Varlik didn't flinch, but inwardly he squirmed at the concept. Bosler paused to sip carefully the scalding jomathat one of his runners had brought for the meeting. A sense of suppressed panic in the voice sharpened Varlik'sattention. The travelway he took them on was three lanes wide, smooth and green,its grass mown short for hay.
You are speaking with a T'swa warrior now, the voice said. When he'd laidhis sleeping bag out, he saw the colonel's boots standing by the end wall,and took off his own. He'd have stepped in front ofthe lieutenant, had it come down to it, and drawn his own gun, but theKomarsi, he knew, hadn't intended to shoot. Of course.
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