Word of Ning's Calling had traveled ahead of him, as it seemed to travel everywhere, and several of the veterans were clearly interested to see what a Guerrilla Fighter looked like.
A few of the injured pilots nodded to him politely, and an older woman with a cybernetic arm offered him a friendly smile and a seat beside her.
But one pilot looked at him with open hostility from the moment he walked in.
He was a man in his forties, tall and lean, with a hard, angular face and pale gray eyes set beneath heavy brows. His hair was cropped close to his skull and shot through with gray, and a faint scar ran across the bridge of his nose.
He sat near the back of the briefing room with his arms folded, and when Ning was introduced, his expression darkened into something very close to contempt.
His name, Ning learned later, was Kovan.
