The airlock's inner hatch slid aside to reveal a medium-height young man with brown hair and slight epicanthic folds to his eyes. He wore a skin-tight environment suit and carried his helmet under his arm.
"Lieutenant Weller?" Roger said, holding out his hand. "Augustus Chung. I'm the charterer for the ship. And this is Captain Beach, her skipper."
Weller was followed by four more customs inspectors—about right for a ship this size. Most of them were older than Weller, seasoned customs inspectors, but not ones who were ever going to be promoted to high rank. Like Weller, they racked their helmets on the bulkhead, then stood waiting.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chung," Weller said.
"Ship's documents," Beach said, extending a pad. "And identity documents on all the passengers and crew. Some of the passengers are... a little irregular. Mardukans. They've got IDs from the planetary governor's office, but... well, Mardukans don't have birth certificates, you know?"
"I understand," Weller said, taking the pad and transferring the data to his own. "I'll look this over while my team does its survey."
"I've detailed crew to show you around," Beach said, gesturing to the group behind her. It consisted of Macek, Mark St. John, Corporal Bebi, and Despreaux. "Go for it," she continued, looking at Weller's assistants. "I'll be available by com if you need me, but where I'll be is down in Engineering." She transferred her glance to Roger. "I'm going to make sure the damned TD capacitors aren't overheating this time, Mr. Chung."
She nodded to the customs party generally, then walked briskly away, and Weller looked up from the data on his pad to cock his head at Roger.
"Trouble with your ship, sir?"
"Just old," Roger replied. "Chartering any tunnel drive ship's bloody expensive, pardon my Chinee. There's little enough margin in this business at all."
"Restaurants?" Weller said, looking back down at the data displayed on his pad. "Most of this appears to be foodstuffs and live cargo."
"It was all checked for contamination," Roger said hurriedly. "There's not much on Marduk that's infectious and transferable. But, yes, I'm starting a restaurant on Old Earth—authentic Mardukan food. Should do well, if it catches on; it's quite tasty. But you know how things are. And the capitalization is horrible. To be successful in the restaurant business, you have to be capitalized for at least eighteen months, so—"
"I'm sure," Weller said, nodding. "Bit of an interesting group of passengers, Mr. Chung. A rather... diverse group."
"I've been in the brokering business for years," "Chung" said. "Like my investors, the people I picked to assist me in this venture are friends I've made over the years. It may look like a bit of a pickup crew, but they're not. Good people. The best."
"I can see what your captain meant about the Mardukans." Weller was frowning at the data entries on the Mardukans.
"They're all citizens of the Empire," Roger pointed out. "That's one of the points I've kept in mind—free passage between planets, and all that. No requirement for work visas, among other things."
"It all looks right," Weller said, holstering his pad. "I'll just go tag along with my inspectors."
"If there's nothing else, I'll leave you to your duties. I need to catch up on my paperwork," Roger said.
"Just one more thing," Weller said, taking a device from the left side of his utility belt. "Gene scan. Got to confirm you're who you say you are," he added, smiling thinly.
"Not a problem," Roger replied, and held out his hand with an appearance of assurance he didn't quite feel. They'd tested the bod-mods using Alphane devices, but this was the moment of truth. If the scanner picked up who he really was...
Weller ran the device over the back of his hand, then looked at the readout.
"Thank you, Mr. Chung," the lieutenant said. "I'll just get on with my work."
"Of course."
"We're cleared," Beach said as she came into the office.
"Good," Roger replied, then sighed. "This is nerve-wracking."
"Yes, it is," Beach agreed with a grin. "Covert ops are bloody nerve-wracking. I don't know why I don't give it up, but for now, things are looking good. A day more to charge, and we're on our way to Sol."
"Three weeks?" Roger asked.
"Just about—twenty and a half days."
"Time, time, time..." Roger muttered. "Ask me for anything but time."
"That damned inspector!" Despreaux groused.
"Problems?" Roger asked. As far as he'd been able to determine, the only trouble the inspectors had found was one of the pickup crew who'd had a stash of illegal drugs. The crewman had been escorted off the ship, and a small fine had been paid.
"No, he just kept trying to pinch my butt," Despreaux said angrily. "And asking me to reach up and get things from overhead bins."
"Oh." Roger smiled.
"It's not funny," Despreaux said, glaring at him exasperatedly. "I'll bet you wouldn't have enjoyed it if it'd been your butt, either! And I kept expecting him to say something like: 'Aha! You are the notorious Nimashet Despreaux, known companion of the dangerous Prince Roger MacClintock!'"
"I really doubt they'd put it like that, but I know what you mean."
"And I'm worried about Julian."
"So am I."
"If I never see another pocking ship, it be too soon," Poertena muttered as they stepped off the shuttle.
"Sorry to hear you feel that way, Poertena," Julian replied, "since with any luck, we'll see a few more. And try like hell not to talk, okay? Your damned passport says you're from Armagh, and that is not an Armaghan accident."
"How do we find this guy?" Denat asked. "I don't see anything that looks like a Navy shuttle."
Halliwell II was a temperate but arid world, right on the edge of Imperial space, near the border with Raiden-Winterhowe. Raiden had tried to "annex" it twice, once since the Halliwell System had joined the Empire. It was an associate world, a nonvoting member of the Empire, with a low population which consisted mostly of miners and scattered farmers.
Sogotown, the capital of Halliwell II and the administrative center for the surrounding Halliwell Cluster, boasted a rather mixed architecture. The majority of the buildings, including the row of godowns around the spaceport, were low rammed-earth structures, but there were a few multistory buildings near the center of town. The entire modest city was placed on the banks of one of the main continent's few navigable rivers, and the newly arrived visitors could see barges being offloaded along the riverfront.
Several ships were scattered around the spaceport—mostly large cargo shuttles, but including a few air-cargo ships, and even one largelighter-than-air ship. None of them had Imperial Navy markings.
"They might be using civilian shuttles," Julian said, "but it's more likely they're not here right now. We'll ask around. Come on, we'll try the bars."
Entry was informal. They'd asked about a customs inspector, but the shack where he should have been was empty. Julian left a data chip with their information on the desk, and then they walked into town.
The main road into town was stabilized earth, a hard surface that was cracked and rutted by wheeled traffic. There were a few electric-powered ground cars around, but much of the traffic (what of it there was) seemed to be tractor, horse, and even ox-drawn carts. It was midday, and hot (by human standards; Denat and Sena had their environment suits cranked considerably higher), and most of the population seemed to be sheltering indoors.
They walked through the godowns ringing the port and past a couple of hock-shops, then stopped outside the first bar they came to. Its garish neon sign advertised Koun beer and featured a badly done picture of a horse's head.