Somewhat disheveled and obviously weary from a long flight, he was still a vision in his Galactic Survey uniform. He was near my age, probably twenty-six or twenty-seven standard, a bit taller than me with dark tussled hair, two-day stubble, and a small hoop earring worn. As he entered the small onboard cafeteria, he put his bottle of ale down while he stopped to light a cigarette. As he struck the match, our eyes met and he smiled. An electric shock coursed through me. And those eyes—dark, midnight blue, almost black. He walked toward me as if he intended to join me at my table, and as I caught sight of his name badge—Danot—he smiled again, nodded, and kept walking. I turned around to see if he had stopped, but only saw him leaving through the rear door.