way.

Scowling angrily, Stone stepped inside the Customs Office. A hard-faced man in uniform sat behind the broad desk, looking up at him boredly.

"Yes?"

"I have a cargo of Martian valdone aboard my ship, and I want to report it," Stone said.

The official nodded. "Do you have the import permission papers?"

Kendall shook his head. "I don't intend to import the stuff to Earth; I'm just stopping over here until I can get some very important business cleared up. But valdone is a dangerous drug, and I simply wanted to report the fact that I have a hundred kilograms of it aboard my ship."

"I see," said the official, making a note on a minipad. "We'll have to put a seal on the ship until you are ready to take off again."

"That's perfectly all right," Kendall agreed. Anything would have been all right, as long as it didn't take much of the precious time remaining before dawn.

The official extended his hand. "Your papers, please."

Kendall reached inside his jacket pocket for the small booklet of identification papers. An icy shiver ran down his back.

The booklet was gone.

"What's the matter?" the official asked.

"My ID booklet is gone! I put it in my jacket just before I left the ship; I must have lost it on my way over here."

"If that's the case, someone will return it," the Customs official said. "It's of no use to anyone else. We'll send out a call for it. Meanwhile, I'm afraid you'll have to remain inside the spaceport."

Kendall scowled. Of all the lousy time-wasting pieces of red-tape, he thought. He felt trapped by bureaucracy. He didn't have time to waste hanging around the spaceport tonight.

"We'll also ask for confirmation over the subradio," said the official. "What is your home planet?"

"Rastol III, near Deneb."

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