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[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.

It is, however, an excellent spot for a small merchant craft to dock and refuel, and get her systems checked over to make sure the recently replaced air cyclers are still functioning well. Not that there have been any problems, but air cyclers are the kind of component one really doesn't want malfunctioning, and it's always better to be sure. Home port's Earth, but she's a long way from there.

If the ship's owner has any more nebulous reasons for venturing out this way -- well, he's keeping his own counsel about them. It's a perfectly reasonable route, anyway.

Comments

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

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.livejournal.com]

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.livejournal.com]

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

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

"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."

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

"Ahh," says the guard. Adding, with an air of dissatisfaction: "Just as well. We've got enough Barrayarans around here right now."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

Willis's eyebrows inquire about this.

Weatherall isn't known for being hub of Barrayaran... well, anything. They keep to themselves pretty well, even nowadays.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

He shakes his head. "Security types. What they call Imperial Security. I tell you, I'll be glad when they're gone. Give me the creeps."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

The eyebrows aren't inquiring now; they're raised high in frank surprise.

"ImpSec? What're they doing out here?"

And then, quickly, "Not to ask awkward questions, though. I just wouldn't have thought it."

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

A little belatedly perhaps, the guard tries for an impassive face. "Not really something we ought to be discussing, Mr. Stanevich."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

Mr. Stanevich, faintly rueful but otherwise unruffled, grants this point with a small waving-off gesture. "Fair, fair. I was surprised, that's all. Forget I asked. What's the docking business still to cover, then?"

Interesting, thinks the man currently called Willis Stanevich, who has a very different perspective on many things than an ordinary gem-trader might, and who came to Weatherall for reasons rather more specific than a simple refueling stop. Interesting indeed.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The guard returns to the checklist. It's nearly done.

Afterwards, the captain-owner has the freedom of the station, at least those areas open to transients: the main concourse, the hotels and hostels, the eateries, the bars and arcades.

And the public Security office, just down the corridor from the main Information booth.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

It's been a long time since he did this. It's not often warranted, these days, in this world.

But sometimes it is. And there's something here, subtly, something that pulled him all this way, and he can feel it still, that half-sensed foreignness jangling at the edges of an Old One's senses. He hasn't felt that kind of tugging importance in a long time, either, except at Milliways.

Will strolls down the corridor, hands in his pockets, and lets certain of those senses open wider.

There's a lot to listen to. But life has a pattern on a station like this, and what's likely to be important is what's out of the ordinary in the right way.





Willis Stanevich pauses to study a map of the station and the notice-festooned board next to it, his face blank and abstracted.

Apparently the notice-board is interesting, because Mr Stanevich spends several minutes looking at it (without focusing on any note in particular) before he blinks, and lets out a breath, and steps away towards the Security office.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The Security guard on duty is both bored and on edge; not a good combination.

"Can I help you, Mr....?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

"Stanevich," says Mr Stanevich with a quick uncertain smile. It makes his round, plain, rather solemn face change into something much more personable. "Willis."

"Maybe. Well, probably not, but -- I promised my sister I'd ask at every port. After her boy. He up and vanished months ago, right in the middle of a vacation and all, and he's always been, well, he needs someone to look after him, if you know what I mean. I guess he always will. You haven't--?"

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The guard frowns slightly.

"'S he look like?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

"Skinny, brown hair -- Yasha's his name. Pretty short still. He's only fourteen."

Mr Stanevich doesn't sound particularly hopeful.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The guard's eyes widen slightly, and darken.

"...Would you mind waiting here a moment, Mr. ... Stanevich?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

"--Of course," says Mr Stanevich, a little startled and a little hopeful.

(Eight hundred years teach you to be a much better actor. Even if Will will always be better at projecting foolish and amiable harmlessness than any truly complicated emotions.)

"Yes, of course I can wait."

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

Another faintly wary glance, and the guard steps back under a hush hood and lifts a comm bracelet to his mouth. There's a rapid-fire conversation that isn't audible, but hardly needs to be.

He closes the connection, steps forward, and offers a reassuring smile. "We may be able to help you after all, sir."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

"Really?"

Willis Stanevich's plain, rather solemn face brightens.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

"If you wouldn't mind waiting here a moment longer? Chief Harrison's on his way."

The guard's still smiling.

Out of sight below the counter, he's got one hand resting on his station-issue stunner pistol.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

"Sure."

Willis Stanevich is not a suspicious man. In negotiations, maybe, but not in something like this; stunners don't occur to him.

(Will Stanton may be a slightly different case.)

"If you have any word of him -- we've been frantic, my sister has. Sure I'll wait."

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

It's only a few minutes before a few more people in Station Security uniforms show up, including a woman with short-cropped blond hair and a dark-skinned man with rank pips on his collar.

"Mr. Stanevich?" the latter says, offering a nod. "I'm told you're seeking a young boy by the name of Yasha."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

"That's right."

Willis Stanevich is a little confused by all the fuss, but glad to offer explanations.

Will Stanton, now... well.

Inside, perhaps, he has some other reasons.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

"Well." The Chief smiles; it's a friendly enough smile, but his gaze is very sharp, and inclined to dwell about Willis Stanevich's bland face.

"I can see we have a great deal to discuss. If you'll come with us, please, sir."

He gestures, courteously, and the other two guards fall in behind Stanevich as they start down the corridor (http://walksthebounds.livejournal.com/6231.html).