Part 25 (1/2)

The s.h.i.+p's afterjets were still smoking as Jeffers trotted out onto the blast ap.r.o.n, the display panel in his hand showing the manifest the crew had transmitted from orbit. He'd snagged this one the minute he saw the read out, before Ota or Singh got a look at it, and all because of one word: Pets.

As far as Jeffers was concerned, pets were a struggling customs officer's wet dream. He could claim they were diseased or dangerous, he could demand endless doc.u.mentation, genetic scans, certifications from half a dozen governments or organizations-basically, he could delay the s.h.i.+pment indefinitely.

And pets needed care and feeding, which would eat into someone's profits for every day the cargo was delayed, and the animals would be getting older and less valuable, and might get sick or die, which would make them worthless; their owner would want them delivered as quickly as possible.

Which meant that Jeffers could expect a very healthy fee to expedite the process. With luck, he could wind up with half the captain's profits going onto his own card.

And it was all far safer than ”overlooking” drugs or weapons; exotic alien pets were legal, after all, and the people who transported them were therefore far less likely to shoot an overly greedy customs inspector. He wouldn't be threatening anyone with arrest, deportation, or reprogramming-just with bureaucratic delays. n.o.body liked red tape, but only a lunatic would shoot anyone over it, while drug dealers and gun runners shot each other with depressing frequency.

Of course, the Lord Lucan might be smuggling contraband, as well as its official cargo, which could make the haul even richer, albeit riskier. Jeffers smiled happily as he tapped the phone keys on his display.

”Musas.h.i.+ Port Customs, requesting permission to come aboard,” he said.

”Just a minute, Customs,” a woman's voice replied, though no image appeared. ”I'm checking on the cargo restraints. Wouldn't want anything to hit you on the head.”

”Whenever you're ready, Captain,” Jeffers said. He stood on the ap.r.o.n, waiting patiently, as the sound of heavy objects thumping on metal surfaces came over the display speakers.

At last the woman spoke again.

”Opening the lock, Customs; stand clear.”

Jeffers booted up the atmospheric sensors on the display, then tucked the panel under one arm and watched as the outer door of the airlock swung open and extended itself downward to become a boarding ladder. Before the bottom rung had entirely stopped moving he grabbed the rails and began climbing.

At the top he waited while the airlock cycled-apparently the captain wasn't in any hurry to expose herself to Musas.h.i.+'s air. At last, though, the inner door opened and he found himself facing the Lord Lucan's captain. She was a st.u.r.dily built woman with coffee colored skin, wearing a standard s.h.i.+p suit that was drab blue at the moment.

”Madis Tyler,” she said, holding out a hand. ”Is Maintenance coming?”

Jeffers shook the offered hand. ”Karl Jeffers,” he said. ”I haven't heard anything from Maintenance; that's between you and them.”

”They said they'd send someone right out.”

”Shouldn't be more than an hour or so, then. They're a bit backlogged.” His curiosity got the better of him. ”What needs maintenance?”

”The main drive. That's why I put down; I wasn't planning to land at all. If this place had a decent orbital station instead of just that stupid navigation post, I wouldn't be here, wasting time and fuel, I'd have made the repairs in orbit.”

”Then your cargo isn't bound for Musas.h.i.+?”

”Oh, h.e.l.l, no; I've got buyers waiting on Telemachus III. I'm just here because I was using the Musas.h.i.+ beacon for transition, and the drive went unstable and dumped me out of hyper about fifteen light minutes off the point. I didn't want to risk jumping again until I found out why.”

This took the edge off Jeffers' enthusiasm; if the s.h.i.+p was going to be delayed for expensive repairs anyway, and the impatient buyer wasn't here on Musas.h.i.+, his bargaining position wasn't quite as good as he had thought. He couldn't demand payment before allowing the pets to leave the s.h.i.+p, because they weren't going to leave the s.h.i.+p here. He could probably still manage something, but this wouldn't be as lucrative as he thought; if he got too greedy the Lord Lucan would probably just launch without clearance and run for it, and there wouldn't be much anyone in the Musas.h.i.+ system could do about it. Musas.h.i.+ did not have many patrol s.h.i.+ps, and the Confederacy Guard was unlikely to waste one pursuing someone whose only crime was not bribing the port officials adequately.

