Kalan had given serious consideration to running down the man in the hallway. He was confident he could have done it. He was far less confident he could have done it without drawing a lot of unwanted attention. Considering all the noise he’d made fighting that woman, Kalan was shocked that authorities weren’t descending on the building en masse when he’d stepped outside. All things considered, though, he decided that he’d just gotten lucky. It was the middle of the day, so maybe the dead man’s neighbors were away working. Then again, maybe the authority response time was just unusually long. Whatever the reason, he decided his best course of action was to get away from that building and that body. He’d thought about waving down one of the public transit pods, then decided against it. He didn’t want to be trapped inside one of those if the authorities locked it down. So, he’d started walking back to the port. It was a few miles, but he’d walked a lot farther under far worse circumstances. Besides, the walk would give him time to think.

There was certainly plenty to think about. The woman he’d fought had been very, very good. He thought she was the best he’d seen since leaving the Great Temple behind. He’d recognized her fighting style as Barus-ur. It wasn’t common in this area of space. In fact, it wasn’t common anywhere except the Protectorate of Ishin, one of the vassal states to the Ikaren throne. At least, that’s what his instructors at the Temple had told him. He’d never had a reason to visit the Protectorate or Ikaren space in general. It wasn’t isolationist, but he understood that their queen favored self-sufficiency. What goods they did import were luxury items, and he didn’t normally move that kind of cargo. Captains who took on that kind of cargo on a regular basis became targets for raiders. The same thing applied to captains who carried weapons. Word just got out about the kinds of things they carried. Kalan didn’t enjoy the idea of his ship getting attacked. Yes, the more run-of-the-mill cargo didn’t pay as well, but it was a trade-off he was happy enough to make. He’d rather work a little harder than fight during every delivery.

Kalan realized he was distracting himself and refocused. That woman, whatever her real identity, was almost certainly an agent for the Ikaren monarchy. It was possible she even worked directly for their queen. He hoped that wasn’t the case, given how close he’d come to cutting the woman down. The last thing he needed was to make a personal enemy out of a monarch who controlled dozens of worlds. Hell, it was an empire in all but name. He hadn’t planned on killing the woman, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t going to stop unless he made her stop. At least, that’s how the situation had read to him. She had taken the chance to escape when it presented itself, so perhaps she’d been less committed than she’d made out during the brief fight. He supposed he might never find out.

Then, there was the man. He’d intervened to save the woman. Were they working together? He’d looked, not afraid, but concerned. The fear had come later. How had he known that word, kisham? Kalan hadn’t heard that word aloud for ten long years. Yet, somehow, some way, a random stranger on a planet Kalan had never visited before had recognized Kalan for what he was. More likely, Kalan decided, he’d recognized the sword for what it was. Those swords had a reputation all their own. It’s why Kalan drew it so rarely. For a time, he’d considered never wearing it. The prospect of getting caught in some situation where he needed the sword and didn’t have it had persuaded him otherwise. He’d rather carry it and deal with the possibility of someone recognizing it.

While all of that was true, as far as it went, Kalan knew it wasn’t the main reason he kept the sword so close. It was the last and only tangible connection he had with his homeworld, with his family, with the traditions that had so fundamentally shaped him. He knew that someone might take the sword from him someday. He also knew that they’d likely have to pry it from his literal death grip on the hilt. The sword had to be the explanation. The man had simply recognized the sword. Kalan shook his head. No, that didn’t explain it. It might explain why he ran, but it didn’t explain how he knew that word. No one who wasn’t raised in the same tradition should know that word. To Kalan’s knowledge, he was the only living exile from his home. His brain caught on that last thought so hard that he stopped walking.

“As far as I know,” he whispered to himself.

Could there be others like him? People who had broken Code, dishonored themselves in some way that didn’t quite warrant an instant death sentence? Others who had been sent out to make their way in the universe with neither succor nor support from their society? He’d never heard of them, but he’d also never asked. It wasn’t something anyone had ever brought up in casual conversation. Kalan supposed he might have asked his father about it on that final day. Of course, Kalan hadn’t been thinking clearly in those last terrible hours before he’d boarded the ship that carried him away from everything he’d understood. Would he want to know those people, if they did exist? Some desperately lonely little part of him said yes. He might not have chosen them before his exile, but at least they’d understand him. They’d understand his perspective.

After a few moments of fantasizing about spending time with them, Kalan shook his head. No, he almost certainly wouldn’t want to know them. More than likely, they wouldn’t want to know him either. In some situations, a shared pain drew people closer together. He didn’t think his exile was one of those things. He suspected that if he met other people who had been banished, they’d act like mirrors for each other. It would accomplish nothing but show them more clearly why they were unwelcome at home. Kalan didn’t need or want that. What rational person would?

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Still, that could explain how that man had known that word. If he was also an exile, it could even explain why he ran. He would have known exactly what Kalan could do with the sword. With no sword of his own, the man probably decided that retreat was the safer tactical choice. It still left Kalan with unanswered questions. He very much doubted the man had been there by coincidence. If he had been sent there, who did the sending? If not the Ikaren monarch, what government commanded his loyalty? Kalan resisted the urge to finger the small box in his coat. Kalan wanted very badly to believe that the data crystal wasn’t the source of all of this unwanted attention from people even he thought probably qualified as dangerous.

