The sergeant smiled unhappily. "We've work to do too, son. I'll call you Grayson for the benefit of the doubt. There is not much doubt that something is highly rotten here, but we've got to be certain. There's been one slugging and robbery, the attempted theft of spacecraft, and now a man killed by armed guards in performance of their duty. This is going to require clearing up before we let you go." "But you know where to find me. I'm due on Proxima Centauri I to check the arrival of the Bureau of Astrogation survey beam. I'm to take off--" "_IF_ you are Paul Grayson." "If the other guy was Paul Grayson, would he have run from cops?" The sergeant laughed bitterly. "This may come as a shock to you, son. But you have no idea of how many of our Nicest People, Pillars of Society, and Solid Citizens have secrets in their daily lives that make them shun Law and Order when Law and Order comes toward them with a drawn pistol, a subpoena, or a warrant for arrest." The loudspeaker came to life at that moment. "BurAst 33-P.G.1 taking off for Proxima Centauri I. Timing signal for synchronization first check ..." the voice died to be replaced by a series of clicks, one second apart. "That's my notice--" The guard snapped a switch. "Master Control," he said quietly. "This is Edwards, guard at the main gate, hold the flight." "Hold the flight?" answered the speaker. "Hold the flight. We've had trouble here." "Is that what the shooting was all about?" The timing clicks died in the background. "What's the trouble?" "We've got two Paul Graysons wanting to take off." "Tell 'em to draw straws. This is costing money." "One of them--" "Goddammmit!" yelled Paul, "I'm Paul Grayson and I've--" "That you'll have to prove, son," said the sergeant. "--is dead," finished the guard. "Dead?" gasped the speaker. "Which one?" "It ain't funny," said the guard seriously. "Just hold the flight." "Okay, sport. But--" Paul spoke up, "Can you get the Elecalc free for a course for tomorrow night?" "Who's that speaking?" "I'm Paul Grayson." "The live one, huh?" chuckled the unimpressed voice from the speaker. His bantering tone made Paul want to rip out his larynx with a crooked thumb and shove it down his throat. "Okay. We'll have the electronic calculator figure out a course for Proxima I for tomorrow night. Doubtless _someone_ will take the flight." "Oh damn!" groaned Paul. "Why does this have to happen to me?" The sergeant smiled. "If this were the first attempt to steal a spacecraft, I'd be surprised." The guard shook his head. "It's more than that," he added sagely. "If the other guy was a thief bent on swiping a BurAst ship, he could have gone off in it ten minutes before the second Paul Grayson arrived. He didn't. He was waiting for the take-off signal; and if he were a crook, he hoped to fill in the real Paul Grayson's place. If he was the real Grayson, we've killed a frightened Bureau man, and this bird here--"