Manuel sat, small and restful behind a crescent-shaped station in a vast terminal indulging the customers of TransWorld Unlimited.  Their conversations were unintelligible as a whole, but he ciphered.  A virgin traveler would have a unique voice, or a face of awe.

"That’s the slip-tail," he heard one gentleman comment to his companion as they noncommittally approached his station.  The statuesque lady carried a hard case, the length of her unusually narrow torso, on a strap fitted across her shoulder.  Her eyes reflected both a physical world that her gentleman companion had spoken of, and an emotional one, expertly contained.  Manuel didn’t look himself, but sensed the familiar warp of trans-dimensional travel etch itself over the valley behind him.  He waited patiently as the whispering pair emerged from their reverence.

"Some of us call them tracers," Manuel said beaming.

"Welcome to TransWorld Unlimited!" he went on.  "Let us get you where you want to be.  Holiday on the beaches of Straydawn?  Or visit the Havilon with its ghostly orb-flows?"  He gestured invitation.  "It isn‘t too late to take advantage of our discount special by reserving your next vacation today."

The red-headed lady smiled politely.  She had straight understated lips and a soft complexion.  She wore a casual suit and dress ensemble tailored perfectly to her practiced posture.

"Actually, we’re intent on The Furl," informed the man.

"Ah, then. Newlyweds?"  Manuel presumed.

"Well," the man said, angling himself to admire the young lady beside him, "not quite that—"

"Yet," she added hastily, and the two shared a grin that was half mischievous and half adoring.

"Business compels us actually."  The man reached for his wallet to produce a travel card and handed it to Manuel.  Manuel scanned the card and briefly scrutinized it during system acceptance.

"Entrepreneurs?"  Manuel queried, noticing that the card was not company stenciled but temporarily licensed.

"Freelance.  We, ah, Ariel will be doing holographic renderings of several locations for Stratton and Link."

"Oh my."  Manuel regarded the lady who blushed.  She was young, far younger than the man, whose salt-and-pepper hair stylishly alluded to his age.

"I’m nervous.  S&L may be reviewing my work for their summer-scape privatariums."

"Oh my," Manuel exclaimed again, genuinely delighted," I understand they are all the rave with the west coast elite."

"Well," the man added, reasonably, "privatariums bring the exotic home." Ariel might have said it, but couldn’t.

"Nervous?"

"I’ve never . . . hopped worlds," she replied, surveying the terminal, wide-eyed.

"She’s terrified," the man teased.

"But excited.  I wouldn’t miss this chance for the world.  And," she grinned, "I don‘t think Jim would ever forgive me."

"I’ve been negotiating your contract with them for over a year.  You better believe I’d never forgive you."

After obtaining their online reservation and consent form, Manuel was obligated to highlight the contract and disclaimers.  In spite of the risks, Ariel signed her final consent.  Manuel knew she would.

"Oh, Jim," she sang as the two departed hand in hand to port.  If all went as designed, Manuel would expect to see them return in a matter of minutes with stories to tell.

A tracer interrupted the blue sky behind him where other tracers were dissipating to nothing.  He’d guesstimated the time it took for Jim and Ariel to arrive at port and the navigation’s officer to deploy their bubble into free-spin.  It was a swift process.  Any moment he would see the indication of transport.

Manuel figured the next warp-line of navigating plumes to be their specific tracer.  While the initial part of it was already diminishing, it was signal enough to him that their bubble had then replaced spinning with basic air suspension within the port cavity.  It would begin spinning again momentarily as the two returned from the Furl.  A transparent blot in the sky signaled this.

***

Jim appeared first, recognizing Manuel right off with a measured smile.  He pulled a bag cart behind him, seeming only to choose Manuel’s station out of politeness.

"Welcome back!  How was your trip?"

"Extraordinary place!" Jim tried, a professional imperative ensuring his consistent manner.  He was more tan, perhaps redder around the nose and cheeks than before.  But the lines of his brow and thickness around his eyes revealed something else.

"I understand the allure, now, of the Furl," he continued even so.  "Vibrant flora and dazzling coast lines.  And I had no idea that the indigenous wild life resided in those great ancient cathedrals.  Very domestic.  I’m surprised they haven’t been adopted here as household pets."  A consummate professional.

"Hardly out of the question, of course.  May I ask of the young lady?"

The man reflected quietly.

"She’ll be along any moment, I expect," he said.

And there she came, toting her bags from port and toward Manuel’s station.  She regarded the tiled floor.  Her red hair was frayed; from a distance it was this single characteristic that might have represented her distress.

"I’m anticipating your work to have been a success?"

"It was quite a project," she replied, flatly.  Her gaze was hesitant to meet Jim‘s.  They both scrutinized nothing in particular for a moment.  Too much silence passed and no one moved.

"There was an occurrence during travel," Jim finally explained.  "A ‘swap’ is what port administration at the Furl told us.  It was . . ."

Why was he telling him? her ruffled body language implied.

Manuel privately grimaced at the mention of it.  Sharing a brief bit of memory and thought sounded harmless enough but . . .

". . . terrible," Ariel said completing Jim‘s statement with her own interpretation.  She looked at him briefly, as though she were looking at the sun.  But her coyness was mere show now.  She’d been blinded already.  By looking directly at it . . . him. 

Jim turned away.  It was the least he could do.  Distaste outlined her demeanor.

Manuel sat, small and quiet while the man and woman followed two demystified paths out the terminal.  A new tracer navigated the sky behind him.