Alan shook his head a second time; shrugging, MacIntosh took the drink himself and put the unused third glass back in the drawer.
"Here's to Steve Donnell!" he said, lifting his glass high. "May he have had the good sense to register his name up here!"
They drank. Alan watched. Suddenly, the bell clanged and a tube rolled out of the computer shoot.
Alan waited tensely while MacIntosh crossed the room again, drew out the contents of the tube, and scanned them. The fat man's face was broken by a smile.
"You're in luck, starman. Your brother did register with us. Here's the 'stat of his papers."
Alan looked at them. The photostat was titled, APPLICATION FOR ADMISSION TO FREE-STATUS LABOR FORCE, and the form had been filled out in a handwriting Alan recognized immediately as Steve's: bold, untidy, the letters slanting slightly backward.
He had given his name as Steve Donnell, his date of birth as 3576, his chronological age as seventeen. He had listed his former occupation as Starman. The application was dated 4 June 3867, and a stamped notation on the margin declared that Free Status had been granted on 11 June 3867.
"So he did register," Alan said. "But now what? How do we find him?"
Hawkes reached for the photostat. "Here. Let me look at that." He squinted to make out the small print, then nodded and wrote down something. "His televector number's a local one. So far, so good." He turned the form over and glanced at the reproduced photo of Steve on the back. He looked up, comparing it with Alan.
"Dead ringers, these two. But I'll bet this one doesn't look much like this any more—not after nine years of Free Status!"