Nova breathed a heavy sigh upon returning to the mess-hall courtyard. Her fingers ached, as she cracked her knuckles and tried to work the crick out of her neck, caused by standing hunched over transponders all day. As Nova tilted and turned her head from side to side, she craned her neck and cast her gaze about subtly, searching — primarily? perhaps, but at least in part — for the same old man. What had become of him now that the inmates were back after who-knows-how-long?
PERCEPTION [4d6] = 16 [Searching the surroundings, for the old man, other oddities, and what — if anything — had changed since they were last here!]
She tried too to put aside the guilt she felt at Corrand not returning with the Bandits. She felt that she was to blame for dragging him along to the prison planet, when he had been far more ill than she realized. And for the first time, Nova doubted her leadership....
