Laera Reyolé tucked a lock of medium-length auburn hair behind her right ear, then slammed the plasteel traveling case shut and cast one last look around the small space. Aside from her bed, now stripped of blanket and sheets, there was a small chest of drawers that had been constructed of binka wood and, placed on a shelf underneath the equally-small window, a whittled carving of a Praetorian-class frigate. The piece bore little resemblance to the capital warship it had been modeled after, and its carving had caused more than a few cuts to her digits and even a gash across her wrist that had taken months to fade completely away. Grabbing the handle of her case, she turned toward the door of her tiny bedroom and nearly ran headlong into her father.