Lionheart: The Unseen Saboteur, part 2 (1 of 4)

Okay, here goes nothing.  I'll try posting the story again, this time from
Wordpad, which is the way I always used to do it.  Hopefully it will come
through like it's supposed to.

- Sebastian
				Part Two


	It looked like an ordinary, nondescript elf.  Medium length silvery-brown
hair framed a slender, handsome face, definitely male.  Its expression was
peaceful.  The eyes were blue, and stared sightlessly upwards.    The
uniform it wore identified him as a lieutenant, third class.  The body was
laid on its back, arms at its sides and legs straightened.  It looked like
the man had simply laid down here and died.
	Trielle was at Reanyn's side in two quick strides.  "Is he...  is it one of
them?"
	Reanyn nodded.  "I've never seen one before, but yes, the body fits the
description."  He pointed.  "See the eyes?  Look closely."
	She leaned over.  From a distance they looked like ordinary blue eyes, but
when she looked closer...  "They're multifaceted!" she said with surprise.
	Reanyn nodded.  "Exactly."  He touched the dead man's face then grunted in
startlement, half jerking his hand away.
	"What is it?" asked Trielle.
	He shook his head.  "Nothing.  Well, nothing I shouldn't have expected.
Here, feel."
	She placed her palm on the dead man's forehead then jerked it back as if
she had been burned.  It was not skin that she felt beneath her fingertips
but something angular, hard and slightly rough to the touch.  "What in the
Void!"
	"Exoskeleton," said Reanyn.  "Insectare aren't elven, they're insects.  The
exoskeleton is formed to imitate us."
	Trielle shuddered.  "Horrible," she said.  "The feeling of that
chitinous... thing.  To think that something like this could walk among
us...  I've heard stories, everyone has.  About things like this, bionoids
and insectare and... just things.  Never really believed them before.  But
here it is, in front of me.  Just makes my skin crawl, that's all.  Things
like this shouldn't be allowed to live."
	Reanyn glanced at her.  "Evidently someone agrees with you," he said
noncommittally.  He looked back at the body.  "And don't believe everything
you hear.     The Living Weapons served the Fleet honorably and well."  He
tugged back the collar of the dead man's uniform.  The throat was a dark
green color.
	"What's that?" asked Trielle, leaning in again.
	"His natural color," said Taisro.  The major had recovered himself somewhat
and was now at Trielle's shoulder.
	Reanyn nodded.  "He must have used makeup to change the coloring of the
face to match that of a normal elf.  Insectare are green."  He touched the
dead man's hair.  "And of course he wore his hair long enough to hide his
antennae."  Carefully he parted some of the hair, looking for something.  A
moment later he had uncovered two spiky brown antennae which sprouted
somewhere near the front of the dead man's scalp and lay folded back against
his head, running down his neck and into the collar of the uniform.
	"That must have been painful for him," murmured Taisro.  When Reanyn and
Trielle looked up at him, he explained.  "Insectare have antennae for a
reason; they use them.  To smell, to taste, to sense the air, to communicate
with each other.  Obviously he was trained to fold them back to better blend
in when he infiltrated elven forces, but it still must have been difficult.
Imagine voluntarily giving up the use of your arms, that would be an apt
comparison."
	Reanyn nodded.  "I imagine you're right.  You seem to know a good deal
about them.  All I know is the basics."
	Taisro shrugged.  "Fleet intel on the Insectare is shared on a need-to-know
basis, mostly because we don't really know that much about them, except that
they exist.  All officers of medium grade and higher were given a notice as
to their existence and warnings on how to spot them - the green skin, the
multifaceted eyes, the antennae.  Junior officers and enlisted men aren't
even officially aware of them."
	Trielle nodded.  "I've heard stories, but that's all.  No official Fleet
notices or anything like that."
	"Yet you know more," said Reanyn, still looking at the major.
	"Well," said Taisro, "I am not an unimportant man here on station.  I run
the Astrolabe, after all.  Most Fleet communications and intel comes through
here.  I know a little about everything, and I read everything there was to
read about Instectare.  Which wasn't much."
	Reanyn nodded again, and looked at the body.  "Then maybe you can answer a
question for me."
	"What's that?"
	"I've been wondering about the smell."
	Taisro looked lost.  "Smell?"
	"Yes.  The smell of the decaying body.  There isn't any."
	"I don't understand."
