I took a deep, cleansing breath and produced a calmative. "You did indeed at that. Thank you Tom, and I'll pass my appreciation to the others later. I do approve of not being dead. Now, I assume you've managed to keep us off their scanners, judging by the fact that we're still up here and not in very small pieces down there. So what say we reconnoiter and work up a plan?"
"Actually," Its always strange seeing Tom look sheepish. "I was just coming to try and wake you, we just got spotted and port control isn't buying 236. Either we get convincing quickly or lube up for the Sniffers." And just like that the Captain hat came on.
"236? You told them we were delivering fucking grain?! To a riftfucking Viceworld? Did you make sure to turn on the 'Motherfucking Smugglers' sign?" This kind of damage control requires careful balance of cautious confidence and vast, dragging genital fortitude. "Shit, alright. Lean in. Get me everything we've got in the spending stash and a mobile holo of that Fysillian kid from the creepy charity ads. Tell Kath to really skeeze up the Bridge, we're gonna have to sell ourselves as Bad Touch.
There would have to be time to speak to our miraculously unflashed former guard later. For now the only thing that mattered was that the professionally fuckhearted villains at Mutei Port Control believed in their soul that we were the worst possible sort of sinister excreta and not just some disgruntled black market pharmacologists.