly spat in anger. “He thinks he’s a stud! He names certain girls to be his own, and if anyone goes near them he breaks their neck. He’s not touched me yet, but he will come for me eventually. What happens then, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
She frowned regretfully. “My brother, Iyan, he’s port police, and he hates Lesries with a passion. If Lesries does touch me, Iyan will go after him. Either he’ll kill him and get himself into trouble, or get himself killed. But first I’ll see what my Trader’s strength and a few of my brother’s tricks can do against that kicking idiot.”
“You have nothing to worry about now,” Velmeran assured her gently. “I will take care of Lesries before I leave.”
Lenna stared at him. “Sergei, this isn’t your problem.”
“It is now,” he said. “Lenna, I am not a Trader like you know. I have fought the Union all my life. I have killed before, and I will again. And I can certainly handle this Unioner. Getting rid of him is one loose end I can tie up while I am waiting for more important matters.”
“You mean to kill him?” she asked.
“He means to kill me. Besides, if he is pretending to be half Starwolf, I owe it to him. Most of my friends are Starwolves. How did he come up with that, anyway?”
“He’s a heavy worlder,” Lenna explained. “Growing up in two and a half G’s left him as strong as a bull langie.”
Velmeran laughed. “Charming fellow! I believe that we should just wander around until your friend does make his appearance. Then we will really celebrate.”
Velmeran forgot all about the matter of Treck Lesries after the first hour. As the Kanians already suspected, Lesries was no doubt a Union agent, not so much a spy or subversive as an embarrassment and a nuisance. He was a wolf in the fold, and the Kanians were unable to protect themselves from him for fear of creating an incident with the Union. The only ‘safe’ way to remove this annoyance was for him to provoke a fatal incident with a Starwolf… and Velmeran was the perfect bait for that trap, a Starwolf in sheep’s clothing.
He was still unsure of just where he stood with Lenna Makayen. She was quietly but obviously in awe of him for how easily he had dealt with Lesries’s henchmen and his apparent disdain for their leader; he suspected that, in spite of her initial interest in him, she had also dismissed him as the skinny little off-worlder he appeared to be. Whether she was conscious of it or not, she did see him as the key to getting what she had always wanted. Either she was mercenary enough to try to seduce him, or else she was trying to force herself to love him because she thought she should.
Later that night, after they had taken in several hours of music at a Ranger pub, Lenna suggested that they should spend the night together at the port inn. Velmeran skillfully maneuvered his way out of that one, explaining that he had to report back to his ship for the night. Lenna arranged to meet him for late breakfast at the same restaurant; she had downed enough of the local beer to know that she would not be able to drag out very early. Velmeran desperately needed a few hours to himself. For one thing, he needed to eat; he had been dining on portions suitable for a human his size, which was hardly adequate. He did need to check on the members of his pack. And he simply needed a rest from Lenna’s dauntless exuberance.
By morning Velmeran clearly sensed that this would be his last full day of port leave. He arrived at the appointed meeting place well ahead of time to give himself an early start on that late breakfast, in the hope that two breakfasts and one lunch would be enough to last him until night. He had just finished when he became aware that trouble had arrived.
“I got your message, little one,” someone said behind him, someone who lacked the thick native accent. Velmeran rose calmly and turned to face his enemy. The first thing the Kelvessa saw was a chest and shoulders at least twice as broad as his own. Lesries had the hard looks to match his reputation, with a high, hooked nose and small, penetrating eyes made all the harder by a perpetual squint.
Treck, seeing his own adversary more clearly, laughed scornfully. “You are a little fellow, aren’t you? No matter. You know what I am?”
“I know what you are not,” Velmeran answered calmly.
“And what’s that?”
“You are not half Starwolf, since there is no such thing. And you are not going to leave this place alive.”
Treck laughed again. “My brave little man! And what are you that you think that you can take me?”
“More than I seem, I assure you.”
“Prove it, then!”
Whatever Lesries thought of his tiny adversary, he still did not intend to fight fair. He struck with a lightning swiftness meant to catch his enemy off guard, launching himself with remarkable grace to deliver a fatal kick to the base of the neck. His martial cry of attack turned to one of surprise when he felt himself plucked out of the air. He found himself suspended like a doll, two hands holding his wrists while two more held his ankles.
