(Untitled)

[sign_seeker]

Weatherall's not much of a tourist spot. As space stations go, it's bare-bones: a small population, a lot of machinery, and very limited entertainment possibilities

Comments

[comm_npc_2]

Station Security isn't inclined to give him any trouble; just the standard once-over and questions about cargo, itinerary, and so on.

The uniformed guard is leaning easily against a railing as he goes down the checklist, talking to the ship's captain-owner.

[sign_seeker]

The answers are standard too; everything's on the manifesto, but there are procedures that must be followed anyway. "Small goods," says Mr. Stanevich easily. "Jewelry, mostly."

He's gazing around the docks with a slightly preoccupied air, but it's probably just curiosity. They may be unexciting, but Willis Stanevich has never been to Weatherall before, after all.

[comm_npc_2]

The guard's glancing over the paperwork. "Registered out of Old Earth, huh? Funny. I'd have guessed Barrayar, from the name."

[sign_seeker]

"My father was Barrayaran." This has the sound of a practiced summary -- nothing too well-worn, but an amiable explanation that's been given more than once. "With the Embassy."

"Mom's not, and he died when I was a kid, so I grew up mostly on Earth."