Personally, Stone didn't give an octangle damn about Galth; he didn't even know the Rastolian personally—had never heard of him until a short time ago. But if Galth of Rastol died, so would a thousand others. The human colony on Rastol III would be wiped out in reprisal.
Including, Stone thought bitterly, the wife and two sons he had left behind to go on this purchasing trip.
The Customs Office was in sight now. He threaded his way through the mob. Just before he reached the door, he was almost pushed off balance by a squat, chubby little man who steadied him, apologized profusely, and went on his 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.