"Scotch! Bottled in bond, best syntho stuff to come out of Caledonia in
the last century!" MacIntosh shuffled back behind his desk and found
three dingy glasses in one of the drawers; he set them out and uncorked
a dark blue bottle plainly labelled INK.
He poured a shot for Hawkes and then a second shot; as he started to
push it toward Alan, the starman shook his head. "Sorry, but I don't
drink. Crewmen aren't allowed to have liquor aboard starships.
Regulation."
"Oh, but you're off-duty now!"
Alan shook his head a second time; shrugging, MacIntosh took the drink
himself and put the unused third glass back in the drawer.
"Here's to Steve Donnell!" he said, lifting his glass high. "May he have
had the good sense to register his name up here!"
They drank. Alan watched. Suddenly, the bell clanged and a tube rolled
out of the computer shoot.
Alan waited tensely while MacIntosh crossed the room again, drew out the
contents of the tube, and scanned them. The fat man's face was broken by
a smile.
"You're in luck, starman. Your brother did register with us. Here's the
'stat of his papers."
Alan looked at them. The photostat was titled, APPLICATION FOR ADMISSION
TO FREE-STATUS LABOR FORCE, and the form had been filled out in a
handwriting Alan recognized immediately as Steve's: bold, untidy, the
letters slanting slightly backward.
He had given his name as Steve Donnell, his date of birth as 3576, his
chronological age as seventeen. He had listed his former occupation as
_Starman_. The application was dated 4 June 3867, and a stamped
notation on the margin declared that Free Status had been granted on 11
June 3867.
"So he did register," Alan said. "But now what? How do we find him?"
Hawkes reached for the photostat. "Here. Let me look at that." He
squinted to make out the small print, then nodded and wrote down
something. "His televector number's a local one. So far, so good." He
turned the form over and glanced at the reproduced photo of Steve on the
back. He looked up, comparing it with Alan.
"Dead ringers, these two. But I'll bet this one doesn't look much like
this any more--not after nine years of Free Status!"
"It only pays off for the lucky few, eh, Max?" MacIntosh asked slyly.
Hawkes grinned. "Some of us make out all right. You have to have the
knack, though. You can get awful hungry otherwise. Come on, kid--let's
go up a little higher, now. Up to the televector files. Thanks for the
help, Hinesy. You're a pal."
"Just doin' my job," MacIntosh said. "See you tonight as usual?"
"I doubt it," Hawkes replied. "I'm going to take the night off. I have
it coming to me."
"That leaves the coast clear for us amateurs, doesn't it? Maybe I'll
come out ahead tonight."