"Police headquarters, who's calling please."
"This is Paul Grayson at the Municipal Spaceport."
"What's the trouble out there?"
"A crook stole my identification."
"We'll send a man out to investigate."
"No!" yelled Paul to prevent the telephone operator from cutting off the line on the assumption that the call was closed. "You don't understand. I'm supposed to take off in—ah—seven minutes."
"We can't get a man there that quickly. You'll have to wait."
"Look," said Paul hurriedly, "there's a squad car that just dropped me here. I was clipped on Talman Avenue and they went there to investigate, they brought me here. Why not call them and ask them to come back and explain to the guards here what happened?"
"I'll check that and take action," promised the voice in a completely bored tone.
Paul fumed.