Lieutenant Tokugawa Nariaki was an average-sized, sleepy-looking individual with a balding crew cut and a morose expression.
He looked up from his desk as Mike came in, and a hopeful smile tried to spread itself across his face. “If you are Commander Gabriel,” he said softly, “watch yourself. I may suddenly kiss you out of sheer relief.”
“Restrain yourself, then,” said Mike the Angel, “because I’m Gabriel.”
Nariaki’s smile became genuine. “So! Good! The phone has been screaming at me every half hour for the past five hours. Captain Sir Henry Quill wants you.”
“He would,” Mike said. “How do I get to him?”
“You don’t just yet,” said Nariaki, raising a long, bony, tapering hand. “There are a few formalities which our guests have to go through.”
“Such as?”
“Such as fingerprint and retinal patterns,” said Lieutenant Nariaki.
Mike cast his eyes to Heaven in silent appeal, then looked back at the lieutenant. “Lieutenant, what is going on here? There hasn’t been a security officer in the Space Service for thirty years or more. What am I suspected of? Spying for the corrupt and evil alien beings of Diomega Orionis IX?”
Nariaki’s oriental face became morose again. “For all I know, you are. Who knows what’s going on around here?” He got up from behind his desk and led Mike the Angel over to the fingerprinting machine. “Put your hands in here, Commander ... that’s it.”