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Kaird, the Nediji. The Black Sun agent.

Bleyd stepped away from his desk. Almost automati-cally his hand slipped around to the back of his uni-form, releasing the knife from its hidden belt sheath. It slipped comfortably into the folds of his hand. It was a ryyk blade, much smaller than the traditional weapons fashioned and used by the Wookiee warriors of Kashyyyk, but no less deadly. It had proven the differ-ence between victory and defeat, between life and death, for him before, and he intended that it do no less now.

The bird-being folded back his hood, revealing his sardonic face and blazing violet eyes.

He cocked his head in greeting.

"Admiral," he said. When he lowered his hands from the hood, the right one held a gleaming blade in it.

Bleyd did not reply to the greeting. He circled to his left, his knife held low by his right hip, the point ex-tended downward from the little finger side of his fist, edge forward, in a reverse grip.

Three meters away, Kaird kept the circle complete, moving to his left, and the short and stubby blade he held jutted upward from the thumb side of his grip, the edge also facing his opponent.

Bleyd seemed outwardly calm, although he was thinking furiously. His office was fairly large, but it was still on board a starship, where every cubic centimeter of space was at a premium. With any luck, the enclosed area would negate the Nediji’s speed. He couldn’t dodge if he didn’t have room, and once he was backed into a corner, Bleyd, who was larger and stronger, would have him. He would take some damage-no way around that-but damage could be repaired, wounds could be healed.

"Let me guess," the Black Sun agent said. "Mathal didn’t ’accidentally’ fly his ship into the wrong orbit."

"Mathal was greedy. He wanted to fill a freighter with bota, to make a killing, and Samvil take the strag-glers. Doing that would have made me a fugitive from the authorities for life. He didn’t care about that. He got what he deserved."

"You should have contacted us. Black Sun would have dealt with him. We take a longer view of our busi-ness, and we frown on rogues."

Bleyd shrugged. "As far as I was concerned, he was Black Sun. I could not allow him to ruin what I had set up here."

Kaird shifted his stance, turning so that his right side faced Bleyd. The Admiral noticed that the dark blue swatch of feathers around his opponent’s neck had grown darker still, and had risen in a stiff ruff-no doubt an atavistic warning for predators. The Nediji was in full combat mode. He spun his knife, twirling it around his fingers. A showy move, the more so because it indicated he was not tight with fear.

"It’s not too late," he said. "As you said, Mathal got what he had coming. We can overlook that. No need to ruin a business that’s making everybody profit."

Bleyd shook his head. Just to show that he wasn’t ner-vous, he also shifted his knife, turning it with a little move that switched from a mountain climber’s pick to a sword fighter’s hold. "Too much of the profit lines Black Sun’s vaults. I can store the bota far away from here, move it myself, and make much more-if I cut out the middle beings."

The Nediji laughed. "Starting with me, eh?"

"Nothing personal."

Kaird laughed again. "Pardon me, but I take my death very personally." And with that he lunged, im-possibly fast, and the short knife flicked out in a blur.

Bleyd saw it coming, but even so, he barely had time to get his own knife in position for the block. Durasteel clashed with durasteel, and Kaird hopped back, grin-ning, before Bleyd could counterattack.

"Just checking to see if you’re awake, Admiral."

"Awake enough to cut you down, Nediji."

"And what if you manage that? There are many more where I came from. Do you think Black Sun will just shrug and forget to send another agent? Perhaps next time it will be a team of shockboots, real shoot-first-and-ask-no-questions types. Most unpleasant folk."

"Teams need a ship," Bleyd said. "Enemy ships tend to be shot down in wars. By the time the next agent or agents get here, I can be far,