James had been observing the incident from the boarding door for the past two minutes.
Mara swallowed hard, her haughty demeanor crumbling into hasty deference. "Captain Collins... I’m sorry for the commotion. It's nothing. Just... an individual who doesn't meet cabin boarding standards. He looks homeless, or perhaps walked in off an apron crew. He's covered in industrial debris. I was concerned he would soil the upholstery and disturb the other passengers, so I told him he couldn't board. I'm keeping us on schedule."
James did not look at Mara. His gaze was fixed on the old man pressed against the wall.
He saw the weathered, swollen knuckles. He saw the lime dust clinging to the silver hair. He saw the clean, careful fold of the canvas bag held like a shield against his chest, and the small, deliberate tear along the cuff of the worn denim jacket.
James stepped forward, his boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. "Did you scan his boarding pass?"
The question was quiet. It held none of Mara's shrill volume, yet it seemed to drop the temperature around the podium by ten degrees.
Mara blinked, her tongue darting over dry lips. "Captain, looking at him, I didn't think it was necessary—"
"I did not ask what you thought, agent," James interrupted, his tone chillingly level. "I asked a simple procedural question. Did you scan his boarding pass?"
Silence fell over the gate area. Even the passengers farther down the line ceased their whispers.
"No, sir," Mara whispered.
"No?" James repeated. The disappointment in his voice was heavier than rage. "You denied boarding to an individual who presented himself at the gate without verifying his travel documents? What is the very first directive in the passenger service manual? You receive the credential, scan the barcode, verify identity against the manifest, and resolve discrepancies through the terminal system. You skipped every standard operational procedure to make an assumption based purely on his clothes."
Mara’s neck turned mottled red. She stared at the counter, unable to meet his gaze.
James reached down. With steady, deliberate hands, he picked up the crumpled boarding pass from the counter. He took a second to smooth out the creased thermal paper against the desk surface, then slid it under the red optical scanner.
BEEP.
A sharp chime rang out. The terminal monitor flashed an unmistakable, brilliant emerald green. Large bold letters populated the black console screen, bright enough for every passenger in the first three rows of the queue to read: