The table was real wood. In fact every table on the deserted observation deck was made of the same, elegantly carved and richly polished walnut. Hand made and finished in Belfast, according to the little brass plate screwed to the bulkhead.

Commander Neylan Haas ran her one real hand over the smooth, warm surface and wondered what it would be like to spend every day surrounded by such luxury and not think it unusual. Even the mug she cradled in her other hand looked expensive, although to her it was little more than dead weight. As sophisticated as it was, her prosthetic arm gave no real indication of temperature, meaning her first coffee of the day had already burned her lips. Now, she sipped her brew more carefully. It was real too, rich and bitter and much appreciated, because even in these opulent surroundings she'd had a sleepless night.

She sank back in to the thick upholstery of her chair and wondered just how many resource officials the Blue Star Line had bribed to ensure the Laurentic, their flag ship, was the most luxuriously outfitted liner cruising the Orion spur. The welcome brochure, which she'd read whilst waiting to board had boasted of the best Solarian spa facilities, hand woven Circinian silks on every bed and the widest selection of wines and spirits from across the Spur. Even the crew were hand selected for their experience and discretion by the Blue Star's directors. The Laurentic was everything the paranoid super rich desired and it was no wonder the passenger list, which Haas had vetted herself the day before, was crammed with minor Circinian royalty and Solarian film stars. This was the only way to travel if you were famous, important or rolling in money, so none of the names on the manifest had caused her any concern. No-one with a criminal record, except a few obligatory court ordered stays at Lunar 6 rehab, and anyone who made it through a couple of months in that place probably deserved to treat themselves.

No, the pampered rich of Orionid space were unlikely to be a threat to the man she was escorting, and her position by his side was more of a diplomatic favour than a political necessity. A favour which had pissed off her boss, Commodore Phiri so much he'd broken his Comm link hanging up on the Admiralty Brass. Haas and her partner Lucy Sato had one of the highest arrest records in the Regulator Branch and they were being split up so Haas could baby sit a retiring diplomat? Well, that was just fine. The Spur's criminal fraternity could take it easy for a few days, Sato could teach a close quarters combat class to cadets on Make Make and she could sip real coffee on the most expensive cruise liner on the Spur.

Coffee aside, Haas would be quite happy when her little errand was over. Sitting on the Laurentic, with barely a thing to do, was making her feel uncomfortable. The ship's spacious luxury and emphasis on quiet relaxation was a long way from her usual form of transport. Her own ship, the Admiralty Pursuit Vehicle, Abilene, was safely docked at one of the Laurentic's many life raft stations, where its unpainted metal skin and ugly exterior engines would remain unseen by the liner's paying passengers. They were still having to tolerate her presence though, and some, like her were finding the whole experience a little disconcerting.

Diplomatic protection duty was not one of the assignments usually handed down to the Regulators, the Admiralty's principal pirate catchers. They were usually considered too trigger happy and uncouth for the job, but her companion had not only asked for her, but also stipulated that she remain in uniform for their entire trip. As a result of his demands the insignia on her scarlet jacket, and the sidearm strapped to her hip were giving some of Neylan's fellow travellers cause for concern. She'd caught the nervous glances in her direction, and the whispers over pre-dinner cocktails in the VIP Lounge.

The Laurentic's captain, a reed thin man by the name of Nagy, had been sympathetic. Having introduced himself to her charge, and made the usual small talk, he'd turned to her and offered a cool, pale hand in greeting.

"You must find the Laurentic very dull, Commander," His smile was wistful. "I admit, part of me wishes I'd chosen a career chasing pirates through the Veil, instead of all this," he rolled his eyes at the rest of the room, a gesture which caught the attention of one of several Circinian matriarchs, sipping cocktails nearby. The woman glared at Haas in defiant disgust. Had they not been in polite company Haas had the impression the woman would have spat at her. Haas bit back her anger and returned her attention to the Captain.

"Perhaps it would be better if I ate in my cabin," she said. "This is meant to be the Ambassador's farewell cruise, but I seem to be cramping his style."

"Nonsense!" Her charge exclaimed. Ambassador Sewati, like most M'Nean males, was barely four feet tall, but his voice commanded the room like the best Shakespearian actor. "The only ones who object to your presence Commander Haas," he boomed "Are the ones too cheap to pay for good counsel."

Their fellow guests laughed in response, some more nervously than others, but none of them had resumed their whispering after that. Whether it was through fear or fondness, the Haas name carried weight right across the Spur, a fact Sewati knew perfectly well. One mention of it was enough to silence the room.

"You did that on purpose," Haas had chided, once the ritual of dinner was over and they were safely back in their private quarters.

"I'm a retired diplomat, as of yesterday," Sewati chuckled. "From now on, I can be as rude as I like."

"I'm not talking about the lawyer joke," she responded.

"Ahh," Sewati handed her a glass of Uiban brandy. It was a favourite of his, and hers. "Do you know why I requested you as my escort Commander?"

"I have no idea," Haas sipped her drink. "But I imagine putting a few Circininian noses out of joint had something to do with it."

"There is that," Sewati curled in to one of the opulent sofas furnishing their shared lounge. He was a fragile looking man by Solarian standards, and somewhat bent with age, but his emerald green eyes sparkled with a boyish mischief. "The Circinians need their prejudices challenged as often as possible. Just wait till I publish my memoirs."

Haas laughed.

"But in the meantime, my presence will do?"

"You are the image of your mother," Sewati replied. "And you carry your father's name. That's always going to be a problem for the Circinians, but it's not my only reason for requesting your company. Here," he reached inside his cloak and withdrew a small package. It was wrapped in fine Circnian linen and tied with string. "I've been meaning to give this to you for some time."

"Sewati," Haas feigned a disapproving tone. "I thought you M'Neans didn't believe in giving gifts."

"We don't. I'm merely returning something to it's rightful owner."

Puzzled, Haas took the little parcel and pulled off the string. It was obvious even before she tore off the wrapper that the object was a book. Battered by age and use, it's deep green cover was unfamiliar to her, as were the hand written contents.

"You must be mistaken," Haas said, squinting at the tiny, compact letters. "I can't even read it. What language is this?"

"Your father thought it might be an extinct Circinian dialect. Perhaps an early book on celestial navigation. He found it on a derelict ship, adrift near the Madu Chasm and asked me to investigate further. At the time I was in correspondance with a Circinian archaeologist, Agashe Sett. Are you aware of her reputation?"

Haas shook her head and Sewati continued.

"We had a shared interest in ancient languages. Sett had some interesting theories." Sewati paused. The grief on his face was obvious. "But life got in the way, as the Solarians put it. Your father never returned from the Outer Banks survey. The Pavonovirus broke out, there was the refugee crisis, the quarantine, then a peace treaty to negotiate. Probably my best work to date." Sewati seemed to drift away in to his memories for a moment and Haas let him. A twenty year career was unusual for an unmarried M'Nean male. Sewati had been a trail blazer, and even though he had decided to retire from diplomatic duties, Haas had the impression his mission, to be a thorn in the side of several governments, was far from over.

"I admit that I forgot all about your father's book, until I was packing last week," the old man's attention snapped back to the present. "One of my staff found it in a drawer. I thought you would like to have it."

"You never spoke to this Agashe Sett about it?"

"She was working at Wolf 922 when the Pavonovirus broke out." Sewati shrugged away tears. "I never heard from her again."

Haas didn't probe any further. Memories of the plague years were still painful for everyone who had experienced the consequences. She opted to change the subject, but it did little to alleviate the weight of grief hanging over their conversation, and finally she retreated to her own bedroom. Sewati had been understanding and bid her pleasant dreams, but she hadn't slept. Instead she'd spent the rest of the night pouring over the strange little book's pages, hoping to find some word or phrase she understood. Her mother had taught her all four current Circinian dialects when she was still a child, but nothing except a few crudely drawn star maps looked familiar. Finally, she'd been forced to give up and go in search of a cup of fresh coffee.