	Reanyn touched the body again.  "If our insectare has really been lying
here for seventeen days, why does he look like he just lay down here a few
hours ago?  Shouldn't there be some sign of decay?  I had assumed that the
Astrolabe's illusions might mask the smell, but even now, when I've
deactivated it, there isn't any.  And surely even if the smell was somehow
suppressed, the body would show some wear and tear.  And yet it looks fresh,
undisturbed."
	Taisro shook his head.  "I'm no high mage, but I was always given to
understand that the Astorlabe's illusions were strictly optical and
auditory.  I don't think it could effect smell."
	Reanyn touched the body again, placing one hand under the dead man's wrist.
  He raised gently, and the dead man's arm lifted limply.  "No rigor
mortis," he said, then glanced at the major again.  "Of course, all of this
could be quite natural for a dead Insectare.  Maybe they don't get rigor
mortis.  Maybe it takes longer for their bodies to break down."
	Taisro shrugged helplessly.  "If you're looking to me for answers, high
captain, I'm afraid I'll disappoint you.  Very little is known about their
biology; I know of nothing which could explain the body's... freshness."  He
gave a weak grin.  "Actually, I'm still getting over the shock of finding
that the body was here in the first place."
	"Yes," said Trielle suddenly, giving Reanyn a strange look, "how did you
know?  That the body was here, I mean.  How could you have known?"
	Reanyn shook his head.  "I didn't.  Not really.  But the ensign saw a
second person in the room, described him as an Insectare.  And it didn't
look like there was any way for him to get out.  When the major told me that
this whole chamber was the focus point for high-powered illusions, the
thought occurred to me that someone could have programmed an illusion to
hide the Insectare.  I was just eliminating possibilities.  Still, it raises
more questions than answers."
	"What do you mean?" asked Taisro.  "I would have thought just the opposite:
  you've solved the mystery of where the colonel's killer went.  The ensign
saw an Insectare kill the colonel; now here he is."
	Reanyn shook his head.  "You aren't thinking it through, major.  This man
didn't kill the colonel.  There must have been a third person in the room."
	"How do you know?" asked Trielle.
	"To begin with, Colonel Alynium was slain by a scro crossbow bolt.  Where
is the crossbow?  Do you see it anywhere?"  Reanyn shook his head.  "Neither
do I.  And why is the insectare dead?  He commits his crime, then somehow
has time to reprogram the Astrolabe - a feat I am very certain any
infiltrator would have to have help in achieving - then lays down and dies.
Why?"  He shook his head.  "It doesn't make any sense."
	He reached under the corpse's left shoulder with one hand and under its
upper thigh with the other.
	"What are you doing?" asked Taisro as he began to lift.
	"Turning him over.  I haven't found any wounds yet, and I'm wondering what
killed him... ah, here..."
	At first Trielle saw no sign of any wounds, but then Reanyn's fingers
closed on a slender black sliver of wood which protruded ever so slightly
from the back of the dead man's neck.
	"A dart of some kind," he said, pulling it free of the tough exoskeleton.
It was tiny, maybe slightly larger than a sewing needle.  "Careful," he
warned, passing it to her, "it's probably tipped with some sort of poison."
	She took it from him gingerly.  "What am I to do with it?"
	"I assume there is someone on station who is familiar with alchemy?
Perhaps someone who might be able to examine the dart and tell us what sort
of poison it is tipped with?"
	"The Mages Council in the High Keep could do something with it," Taisro
offered helpfully.  "Most of their duties lie in other directions, but I'm
certain there is a resident alchemist housed there, along with a lab, though
I confess I don't know the man's name."
	Reanyn nodded, setting the body down.  "And the body?  Surely a dead
Insectare would be of some interest to Fleet Intelligence and
Bio-Engineering."
	Again Taisro nodded.  "I'll send an apprentice to the communications room
right away."  He moved to the trapdoor, then down.
	"What are you looking for now?" asked Trielle.  Reanyn was searching
through the dead man's uniform.
	He made no reply until he had searched thoroughly.  Moments later he was
still empty-handed.  He sighed.  "His uniform marks him as a lieutenant
third class.  I was hoping for something... some sort of identification,
anything.  And the ensign said he saw the insectare raise his right hand
towards the colonel.  If he wasn't holding a crossbow, then what?"  He shook
his head.  "And yet there is nothing here.  It is puzzling."
	"Perhaps your `third man' took it from the body - whatever it was - before
leaving."
	"Perhaps," echoed Reanyn absently.  He stared at the body for a moment,
then a thoughtful look came into his eye.  He leaned forward again, quickly
unbuttoning the front of the uniform jacket.
