“Where’re you gonna park?” Mal asked, leaning on the back of the pilot’s seat.

Freya nodded down. “Looks like a flat area to the south of the house. I’ll put us down there.”

“Shiny.”

“Just be a minute.”

Dr Randolph Bell’s beach house was a two-storey affair with enough tinted glass to keep a team of window cleaners employed more or less permanently. The roof was covered in the obligatory solar panels, and a long veranda ran around the entire ground floor. Just beyond the rear of the property was a set of steps going down to the sandy shore, where there appeared to be a couple of boats pulled out of the water, covered in tarpaulins. Parked in the drive was a top-of-the-range groundcar, bright red and gleaming.

“Nice place,” Mal commented. “Remote, too.”

“Being a professor must pay okay,” Freya replied.

“And he’s never been married, at least according to Simon’s research.”

She flashed him a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that my pockets have never been so empty since we got wed,” he joked.

“So you’d rather be rich but single.”

“I’d rather not have a penny to my name long as you’re in my bed.” He squeezed her shoulder.

“That’s better.” She smiled and adjusted the shuttle’s attitude thrusters just a little to allow the small craft to settle into the dirt with barely a bump. She’d manoeuvred enough so that they were facing the main house, and switching off the engines she sat for a moment, staring out.

“You okay?” Mal asked.

“The shuttle isn’t exactly quiet. Even if he wasn't expecting us, you’d think he’d be looking to see who we are.”

“Maybe he’s not home.”

“With the yen he had for that piece of wood?” Freya shook her head. “I would’ve thought he’d be chomping at the bit.”

“Me too.” Mal’s hand strayed to his gun butt. “Still, won’t know ‘til we go see.”

---

Zoe typed in PERSEPHONE on the destination board, setting departure time in three hours. That should be enough for Mal and the others to deliver the goods and get paid. She