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.