Closed What's in a Painting? (Inoadar)

[Marcus Ahysen]

Timestamp: 75th of Spring, 513 AV Things were normal, that day, or as normal as any day could ever be for a man who dealt in poisons. More be it to say that nothing of any particular interest had happened that day. Marcus was busy tending to the shop, which allowed Inoadar to go about his usual business. As most travel through Ravok required the use of ravosalas, that is where Inoadar found himself at that particular moment. Wherever it was he was planning to go, that had little impact on what was to come, because soon enough he realized that where he was going was not where he had asked the ravosalaman to take him. The driver, when and if Inoadar expressed his alarm, simply shook his head and told Inoadar to sit and be patient. "You have business elsewhere," the driver stated simply. If Inoadar demanded he be let off, or tried to get out by jumping into the canal the driver would try to convince him that the "business" he had involved his own security, and that it would be extremely beneficial to come with him, but ultimately, he would not stop Inoadar from leaving. Assuming Inoadar did go along, however, the ravosalamen would take them down an underpopulated canal and stop behind a nondescript building. A hooded man would join them on the boat, and then they would be on their way, toward Inoadar's original destination. After a few chimes, the man leaned forward to speak, allowing Inoadar to glimpse his face. He was not a man that Inoadar had seen before, but he had striking blue eyes, and light blond hair. He was a face that would be easy to remember. "I was sent to you by a mutual aquaintance," the man said as he reached into his pocket and produced the skull of a small bird, an identical twin to the one Inoadar had been given by the Rising Dawn mage. "He said to show you this and you would know who I meant. He said that you should go to the Studio of Yae Varone and ask to see the paintings of the artist, Patrick Ahysen." Patrick Ahysen was an artist of small renoun in certain circles among the wealthy of Ravok. He was most famous for his stunning depiction of Rhysol defeating Sylir amidst the chaos of the Valterrian, and that painting was on display in the main office of the Nitrozian Housing Commission. His other paintings were less known and only diehard fans, of which there were very few, would consider purchasing them. Still, the artist had enough of a following to allow his family to maintain a comfortable lifestyle in the noble district. "He believes you will find one painting of particular interest." The man had nothing more to say after that. If pressed, he would simply tell Inoadar that there was no more to the message. If pressed about his identity he would simply say that it would not be wise to say, and that it was best just to consider him a friend of a friend. Not long after their short talk the Ravosalaman stopped the boat again, allowing the stranger to exit, and then continued on towards Inoadar's original destination.. unless of course he asked to go somewhere else. The boatman, if asked, did not know anything about the meeting either, and that he was just doing as he had been paid to do. It would seem that if Inoadar wanted to find out more he would have to go a see Miss Yae Varone.

[Inoadar]

The diversion from the usual route brought the ravosala down a different system of canals to rendezvous with its original course. The sleek boat turned into a wide body that had served as more than just a canal. There were docks jutting from the walls of the canal, some with block and tackle systems for unloading from the small flatboats that made some deliveries of goods.

Inoadar felt a pang of nostalgia as he recalled his leap into the water here, near a line of 'deadheads'. These dangerously submerged pilings were a grave hazard to water vessels. Inoadar had used these to fake his death when a bounty hunter had come to collect on the Ebonstryfe's standing reward for his capture. A similar body, with a broken neck, already submerged, had been accepted as him. Case closed...'or was it?'

His instincts had been giving him an uneasy feeling of late. His assistant, Marcus, had let slip an occasional comment or action giving Inoadar a troubling sense of being under surveillance. There were additional incidents that had added to this feeling, not the least of which, the recent theft of his ledger.

'But why had nothing come of it?' He'd been close to panic for a week afterwards, anticipating squads of soldiers closing in on him, as they had done to his original assistant, Burke. But life had gone on, and he'd relaxed again, dismissing his uneasiness as lingering twinges of his anxiety. None of the significant names in his ledger had come to grief from the Black Sun. He'd have been snuffed out as retribution by now if they had. He'd even added a contact or two lately, deciding he'd laid low long enough.

But now those feelings were back. He'd seen the bounty contract on him stamped "PAID". But he could not shake the sense that someone was "aware" of him, and was watching him. The strange thing, though, was that he could not place the...attitude...of this...consciousness towards him. There had been enough in his ledger to convict a half dozen people and businesses in Ravok. Yet only the small fry's had suffered.

