The customs man considered. "Well, since the ship was locked, it
does seem unlikely that the girl has hidden herself here. I certainly
wouldn't want you to lose your convoy."
Brack smiled in relief and started the rocket engine secondaries.
"Thanks a million."
"But just to protect me in case the girl has run off somewhere--I want
you to sign this form."
Brack felt a twinge of suspicion, but more of a twinge of haste. "Sure.
What kind of a form is this?"
"It simply says that I inspected each case in your presence and found
the contents identical with your bill of lading. This girl has made
several attempts to leave Corbie in the past. This is my protection in
case she's finally succeeded."
The customs officer made the slightest perceptible wink. Brack signed.
He took off immediately. He was already ten minutes late. He had to
blast at top speed for the next hour, continually correcting his
navigation. There was no time to go back and let Esther out of the
cargo room. He had to remain at the controls, feeding data into the
computer, modifying course as solutions flashed on the screens.
Finally, Brack sighted the convoy and maneuvered into pattern just as
the fleet was dematerializing into supra-space. He set his ship on
pantagraph-automatic with the lead navigator, then hastened to the
cargo hold.
Esther was not there. Neither were ten of the fifteen cases of
deluplasm. Two-thirds of his cargo had been hijacked.
It was of course pointless for Brack to turn around and raise hell on
Corbie. With the waiver he'd signed for the customs officer, he'd only
look ridiculous. All he could do was continue to Hesdin-2 with his
one-third cargo. At least he'd break even on the trip; Esther and her
co-workers had been that considerate.
No, sex and space don't mix.
And it's high time that Mr. Mattapenny deleted the Hotel Eros (**) from
his little red guidebook.