Dumbwaiter

By JAMES STAMERS
Illustrated by DILLON
Antimony IX divers can't be seen, of course ... but don't have anything in mind when one of them is around you!
The man ahead of me had a dragon in his baggage. So the Lamavic boys confiscated it. Lamavic—Livestock, Animal, Mineral and Vegetable, International Customs—does not like to find dragons curled up in a thermos. And since this antipathy was a two-way exchange, the Lamavic inspectors at Philadelphia International were singed and heated all ways by the time they got to me. I knew them well.
Mr. Sol Jones?
That's right, I said, watching the would-be dragon smuggler being marched away. A very amateur job. I could have told him. There are only two ways to smuggle a dragon nowadays.
Any livestock to declare, Mr. Jones?
I have no livestock on my person or in my baggage, nor am I accompanied by any material prohibited article, I said carefully, for I saw they were recording.
The little pink, bald inspector with a charred collar looked at his colleague.
Anything known?
His colleague looked down at me from six feet of splendid physique, smiled unpleasantly, and flipped the big black record book.
'Sol Jones,' he read, 'Lamavic four-star offender. Galactic registration: six to tenth power: 763918. Five foot ten inches, Earth scale. Blue eyes, hair variable and usually nondescript brown, ear lobes and cranial....' You're not disputing identity, Mr. Jones?