He'd begun to regret his initial campaign in the city. It had put him completely at odds with the Ebonstryfe. This was, of course, the reason for the bounty. He'd sneered at it then, basking in the feeling of triumph that they had a name they could never track. He'd felt sure he could slip out whenever he wanted, as he had done in Nyka. But he'd found much he liked about Ravok as he stayed here, and he felt an uncharacteristic desire to "belong". He'd scoffed at such 'foolishness' when it first piqued his emotions, but it was getting hard to ignore.

His sense of self-reliance surged to put this train of thought out of his mind. He needed no one. He just needed to get busy again. Too much time to let his thoughts travel pointless roads. He 'belonged' as much as he needed to, nothing more. Something else struck him. It too was hard to ignore...

He'd been through this part of town a time or two since the 'faked death' incident, and something had changed, something was different. He couldn't place it. He'd noticed this before and now it nagged at him. His instincts told him it was important. But what was it?

There was sudden shouting and the boat lurched slightly. The boatman exchanged curses and insults with a man on the top of the canal wall. The man had just cast his fishing pole and nearly struck the boat, but no harm had been done. His awareness reeled. There was a connection here! It had to do with the fisherman...No...he didn't recognize the man. 'What was it? That fisherman? No, that wasn't him! It was a different fisherman.' The fisherman he'd bribed to support his faked death scenario. He was gone.

Inoadar had chosen him at the time specifically because he was ALWAYS here at this time of day. 'Where was he?' Something pressed his sense of urgency to find out.

He instructed the boatman to let him off. This done, he approached the fisherman that had had words with the ravosala. The man recognized him as the passenger and adopted a defensive posture, insisting that it was only the boatman he had been referring to when he'd 'invited him to enjoy intimacy with himself'.

Inoadar grinned at the phrase and assumed a disarming demeanor. He asked the man where the old man that fished from 'that dock' was? He indicated an old but sturdy dock protruding from the other side of the canal. As the answers and details progressed, so did the man's look of concern over Inoadar's reactions. "You okay, sonny?"

Inoadar nodded absently, but his mind was in turmoil. The old man had told Inoadar that the Ebonstryfe had arrested the other fisherman weeks ago. "Vayt's teeth, it must'a been a couple seasons ago!" With additional pressure and the promise of ten gold mizas, he found enough supporting detail to confirm that it had been late Fall of last year.

'So...' he ran through the order of events, 'mid summer, I fake my death. The Ebonstryfe paid the bounty hunter, so I thought they'd been fooled. But late the next season, they arrest the fisherman I paid to give false statements to support my faked death. A few weeks later, they arrest my assistant and replace him with Marcus, using the destruction of the CEB as the basis for both. And ever since, I've been getting impressions of being watched. They weren't fooled. They've been on to me this whole time!'

He ignored the old man's continuing remarks over his looks of distress as he bolted for the platform to signal the next ravosala. When it arrived, the pilot gave him a look of surprised uncertainty. Rarely did a man ask to be taken to the Studio of Yae Verone with such intensity.

[Marcus Ahysen]

When Inoadar arrived at the studio, nothing seemed particularly amiss. Patrons were coming and going, enjoying coffee and and pastries, and a few heading up the stairs to view the paintings. Everything was normal. Everything was as it should be. And in fact, it was. When he entered nothing happened, save for receiving a few casual glances from the patrons and staff. It would not be until he actually spoke to someone that he would receive any kind of real reaction, and then it was only helpful and the usual things one might hear in such a place. When he asked about the paintings of Patrick Ahysen, however, the elderly Varone seemed to cheer up and a smile covered her face. "Ah, you must be one of the Ahysen fans, then! I was hoping word would have spread. I just got a collection of new paintings in.. well, not technically new, but they are from Mr. Ahysen's personal collection. I finally convinced him to sell them to me. Now if only I could get his masterpiece from the Nitrozians, my collection would be complete. Still, I'm sure you'll be quite pleased. Come with me." Yae Varone led Inoadar up the stairs and into the gallery, directing him to where the Ahysen paintings were located. If Inoadar knew anything about art, he would find that most of the paintings were typical of Ravokian artists. Depictions of Rhysol and the Voice were common, and truly, Patrick Ahysen was no different. There was however a collection of smaller portraits which, if he asked, he would be informed were paintings of the Ahysen family. These were the new works that Miss Varone had managed to get her hands on. They were all well done, but nothing of particular note. Except for one. He might not notice it at first glance, but Inoadar was a highly observant man, and if he took a close look, he would find one of the paintings very familiar. It was of a man who, if he looked closely, looked very much like his assistant. The hair was the wrong color, but hair was easy to change, and the man's facial hair was more neatly trimmed than Marcus Aventus, but they eyes were the same, and he had the same facial structure. He was a bit younger looking, but that didn't change much. And finally, he was also dressed in the robes of the Black Sun.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar had long since calmed by the time he reached the art studio. Too much time had passed for him to continue worrying about an arrest. For whatever reason, they were not interested in bringing him in. He thought back to the incident with the Nykan. He had been brought in, by an Ebonstryfe squad, led by a Commander that genuinely radiated dislike for him. Yet he'd been let go.

