A captain was filling in a pile of documents sitting in his cabin. It was a good idea to get rid of a tail by turning into a small planetary system, but who could have known that it was a freaking “space reserve”. And getting rid of its protectors turned to be even more complicated. It was easier to enter a battle with that ship rather than filling in hundreds of documents on non-disclosure of the data on this system now. Luckily, they hadn’t noticed that the crew from the patrol had made a landing on one of the planets before they interfered.

The captain looked melancholically out of the illuminator at a blue ball that had brought him so many bumf and closed the protecting shields. Who decided that illuminators were a good idea on space ships? Statistics still claims that the direct hit of any space body would rather break that “super-tough glass” than break off some antenna.

Some time ago, when he got hold of this ship, he chose the most ascetic cabin, refusing from the luxurious room that was owned by the previous leader. And he still got this illuminator that was irritating him with its presence each and every minute.

When the captain finally finished reproaching the illuminator for its existence, he tried to fill in another form again and put the necessary data in there. He looked grimly at the remained list of the documents and thought that he could had kicked out this work at someone else, but it was unlikely that he’d manage to find anyone among his cutthroats who could put meaningfully at least five words together. He couldn’t let the “bigheads” understand that his ship was the pirate one, not the trading, as he tried to assure them. This so-called grandeval race of weird pale creatures with huge heads was irritating the whole galaxy. They tried to explore everything and everywhere and poked their big black eyes, moving their long fingers mysteriously and giving out the data that only they could understand.

While the captain was casting about in his mind more or less clever members of the crew, hoping to find some appropriate variant, the door to his cabin moved aside and two participants of the scouting stumbled in. The first one, Sownes, responsible for the ship gunnery, was a cobby guy with cunning quick eyes. The captain didn’t trust him and suspected that the main aimer was secretly turning the crew against him hoping to get his position. The second – the real giant, Groge – was holding the honorary rank of the chief security officer for the quick reaction and precise following of commands.

– Captain Djarce, allow to repor… – the first one started.

– Sownes, detention quarters, three days, execute the order! – snapped the captain at him, turning abruptly in his chair. – The last warning about getting into your captain’s cabin without permission was issued ten days ago, no more reprimands! What did you drag over with you?

The captain noticed in surprise that his main aimer, with his face distorted in anger from the news about the detention, was holding the hood of something wrapped in dark clothes.

– Well, captain, I came with this to you, but you said about the detention right away…

– A stowaway, captain, – rapped out Groge. – Was disclosed after the return of the scout ship from the planet. Fell out of the cargo module unconscious. Supposedly out of the gravity load.

The rough, like carved out of stone, face of Groge got distorted with what the crew called “a smile.” Sownes laughed out loudly and shook the black sack that started to move its limbs and murmured something, coming around.

– We’ve got someone so gentle, captain. Take out?

The aimer through the body to the captain’s feet. Djarce watched with curiosity about what happens next.

– No, I wonder who this is. From that planet, you say?

– Yes, captain, – snarled the chief security officer.

– A day of detention, Groge, for letting the rat in.

– Rightly, captain, – he answered, turned around and went away by himself to carry out a command. Sownes lingered hoping to opt out of a nasty job that was waiting for him in the very near future.