MECH - By B. V. Larson Page 0,1
named Gopus orbits Garm and is inhabited, although very sparsely. If anything, Gopus is even more inhospitable and uninviting than Garm. On both planets the climate is exceedingly hot and the people exceedingly primitive,” said the overweight Captain with a shrug. He stirred the cup of tea that sat on his belly.
“I take it you prefer the more sterile and civilized environment of the habitats. The holo-brochures say that Garm is a wild and untamed planet with unspoiled natural beauty.”
The Captain pursed his thick lips. “Any thinking man would prefer the high ground. Holo-walls can simulate more stunning vistas than nature can provide. The greatest dream of most dirt-huggers is to scrape enough cash together to retire to a luxury hab.”
“But there are no large habitats in this system.”
“Certainly not, there is precious little luxury of any kind. Garm is greatly isolated and hence technologically and culturally backward. In short, I find the planet repulsive.”
“Of course,” said Lucas, pursing his lips.
“I see you wear the drab native clothing,” commented the Captain off-handedly.
“No sense in being overly conspicuous,” said Lucas with a smile. He glanced down at his black gauzy smock and tight pantaloons. An overcoat of dark fur with a matching double-peaked hat hung near the doors. “I find that bankers feel more at ease when facing an inspector from the Cluster Nexus if he at least dresses as they do.”
The Captain chuckled, causing the teacup on his belly to bounce. “A bank inspector? Is that what you’re supposed to be?”
“For as long as necessary.”
“The only place on Garm a man needs such heavy clothing would be near the pole,” commented the Captain. “More tea?”
“No, thank you,” said Lucas. He frowned into the cooling liquid in his cup, then glanced up to see that the Captain watched him. He took a tiny sip, then put the cup down on the table. “I find the attire suitable. It’s midwinter now and it’s quite cold this season all the way down to the Slipape Counties, I’m told.”
“I see, you don’t wish to say where you’re headed,” said the Captain, nodding. “Of course. Well, I won’t keep you any longer.”
“Perhaps we’ll meet on the surface at a later date.”
The Captain blew out his thick cheeks, setting down his tea as well. “It’s unlikely that I will get down to the surface during this trip. My duties are up here with the ship.”
Lucas stood up. “I’ll be on my way then.”
They clasped hands. The two men smiled cordially while Lucas slipped the credit vouchers into the Captain’s sweating palm. The Captain’s smile broadened. He nodded and tucked a flimsy molecular datastrip into Lucas’s hand in return. Then Lucas left, heading straight for the docking tube. As soon as the Captain was out of sight he unobtrusively wiped the other man’s sweat from his hands onto his pantaloons.
* * *
There was no one at Grunstein Interplanetary to meet the new Planetary Governor. He rode the miles-long jet-tube down from orbit and arrived without fanfare. His typical Garmish clothing made him resemble the local populace and in-system traffic more than the new immigrants who had been his travel companions on the journey out from Neu Schweitz. He blended easily, only his greater than average height and weight distinguishing him from the crowd. A flood of traders swept by, tycoons from the Slipape Counties and the foodstuffs people from Gopus.
He pulled his Garmish hat down over his head more snugly, enjoying the unaccustomed feel of the fur against his skin. He moved with the crowd that flowed from the jet-tube gates down to the customs area. Once there, he separated from the crowd and approached the exit for official personnel. He ran his ID card through the machine, touched his thumbprint to a lit-up pad and focused his gaze on the optical sensor so that his retina could be scanned. Instantly recognized and catalogued, the steel doors shunted open and he was allowed to pass by the customs area without the routine body search. Tourists and businessmen from around the system gave him speculative appraisals as he passed them by, his single bag rubbing against his legs as he walked. The other immigrants from the Gladius shuffled along dazedly, ignoring him.
He stepped out of the foot-traffic that flowed relentlessly toward the exits to put on his coat. While he stood there he watched a very large man bypass the security just as he had. This man was a giant, one of the more common forms of genetic