"Captain Jester?"

It took Phule a moment to recognize his new name and rank.

"That's right," he acknowledged hastily. "Are we about ready to depart?"

"Yes, sir. As soon as you... What's that!?"

The pilot had spotted the caravan of porters wheeling three cart-loads of baggage with them.

"Hmm? Oh, that's just my personal luggage. If you'll show them where to stow it, they'll take care of the loading."

"Hey, wait a second! All weight for a flight has to be cleared in advance. You can't just waltz up here at the last minute with a load like that and expect me to let you on board with it!"

Inwardly Phule sighed. He had been afraid something like this would happen. Though under contract to the Legion, on board ship the pilot had ultimate authority. Like mangy minor bureaucrats, this gave him an exaggerated opinion of his power. Fortunately Phule had been raised on bureaucratic infighting.

"Look... Captain, is it? Yes. If you'll check your manifest, you'll notice that the cargo that's been loaded so far is lighter than the weight you were contracted to transport-substantially lighter. My baggage is the balance of that weight. While it's more than is normally allotted to military personnel, I've paid for the extra poundage out of my own pocket, and am therefore understandably reluctant to leave it behind."

The pilot had indeed noticed that the loaded cargo was light, but had figured it for an oversight, mentally licking his lips over the extra profit from saved fuel. Now he saw that extra profit slipping away.

"Wellll... if you're sure all that stuff is still within the paid-for poundage. Just don't expect me to load it for you."

"Certainly not," Phule soothed. "Now if you'll direct the porters, they'll take care of everything."

Beeker hefted the two suitcases that contained their necessities for the trip and started up the gangplank.