At the time, he'd thanked his lucky stars, thinking his false identity papers and his playacting had seen him through a near disaster. And it was not impossible that this could still be the case. All he knew now for sure was that the Ebonstryfe knew that Trandino "Inoadar" Adarius was not truly dead. But did it mean that they knew HE WAS "Inoadar"?

If they had his stolen ledger they did. That name was prominently on it. His NEW ledger was "the property of Nolan Parnell", his new persona. He had assumed it was the Ebonstryfe that had contracted the theft of his ledger. He still thought it likely. 'But then why no arrest?' his thoughts returned yet again. 'Just to keep me under surveillance? Why not just interrogate me? Torture me?'

He knew that his experience and training in the Nykan Second Edict would give him an tremendous edge in misleading an interrogator. But did the Ebonstryfe know about this as well? 'Dira's pits!' it suddenly came clear to him, 'Of course they would! That same incident with the Nykan...they hadn't tortured me, but they'd tortured HIM! And he'd spilled his guts!'

Hatred of all things Nykan surged with renewed fury. He could just picture it, the Nykan strapped to a table, crying and begging, agreeing to tell all he knows. Inoadar spat on the ground. He'd been undone by his enemy after all. But not by a worthy foe's superior tactics, it was by a spineless worm selling him out in a shameless cave-in.

For a moment, he actually pictured the Ebonstryfe inquisitors feeling ashamed to act on such information, as though they somehow knew Inoadar himself would not have broken. As though it was dishonorable to make use of facts gleaned from a cringing, craven, cowardly dog, too broken to deserve to have brought defeat to his enemy, however indirectly. As though they felt Inoadar deserved better.

He dismissed this thought a second later as ridiculous. Besides, it didn't explain everything. Not by far. He took a few deep breaths and regained his composure as he approached the door of the Studio of Yae Varone. There was a greeter serving as doorman, or vice versa. He was an acceptable substitute in either capacity. A flash of insight struck Inoadar, quickly shuttered by a blank look, 'is the doorman a Black Sun or Ebonstryfe operative?'

He shook his head, angry at himself. 'Get a grip, Tran-...Nolan!...You're here for a reason...focus.' However the pursuit of that reason stalled briefly as he looked around. 'Is anyone expecting me here tonight?' The word he'd gotten from the stranger in the boat had not actually said so. Just that he should ask to see those paintings, and that one would hold particular interest.

He watched the comings and goings of the assembled personnel, to see who he should ask. In short order he had determined that a perpetually smiling older woman was either Yae Verone herself, or some employee that had truly adopted the studio as her own.

Inoadar had no trouble playing the part of a "Patrick Ahysen fan". It was part and parcel of the whole infiltration and assassination game to radiate interest in things you couldn't care less about. He had no idea what 'Masterpiece' the woman was talking about, but gave an emphatic coo of acknowledgement that 'owning IT would truly complete the astounding collection she had amassed.'

He didn't truly see what all the fuss was about. It looked to be the usual patriotic tripe, reveling in the grandeur of divine Rhysol and his consort, The Voice, triumphing against any and all tribulations besetting them at the hands of the jealous lesser gods and their trivial minions. There was a second gallery of his work, which held even less interest for Inoadar. 'Ye gods...family portraits. is there anything LESS intrigui-...' His thoughts hit a wall, hard. A wall with a portait of a brother, or cousin. It didn't matter which.

This was the portrait the stranger had mentioned, without a doubt. His assistant, Marcus. It couldn't be anyone else. Inoadar's training in disguises allowed him to look right through the subtle differences in hair color and trimming, the youthful appearance. But these were beside the point. The face, regardless of its slight differences gleamed with pride. There actually was a fair amount of talent here. The subject looked as though he was right on the verge of launching into praises of Rhysol. But it was no choir robe this man wore. It was the robe of an acolyte of the Black Sun. His assistant, Marcus, in a Black Sun robe.

'Now everything makes perfect sense...'

