"Sit down, Captain," Aymi-Mastr said sternly. "Are you telling me you weren'tout last night?"

"Of course I was out," I said, putting some huffiness into my voice as Ireluctantly sat down again. "You don't expect anyone to spend any more timethan they have to in one of those Vyssiluyan hotel bug-traps, do you?"

She gave me the Ihmis equivalent of a wry smile, which just made her face thatmuch more froglike. "A point," she conceded. "Did you visit any tavernos?"

I shrugged. "Sure, I hit some of them. What else is there for a spacer to doaround here? But I didn't talk to anyone."

She sighed theatrically. "So you say. And therein lies the trouble." Shepickedup a report file and opened it. "Your word, against that of an unidentifiedand unknown informant. Which of you should we believe?"

"Wait a minute—you don't even know who he is?" I demanded, feeling sweatstarting to gather under my collar. I wasn't particularly good with Ihmislettering, but I'd made it a point to learn what my name looked like in mostof the major scripts in the Spiral. That was my Commonwealth Mercantile Authorityfile she was holding; and nothing in there was likely to make my word comparefavorably against anyone else's. "What kind of scam is this, anyway?"

"That is what we're trying to find out," Aymi-Mastr said, frowning at the fileand then up at me. "This photo doesn't do you justice at all. When was ittaken?"

"About seven years ago," I told her. "Back when I started doing independentshipping."

"No, no justice at all," she repeated, peering closely at me. "You shouldarrange to have a new one taken."