"I'll predispose the guards. Come right into Hold 7. Understand?"
"Da," Wurmong assured him.
The man on watch collapsed soundlessly at a beam of nerve pressure on the neck, and Baker slipped inside, immediately beginning to eject the first-grade readers through the escape hatch by the gross.
The mercenary, Wurmong, and his army of family arrived with experienced stealth and began dumping the new books from their privileged luggage.
Baker replaced the contents of the opened crates with the variant readers. These volumes might be the tiny counterbalance needed to free a world of swinoids from domination by Earth. Who knew the full extent of the psychological effect of The Three Little Pigs on young, formative minds?
His work done, Baker sadly regarded the precious jewels and the negotiable bonds from the registered mail. There was no way around it. This had to look like a robbery. It was necessary that he take them. Quickly, he stuffed everything into his synthetic appendix....
Baker was allowed to disembark on Ignatz XI so that he might be traced to his alien fellow-conspirators.
The heavy-jowled biped who greeted him at the smoky tavern was joyous. "You have done the next best thing for us to enabling us to tell your busybody missionaries to go home. We look upon you as one of our own and are hungry for the sight of you. May you remain with us long."
"Too much work," Baker said, gagging over the native beer. "But I must ask you a favor. You implied you'd give me your right arm."