Only someone who was looking for them might have noticed the elaborate tattoos that identified the man as a member of the Yakuza.
Journal #526
With the capture of the robber, the company’s last business on Landoor was effectively over. My employer now concentrated his efforts on the transfer to our new base. And the troops’ curiosity was to some degree assuaged when their captain finally received permission from State to reveal the Company’s destination.
Of course, that just started speculation in a new direction.
Tusk-anini squinted in the bright sunlight reflecting off the Landoor spaceport’s tarmac, then reached into his uniform pocket and put on his dark sunglasses. Over his warthoglike snout, the effect was comical, but the Omega Mob had gotten used to it, just as they’d gotten used to the fact that the swinish-looking Volton was one of their most intelligent comrades. “Gnat, why Zenobians ask for military advisors?” the Volton asked. “They look like good fighters to me.”
Super-Gnat shifted her duffel bag off her left shoulder onto the ground and looked up at her partner. “I’ve been wondering about that, myself,” she said. “If Flight Leftenant Qual is a fair sample of what they’ve got, I’d hate to see the kind of trouble that makes them ask for outside help.”
“Hate it or love it, we getting to see it soon,” said Tuskanini glumly. “Why else they want us go there?”
“To show them we are the best,” said Spartacus, one of the Synthian legionnaires. His duffel bag was riding behind him on his glide-board. “To show them how all races can work in harmony to defeat the enemies of the people.”