maturin and open
The dust under his boot heels couldn't be helped. It was everywhere on the boat since their last shipment of resin from the deserts of Ertelli. They'd hosed down the cargo bay about six times now and still the dust lingered, crept into cracks and crevices, insidious.

Saul kicked his foot against the on-ramp with a vicious clang. Fine sand grains trickled out in a fine mist: a bit of savagery for the civilized, sanitized haven of a central planet. "At least we look like we mean business," he drawled, glancing up. "You remember to leave your guns behind this time?" One unfortunate -- if hilarious -- run-in with armed thugs on Verbena and now Saul took every opportunity to bring it up. Twisting the knife in an open wound had been a paid job once upon a time; he was terribly good at it.

He might have lingered in playful ribbing, but they were on the clock, so to speak, and the quicker they got off Ariel, the better their chances of evading Alliance scrutiny.