"You'll see," Hawkes said, grinning. "It's a good system. Just wait."
They waited. One minute, two, three.
"I hope I'm not keeping you from something important," Alan said, breaking a long uncomfortable silence. "It's really good of you to take all this time, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you if——"
"If I didn't want to help you," Hawkes said sharply, "I wouldn't be doing it. I'm Free Status, you know. That means I don't have any boss except me. Max Hawkes, Esquire. It's one of the few compensations I have for the otherwise lousy deal life handed me. So if I choose to waste an hour or two helping you find your brother, don't worry yourself about it."
A bell rang, once, and a gentle red light glowed over the slot. Hawkes reached in and scooped out the container that sat there.
Inside he found a rolled-up slip of paper. He pulled it out and read the message typed on it several times, pursing his lips.
"Well? Did they find him?"
"Read it for yourself," Hawkes said. He pushed the sheet over to Alan.
It said, in crisp capital letters, A SEARCH OF THE FILES REVEALS THAT NO WORK CARD HAS BEEN ISSUED ON EARTH IN THE PAST TEN YEARS TO STEVE DONNELL, MALE, WITH THE REQUIRED PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.
Alan's face fell. He tossed the slip to the table and said, "Well? What do we do now?"