"None, sir. I am cured of t'ang, but there is no known medical way to prove that to anyone's satisfaction but my own. I know the law and am willing to abide by it. I claim its protection in this matter."
"Fair enough, Captain Thorne," agreed Martineau, reluctantly, seating himself and poking gingerly at the fortune on his desk. "You have that right."
"You accept the shipment?"
"It shall be sent on the Warhorse next Thursday, by way of Luna. Here is your receipt and your insurance papers. Present them to the Starmail office next week and receive your arrival receipt. About the twentieth, I believe."
"What is the charge?"
Bannerman quietly intervened. "There is no charge. The Vadirrian is for the Universals, and as such travels light."
Thorne bowed stiffly, as Martians do, and stepped back. "I thank you, gentlemen. I know the Vadirrian is in good hands."
Bannerman heaved himself up. "Step into my office a moment, will you, Thorne? If the Captain will excuse us?" Martineau nodded, saluting sharply. There was no more talk of "bush-bums".
The Superintendent of Patrol, however, was not impressed. Seated at his own desk, he pinned Thorne with an eagle glare. "I don't ask for information, Captain Thorne, but I must request you to show cause why you should not be removed from Vulhan City as a t'anger and—uh—general undesirable."
"I am cured of the t'ang habit, sir. So far as medical authority here can go, they give me a clean bill of health. I have witnesses, pictures, papers."