Fred didn't answer. He didn't have to. The young officer was already in the manual pilot's seat, checking the secondary controls.
In swift routine he tried motor and instruments, and took the craft briefly aloft. Down again, he demanded Fred's papers.
The licenses that pertained to the gyro were in order, but there was trouble over Fred's personal documents: his ration-book contained far too few sales-validations.
"You're not doing your share of consuming, Oldtimer," the young cop said mildly. "Look at all these unused food allotments! Want to cause a depression?"
"No."
"Man, if you don't eat more than this, we'll have mass starvation!"
"I know the slogans."
"Yes, but do you know the penalties? Forced feeding, compulsory consumption—do you think they're fun?"
"No."
"Well, you can file your flight plan and go, but if you don't spend those tickets before their expiration dates, Mister, you'll have cause to regret it."