He looked up, glancing with apparent disinterest at the faces near him hovering over their respective desks. They, too, were busy with blueprints. Part 3d of a new atomic engine. Part 14c of a three-dimensional television set designed to bring in bigger and better commercials. Et cetera. Et cetera. For security reasons, no two worked at the same project. He scanned their faces, searching for something indefinable, something that might outwardly betray hidden thoughts. There was Hawkins, a middle-aged, eagle-faced person, been with the local office of State Enterprises for more than twenty years--unquestionably loyal to the government. Merker, a chubby person with shifting eyes behind thin-lensed glasses; he was okay, for shifting eyes or not, they had all been checked, even as _he_ had been checked. And Austen, the newcomer, only twenty-five and fresh from college, a nervous; restless type of person; he was the most likely suspect for a WBI man, although some might think it would be too obvious--which might in turn tend to prove the point. Arthur shrugged mentally and returned to his work. He stared at the design of coils and condensers and wires and felt a little sick, which was strange for he should have become used to it by now. This design, together with nine others, would form the complete pattern for printing a mechanism on a thin disc which would be inserted in the watch-like affair known as a respirator. It was somehow ironic, he thought that he should be working on it. His intercom buzzed and he reached to flick on the switch. A business-like voice said: "Dunlop, this is Samson, can you come in for a minute?" "Of course," Arthur said calmly, but he wondered what his superior wanted. First, the note about a WBI man; now this. The big door marked "Charles L. Samson, Mgr., Dept. 40" confronted him. As he neared it, electric eyes probed him, timed his approach, opened the door automatically. Charles L. Samson, Mgr., Dept. 40, graying and cleanly mustached, was intently studying a sheet of paper on which were typewritten several paragraphs. Arthur drew to a halt before the man's desk, unconsciously fidgeting mentally and wondering if the item of interest on that paper concerned him. The manager carefully put the paper down and raised his eyes. "Everything okay, Dunlop?" "Simply great," he answered automatically. The older man leaned back in his chair. "Dunlop," he said, "you've been here for some time now, I believe." "Five years this month," Arthur supplied, trying to put pride in his voice. "Precisely," Samson agreed. "And because you have been a loyal and dependable worker," he smiled blandly, "you'll find a little something extra in your pay envelope from now on."