"I've traveled before," he interrupted stiffly. "I've never had any trouble."
She seemed to be exaggerating the difficulties. True, the center was more congested. Taking each star as the starting point for a limited number of ships and using statistical probability as a guide—why, no man would arrive at his predetermined destination.
But that wasn't the way it worked. Manifestly, you couldn't compare galactic transportation to the erratic paths of air molecules in a giant room. Or could you?
For the average man, anyone who didn't have his own inter-stellar ship, was the comparison too apt? It might be.
"You've traveled outside, where there are still free planets waiting to be settled. Where a man is welcome, if he's able to work." She paused. "The center is different. Populations are excessive. Inside the third ring, no man is allowed off a ship without an identification tab. They don't encourage immigration."
In effect, that meant no ship bound for the center would take a passenger without identification. No ship owner would run the risk of having a permanent guest on board, someone who couldn't be rid of when his money was gone.
Cassal held his head in his hands. Tunney 21 was inside the third ring.
"Next time," she said, "don't let anyone take your identification."
"I won't," he promised grimly.