”I'll still need to take a look,” Jeffers said apologetically. ”Port rules, you know.”

”I figured you would,” Tyler said with a sigh. ”Every port in the galaxy has rules and bureaucrats. I suppose there'll be paperwork.''

”Oh, I think we can keep it to a minimum, since you aren't offloading anything,” he said. ”In fact, a small service charge might expedite the process...”

”How much?”

”Well, that depends on the exact nature of your cargo.”

”They're pets. Sixty of them. Furb.a.l.l.s indigenous to Fomalhaut IV. Do you need the species name? It should be in the manifest.”

Jeffers took the display board from under his arm and looked at it. The atmosphere indicators showed a bunch of non standard trace organics-that would presumably be from the cargo's breath or waste. There were no traces of anything that looked like illicit drugs or out ga.s.sing from explosives, unfortunately, which meant Tyler probably wasn't smuggling anything and Jeffers couldn't extort even more.

The manifest did give a species name-Ardema.n.u.s ardermani formalhauti-that was amazingly uninformative, and tapping the query b.u.t.ton elicited ”No data on file.”

He hesitated. He knew he should just name a fee, but he wanted to see what these things looked like. There might be some excuse to charge more if they looked especially valuable.

And a thought struck him. ”You only have sixty? On a s.h.i.+p this size.”

”They're big furb.a.l.l.s, not just hamsters or something, and I've got to haul the food and water for them.”

Big animals? That meant he might be able to make an accusation of inhumane treatment, or transporting dangerous livestock; that could raise the price. ”I'll need to take a look,” he said.

”Yeah, fine. This way.” Tyler led the way to the central core, where they ascended a ladder to the main hold.

The smell reached Jeffers before the door slid open, and he almost gagged; there was no question that the Lord Lucan was transporting animals. A glance at the display showed four red indicators on the atmosphere readings-but steady red meant ”unidentified,” not toxic.

Then he looked at the cargo, and saw why Captain Tyler had called them ”furb.a.l.l.s.”

There were about a dozen of the creatures in this compartment. Each stood about five feet tall and about three feet wide, thick legs supporting almost spherical bodies covered in luxurious fur in a variety of colors. It took Jeffers a moment to puzzle out exactly what he was seeing, beyond walking b.a.l.l.s of fur, but at last he understood.

They were tripodal-a leg on either side and one at the back, the back one jointed differently, which Jeffers suspected meant it had evolved from something like a tail. Plastic restraints encircled every leg, each creature tethered to a cargo ring on the bulkhead.

Between the front and back leg on either side of each furball was what could only be considered an arm, though the resemblance to human arms was slight; each was equipped with four things somewhere between fingers and pincers at the end, and also with something clawlike at the lower elbow. There were no actual hands.

And between each pair of front legs hung a long neck ending in a flat, pan shaped head, equipped with four eyes and a mouth, and other openings that might or might not be ears and nostrils.

Most of those many eyes were staring back at him.

”Whoa,” he said. ”Who'd want those for pets?”

”Rich people,” Tyler said. ”On Telemachus III.”

Jeffers shrugged. ”I suppose some people will buy anything.” He looked at his display. ”I'll want to take some readings.”

Tyler didn't reply; she just frowned. Then her com twittered. ”Maintenance, waiting to come aboard,” it said. ”What's the nature of the problem?”

”I'll be right there,” she said. Then she turned her attention back to Jeffers. ”Don't touch anything,” she said. ”They're docile, and they're tethered, but that doesn't mean they can't step on your foot or b.u.t.t you accidentally if you get too close.” Then she spun on her heel and marched back out to the ladder.

Jeffers watched her go, then turned back to the furb.a.l.l.s.

He didn't really care what they were, or what the readings said; he just wanted to figure out how he could maximize his income from this.

They were odd looking creatures, and the way they were all watching him made him nervous. The smell didn't help.

”You guys stink, you know that?” he said.