Tumbling black hair, bright eyes, skin glowing an interesting cinnamon brown against a cream tank top. Decided nose, determined chin; either the natural face she was born with, or the work of a real artist, because it certainly didn’t bear the stamped-from-the-same-mold blandness of the usual body sculpture, a biological ideal that lost its appeal with repetition. Long legs in tan trousers that hugged in all the right places. A nicely full figure. Nicely full. If the face was natural, might the other prominent features be, too? With weakening reluctance, Ivan said, “Who is she?”

“Supposedly, a Komarran citizen named Nanja Brindis, lately moved to Solstice from Olbia Dome.”

“Supposedly?”

“I have reason to suspect that might be a recent cover identity. She did move here about two months ago, it does seem.”

“So who is she really?”

“It would be a fine thing if you could find that out.”

“If she’s hiding her identity for a good reason, she’s hardly going to tell me.” Ivan hesitated. “Is it a good reason?”

“I suspect it’s a very good reason. And I also suspect she is not a professional at the game.”

“This is all pretty vague, Byerly. May I remind you, my security clearance is higher than yours.”

“Probably.” Byerly blinked in doubt. “But then there is that pesky need-to-know rule.”

“I’m not sticking my head into one of your dodgy meat grinders- again — unless I know as much as you know. At least.”

Byerly flung up his well-manicured hands in faux-surrender. “The people I’m with seem to have got themselves involved in a complex smuggling operation. Rather over their heads.”

“Komarr local space is a major trade nexus. The place is lousy with smugglers. As long as the transients don’t try to offload their goods within the Imperium, in which case Imperial Customs deals sharply with ’em, they get ignored. And the Komarran trade fleets police their own.”