” Mercury Girl, Black Sphere Line of Anguklukkakok City, Venusian Imperium, requesting permission to land and discharge cargo.”
“Ah. Yes,” said the large red haired man in the visiscreen. “Venusian ownership, eh? An’ what might your registry be?”
Captain Dhan Gopal Radhakrishnan blinked mild brown eyes in some astonishment and said:
“Panamanian, of course.”
“Was that your last port of call?”
“No, we came via Venus. But I say, what has this to do with—”
“Let me see, let me see.” The man in the screen rubbed a gigantic paw across a freckled snub nose.
He was young and cheerful of appearance; but since when had the portmaster of Grendel—of any asteroid in the Anglian Cluster—worn a uniform of such blazing green?
“An’ might I hear what cargo ye have consigned locally?” he asked. It was definitely not a Grendelian accent he had. York? Scotia? No. Possibly New Belfast. Having maintained his Earthside home for years in Victoria, B.C., Captain Radhakrishnan fancied himself a student of English dialects. However—
“A thousand cases of Nashornbrau Beer and six ten-ton barrels of same, miscellaneous boxes of pretzels and popcorn, all for the Alt Heidelberg Rathskeller,” he answered. “Plus goods for other ports, of course, notably a shipment of exo-genetic cattle embryos for Alamo. Those have all been cleared for passage through intermediate territories.”
