On the other side of the habitation section
Was it serendipity or a distraction? Maybe both in some way. Senator Meorrrei had worked out the identity of another high-profile person aboard her daughter's space station. With the notion of confronting T'yeellaa postponed due to some manufactured reason, Taataani instead sought out a challenge of a different sort. One that didn't bear the portent of delivering bad news she hadn't quite figured out how to address.
A pity there were no proper humidors on Jovan. Taataani knew well enough to never arrive empty handed to a social engagement, no matter how private it may be. Unfortunately, there simply wasn't a cigar worthy of selection on the entire space station. She wasn't even certain if he'd taken a shine to the one's she'd originally gifted to him, but Admiral Tyree had taste in whisky. It would fit the man so well to make an afficionado of him. The whisky was an artful guess. Stewjon Highland Single Malt. Some guttural gibberish name no decent tongue out to try and pronounce. The shop owner tried, and she wore the result. Suffice to say she didn't pay full price and had the good fortune to sample from another bottle ahead of time. It was smoky and coarse and almost climbed out of the glass without a spot of water to keep it in place. Her tastes tended more to the subtle and sublime of Lantillian Extra Reserve, but this wasn't about her. She knew her audience well. It was an expensive way to cajole a conversation in passing and perhaps more, but Taataani had an eye for appraisal. There were many eyes that would pass over Vansen Tyree without a pause. Not hers.
She pressed the chime to his door.
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