<strong>"Those? A man came when we were about to leave. Asked us to transport some humanitarian cargo. Emergency rations for the poor people that the coming conflicts may trample in their feet. I figured we are already taking drones there, we should balance our deeds a little at least, so I agreed. It was one crate more, and we had space in the cargohold. He paid for priority transportation, twice the usual for foodstuffs, and these wouldn't need refridgeration either. I put the payment to the ship's account already."</strong><br/><br/>As she said this, Nicole lifted a small palm computer. Checking a few things and nodding in answer. At least that part of the story was checking out then.<strong>"Why is there no customs seals though?"</strong>Her question was harsh, making the arabian girl wince and seem to shrink a bit, curling up a bit in fright at the harsh look.<br/><br/><strong>"Oh? Uh... I forgot. I'm sorry. But um, he said a man would come for it at the destination, and gave me a picture."</strong>She gestured to her pants on the bed. Indeed, in the pants pocket there was a small image of a handsome businessman of possibly italian ethnicity. Sleek black hair, fine white suit, and named<em>Mr. Samail.</em>Simple name plaque in the shirt's chest.