The form was headed: REPUBLIEK OLISSINGEN - DISTRICT POLICE SERVICE
 
Beneath this were several numbered spaces asking for his name, institution, rank, current address, permanent address, date of birth, species, citizenship, and relation to the incident.

Koldin looked at the page. The theft itself occupied four lines. His identity occupied eleven.

He printed KOLDIN in the first box and continued downward. The pencil felt too narrow between his claws. He held it nearer the point and wrote slowly enough that the letters remained separate.

At the display cases Defort moved from the revolver to a collection of badges.

“Look at this,” he said.

Koldin did not look.

“Old police badge. Made of silver.”

“Neat.”

“Guy wearing that probably got stabbed.”

“Probably.”

The officer behind the desk resumed typing.

Koldin reached the section labeled DESCRIPTION OF SUSPECT.

He wrote: HUMAN MALE. THIN BUILD. DARK HAIR. SLEEVELESS SHIRT.

He paused over one of the final words. The spelling looked wrong. He read it again. The word did not improve.

“Defort.”

The human continued examining the display.

“What?”

“How do you spell sleeveless?”

Defort turned.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Sleeveless.”

“I know how it sounds.”

Defort crossed the lobby and leaned over the back of the neighboring chair.

“S-L-E-E-V-E-L-E-S-S.”

Koldin looked at what he had written.

“I missed one.”

“One what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He corrected the word.

Defort remained standing behind him.

“What’d he steal?”

“Bottle of spirit.”

“Specific?”

“No.”

“You should put fruit spirit.”

Koldin lowered the pencil.

“How do you spell spirit?”

Defort was silent for a second.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No.”

“S-P-I-R-I-T.”

Koldin wrote it.

“You know,” Defort said, “for someone who writes reports at the end of the day-”

“I write down useful words.”

“Spirit is useful.”

“I usually drink pendelbeer.”

“That explains it.”

Koldin continued.

He described the thief taking the bottle, concealing it beneath his shirt, making eye contact, and running through an alley before pursuit could be made. He left out his consideration of the golok’s weight and the likely value of the bottle. He left out the shopkeeper’s disappointment in civilization. Forms had little room for causes and none for nuance.

At the bottom was a box reading: ACTION REQUESTED

Koldin considered writing nothing expected.

Instead he wrote: INFORMATION PROVIDED FOR POLICE RECORD.

He signed beneath it.

Defort had wandered back to the display cases. He now stood before a framed photograph showing a line of officers beside an armored carriage whose wheels were taller than Koldin.

“Could use one of those,” he said.

“For what?”

“Patrol.”

“It would get stuck.”

“Then we’d have an armored place to sit.”

Koldin rose and returned to the counter.

The officer took the clipboard and read the statement from beginning to end. His lips moved faintly over several sentences. When he reached the suspect description he paused at the corrected spelling.

Koldin watched him.

The officer said nothing.

He turned the page slightly and inspected the signature.

“Time of incident?”

Koldin told him.

“Exact?”

“No.”

“Approximate?”

“Yes.”