“Cholly says the ferry’s due to take off from your moon at thirteen o’clock,” Sam said from inside the shack. “What time is it?”

“Thirteen o’clock.” Dar started stripping.

“Here then, Dar Mandra!”

Dar looked up, irritated, then snatched at his uniform; it wasn’t good policy for a Wolman to see soldiers naked, and the man coming up with Cholly was the shaman of the Sars tribe.

“Peace, Dar Mandra.” The shaman held up a hand.

“Uh, peace, Reverend.” Dar scrambled into his uniform, sealed the tunic, and held up a palm. “Honored to see you, but, uh—why’re you wearing a Customs uniform?”

“Why, he’s one of yer staff now, ain’cha, Reverend?” Cholly grinned. “Just to cover all bets, Dar.”

“Ye-e-e-e-ah.” Dar’s eyes slowly widened. “Your ‘hunches’ might come in handy, Reverend.”

“ ‘Officer Haldane,’ for the time being, Dar Mandra.” The shaman wrung Dar’s hand a bit awkwardly; he wasn’t used to the custom. “You understand, I cannot guarantee to know the speaking of their minds.”

“Yes, yes, I know the Power sends the gift when It wishes, not when we do.” Dar clasped his hands behind his back and massaged his knuckles. “But I hope It’ll be with us today, Rever … uh, Officer Haldane.”

“I, too,” the shaman said somberly. “Shacklar must remain with us, Dar Mandra. I have no wish to see my young men die leaning on laser beams—nor yours, either.”

“Definitely not.” Dar was suddenly very conscious of his age.

“And I think you had best arrange matters so I need not speak.”

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Reverend,” Dar said quickly. “You speak better Terran than I do.”

“It is kind of you—but I do have something of an accent.”

“Less’n mine,” Cholly said. “Still, the Rev has the right of it, lad—there might be an aide who knows something of Wolman.”

“And though I have washed off my dye for the occasion, my nation is written in my face, for him who knows how to see it.” The shaman stilled suddenly, then peered upward. “The Power favors me this day, Dar Mandra. Your enemies approach.”

Dar squinted up at the sky, but couldn’t detect the faintest glimmer of flame. Still … “Your word’s good enough for me, Reverend. Shall we go look official?”

The ferry roared down, blackening the blast pit anew. Dar watched through the window as the ramp slid out and the hatch lifted. He saw the party troop out and stop in consternation at the sight of the shack. The guards glanced at each other and stepped forward; the sergeant went up to the group, holding his rifle at port arms, and had a few words with a fox-faced man in the front row. Another man elbowed his way to the fore to interrupt their conversation. He wasn’t tall exactly, but he gave the impression of towering height; and he was skinny, but he had a massive presence. The longer his conversation with the sergeant went on, the more clearly Dar could hear his voice; but the sergeant remained firm and apparently soft-voiced; he just waited for a blast to blow itself out, then said a few words and leaned into the next blast. But Dar did begin to notice his rifle barrel twitching. Mentally, Dar upped the sergeant two pints of Scotch and a fifth of bourbon.

Finally, the skinny man threw his head up in exasperation and started for the shack. His entourage swept along behind him, and the sergeant followed, poker-faced.

“Get ready,” Dar said softly, “customers.”

The door slammed open, and the skinny man waded in. “Who is responsible for this farce?”

“I’m the senior official present, sir.” Dar kept his face carefully neutral. “May I be of service?”

“Service! You can serve me admirably by dismissing this piece of asininity and conveying us immediately to your Government House!”

“Certainly, sir—as soon as we’ve cleared you through Customs.”

“Customs! This planet has never had a Customs Office! I’ve read all the reports!”

“An innovation,” Dar said truthfully. “We’re constantly trying to improve conditions, sir.”

The rest of the entourage had trooped in; the corporal shut the door behind them. He and the sergeant discreetly took up places at the corners of the room.

“Honorable Bhelabher …” The fox-faced man appeared at the skinny man’s elbow. “… it may be that these good people are unaware of your official status.” He gave Dar a glare of such intense malice that Dar felt his blood-temperature drop. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Reverend Haldane wince just the tiniest bit.

“Well taken, Canis, well taken,” Bhelabher harrumphed. He turned back to Dar. “See here, fellow—do you know who I am?”

“Not really, sir—but I would like to find out. May I see your passport, please?” Dar decided Sam might’ve had the right idea after all: strychnine. “Fellow,” indeed!

“Passport!” Bhelabher bellowed. “Young man, I’ll have you know I’m your new governor!”

Dar paused and widened his eyes just a trifle; then he leaned forward, holding out his hand. “An interesting theory, Honorable; I’ll have to validate it with Government House. I’m afraid I haven’t heard anything about Governor Shacklar being replaced, though. May I see your passport, please?”

“Absurd! On a planet full of convicts, certainly I should be above suspicion!”

“But because this is a convict planet, no one can be above suspicion,” Dar said smoothly. “I’m afraid I must insist on seeing your credentials, Honorable.”

Bhelabher began to redden, making choking, gargling sounds; but the fox-faced man put a hand on his arm, and he subsided just short of magenta. “Very well, if you must!” Bhelabher growled. “Atavista, our credentials, please.”

A skinny young woman stepped up to open a folder and lay a set of microholos on the counter. Her clothing was skintight and transparent which, given her figure, wasn’t exactly an advantage; but Dar found he had to focus very tightly on her face anyway. That definitely did the trick.

Sam took the microholos and began feeding them through the terminal. Dar noticed that the bottom wafer was a plastyrus envelope with Shacklar’s name on it.

Reverend Haldane stepped up next to Dar, collecting the wafers as Sam handed them back. He glanced at the fox-faced man and murmured, so softly that Dar could scarcely hear him, “Each person has copies of all those documents in his luggage.” Dar carefully didn’t let anything show in his face, but he pressed his hand flat against the counter to show he’d heard. He also noticed that the plastyrus envelope didn’t come back to the stack.

Sam finished and turned to murmur something to the Reverend. He turned to Dar and murmured, “Officer Bine says the documents bear a lock-code and will not read through our Central.”

Nice, Dar thought. He’d wondered how he was going to justify it. Sam seemed more interesting than ever. “I’m afraid we’ll have to retain your documents, Honorable.”

“What?”

Dar glanced up to make sure the roof was still on the shack, then back to Bhelabher. “I’m afraid we’ll have to retain your credentials. You see, they seem to be locked under a security code which hasn’t been transmitted to our computer.”

“This is outrageous!” Bhelabher stormed. “Of all the inconceivable idiocies I’ve encountered, this has to be the most imbecilic! Young man, I will not tolerate this!”

“I’m afraid we have no choice,” Dar said regretfully. “And, under the circumstances, I’m afraid it will be necessary to search every item of your party’s luggage.”

Bhelabher began reddening and gargling again, and the fox-faced man’s glare narrowed to an ice pick.

“I appreciate that you may find this unacceptable,” Dar sympathized. “If so, the shuttle isn’t quite done refueling yet; I’m sure the pilot will be glad to take you back.”

Bhelabher clamped his jaw shut, his eyes bulged, and the room was very silent for a few seconds. Then he released a huge hiss of breath and snapped, “Very well. We’ll begin with mine. Canis, the bags, please.”