Two minutes, three, five… A loud ting. A face in the plate, male functionary, a slash of a mouth, a thin nose so long it approached the grotesque.

“Name, origin, ship, purpose of visit.” A bored monotone.

“Adelaar aici Arash. Droom in the Heggers.” She slipped her diCarx from her belt, touched it to the reader, slid it back in its squeeze pocket when the pinlight flashed red. “Passenger tradeship Niyit-Nit, owner/captain Nuba Treviglio. Business with a resident of Telffer.”

“What business? Who?”

Adelaar hesitated; as she’d built up her client list, she’d dealt with men like this and knew how unproductive annoyance was; push at them and they set their feet like mules. On the other hand, she wanted to say as little as possible to local authorities, she didn’t know what their under-the-table ties were. There was a man on Aggerdom asking questions about her the day she closed with Treviglio for passage here; the Niyit-Nit lifted before she learned more, but she had little doubt who he worked for, less doubt that there were people in Prin Daruze with the same ties. Bolodo had stringers wherever there was a market for their contractees and raw worlds like Telffer always needed more hands. Hmm, throw him Quale’s name if he keeps pushing me, no point trying to keep that quiet, soon as I hit the Directory, who wants to know will.

“That’s my concern, not yours,” she said, her voice neutral, nonaggressive, despite the implicit challenge of the words. “Should licenses be necessary, I will apply at the proper time and place.”

“What business? Who?” He wasn’t going to drop it though he knew and she knew he was going beyond his instructions.

“Swardheld Quale. I’ll let him know your interest in him. I’m sure he’ll be delighted someone cares.”

Conceding defeat with a malevolent glower, he gabbled another setspeech.