Somebody using Tom’s passport, she thought, but she kept that to herself, and kept the information to herself until Sprite docked, grappled to, and opened its ports at 10 Green, where Dee Imports had can transports waiting.
Then she was off to the Customs Office so fast the deck smoked.
Well, yes, Tom’s passport had been used. Well, yes, there had to be a credit record of transactions on station, but she had to get a court order. And, yes, they knew which agents had been assigned at Corinthian’s dock, and, well, yes, there was no actual regulation against an individual inquiry with the agent, although they didn’t give out names.
Her pocket-com nagged at her. She ignored it.
“I’m his mother, “ she said to the customs officer. “I have copies of his papers.”
“The boy is over eighteen. By Alliance law, he’s an adult.”
“Do you have kids?”
“Look, Ms. Hawkins…”
She didn’t raise her voice. She made it very quiet. “This boy was out drinking when that ship cleared port. We’re a Family ship. Check us out. I want to know does that passport, used exiting Corinthian, still have the right picture.”
“You’re asking if it was stolen.”
“Yes. “
The agent vanished into inner offices. The pocket-corn kept beeping. She thumbed it on.
“Yes, dammit!”
It was Mischa, asking did she need help.
“Not actually,” she said, and flipped the display on her handheld again, to market display, mere mind-filler, something to look at and think about before she went mad.
Mischa chattered at her.
“Yeah,” she said, “nice. No, I don’t need help. You’re driving me crazy, Mischa. I’m busy here. All right?”
She thumbed the switch and cut him off. Didn’t care what he was saying. The agent came back with a woman in a more expensive suit. “We’re talking about a stolen passport?”
“This—” She laid the ID on the counter. “—is a duplicate of my son’s ID. I want to know, does the agent remember this face?”
“Come into the office, Ms…”
“Hawkins. “ She passed the counter, she sat in a nicer office, she waited. She drank free coffee and entered searches on the hand-held for low-mass goods, and sat there for forty-three minutes before the woman in the suit brought a uniformed customs agent into the office.
“Ms. Hawkins. Officer Lee. Officer Lee is the one that read the passport through at board-call. Officer Lee, this is the young man’s mother.”
The officer handed the ID to her. “I do remember him,” the officer said. “He’d forgotten his passport. The captain came down to be sure he got ID’d. It was that boy, Ms. Hawkins, very well dressed, in the company of a pretty young woman and a man. Came up in a taxi. I thought then, that cost them. But the boy didn’t act upset, except about the passport. Went right to the captain, he and the girl. They walked in together.”
“How did he get out there without a passport?”
“Happens. He went out with a group, should’ve gotten it from the officer, once they’d cleared customs, but he didn’t. Captain said he hadn’t missed it til the board-call, and he panicked.”
“This man with them.”
“Rough-looking. Cheerful fellow. Drunk as a lord. Papers perfectly in order. Cook’s mate.”
“No visible threat.”
The agent went very sober for a moment. “You mean was he drafted back? Didn’t look to be. The young man spoke for himself, apologized about the passport, had a new haircut, clothes, brand new duffle, everything first class. Met the captain on friendly terms.”
“Ms. Hawkins. Would you like to sit down?”
Out of nowhere a hand grabbed her arm. She didn’t need support. She shrugged it off, took a deep breath, took out her wallet and managed to get the ID into the slot.
“Sit down,” the woman said.
She did. The agent offered to get her water. She said yes. She wasn’t through asking questions and they were distressed on her account, moving to get her whatever she wanted. “I want the credit record. If my son was on this station, I want to know who paid, where he slept…”
The woman looked doubtful. The damn com beeped again, and she cut it off, completely. “I have to know,” she said. “This is my son. “