They stepped into the pilot's cabin, a tetrahexahedron-shaped room crowded with multiple-monitor screens of an astrogation-computer. Brack threw the ignition switch to start the buildup in the ship's nuclear engine.
"What is your cargo?" the customs man demanded.
"Fifteen cases of deluplasm," said Brack with unfeigned anxiety.
The official debated with himself. "I believe it would be best if I opened the cases."
Brack looked at his watch with desperation. "But we don't have time! That would take at least a half-hour! I'd miss the other ships! And you know what that would mean. I couldn't navigate interstellar space alone, not at a hundred times the speed of light. I'd be stuck here in the Dryodean System until the next fleet left. That might be months!"
He grabbed the official's arm. "Please, fellow, give me a break!"
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."