	Trielle watched as he opened the jacket and pulled it back.  The dead man
wasn't wearing an undershirt beneath it, and when Reanyn opened the jacket a
powerfully muscled chest was revealed.  The skin here was the same emerald
green color as that on the back of the insectare's neck, and utterly
hairless.
	Reanyn wasn't concerned with the dead man's torso.  Instead he had located
an inner pocket on the inside lining of the jacket and was removing a small
packet of papers from it.
	"What is it?" asked Trielle, leaning forward to see better over Reanyn's
shoulder as he unfolded the packet.
	"Identification," said Reanyn triumphantly, his eyes scanning the page.
"An official summons to Lionheart, clearance for a Lieutenant Morr - that
must be him," - his eyes darted down to the corpse - "to come on station.
Nothing much else here, except...  void, look who the authorizing signature
is."
	"Colonel Alynium!" said Trielle, clearly suprised.
	Reanyn nodded.  "Interesting, don't you think?  Apparently the colonel
authorized the summons and clearance for his own murderer to come on
station."
	Taisro had reappeared at the trapdoor.  "I have contacted the High Keep,
high captain.  Several of the mages are en route already to retrieve the
body."
	Reanyn nodded, then handed the papers to Trielle.  "I want to know
everything - everything - about this `Lieutenant Morr'.  What unit he was
attached to, when he arrived on station, what ship he came on, what records
the Fleet may have on him... everything."
	She pursed his lips.  "There should be some record of him in one of the
processing guard towers at one of the docks... depending on which dock he
entered by.  That paperwork usually winds up in the Council of Admirals
Tower eventually.  It should exist, but it probably won't be easy to find.
And that's if this clearance packet isn't a fake.  The whole thing could be
forged, including the colonel's signature."
	Reanyn nodded, standing.  "Surely Fleet Intelligence will have someone who
can verify whether the document and signature are authentic.  Find out.  I
want to know everything about Lieutenant Morr - how long he was on station,
who he talked to while he was here, where he went, why he was even here in
the first place.  And then I want you to find out about Colonel Alynium.  I
want to know every movement he made in the two weeks prior to his death."
	"Oh sure," she said wearily, "that'll be easy.  Anything else?"
	"As a matter of fact, yes.  Someone reprogrammed the Astrolabe.  I want a
list of every person, past or present, who has the authority to do that.
Whoever did it created and illusion so complex that not even the major
realized that it was in effect.  I think that's our biggest clue."  He
glanced down at the body again.  "And find out from those bio-engineers over
at the High Keep why the body wasn't in a state of decay."
	"You think that could be important?" asked Taisro, curious.
	Reanyn shrugged.  "I don't know.  It bothers me, that's all.  There are any
number of explanations.  Maybe it has to do with insectare physiology.
Maybe it's some magical preservative effect of the Astolabe.  Maybe the
poison the dart was tipped with did it."  He was quiet for a moment,
thoughtful.  "Or maybe he hasn't been dead for seventeen days."  He shook
his head.  "We won't know until someone qualified takes a look at it."
	"That could take some time," said Trielle.  "Those lab rats over in the
Keep aren't going to hurry a chance to take a peek at a dead insectare...
and they aren't likely to want to part with anything they find out either."
	"Just make sure it gets done," said Reanyn.  "My investigative authority
should be enough leverage to push with.  In the meantime, where can I locate
this lieutenant, Dainvillo, who works for Admiral Nyntoch?"
	Trielle shrugged.  "The admiral's offices are in the Council of Admirals
tower.  Dainvillo works for Nyntoch; he shouldn't be too difficult to find.
But why do you want to speak to him?"
	Because I find it an incredible coincidence that this Dainvillo just
happened to be searching for some map in the Astrolabe at the exact same
time as the murder.  Alibi or not, I want to question him, Reanyn thought.
Aloud he said:  "Just being thorough.  What time is it local?"
	Trielle glanced uncertainly at Taisro.
	"Er, neary fourteen bells," he said.  "Why?"
	"Bells?" asked Reanyn.
	"Yes.  One bell equals one hour, standard.  We call them that because every
hour the priests of Labelas Enorath sound the chime atop the Timeless Tower
to announce the hour.  The peal is soft and soothing, but can be heard
nearly everywhere on station.  There are twenty-two bells to a day here;
we're in a slightly faster than standard orbit that takes us from the
darkside to the lightside of the planet below."
	"I see," said Reanyn.  He turned to Trielle.  "Lieutenant, we'll meet again
at... two bells, and you can report what you've discovered in the meantime."
