The Heretic (Beyond the Wall Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

Shepherd. Just some people looking to get out of here. And who can blame them?
    He turned and slid two flash cards towards the clerk—one with nav data, the other with his licences. The jowled man lifted his head sharply and stared at Shepherd with grey eyes before reaching for the drives. He plugged them into his terminal and scanned the screen. His eyes grew narrow, almost receding into his fleshy cheeks, and he turned to look at Shepherd, scrutinising him for a while before he spoke. ‘What are you importing?’ he said finally.
    ‘Oil.’
    The clerk blinked quickly and turned back to his screen. His fat hands rested on the desk, but Shepherd could see they trembled slightly. When he found what he was looking for, he spoke again, but more quietly. ‘Your licence is out of date.’
    ‘It can’t be,’ Shepherd replied slowly. ‘I renewed it in the Core before I came.’
    ‘No,’ the man said softly, shaking his head. ‘It’s quite clear to me. Your freighter licence is adequate. But to carry hazardous material, you need a separate licence. You must know that. This one is out of date.’
    Shepherd stared at him. He knew his licences were fine. He’d made sure of it as soon as he received the contract for the medicine. There was no sense in asking for trouble, and before moving illicit cargo, he wanted a solid sham out front. He let out a breath and set his face to hide his irritation. The border systems bred officious men who had access to more power than their meagre consciences deserved—and short tempers. This was hardly the first time a Customs clerk had ‘discovered’ a problem with one of his licences. Shepherd convinced himself that this was just another cost of doing business.
    Five more Customs officials stood by the doorway to the chamber, deep in conversation. They were taller than the clerk, lean and athletic. The muscles in their necks were like tightly coiled rope. Pistols sat in holsters alongside cattle prods and cuffs, and their black suits were pristine and sculpted to their sinewy frames. The clerk’s clumsy shakedown was forgotten as Shepherd studied the men. It was an unusually strong presence for a port like Herse, he thought. A couple of officials, three perhaps, would be understandable; but five on duty seemed excessive to him. But so far they’d ignored his exchange with the clerk, and that suited Shepherd just fine. He looked back at the fat man and noted something shift in his eyes. Was it fear?
    ‘Anything I can do about the licence?’ Shepherd offered.
    ‘I can update it here on the system. But that would incur an administration fee.’
    ‘There a set figure for that fee?’
    The man ran a finger across his lips and down his chin. Sweat beaded on his forehead. ‘Five hundred.’ He glanced over at the gorillas, then back at Shepherd, and blinked quickly.
    Shepherd said nothing. He reached into a pocket and withdrew a small pouch. He counted out five coins and placed the baksheesh onto the desk. The man eyed the coins and glanced again at his colleagues, but they’d seen nothing. He reached out and swept the coins into a waiting hand and then into a pocket. He turned to the screen and began dabbing his thick fingers against it; after a moment, he seemed satisfied and pulled the drives from his terminal. Palpable relief settling in his eyes, he set them on the counter.
    ‘Thank you for your time,’ he said quietly.
    Shepherd collected the drives without a word and strode away. From the corner of his eyes he glanced again at the five officials, who regarded him with casual disinterest before slipping back into their conversation. Beyond them, in an anteroom within the chamber, Shepherd glimpsed a handful more men seated at a table. And more weapons laid out—rifles and pistols. As he reached the main door, he looked back at the off-worlders huddled by the exit to the landing platforms. They hadn’t moved.
    Shepherd pushed through the main hangar door and battled against the