Oh, God, here it comes again.
"Yes, sir," said Tom Rogers.
Harry Hayden's face hardened. "You've tried to enlist before? You were turned down?"
"This is my first application."
Sudden hostility swept aside Harry Hayden's expression of kindliness. He scowled at Tom's file. "Born July 18, 2020. This is July 16, 2041. In two days you'll be twenty-one. We don't issue new licenses to people over twenty-one."
"I—I know, sir. The psychiatrists believe you adjust better to Driving when you're young."
"In fact," glowered Harry Hayden, "in two days you'd have been classified as an enlistment evader. Our robo-statistics department would have issued an automatic warrant of arrest."
"I know, sir."
"Then why'd you wait so long?" The voice was razor-sharp.
Tom wiped a fresh burst of sweat from his forehead. "Well, you know how one keeps putting things off. I just—"