Kalan wondered if he should try to access the information on the crystal. On the one hand, he’d feel very foolish if it was just old pictures and video files from years ago. On the other hand, if he was carrying some kind of secret, or classified intelligence, or god knew what else, he needed to know. He didn’t like it, but he’d ask Kala to see if she could access the crystal. If the information on the crystal was dangerous, it also meant that he needed to have a very pointed conversation with Tessan as soon as they got back to Cobalt 7. If Tessan had known he was handing Kalan dangerous information and not bothered to mention it, Kalan wasn’t confident he could stop himself from killing the man. It wasn’t so much about Kalan’s own safety. He could take care of himself. It was about Fresia’s safety, Petronan’s safety, and even Em and the ship. Kalan couldn’t protect them from threats he didn’t know existed.

“The gods help you if you knew, Tessan,” Kalan muttered to himself as he approached the port.

More than ever, Kalan was motivated to pick up his load of kelops and get back into space. At least in space, all he had to worry about was black holes, rogue meteors, raiders, and the distant possibility that his ship might spontaneously explode. All manageable problems compared to what he was dealing with on this planet. Still, he was cautious as he entered the sprawling complex of the port. The port’s security wasn’t outstanding, but it was more thorough than any he’d seen outside of the Kessellian Embassy. There were certainly more armed and uniformed men and women around. Kalan didn’t want to fight a running battle to get to his ship. Even he didn’t think he’d make it. They’d bring him down through sheer weight of numbers if nothing else. Yet, no alarms went off. No armed security bore down on him. It seemed no one had connected him with the dead man.

Now that he’d had time to cool off from the moment, he was less surprised by that. If that woman and man had been agents working for one or more governments, they probably took steps to conceal their activities. It was entirely possible they disrupted or deactivated local security monitoring. Then again, that assumed that such monitoring was in place to begin with, which wasn’t a certainty on a planet like this. While they probably hadn’t meant to help Kalan, he might have unintentionally benefited from their preventative actions. That didn’t mean he wanted to hang around any longer than necessary. He had that important conversation with Tessan waiting for him.

Kalan passed through a couple of security checkpoints without incident before his ship came into view. A bit of tension passed out of him at the sight of the ship. She wasn’t the biggest ship or the fastest, although she was fast for a freighter ship, but she was his ship. As long as he had the Ankala Rising, he had a place to go that no one could take from him. It was a kind of security that he’d defend with his life.

“Captain Rinn?”

He spun toward the voice, his blaster already out and coming up before he halted the motion. It took a couple of seconds before he recognized Sergeant Beya. In his own defense, she wasn’t in uniform or he’d have made the connection faster. Her eyes were open wide and her mouth hung open a little in surprise. Her eyes dropped to the blaster that wasn’t quite aimed at her. Kalan took firm hold of his emotions. That damned fight earlier had woken up reflexes he’d worked very hard to dampen over the years. He holstered the weapon.

“My apologies, sergeant. You startled me.”

“Gods you’re fast,” she said.

Kalan got the impression she hadn’t meant to say that out loud, so he shrugged. “Faster than some. Can I help you with something, Sergeant Beya?”

The woman shook her head a little before meeting Kalan’s eyes, and then looking away. She shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then seemed to make herself look at him again.

“I offended you earlier. I wanted to apologize. It was supposed to be a joke, but I’m clearly not that funny. I really am sorry.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent apology Kalan had ever heard, but it was profoundly more sincere than the thing that Calman had tried to pass off as an apology. It was obvious Beya felt bad about it. She’d felt bad enough that she’d tracked him down in the port just to make the apology, even though she had to know that they’d probably never cross paths again. It took more than a little strength of character to do that. Kalan waved a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been told that I’m not very funny, either.”

Beya relaxed. “Thanks. I felt even worse after I found out what you did for General Alland.”

“Listen,” said Kalan in a desperate attempt to undo a little of what Edmus had done. “Lord Alland might have over-sold my heroics. A lot.”

Beya gave his blaster a pointed look. “After what I just saw, I kind of doubt that.”

Kalan wanted to grind his teeth in frustration. Instead, he made a mental note to just avoid Kessellian space. He made one final attempt to defuse the story Edmus had told.

“I can take care of myself if I have to,” Kalan admitted. “Still, I mostly just gave the man a ride.”

Beya nodded in the right places, but Kalan could see that she wasn’t convinced. He admitted defeat to himself. He suspected that Beya wanted to believe the version that Edmus had told for reasons that had nothing to do with Kalan. After a moment, Kalan realized that Beya being here could at least solve one minor problem for him.

“Since you’re here, do you think you can do me a small favor?”

Beya gave him a suspicious look. “What kind of favor?”

“Captain Berclin asked for any recordings or sensor data we might have of the incident on Ariadne base. If I put them on data crystal, would you pass them along to him for me?”

Beya’s face brightened immediately. “Oh, sure. I can do that.”

“Good. You may as well come aboard. I’ll give you a quick tour.”