The League of Spies by Aaron Allston

THE LEAGUE OF SPIES
    by
    Aaron Aalston
    “I’m here to make your day a lucky one” Joram said.
    The head he addressed had sharp, intelligent features surrounded by a neatly trimmed black beard and mustache. The man who owned it had the door to his quarters open only a few centimeters so Joram couldn’t seethe rest of his body.
    The man said nothing. He glanced over Joram’s shoulder to the land- speeder lane beyond, a city thoroughfare that was crowded with fast-moving speeders and slower delivery flats.
    Joram repeated, “I’m here to make your day...”
    The door slid fully open, revealing the man to be of Joram’s above- average height. He was as broad in the shoulder as Joram but more muscular. He wore close-fitting black garments that were completely out of style on this color-mad, comfort-conscious world. He seized the collar of Joram’s tunic and yanked.
    Joram couldn’t help but lean forward, but caught himself on the doorjamb with one hand. “...a lucky one,” he concluded.
    “Get in here.”
    “Countersign.”
    “I’m your mission commander, and I say get in here instantly”
    Joram grinned. “My blaster in your gut says I stay here until I hear the correct countersign.”
    The man looked down. A holdout blaster, small enough to be dwarfed by Joram’s right hand, was indeed pressed into his stomach.
    “I am very proficient in the combat arts and I knew that was there,” the man said. “I could have taken it from you at any time.”
    “Countersign.” Joram held his smile. A red dot danced around on the chest and neck of the man he faced, but the fellow couldn’t see it. If he tried to seize the blaster, he would die.
    The man sighed. “You don’t need luck when you’re as well-placed as I am”
    “Correct.” Joram returned the blaster to the holster against the base of his spine.
    “Now get in here.”
    “And my partner?”
    “Partner?”
    The one in the alley across the landspeeder lane. The one with the laser rifle pointed at you; eye.”
    The man glared over Joram’s shoulder. “Oh, him. I was wondering if you meant a second partner. Sure, have him over.”
    Joram crooked two fingers over his shoulder and beckoned.
    Moments later, Mapper dodged traffic to cross the landspeeder lane and join them. He was a well-built man with dark hair, beard, and mustache that made his features seem brooding; he wore the lightweight, flowing garments common to this world of Tarhassan and carried an elongated case with the words “Pebdy Plumbing Supplies” stenciled on the side. The owner of the dwelling turned to lead Joram and Mapper inside.
    The main living chamber was decorated in an even more mismatched and garish fashion than the spaceport had been. The room’s gold-brown tikkiwood paneling clashed with the overstuffed red-and-white-striped furniture that reminded Joram. of overweight tourists at a beach resort. Two people were already there, a man and a woman arrayed upon and, in the woman’s case, almost swallowed by the billowy furniture.
    “All right, we’re all here,” their host said. “Let’s get back to it. Our objective-”
    “Maybe introductions first?” Joram said.
    The man stood still for several moments, saying nothing, but his lips moved. It took Joram a moment to realize that he was counting to ten.
    “All right, all right,” the man said. “I’m Cherek Tuhm.” He cocked his head, looking at Joram as though waiting for a response.
    Joram offered his hand.
    “Joram Kithe. And this is my partner, Mapper Gann.”
    Mapper gave the others a curt nod; he didn’t speak. He seldom did, except to Joram. Mapper wasn’t comfortable in most social situations. Only Joram and his superiors knew that Mapper was a clone trooper, one of the thousands of warriors bred to fight the Republic’s wars. Mapper had belonged to a unit of enhanced clones, men with mote personal initiative than most of their cohorts.
    Injured in the mission where he’d met Joram, he’d been unable to