Solae was relieved to find the store front vacant and unlocked. Despite being in close proximity to the sea, and a building rather than a vessel, it was rather reminiscent of the state of the [i]Bonaventure[/i] before they stole it from the slavers. There was a palpable layer of grime over every surface that spoke to how Vitger knew appearances would not affect his sales. Similarly, the smugglers had been confidant their filth would not harm their bottom line so they had been quite content to let a thick muck build on equipment in disuse. Salt, chemical residue, dirt, sand, and grease were caked in crevices of the door and the natural indentations of furniture. When she had left the warehouse Solae had been certain she had given Rene and Tychon the worse of the two jobs. Suddenly her faith in that assertion was waning.

The marquise firmly closed the door behind her and turned the lock. Should either of her companions need to gain entry they could knock or communicate through Rene's device. With purpose she then turned to the windows and shuttered them closed as well with little difficulty. This might have been a more unusual sight had the typhoon not just passed. With storms of such magnitude it was not strange for merchants to take just as much time to recover as their customers. Even if there was no outward damage to the structures Vitger used for his trade, people might not know the status of his personal residence, or they might wrongly conclude that he was aiding his neighbors rather than hoping to earn a profit.

Because it was so integral to his business transactions Vitger had evidently kept his console in better condition than possibly every other one of his possessions. The screen had smudges, and it could have used a scrub around the edges, but was more than she had dared to hope for. She perched on the edge of the chair in front of it and pulled off her scarf. Keeping her hair bound and wrapped so tightly had begun to ache. With the freedom the locked door and shutters provided she could rest assured no one would stumble into the spectacle of the noblewoman with lustrous aureate hair. The loops she had wound her mane into created pleasantly soft curls from her chin past her shoulders. Silently Solae mused that all the best styles required pain before or during their execution; when she was a child she made accusations to her mother that beauticians were sadists when they tried to coax her into fancy dresses and fashionable up-dos.

"Right then," she sighed.

Vitger's hardware was less sophisticated than the communications center. Despite its simplicity, Solae navigated to wrong subsections of the programs he used for sales more than once. In truth she was stumbling blindly; as adept as she was with this avenue of technology nearly everything on this console was foreign to her. There was no Mia to guide her as she jumped around digitally looking for what she needed. The uncomfortably sultry artificial intelligence was sorely missed, not just because of the guidance she offered, but the companionship. Her love for Rene had not faltered- but she was a social individual that was most satisfied when networking.

The planetary network.

Deviating from her initial goal momentarily, Solae moved over to Vitger's messages. Afraid to so much as glimpse at whatever unsavory missives he had received, she instead began to compose. Broadcasts alerting him to her true identity meant the planetary network was functional and accessible from this console. The bounty on her head originated from New Concordia and it stood to reason that if correspondence was being delivered from other worlds and dispersed on the planetary network, it was also being transported elsewhere from Panopontus. Duke Tan would be controlling information but not blocking absolutely everything; to do so would raise red flags across the empire more quickly than he could mobilize his soldiers. Mundane letters from relatives, friends, and lovers to one another would be permitted if they lacked any hints about the coup underway.

It was an opportunity she couldn't let slip by. Seizing her chance she wrote three innocuous notes to people she knew in the sector that were trustworthy. Panopontus was wholly ignorant of the brewing war so she knew messages would not be scrutinized and monitored with the same fervor they would have on New Concordia. Solae was cautious, however, and utilized linguistic cryptography in each of the three. Not every linguist could decode puzzles from text, though most could, and these three in particular were highly educated, sharp, and astute peers. Perhaps it was a folly plan, or they'd be lost before arrival, or she'd be ignored, but taking the gamble was better than nothing. Each was signed with a pseudonym, contained no information on her location nor destination, but alluded with the cypher to the strife and peril she faced. If any of her acquaintances could offer help they could send 'Mia' a similarly encrypted post on one of several diplomatic interstellar forums.

Invigorated by her dalliance into espionage- minor though it was- the task of manipulating Vitger's records seemed easier. After a few minutes of exploring she started to revise his numbers and annotations. Solae was almost gleeful leaving the trail of crumbs. If Vitger had been an upstanding man of this city she would have never dreamed of concocting damning evidence he was a willing accomplice to two 'dangerous rebels.' Tychon and Julia had her loyalty for their virtuous compassion so she would do everything in her power to hide their interactions for the small family's safety. That Vitger had been greedy, unapologetic, crass, violent, and forced her to brandish a weapon made him the enemy. Striking Rene made him a nemesis she'd not easily forgive.

"Rene?" she called over on her transmitter. If he wasn't receiving this time she'd make a short journey to the warehouse to assault him in frustration herself. "How much are we offloading? How many tanks?"

"We're going to fill all three," he called back over.

"Is that as much as we can take?" she asked. Rene knew the struggles ahead of them; she was certain it was. "All right, I'll be done here shortly. When are we leaving?"

"Tychon says the tide would make it too difficult to make it back to the ship tonight. We'll have to leave tomorrow," he informed her, then added, "Julia and Damaris will want to say good bye."

"Once you're finished with the warehouse come over here to the office. I need someone to help me put my hair back in the scarf again," Solae sighed audibly with deep regret. Vitger was unsurprisingly not a fine gentleman with a quality mirror with which to gaze upon his reflection. She needed the men to absolutely confirm no errant strands were visible outside their cloth trappings.