He took his station near the edge of the inner circumference. Tayne took his, nearly a half-mile to Doug's rear. The cadre officers and Quadrature Academy cadets took posts of command at equally spaced intervals for the entire length of the arc, marching to them along invisible radii as the thousands of young section and squad leaders shrilled their commands. * * * * * Doug drew his sword then, held it high over his head, then swept it in flashing salute to the ground. And together, he and Tayne gave the first order. "Troops march forward!" The cadremen and cadets repeated it. "_For-ward_--" And like an echo bounding its way into infinity, the word magnified into an undistinguishable roar. "_MARCH!_" The throbbing hymn was again at its climax, and the volume of sound was so great about him that the tiny shrill note which his ear had singled out for the briefest instant could only have been in his subconscious. Yet for a split-second, it had been by itself, for it had been out of timing with the rest. And it had been near him. He would listen again, when the counter-march command was given. Impossible, of course. Unthinkable, unthinkable.... It seemed suddenly that the two-hour long march about the 5-mile mean circumference would take two days. The display was ridiculous and time-consuming, but he was thankful for it even as he cursed it. For he must hear the sound again. Yet if he heard it, then the spectacle must never end. Slowly, slowly, at a measured, tireless step the Prelate General's Review marched in indefatigable tribute. And at length, at the half-way mark, Doug raised his sword for the command, whipped it downward. "Inner columns march to the rear!" The relay began. "Inner columns as assigned, to the rear--" And the last words were magnified to the proportion of thunder, but his ears heard it only as a faraway thing. And again he heard the near-by command, again a split-second off. "_MARCH!_" This time it was unmistakable. A recently designed section or squad-leader, of course, who had not yet mastered the timing of commands to perfection. Nearby. He looked desperately into the files of marching boys at his side, now muddled as the centermost columns marched to the rear. The command would not have been relayed to the outside columns, since they were continuing their march forward. Then he must quickly search the reverse column as it shuttled its obscured way to the rear. But of course not! He would not recognize a face, even as--as his had gone unrecognized! But the voice he had heard it three times, three split-seconds! And somehow it was, it was Terry's voice! In there somewhere--Terry, Terry and Mike! Swords and maces swinging rhythmically at their sides.... CHAPTER XIV