The Raider

He was a hunter with a Cause that transcended all law. But, now, could the Cause forgive him his service?
They dropped the raider on the night side, less than thirty miles from Thanlar, the capitol city. The dark, slim ship drifted silently to the ground, discharged its passenger and lifted again, moving slowly like a great shark in the night. On the way out into space, it was caught by the defense screens of Thanlar and disappeared in a gout of flaming energy that lit up the entire night sky.
The raider did not see it; he was already asleep.
He slept, and his dreams were troubled by images of a familiar face. Strong cheekbones, the mane of white hair, the famous half-smile of Mayne Landing, Earth Commissioner to the Colony Planets. Mayne Landing, the gentle representative of Terra to her children, the kindly old gentleman with the fist of steel, the benevolent despot over a hundred Colony Planets.
Mayne Landing: victim.
The raider woke with the dawn, a dawn that was slightly more red-tinged than the sun he was used to. He gathered his small store of equipment together and cached it in the low scrub of the surrounding forest. By a clear, sparkling stream he washed, wincing slightly from the shock of the too-cold water against his face.
He wore clothes indistinguishable from the other farmers of this district, slightly shabby, a uniform dun color. They did not fit him well, but they could not hide the wide shoulder and slim waist. Well, it didn't matter: the farmers of this planet, like all the Colonies, had to work hard to scrape their meager living from the rocky soil. They were all in good condition; he would not be conspicuous.
He finished washing and dried himself on the sleeve of his jumper. Then he began to walk down the rocky hill to the village that stood in the tiny valley below. In the early sun, the tiny assemblage of white clean houses sparkled like a handful of sand-polished shells clustered on a beach. He stopped for a moment, halfway down, looking at the village.