“Oh, shit!” he muttered in quiet despair as he realized his mistake. It was his last conscious thought.
Iyan Makayen stepped aside as medics hurried out of the room with the body, then turned back to survey the damage. He had seen some very strange things in his short career, but this was surely the strangest. It was inconceivable that this tiny off-worlder had thrown Treck Lesries across the length of the room, through an inner wall of the restaurant, across a second room, and halfway through the outer wall. And Lesries might well have gone through that second wall, except that it had a solid brick outer facing. Heavy wooden studs were scattered like matchsticks, and a fine, white powder from shattered plasterboard covered everything.
Den Ohlera, proprietor of the pub and owner of these shattered walls, also stared in disbelief, but it was the disbelief of an almost childlike delight. “A bull langie couldn’t have knocked him harder. Look at the hole he left! Just as neat as neat.”
“You’ll have a bit of a mess to tidy up, that’s for sure,” Makayen said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ohlera speculated. “Thought I might leave that one hole. Give the gang something to talk about, how that little off-worlder damn near pitched Treck Lesries into orbit. A regular conversation piece, as they say. He was bad for business in life, the way folks would scatter when he walked in. In death, he might be uncommonly good for business.”
“What about the damages, all the same?” Makayen asked.
“Oh, he made good on that right away,” the proprietor said, displaying a piece of jewelry worth at least twice the costs of repairs. “Surely you’ll not be arresting him for this. If you do, I’ll be the first to hire him a lawyer.”
“And I’ll be the second,” Makayen agreed. “I don’t expect I’ll have to, as long as he can give me fair answers to a couple of questions.”
They returned to the adjoining room, where Velmeran was sitting at a table with a cold drink, looking unconcerned.
“Let me get right to the point,” Makayen began unceremoniously. “Last night my sister came home half drunk and worried about some off-worlder she had met. A Trader by the name of Sergei Rachmaninoff. She said that he had run afoul of Treck Lesries, and Lesries was looking to kill him. Would you be that person?”
“I might.”
“Well, I thought that odd from the start, since there is no independent freighter on the ground or in system at the moment. No ship of any kind, for that matter, except the Methryn. So I ran a computer check on the name Sergei Rachmaninoff, and it told me something quite amazing.”
Velmeran shrugged. “It is hard to be original on short notice.”
Makayen nodded thoughtfully. “I figured as much. Well now, if you can give me an honest accounting of who you are, where you might be from and what you’re doing here, I’ll call it good and trouble you no more.”
“My name is Velmeran, Commander-designate of the Methryn,” he said, drawing aside his cape to reveal his lower arms — and the guns he wore. “I am trying to enjoy port leave.”
“Bless me, I’ve something cooking in the kitchen!” Den Ohlera exclaimed and ran from the room.
“Well, you can see why I would want to take a vacation from that name… and the reputation that goes with it,” Velmeran said, amused.
“I suppose I can,” Makayen agreed. “I was a little peeved at you, I must admit, for doing what I could never allow myself to do. You were waiting for him to come, weren’t you? Why did you do it?”
“Well, for any number of good reasons. Because he was a Union agent, for one. Because the Union cannot retaliate for his death if a Starwolf was responsible. To give Lenna something in exchange for the one thing she wants most and I cannot give her. And to keep you from having to sacrifice your career, your freedom, and possibly even your life trying to handle the matter yourself.”
“Then I owe you a lot, I suppose,” Makayen said. “And taking care of Treck Lesries for her makes up for your deception. But it will still break her heart when you go, for she’s expecting you to take her with you.”
“Yes, I know. This much, however, I can do. The Traders are a race apart, and they take care of their own. I can put the word out that someone with the training to be an apprentice in helm and navigation wants a place on a ship. Someone will come for her.”
“Fair enough,” Makayen agreed. “I think she’s a fool, but I can also see that she’ll never be happy here. Now be on, before I arrest you for possession of illegal arms.”
Velmeran smiled as he smoothed his cape into place. “Is there such a thing?”
“Sure, and that’s what we call it,” the Kanian replied. “For that matter, those jack-snappers you wear probably qualify… not that I would try not take them from you. Just promise me that you’ll try not to kill anyone else this visit.”