Craig handed him a battered punch card and watched the man insert it in the reproducer. He felt anxiety as the much-handled card refused for a time to match the instrument's metal contact points. The line of men behind Craig fidgeted.
"You got to get this punched by Territorial," said the clerk. "Take it back to your unit's clearance office."
"Look again, Sergeant," Craig said, repressing his irritation.
"It ain't notched."
"The hell it isn't."
The man examined the card with squinting care and nodded finally. "It's so damn notched," he complained. "You ought to take care of that card; can't get on without one."
Craig hesitated before moving.
"Next," said the clerk, "What you waiting for?"
"Don't I take my 201 file?"
"We send it on ahead. Go to Grav 1 desk."