	"Where?" she demanded.
	"At your office."
	"I don't have an office.  I have a desk."
	He nodded.  "Fine.  At your desk in Commandant Geyrrin's office."

					*	*	*

	"In one hour I will address the Elven Council of Worlds at a special
assembly on a matter of grave urgency.  I have neither the time nor the
inclination to pander to your foolish questions, high captain.  You have
exactly five minutes, boy, before I have you bodily thrown out."
	Admiral Nyntoch was sitting behind a gigantic oak desk, a full-color chart
of some sphere Reanyn did not know on the wall behind him.  At the moment
his expression was a mixture of irritation, disdain, and dislike.
	"I appreciate your willingness to see me," said Reanyn evenly.  "I have a
few questions pertaining to the death of Colonel Alynium."
	"I fail to see how I have anything to do with the matter," said the
admiral.
	"Actually sir," said Reanyn, "I had intended to pose my questions to Second
Lieutenant Dainvillo but I am informed that the man is unavailable."
	The admiral gave the barest hint of a nod.  "Dainvillo has been reassigned;
he is no longer attached to this office.  You had better not start asking me
questions meant for him, high captain, not if you don't want me to lose my
temper.  I have serious duties, high captain.  Don't waste my time."
	"Where has Dainvillo been reassigned."
	The admiral sat back, a slightly condescending look on his face.  "I don't
see that that is any concern of yours."
	"I would like very much to interview him.  It is possible that he was an
eyewitness to the colonel's murder."
	"Absurd," barked the admiral.  "Dainvillo's testimony is recorded in
Commandant Geyrrin's investigative journal.  He said nothing whatever of
seeing any murder.  Dainvillo was here, in my office, during the time of the
colonel's death.  If you had bothered to check Geyrrin's notes, you would
see that I myself testified to that fact.  Suggesting that Dainvillo was
anywhere near the murder is tantamount to calling me a liar."
	Reanyn shook his head.  "I apologize admiral," he said carefully,  "I
misspoke.  I only meant that I would like to interview the second lieutenant
myself.  It is possible that Dainvillo saw something while he was there
which might give some clue to what happened."
	"You act as though there were some great mystery," said the admiral
sharply.  "Colonial Alynium was killed by a scro infiltrator.  The only
mystery is how the killer escaped."
	And who the killer was, thought Reanyn silently.  And why Col. Alynium was
killed.  And who the insectare was.  And why he was there.  And why he was
killed...
	"In any case," said the admiral, "I am afraid that an interview with
Dainvillo is quite out of the question.  He has been reassigned."
	"To where?"
	The admiral crossed his arms.  "To a more sensitive assignment.  It is
need-to-know only.  And you do not have clearance."
	Reanyn felt a flare of anger, fought it down.  "In my capacity as
investigator, sir," he said evenly, "I was given to understand that I had
broad powers-"
	"Don't spout drivel to me, boy," snapped the admiral.  "I know your
commission; I wrote it.  In matters pertaining to your investigation you
have some powers; the second lieutenant, in my estimation, doesn't qualify.
Dainvillo is off limits to you.  Even if he wasn't, he's off station now and
unreachable.  So the answer to your question is no, you cannot interview
him.  His written testimony will have to suffice.  Do you have any other
questions for me, or may I get back to my work?"
	Reanyn nearly made an angry remark.  "When was he reassigned, admiral?  And
how long ago did he depart the station?"
	The admiral gave him a hard look.  "Classified.  I think we're done here,
high captain.  I've been more than generous thus far, but you seem to be
asking the same questions again and again.  You have my answer, high
captain.  Dainvillo is not available for interrogation.  Now, you may leave
of your own accord or I can call my guardsmen to have you escorted out.
Either way, this interview is over."

					*	*	*

	"It's just in there, sir.  I'm certain you'll find the rooms more than
adequate."
	Weary and frustrated after his encounter with the admiral, Reanyn had
directed the corporal to lead him to his quarters.  There was nothing more
to be done at the moment, and after the long voyage to Lionheart aboard
Telstrike and the busy day he had spent since arriving, he was beginning to
tire.
