Franz spat out a curt order and they began to march down the corridor again, the crowd making room for them automatically. Everywhere posters glared at them from the walls. Some pictured a huge eye that stared out with the words, "The Leader is watching." Others showed the smiling faces of a throng of people. Underneath, in scarlet lettering was emblazoned: "Panamia and The Leader March On--PROGRESS." For an hour they marched through the city, ignored by the people and apparently unaware of all that was happening around them. They passed thousands of men and women, a milling mass, each immersed in a grim stupor. Where the main corridors intersected they entered great assembly places where huge view-screens were set up. They were always turned on. A shrill emotional voice blared out a constant stream of propaganda. "People of Panamia, unite, work! The Root-Diggers must be repulsed! For the glory of The Leader, for the glory of Panamia, we must accomplish our utmost. We must give our all!" "For The Leader! For Panamia!" the people shouted, rising momentarily from their dull world, their eyes glazed with emotion. Banners beneath the screens announced in large crimson letters: Service to The Leader is glory to yourself and Panamia. The soldiers stood watching tight-lipped. Franz's nostrils quivered as the tumult of the demonstration thundered about them. His face took on an eager look as he watched the people shouting in exaltation, a curt movement of Sten's hand brought him back to the task at hand. He gave a short barked order and the group moved on. They had just reached an intersection and were standing awaiting directions from Franz when a shout rang out. "Stop, Provost. You! What are you doing here?" A short, ruddy-faced officer in thick-lensed glasses strode up the corridor toward them, scowling. Sten cautiously moved his head around to face the danger. "Sten, attention! He'll know," Franz hissed from the side of his mouth. Sten snapped back to attention, staring straight ahead. The squat officer confronted Franz. "Who assigned you to this block?" Franz saluted. "Security sent us to check on a disturbance near here." The officer's eyes narrowed. "Disturbance? I have heard of no disturbance." "That is of no matter. We were sent." The squat officer stared hard at Franz. "Hmm, I see. And what is your rank number, Provost?" Franz told him a number that he remembered. The officer looked them over searchingly, his lower lip protruding in obvious contempt. "Very well, carry on. But Provost, I'll remember you!" He stood watching as they marched away, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with the palm of his hand.