At PTOLOS, Xanthe's doe eyes remained glued to the holo projection of the whole spaceport traffic. She had been cross-referencing various transponder signals with the ridulian crystal-encoded database held in her hands. This was as much technology as one could get operational without brushing against the Butlerian precepts, though Xanthe sometimes was getting irritable by not being able to integrate the database with the projection in a more seamless, efficient way. At times, she couldn't help playing with the moss pearl pin in her braid.
"See here, Emcas." She said absent-mindedly. It was hard to tell whether she realised she had started treating him as something more than a bodyguard after their conversation and the encounter with Pankratos the day before. "Eastern concourse, terrace 37. What a motley crew on board of this inbound. A vinter from Caladan we identified as a contraband mover, a Mutelli, an Imperial planetologist, and some mercenary. At least this is what I can squeeze out based on the manifest. I'd like to check them out in person."
Emcas had seen how she had directed them to the terrace 37. It was where she was supposed to be anyway because of the other arrival, and yet she sought a different excuse. Did she mean it as a snub to the Reverend Mother, to make her wait until she would complete her other duties?
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Having descended into the atmosphere over Hypatea, the inbound craft with four passengers was practically flying itself on forcefield tractors into Xenion. It was interesting to watch how stone-like surface started blurring and then flashing navigation signals like neons the closer they were getting. Once their speed was brought down to the near-standstill, Holtzman properties started gently settling them into terrace 37. They were informed by a bland voice speaking directly into the in-craft channels they should expect inspection upon landing.
Spice Sommelier 