He was sleeping, almost childlike. I took a deep breath, tucked the knife into the back of my underpants and knocked on the door. I leaned and peeke... through the window, and saw Mr. Smythe looking around him, disoriented. I knocked again and he looked at the door, got up, ran his hand through his hair and started to walk. I had practised the face I would make in the mirror, and, lifting my eyebrows and pouting my lower lip, I know that I looked forlorn, small and sad. He opened the door. "Not long, I'll get a paper and see if I can get a flat, why, fed up with me already?" "No, I'm not fed up at all. I'm actually looking forward to having you around for a while. It's just that, well you know the sleeping arrangements and all that." She laughed softly and gave me that coy look of hers that she used as a kid when she wanted something from dad, it always worked on him and the crafty bitch knew it. I was expecting her to suggest that I slept on the couch, but she surprised me!. His parents were officials in the Grenoble Government-in-exile (but factually were refugees) having been part of the last ditch defense of their planet against the Harbourian invasion. They were naval officers who finally met on Mountserrat at a commercial gathering whilst in the process of sorting out their families' shipping resources, most of which had been based here on Mountserrat because of the importance of the confluence of wormhole junctions (the "Junction") to shipping in the local. Realization set in that they were about to join on a couch where anyone could see them, anyone could tell and ruin everything that set in between them. This is insane, they agreed, kissing hard and grabbing a blanket as they whipped out the door, wrapping around each other for the few moments in the elevator before running, running to the car where she could snuggle in as he drove. They made only one stop, to pick up the equipment to protect them both. It would, after all, be very difficult to.