[Marcus Ahysen]

Of course Marcus had no idea that his grandfather had decided to sell his family portraits. Part of going undercover meant that he could have no contact with his family, and it was too early for the Ebonstryfe to have learned of it. In truth, the Trandino/Nolan case was not a top priority for the Black Sun. They weren't even sure if Inoadar truly did have contacts in the Rising Dawn, and Marcus had still not received an update on the stolen ledger. He knew that it had been stolen, of course, but he was still in the dark as to whether or not it held any useful information. Until he heard otherwise, Marcus would continue his mission as he had been doing so. Marcus crawled out of bed that morning suspecting nothing was amiss. His "wife" Aurum was sleeping on the bed next to him, though it was solely for appearances sake. She was in fact his slave, and a slave he planned on disposing of as soon as his mission was over. They were not friendly to one another, not anymore, and neither had spoken more than two words to the other in the past season. Marcus dressed himself, sighing as he pulled on the poor man's clothes. It was one drawback to being undercover. When he was Marcus Ahysen, he would wear the finest clothes, eat the best food, and drink the rarest of wines. As Marcus Aventus he was forced to wear rags, eat slop, and drink piss water. ..okay, maybe he was over-exaggerating a bit. As one of the lower class, he actually had it better off than most. His clothes fit well, and were not tattered, and the food and drink was not that terrible. Maybe he wasn't eating venison and drinking fifty year old wine, but compared to some of Ravok's lower class, he was certainly well off. Once he was dressed and had a bite to eat, Marcus exited the apartment building and took a short walk along the canal. He could actually make it pretty close to Ino Vations without ever getting into a ravosala if he wanted to, but Marcus was tired. He had not slept well the previous night, and didn't feel like walking, so the pretend poisoner's assistant flagged down the first ravosalaman he saw. "Ino Vations, please."

[Inoadar]

Inoadar arrived earlier than usual. His mind was in full dress rehearsal mode. Did he want to let slip a minor detail and see if Marcus reacted? Would he ignore it? Would he change the subject right away. Would he try to attach a different significance to it, before it led to something more incriminating? Should he instead throw something big at him? See if Marcus pretended to be outraged? Would the outrage be sympathetic, as though he didn't realize that Inoadar was accusing HIM? Or would he act indignant, as though Inoadar had no right to suggest such an accusation?

Maybe he'd even acknowledge the accusation, and stand defiant, challenging Inoadar to do something about it. Inoadar had to consider that this could indeed be a challenge. If Marcus was trained for combat, like an Ebonstryfer, Inoadar knew he would have his hands full. He had managed to kill a few of the soldiers, but always through deception and ambush.

He wasn't sure, though, if the Black Sun section of the city's security force was so much a strong-arm group as a spy and infiltration group. In a sense, Inoadar identified with that sort of approach. That was his style as well, disguise, bluff, ambush, impersonation...poisoning. Perhaps he should give Marcus a taste of their collective, mutual "medicine".

'No...damn it!' The Black Sun would easily connect the dots to convict him of poisoning his assistant. He figured they probably knew everything he did already. His pacing froze suddenly in its tracks. 'The art studio! The meeting with the stranger in the ravosala...' No, he had to assume the boatmen had enough competence to elude watchful eyes for something like that.

'No...there's something more here...' he resumed pacing. Something in the fact that he hadn't realized what was coming until he saw the picture. He needed that same degree of surprise to trip Marcus up. Why had he been so surprised? Easy, after the initial shock had worn off he'd realized it was incredibly careless of the Black Sun to allow an exhibit that revealed an operative's identity so easily.

He followed that train of thought. 'Why would they allow an exhibit with the name of one of their oper-...Of course! The name! It WASN'T his name. Marcus is going under the surname of Aventus, not Ahysen.' Inoadar wondered with a malicious grin if the Black Sun had lost files on some of their operatives in the CEB fire. Or maybe in the Temple. It looked like the connection between the names 'Ahysen' and 'Aventus' had been lost. If so, then it looked like the Rising Dawn had done him a service after all. This was how he would trip Marcus up.

It wasn't long before Marcus showed up. His demeanor seemed no more bright or gloomy than any other day as he hung up his coat, muttering something that sounded close to "Good morning."

Inoadar tried to seem distracted. "Hmmm?...oh yeah...mornin." He went back to writing in his new ledger for a bit, making a point of leaving the page wide open to view, to see if Marcus would bite. Marcus seemed to avoid looking at it, though it may have just been honest disinterest, since he knew the important one had been stolen. But it was still a form of distraction. Inoadar made his move.

