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                          THE CUSTOMS LOUNGE

                            BY E. A. PROULX

                      Anything can happen in the
                      customs lounge--since they
                      let those Earth people in!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
             Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1963.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


There were usually a few Customs Inspectors in the lounge, waiting
to begin their shifts, hanging around trading news and incidents and
drinking the bad, lukewarm kasser that was a standing joke in the
Immigration-Customs Service.

Old Grag was telling for perhaps the eightieth time of a success of his
when he was young in the Service.

"... They had this small box of sticky, squashy sweets with them. The
young one was eating one. Many another Inspector would have passed them
through, but I thought the young one chewed too much and too loud. So I
said, 'Mind if I have one?'

"'Wah!' says they together, 'it would set you on edge, Noble Wise
Inspector. It is the taste of another world.' They was Venusers, and
they started shifting and hopping around, and humming their national
anthem, _you_ know how they used to do back in the old days. I made
quite a nice little find. Almost a half-scree of chamfer in each one
of those sweets. I got a promotion out of that, and the Venusers got a
six-year close out."

Inspector Flimp blew one of his noses loudly.

"Hee, that's nothing. _I_ recall back when we first opened up for
Immigration, and a whole shipload of earthers came in. They were
crammed in like tigs in a nest, and as usual they didn't know one word
of the language, they didn't have any idea of where to go or how to do
anything, and they'd got separated from their controller. They just
stood around, huddled together and jabbering at each other. Well, I
checked out about twenty of them, and then there comes up this big ugly
female. Well, I jacks the elevator up some more, and I looks down at
her.

"'Name!', I call. 'Gladdis Cracklegill,' or some other weird earth name
she screams at me. 'Too much name,' I say. 'You've got enough name
there for five of you. Which will you choose, Glad, Is, Crack, El or
Gil?'

"Well, it took me a while to make her understand me--my earth accent
wasn't too good then, and she was slow-headed, having only one, like
all earthers. But I finally made her understand what I wanted to know,
and then, by Clag, what a ramping frowst she did make!

"It was while she was screeching at me that I noticed her teeth were
pretty big, even for such a huge beast as she was. So I secretly turned
on the Dento-Spyer, right into her jaws, and what a sight on the view
screen! Each of those big teeth was false and filled to the top with
Earth seeds she was trying to smuggle!"

"Earthers!" exploded young Nask. "They make me sick!"

"I'm with you, Nask," said Inspector Sprim. "And I don't understand why
they _still_ keep routing earthers through Immigration anyway. They
claim they're a borderline case, but when you've seen as many as I
have, you know, which side of the border they're on."

       *       *       *       *       *

Nask went off to the kasser dispenser and his place was taken by Brif,
the head Inspector, who had been listening.

"Un-edge yourself, Sprim," smiled Brif, contracting one of his heads.
"I have good news, rare news and fine news. The Four Council decision
just came down to us. Earthers are now to be routed through Livestock
instead of Immigration beginning very soon."

A cheer went up from the little group of Customs and Immigration
officials. The one Livestock Inspector in the lounge groaned in despair.

Old Inspector Flimp seemed bothered.

"They've made themselves a mistake," he sputtered. "Earthers can be
clever and tricky even after they're altered. Why, I seen them pull
every trick in the book coming through here. Did I ever tell you about
the stunted one with an artificial head who tried to pass himself off
as a rest-park planner? Well, it seems that...."

Two young, but large inspectors sneaked away from the group when they
saw old Flimp was launched into one of his dull yarns again.

Outside the lounge, after a quick look up and down the hall, they
ducked into the robot-cleaner storage closet.

"Boy," gasped the shorter inspector. "I _had_ to get out of there.
Besides the torture of listening to that two-headed monster babble on
and on about how he outwitted earthers when he was still able to move
around, this miserable thing has started to come loose again."

He gave an impatient wrench to his left head, and it wobbled enough to
expose some of the delicate wires that the earth robotic engineer had
labored over so many hours.

The other began tightening straps and buckles for him.

"There," he said finally. "You look like one of the boys again."

Laughing together, the earthers went back into the Customs Lounge.