My problem was that The Girl didn’t seem to fit any of the standard passenger profiles. I hadn’t seen her mingle with any of the other travelers, or even speak to the attendants except on business. Space travel had its share of the shy and the aloof and the just plain oblivious, but most of those eventually gravitated to one activity or another aboard ship, even if it was just to wrap themselves in a cocoon of stargazing silence in one of the observation lounges. I’d made it a point to periodically wander through all the public areas of the torchliner, and I’d never seen The Girl outside her cabin except during meals or an occasional visit to one of the shops. She hadn’t even shown up for the shipboard Christmas celebration.

I gazed at her back now as we walked down the corridor toward the debarkation lounge, watching the light glint off her short, dark brown hair. She was about twenty-two, a decade younger than I was, with eyes that matched the color of her hair and the slender, trim figure of someone who exercised to keep in shape, as opposed to someone who did hard physical labor for a living. Her face was pretty enough, but there was a strange sort of distance to her eyes that was more than a little disconcerting. Possibly one reason I’d never seen anyone aboard the torchliner approach her more than once.

And there was one other peculiarity I’d noted during our flight: Never had I seen her pay for anything with a credit tag. With her, apparently, it was strictly cash sticks.

Of course, I wasn’t using anything but cash sticks, either. But I had good reasons for not wanting anyone to trace my recent movements. Not with the body I’d left back at the New Pallas Towers.