Now that coffee was getting cold, and she was no closer to decoding the contents of the book, or discovering why her father had chosen to salvage it. Haas put her cup down and gazed at the blank wall of plasma blinds protecting the observation deck from the searing light of HD space. They would be arriving at the gate to the M'Nean system soon. The Laurentic's auto-pilot would return the ship to sub-light speeds and raise the blinds. The observation deck would be prepared for breakfast and all those well heeled passengers would get the perfect view as they pulled in to orbit around Wennizi M'ech, Sewati's home world. It was a sight she'd been anticipating ever since they'd docked with the Laurentic. Wennizi was a binary star system, one of her favourite inhabited systems to visit, and she had planned to stop over for a few hours, but now she wouldn't be sticking around. She had countless questions about the contents of her father's book, but Sewati had provided only a few answers, and it was unlikely there would be any more on M'ech. Certainly nothing that wasn't already deared in to her memory.

Haas had been eight years old when her father's ship, the Champlain, had disappeared in the Outer Banks. She'd read every Admiralty report, every best selling book, every tabloid conjecture on the disappearance of the Champlain, but none had ever brought her close to an answer. Was it possible the little book held a clue? Where he had gone. Why he went. She ran her hand over the cargo pocket of her trousers. The book only just fit inside, and made it awkward to walk, but she'd been reluctant to leave it in her quarters. It had been the last artefact her father had brought back from the Outer Banks and according to Sewati he'd set off for the same sector almost immediately afterwards. Perhaps he'd found a translator without the M'Nean's help, although Haas couldn't imagine where. The Circinians might respect the Haas family name, but that didn't mean they would be keen to help. There was little chance of any of them co-operating. The same would be true now.

A slight shift in the Laurentic's internal gravity caused her stomach to flip. They were beginning the slow down for the M'Nean gate. A ship this size didn't return to normal space at the press of a button, but even a relatively gradual deceleration would be enough to jolt the infrequent travellers on board from their sleep. Sewati, as an interplanetary diplomat, with millions of light years under his belt, would no doubt have slept right through it. The ship's bell chimed once, the signal that breakfast would be served in the next hour. Leaving her coffee cup on the table, Haas left the observation deck and made her way to the Laurentic's main stairwell. The most deluxe suites with the best private views were on the deck below, in the forward section of the ship. This was the furthest point from the Laurentic's massive HD engines and the extra sound dampening in the first class bulkheads and floors meant the narrow corridors were virtually silent. The thick carpeting only added to the sense of reverential quiet. Most people would consider it relaxing, peaceful even, to be in such well appointed surroundings, but Haas was used to the Abilene's un-shielded mechanics, the constant hum of its engines and the clatter of its metallic gangways. Silence made her uneasy, and it was a feeling that only increased as she approached the cabin she and Sewati shared. 

She'd only been gone long enough to stretch her legs and have a cup of coffee, but as Sewati had still been sleeping soundly when she left, she'd made sure to close the cabin door securely behind her, its locked status showing in the red glow of the palm pad. Now the pad was green. The door was unlocked. Maybe Sewati had gone for a walk, just as she had done, and left the door that way, but that was unlikely. As a diplomat Sewati was more paranoid than most about security. Maybe it had been the fault of her prosthetic. It's operating system had been designed to be compatible with Louie, the Abilene's AI, allowing her to use its biometric identification system with either hand, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd short circuited equipment on another vessel.

There had been no real reason to think Sewati was in any danger on the Laurentic, but now her gut was telling her something was wrong, and with over a decade in the Regulator Branch under her belt, she'd learned to trust her instincts. Unfastening her holster she curled her cold metal fingers around the grip of her sidearm. It molded instantly to her palm and a faint purr told her the weapon was hot. Opening the door to her cabin she took a steadying breath and stepped through.