Explore "The Cartels Jungle" by Irvin E. Cox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The line of people continued to move steadily toward the customs booth. Hunter stopped at last in front of a counter where a male clerk, wearing on his tunic the identification disc of his U. F. W. union local, typed out the customs forms, took Hunter's thumbprint, and carefully checked his medical certificate.
"You had your last boosters in the Mars station, is that correct?"