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The immediate result of all this was that a veritable army of spies, artists,
observers, reporters, analysts, appraisers, and diverse other general
nuisances and busybodies descended on sleepy, contented Earth in search of
advantage and/or enlightenment. They packed the orbital disembarkation station
at Baltimore, jostling for position with irritated tourists and vacationers,
while worrying about the plethora of illegal instruments and devices snuggled
in their luggage.
Customs officials scratched their heads in bemusement at the edgy influx and
generally let them pass, confiscating only one small laser-guided missile
launcher which the representative from Zonia VI insisted was for the private
entertainment of the guests at his son's birthday party. Also any prohibited
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fruits, vegetables, or animal products. These new and unusually agitated
visitors seemed more interested in their fellow travelers than in their first
sight of Old Earth.
Typically enigmatic were the pair of large, powerful gentlemen sporting
narrow-brimmed hats and wraparound sunshades who confronted the morning
supervisor at Baltimore customs. A smallish, eupeptic gentleman, he inquired
politely if they were bringing any items to Earth for sale.
"No," rumbled the traveler nearest him. His companion was intently scanning
the faces of their fellow incoming travelers.
"Very well. What's in this long case here?" The customs clerk tapped a
smoothly machined metal box two meters long.
"Hobby stuff," the man muttered noncommittally.
"I see. Could you open it, please?"
The man looked to his companion, then shrugged and activated the combination
that sealed the case. It popped open to reveal a wicked-looking weapon which
had been broken down into multiple components for traveling purposes.
"Interesting hobby you have."
The owner didn't smile. "My friend and I arc easily bored."
"Yeah," said his companion. "This is in case we get tired of looking at
museums."
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate this. Obviously
you're not familiar with the laws that prohibit the importation of weapons to
Earth. I'll give you a receipt and you can claim your property upon
departure." He snapped the beautiful case shut.
"Now, just a minute& " The owner leaned forward.
A pair of security robotics popped out of the floor on either side of the
customs clerk. Each had four arms pointed at the man, each equipped with a
different type of restraining device. The other man gripped his friend by the
shoulder and pulled him back.
"Let it go. We'll manage without."
"But& "
"I saidwe'll manage without ." He smiled at the clerk. "Sorry. My friend's
kind of excitable. He just didn't know. We don't want to cause any trouble."
"I'm sure you don't." The clerk's smile had not faded. "Are you bringing in
any fruits, vegetables, or animal products?"
The man jammed his hands in his pockets and snarled. "No!"
"That's all, then. You're free to move along. Enjoy your stay on Old Earth."
He watched them go, the man with his hands in his pockets shuffling along
head-down, his companion haranguing him unmercifully. The clerk sighed and
nodded to the security robot on his left.
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'Tag this one and put it with the others." The robot signaled assent, stamped
the heavy case with a time, date, and description seal, and lifted it easily.
Pivoting, it trundled into a back storeroom and deposited the disassembled
device atop the growing armory of off-world weapons.
The clerk sighed. Earth might be something of a lazy backwater, but that
didn't mean its permanent inhabitants were stupid. Personally he would be glad
when the matter of the giant mystery vessel was resolved. Then all these spies
and assassins would reclaim their onerous hardware and go home.
He smiled and greeted the next in line, a disputatious family of four from
Burns III. They had no ravening weaponry to declare, unless one included the
father's ignominious and apparently uncontrollable belching.
They streamed to Earth: analysts from Judeastan, researchers from Provence [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]