Cameras watched his arrival. Ejected from the drogue’s docking port, he floated naked in the free-fall customs chamber of the Mare Tranquillitatis People’s Circumlunar Zaibatsu. The chamber was of dull lunar steel, with strips of ragged epoxy where paneling had been ripped free. The room had once been a honeymoon suite, where newlyweds could frolic in free-fall. Now it was bleakly transformed into a bureaucratic clearing area.