SHADOWS ON THE SUN by MICHAEL JAN FRIEDMAN

Author:MICHAEL JAN FRIEDMAN
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: POCKET BOOKS
Published: 1993-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

SIX

The next morning, McCoy was bleary-eyed and a little lightheaded from his late-night foray, but he still had patients to see. As before, he saved his examination of the assassin for last.

But this time it was for an entirely different reason. This time he was actually looking forward to their conversation.

It surprised McCoy that this should be so. The Ssana was still a killer, still someone who stood in opposition to everything the trainee believed in. And it was true that he had only begun talking to the assassin in the first place in order to gain information about Li Moboron.

Yet somewhere along the line, without meaning to, he had developed a rapport with the Ssana, maybe even a rudimentary respect. The two of them had bridged a chasm McCoy would have once called too wide and deep. And even if their perspectives could never be reconciled, there was something undeniably satisfying about the opportunity to air them.

“You look tired,” observed the assassin, as the trainee approached.

“I am,” McCoy conceded. “Very.”

“But you do not shirk your duties as a result. That is good.”

The human shrugged. “Would you?”

His patient shook his head. “Most assuredly, I would not.”

This seemed like as good a time as any to try to pump the Ssana for some information. Trying not to show his eagerness, McCoy scanned the biosign readout for a moment or two. Then he said: “What would you be doing now if you weren’t lying there in that bed? I mean, what does an assassin do when he’s not plying his trade?”

The Ssana smiled his customary, thin-lipped smile. “An assassin is always plying his trade,” he replied. “That is, if he hopes to be a good assassin. But as for your question …” He grunted. “If I were with Li Moboron, I would probably be mapping out the site of our next strike. Or perhaps the strike after that.”

“He plans that far ahead?” asked McCoy, pulling aside the metallic blanket to check again on how his patient’s wounds were healing.

The burns were coming along quite well, though the shrapnel wounds were a bit behind the pace he had expected. But only a bit, nothing to be concerned about.

“He is Li Moboron,” the Ssana replied simply. “As the chief assassin of all Ssan, he—more than anyone—would know that assassination is all in the planning. Anyone can kill, but to do so quickly and efficiently, and with a minimum of danger, one must be an expert planner.”

“Do tell,” said the trainee, pretending to listen with only one ear as he put the blanket back where he found it. “Then Moboron knew in advance that he was going to destroy the police barracks?”

“It was one of his options.” the assassin amended. “Which option he elects to exercise depends on the situation. If the government’s people had not found and wiped out ours, Li Moboron would more than likely have moved in another, less devastating direction. But you left him no choice.”

“Uh-huh,” McCoy responded. He was making progress, he supposed, but it was awfully slow.

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