"Oh hey, Marcus, there's a note for you. Someone just dropped it off here. I was in the middle of a valve drain and told him to put it on the table by the end of the counter." He again feigned distraction, waiting to hear if Marcus would make some comment about the name being wrong. Instead, there was only the sound of parchment unfolding.

Inoadar waited just a few seconds. It would take no longer than that for Marcus to read the note he'd written there: 'How is it pronounced?'

Marcus made a sound of puzzlement. Inoadar was failing to keep the triumph out of his voice as he sprung the trap. "I think it refers to your last name. That odd 'A-H-Y' is a little confusing, Mr...'Ahysen". Inoadar had his blowgun in hand hidden behind the counter. The predatory sneer on his face was not hidden at all.

[Marcus Ahysen]

Marcus did not respond, not at first. He just stood there, unmoving, his breath caught in his chest. His mind was running at a thousand miles per chime. How did Inoadar know? Had he done something wrong? No.. he couldn't have. Not that would have revealed his actual name, anyway. Was there a traitor in the Black Sun? Not likely. Not when capturing the Rising Dawn was a direct order from the Voice herself. They wouldn't interfere on a mission, even one as small as his. So what? What could it be? And how was he going to get out of this alive? That was a very pressing concern. Would "Nolan" actually kill a member of the Black Sun? Marcus knew the answer was probably yes. He was not "Nolan Parnel" afterall, but Trandino Adarius, a man formerly wanted for killing members of the Ebonstryfe. So Marcus knew he had it in him. Marcus slowly let out his breath. He needed to say something, anything really. But what? In the end, he decided to play it cool. He was an agent of the Black Sun on a mission. People knew about his assignment. If he turned up dead, who would be the first suspect? Nolan Parnell, of course. Would Nolan.. Trandino risk that? The thought gave Marcus the confidence, even if it was false, to respond the way he did. "I'm surprised it took you this long.. Trandino.. and it's pronounced Ay-sen. The H is silent." Marcus turned around, finally, and faced Inoadar. He did his best to keep the concern out of his eyes. Was he already poisoned? Or did Inoadar have other plans? "So, what gave me away? Did I slip up? Or do your spies go deeper than we thought? Not even your Ravosalamen contacts knew I was here, to my knowledge. I suppose the real question is, however, what do you intend to do next?"

[Inoadar]

Inoadar basked in the feeling of triumph; reveled in the anxiety of his foe. This was almost as gratifying as when he killed the Second Edict elder back in Nyka. "Questions, questions, questions..." he taunted. He turned as though speaking to a partner, "...and he expects them all answered for free, as well." He shook his head at the foolishness of such a notion.

Side-stepping casually, he let the blowgun come into view, the stiletto built into the crooked handle also in plain sight. "So tell me, Marcus...if that IS your name, what makes you think it really took me this long." He waved a hand dismissively, "Never mind, I don't really care. There are four levels of knowledge here: 'suspicion', 'assurance', 'conviction' and 'confirmation'. I 'suspected' you on your very first day. The timing, the false charges against Burke, your own mention of the Vitrax..."

Once again, he waved in the air as though dispersing his last words to make room for more. "I was 'assured' of it when I caught you snooping in my ledger book...'Convinced' when someone stole it!" his voice ran to anger now as he glared at his assistant. "Right out of my room at...Well you obviously KNOW where I live."

He scrutinized Marcus' face for a betrayal of whether this was so, but the man's expression gave nothing away. He shrugged, as though his pause was to no purpose. "And now, thanks to a truly moronic oversight on the part of your organization. I have 'confirmation'. You'd like to know what it was? I don't see that it really matters, since neither of us are denying our identities to each other."

He walked a few steps away as he spoke, turning suddenly as though his next remark had truly only just occurred to him. The 'helpful' overtones clearly sarcastic, "Aaah, but you'd like to help your brothers prevent such a glaring error a second or third time. Oh well, golly, how can I deny you when you ask so nicely?" his sneering was pure bile. "Well maybe we should take time for a nice cultural diversion and go down to that art studio and check out the new display of "The Works of Patrick Ahysen."

He watched in malicious glee as Marcus absorbed this. After a moment his demeanor grew serious. "Okay then, I've answered a question for you. Now you answer one for me...Apparently, you all know who I am, where I'm from, what I'm doing, what I've already done." He emphasized the word with narrowed eyes.

His 'serious' expression grew threatening. "They know that I've killed Ebonstryfe soldiers already. They even put out a bounty on me at one time. Yet I walk free." His hands tensed on the blowgun and stiletto, his voice a hiss, "So my question for you is this...Can you think of any reason why I would not kill you too?"

