“My name is Stek,” the commissioner said, laughing. He spelled it out. “I don’t suppose that brings anything to mind?”
“Stek?” Dei I rich repeated uncertainly. He considered for a moment and then said, “I believe there was a young man by that name.” He thought a moment and then nodded vigorously. “Certainlv. He was a young customs clerk here who had ambitions to become a TJ pilot. He pestered me to death talking about it.” Deitrich grinned. “I see he didn’t go.”
“No, he didn’t, captain. He spoke of you as the one who advised him against it in no uncertain terms. He took your word for it. And later, after he became commissioner—that was when I knew him—he had seen enough to realize that you were right.”
“I’m glad of that.”
“Yes. He was very grateful for the advice. And I guess I wouldn’t be here either if he hadn’t talked to you. More oonalyn?” Deitrich shook his head, so Stek helped himself and then asked cheerfully, “What sort of cargo do you carry this time?”
“It’s all on the squad tape, of course. There are those fifty immigrants that you have already cleared. Two cylinders of a new drive mechanism for planetary craft.”
“Sealed units?”
Deitrich shrugged. “I suppose,” he murmured. “I didn’t check into that.”
“Good. The technicians who unload such material sometimes like to tinker with exposed machinery. Generally speaking they don’t know what they’re doing with Home devices and smash some of them. What else?”
“The usual transcripts, communications, technical literature. And… oh, well. There are two hundred cylinders in all, and I must admit that I didn’t bother too much with it.” He laughed. “I still would have had to carry them. And the credit you establish for the Home on the basis of the shipment is entirely in your hands anyway.”