"Der," Mr. Tzadi said, rising. He was extremely short; not more than five feet, if that. "If Miss McCarty is floor manager, what are you?" "No title, _per se_," Derrence said, and was horrified to hear his shortness of breath, his panicked panting. He fought for control. "I ... work with her. The arrangement is loose, informal, almost unofficial. A typical Chester Company operation." He had the door open now, and stepped through it sideways. "You'll soon learn what that means, Ed. We all stay loose here. No rigid adherence to rules. No frenzied competition. No sweat. Get it?" Mr. Tzadi's face looked blank. He shook his head. "I am afraid not, Der. Mr. Chester said that each employee has a position, a function, a title, and performs within sharply defined areas. I am listed as Public Relations Writer in the Personnel books. You too are listed as Public Relations writer, eleven thousand dollars per annum." A tortured laugh was forced from Derrence Cale. The man had revealed himself as a company spy! Who else had access to the Personnel records? He waved his arm again, said, "Simply must rush," and fled. * * * * * His office was at the other end of the floor from Tzadi's. He reached it, shut the door and slumped into his chair. He was trembling. This was the first time in almost six years that anyone had shown true knowledge of his position. The last time had been when old Halvertson, his group head, had called him in and said, "Derrence, your work's falling off badly. I'd be justified in recommending you for discharge right now, but I want to give you a fighting chance. We've got the new polio vaccine pamphlet to do, and an important fact sheet for distribution to newspapers. I'll be watching you carefully." But he hadn't. He'd dropped dead two days later while walking to the men's room. When word came that Halvertson's group was being dissolved and his writers assigned to other groups, Derrence had decided to make his move. Besser and Trance had been assigned to Gordon. Pete Ward had come to Derrence's office and said, "While I don't really need an extra man, Cale, you're supposed to be assigned to me." Derrence had expressed delight ... "but I've got quite a bit of work to clear up before I'm free, Mr. Ward." Ward had seemed relieved. "Yes, well, carry on, Cale." Derrence had carried on for three months; then Ward had been promoted upstairs, and the man who took his place never even spoke to Derrence. Derrence carried on and on, creating the impression, which soon hardened into fact, that he was now overseeing Miss McCarty in her position as floor manager. Since he was careful to please and flatter her, and meticulous in maintaining the routine which kept him outwardly busy, he'd never again been asked to report to anyone, work for anyone, account to anyone. As for his salary, it was handled by total strangers--the Fiscal department on the 17th floor, which was as