“Not my province, Commander,” Nariaki said as he pulled the retinal photos out of the machine. “Maybe one of the chaplains would know.”
“If this sort of thing is going on all over Chilblains,” said Mike the Angel, “I imagine the Office of Chaplains is doing a booming business in TS cards.”
The lieutenant put the retinal photos in the comparator, took a good look, and nodded. “You’re you,” he said. “Give me your ID card.”
Mike handed it over, and Nariaki fed it through a printer which stamped a complex seal in the upper left-hand corner of the card. The lieutenant signed his name across the seal and handed the card back to Mike.
“That’s it,” he said. “You can—”
He was interrupted by the chiming of the phone.
“Just a second, Commander,” he said as he thumbed the phone switch.
Mike was out of range of the TV pickup, and he couldn’t see the face on the screen, but the voice was so easy to recognize that he didn’t need to see the man.
“Hasn’t that triply bedamned rocket landed yet, Lieutenant? Where is Commander Gabriel?”
Mike knew that Black Bart had already checked on the landing of the latest rocket; the question was rhetorical.