[Marcus Ahysen]

"Because you impressed us," Marcus answered. All the other information, including the bit about his grandfather's paintings, was unimportant. At least not to his immediate situation. He was a bit surprised by it, in truth. He could only think of one painting that would have revealed him, and he was mostly surprised that anyone would buy such a dull thing, more so that the Black Sun had missed it. Whatever the populace may think, the Black Sun did not know everything. Citizens were allowed their privacy, so long as they did nothing suspicious. But none of that mattered. What mattered was convincing Trandino not to kill him. "Faking your death was not altogether flawless, but you did a good enough job to impress us. The fact that you remained in Ravok was a bit foolish, perhaps.. but we deemed you were worth keeping alive. Despite the common misconception from outsiders, we Ravokian's are not all cold blooded killers. But if we had truly wanted you dead, I can promise that we would not be having this conversation right now." Marcus let that information sink in. It was not that important, but what he said next would be. What he said next might just decide whether or either of them lived or died. "The real question is.. do you want to keep impressing us, or do you want to make an enemy of us?" If Inoadar killed him, it would be the last straw. Killing members of the Ebonstryfe should have been a death sentence.. but they were soldiers, they were expected to die eventually. And in fact, it was a death sentence, until he managed to impress an Acolyte with his fake death ruse. But killing a member of the Black Sun was something else entirely.

[Inoadar]

By the time Marcus had finished, the weapons held in Inoadar's hands, though still poised in threat, hung forgotten. He lowered them slowly as he walked a slow semi-circle, eying Marcus sidelong. "What is this?...An offer? An offer to remain under a death sentence? Held eternally over my head? A stay of execution handed down arbitrarily and only in response to swift unquestioning obedience? You would have me be a slave?"

He turned suddenly, directly. An angry hiss forced between his teeth. "And who would be my master?..YOU? Or would it be the "we" you keep bandying about? Do you even know what..."we"...are offering me?" It looked like Marcus was about to offer a response, and he was not sure if he wanted to hear it. He waved it off. He was not sure if he wanted to know whether a specific offer had been proposed.

Had he been 'evaluated'?...'Appraised'?...His worth as an asset weighed against his debits and equated to a final 'value'? Did he want to know what these people assessed his value to be? His own mental calculations flew across a litany of established contacts, all formed of his own effort. No aid except subsequent aid from contacts of his own making. This agent before him had the backing of a city-wide organization.

That was a sobering thought. This whole city would be against him. He tried to suppress the sneer in his voice. There would be no bluffing through this. This was for keeps. For all his bluster, he didn't dare attack Marcus. But he still wasn't sure what their priorities were.

He paced in genuine puzzlement. "I've killed Ebonstryfe soldiers, both on my initial arrival in Ravok AND during the riots, although that could said to be offset by the fact that I also killed a Rising Dawn fool there as well. They have undoubtedly dissected my ledger thoroughly by now. But I have yet to see ANY of the significant contacts represented there being detained by anyone...I suppose I should thank you for that." he inclined his head in what may have actually been genuine gratitude.

"I have many times encountered 'Styfers' during the course of my wheelings and dealings and they have always been easily fooled...too easily, perhaps?" he said with narrowed eyes. "I chalked this up to my faked death. But if my papers were truly researched, I doubt they would stand up to it." He reattached his blowgun/stiletto/cane and set it on the counter beside him, his face genuinely beseeching.

"But now I know that my faked death didn't fool everyone. Maybe it's not something that's been released to the rank and file soldiery, but if told to pick up a guy named Nolan Parnell on charges of murder and treason, they wouldn't stop to ask why. And what's more, I WAS picked up by a squad when a Nykan came after me. They let me go without a single question. And that commander seriously wanted to. I could see it in his eyes."

He stepped back a pace and straightened. "So where DO I stand? You ask 'do I want to KEEP impressing'...that implies obligation. What if I refuse? Do you give a signal and a squad of soldiers drag me away, like they did my old assistant? Are we haggling here? Are these my only choices? Impress or be an enemy? I reject them both!

"I do not deny my actions when I arrived. But I think your bosses have written that off now in the face of what I have since accomplished. I do not wish to be your enemy, but I will NOT be a slave. What do they want from me?" He realized he had come full circle and was back to asking what the offer was. There had been a feeling that had brushed his subconscious during his tirade, but it eluded him again. It had been doing so for weeks now. But it was close now...so close.