	He wasn't exhausted by any stretch;  after taking command of the imperial
ship Vengeance he had stood his post for three days, directing the surviving
ships of the Third Fleet in a race against death.  Hiding in asteroid belts,
fleeing the pursuing scro, fighting when he had to.  Short on men, short on
supplies, short on weaponry, short on luck - he had done what he had to in
an impossible situation.  Those were tense days.  The men had been broken
and on the verge of routing.  On the verge of mutiny.  With the food gone,
some crews had been forced to cannibalize the dead.  They had looked to him
to save them, and he had done his best.  Not all had lived, no.  He could
still hear the screams on the armada Skytalon as the flames rose and the men
burned alive.  Some had leapt into the void, plunging beyond the air
envelope, burning like living torches.  Screaming and writhing...
	Most had survived.  He had saved most of them.  He tried to remember that,
but it was not the survivors that haunted his sleep.  Rather it was the
faces of the ones he had failed who came to him again and again.   The
rigors of battle he knew well; he had faced it again and again.  But to have
responsibilty for the lives of so many others... that was the burden.  That
was exhaustion.
	"Sir?"
	The corporal's voice startled him from his reverie.  He looked from the
open door before him back to the wood elf.  "Thank you, corporal," he said.
"I'm certain they'll do.  You may go."
	The wood elf half nod and backed off a step.  "Very good, sir.  If you need
anything, I'll be just down the hall," - he pointed to a smaller door
opposite - "or you can ask the guard on duty."
	Reanyn nodded again, entered the bedchamber and closed the door.
	Then looked around in wonder at the opulence of the place.  Had the
corporal said he would find it `more than adequate'?  The description fell
short.  Far short.
	He had expected to be quartered with the troops in the barracks housed
within one of the dock sections, but the corporal had led him to a large,
spacious building he had referred to as the Embassy.  A gigantic marble
building, it housed the offices and living spaces for any foreign
delegations that might be visiting Lionheart.  Of course most of the
building was empty, as the current High Admiral had a policy against
allowing any but the greatest allies to the Fleet access to the station.
	The Embassy, more than any other structure, was built to impress visiting
dignitaries, and the chamber Reanyn was in reflected that.  Although it was
probably built to cater to the needs of a minor diplomat, it was still
incredibly large.  The ceiling towered at least fourteen feet overhead, and
was curved and rounded where it met the walls, lending a domelike effect.
The walls were hung with exotic paintings from place to place - excellent
work which depicted typical scenes of elven life in space - imperial ships,
distant worlds, starscapes...  There was even a sculpture standing on a
pillar near the door, a carving of some elven male's face.  Reanyn guessed
that it was modeled after a former admiral or fleet leader, though he did
not recognize it.
	The floor near the door was mirror-smooth marble, ingrained with elven
symbols and paintings here and there (the symbol for safe haven was, by
tradition, just in front of the door).  But farther into the chamber there
were two steps down onto a lower floor, which was plushly carpeted.
	Reanyn stepped down into this main chamber and looked around.  There was a
massive bed to his right set along the wall, a high four poster with an
upper framework hung with silks and white nearly-transparent curtains all
the way around.  Beside it was an open door which led into a closet, within
which were hanging fresh uniforms and other clothing.  The carry-all bag he
had brought with him had been taken by a porter at the docks.  He supposed
the clothing had been delivered here and hung up by someone, but...  He
looked closer, surprised.  There was far more clothing hanging here than he
had brought.  A quick glance at the three closest uniforms (two regular, one
dress) revealed that the insignia sewed on the shoulder and breast was that
of a high captain.  All of Reanyn's uniforms had displayed his former rank,
lieutenant captain, including the jacket he wore now.
	He turned back into the main chamber.  On the far wall was a set of open
glass doors, beyond which a small railed balcony extended a few feet.  Two
silk curtains hung down in front of it, gently swaying in the gentle breeze
wafting in from outside.  To the left was a hall.
	Reanyn turned into it and discovered that it led to a smaller guest bedroom
and a washroom which was complete with a bathtub (an unheard of luxury!)
sink, and privy, all with running water (another astonishing luxury).  The
floor was tiled and above the washstand hung a gigantic polished mirror,
gilded with brass on each edge.
	Comfortable, thought Reanyn, surveying it all.  Too comfortable.  I'm
afforded every luxury, as if I were a visiting dignitary.  And yet a simple
request to interview a possible eyewitness is met with hostility.  I am
given an impossible investigation that is weeks old by the time I come to
it, and blocked at every turn when I try to probe.  Why?
	Reanyn went to the mirrored washstand and splashed some of the cold water
from the washbucket onto his face.  When he looked up at himself again, he
gave a violent start.  Standing calmly behind him was a uniformed elf he had
never seen before.
	The man met his eyes with a clear gaze.  "High Captain Al'Nuoth," he said.
It was not a question.
	Reanyn whirled.  "Who are you?" he demanded.  "How did you get in here?"
	The man shook his head.  "I've been here for several hours, waiting for
you.  You don't know me, sir, but I've some information to pass on to you.
My name is Jevar Dainvillo."

					*	*	*

	Second Lieutenant Jevar Dainvillo was tall for an elf, standing nearly six
feet in height with a well-formed whipcord thin body.  His hair was cropped
short and the same color as his eyes: steel grey.  He was older than Reanyn,
but not by much.  Like most elves, his face was handsome and elegantly
formed, but there was an air of sobriety about him.  He was intelligent but
well-grounded, serious and almost humorless.  There was an edge of hardness
to him as well.
	"I was told you'd been transferred off station, lieutenant."
	Dainvillo's eyebrow lifted.  "Transferred?  Not to my knowledge, sir.
Though the cover story doesn't surprise me.  I went to ground a week ago,
sir, after the first assassination attempt."
	Reanyn was surprised.  "Assassination attempt?  Against you?"
	The lieutenant jerked a quick nod.  "That's why I'm here, sir.  I learned
that you were the officer investigating Colonel Alynium's elimination.  And
that you were brought in from off station.  I'm taking a great risk, sir,
coming to see you."
	Elimination? thought Reanyn.  It seemed a strange word to describe what had
happened to Col. Alynium.  Until now he had heard the event referred to as
`death' or `murder'.  He had had several questions he wanted to put to
Dainvillo, but the lieutenant's strange turn of phrase, and his reference to
an assassination attempt made Reanyn change his mind about asking.  Instead
he decided to let the lieutenant tell his story himself.  "Why did you
come?" he asked aloud.
	Dainvillo was quiet for a moment, a mixture of emotions playing across his
face.  Finally he said:  "I don't know if I can trust you, sir, but I know I
can't trust anyone else.  And my younger brother served under you, aboard
the man-o-war Thornstar."
	Reanyn felt a stab of pain at the name.  The Thornstar had been lost with
all hands.  "I'm sorry," he said.
	Dainvillo lowered his head.  "You did everything you could, sir.  I read
the reports.  It caused dissention among the higher-ups, you taking charge.
But I read the reports, and I could tell you must be a good man.  So... I
trust you."
	Reanyn said nothing, only gave a slight nod and waited for the man to
continue.
	"You must understand, sir," said Dainvillo at last, "that I was a soldier,
like any other.  My training was different; it had to be.  But the things
I've done, the work I've done...  it was for the Fleet, and the protection
of elves everywhere."
	"I don't understand," said Reanyn.  "I was given to understand that you
were a second lieutenant attached to Admiral Nyntoch's offices."
	Dainvillo nodded.  "That is so, and this is my rank.  But I am a trained
Tyliath-Venhi'er, and have served in that capacity for nearly thirty years."
	Reanyn felt his breath catch in his throat.  Tyliath-Venhi'er!  There were
many elite forces in the Imperial Fleet - the Dyvyth Raistus or the Se'shain
Novu, or even the Noble Knights of the Akh'Imprius that served as Imperial
Guardsmen to the High Admiral himself - but none were more mysterious and
deadly than the Tyliath-Venhi'er, the shadow arm of the Intelligence
division.  Operatives of the Tyliath-Venhi'er  were trained for espionage
and intelligence - infiltration deep into enemy territory, disguise,
assassination...  Officially, the Fleet denied their existence, though
Reanyn had long suspected there was something to the rumors of them.
	"Those of us who are selected for service as Tyliath-Venhi'er  have a
certain... psychological profile, as you may imagine.  But I am a loyal
Fleet officer, sir, and always have been.  The things I've done, they were
done in the service of the Fleet, sir."
	Reanyn gave a somber nod.  The lieutenant seemed to want him understand
this point; he had stressed it twice.
	"When I receive orders to eliminate a man, I am not always told why.  I
assume that my superiors are acting on accurate intelligence and on behalf
of the Fleet.  I do not question my orders, not when lawfully given.
Until..."
	The man's voice trailed off into silence.  "Until?" prompted Reanyn.
	"Nearly three weeks ago I was given a target package.  A scro operative had
infiltrated the station and needed to be neutralized.  He'd gone to ground
and there was no intel on how to locate him, but it was known the scro was
here to meet a traitor who would pass him sensitive documents.  The identity
of the traitor was also unknown, but there was reliable intel on where and
when the meeting would take place.  My orders were to eliminate both parties
and retrieve whatever documents the traitor had compromised."


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