They came through the sliding doors, jostling and joking with one another, all tall and straight, all handsome and intelligent.

“You should have seen the one I got yesterday,” said one man, zipping up his chest armor. “He was sitting in the Dog’s Skull — you know, that little place on the corner of Bremen and Gabrett — with a bowl of noodle soup in front of him, tying the things together.” The rest of the speaker’s small group laughed uproariously. “When I asked him what he was doing, he said, ‘I’m a noddle-knitter, stupid.’ He called me stupid! A noodle-knitter!” He elbowed the Underclassman next to him in the ribs and they both roared with laughter.

Across the room, strapping his dictobox to his chest, one of the elder Underclassmen was studiously holding court.

“The worst ones are the psychos, gentlemen. I assure you, from six years’ service here, that they take every prize ever invented. They are destructive, confusing, and elaborate to record. I recall one who was stacking juba -fruits in a huge pyramid in front of the library on Hemmorth Court. I watched him for seven hours, then suddenly he leaped up, bellowing, kicking the whole thing over, threw himself through a shop front, attacked a woman shopping in the store, and finally came to rest exhausted in the gutter. It was a twenty-eight-minute record, and I assure you it stretched my ability to quick-dictate. If he had …”

Themus lost the train of the fellow’s description. The talks were going on all over the common room as the squad prepared to go out. His was one of three hundred such squads, all over the city, shifted every four hours of the thirty-two-hour day, so there was no section of the city left untended. Few, if any, things escaped the notice of the Watcher Corps.

He pulled on his soft-soled jump-boots, buckled his dictobox about him, and moved into the briefing room for instructions.

The rows of seats were fast filling up, and Themus hurried down the aisle.

Furth, dressed in an off-duty suit of plastic body armor with elaborate scrollwork embossed on it, and the traditional black great cape, was seated with legs neatly crossed at the front of the room, on a slightly raised podium.

Themus took a seat next to the Watcher named Elix, one who had been chortling over an escapade with a pretty female Crackpot. Themus found himself looking at the other as though he were a mirror image. Odd how so many of us look alike , he thought. Then he caught himself. It was a ridiculous thought, and an incorrect one, of course. It was not that they looked alike, it was merely that the Kyben had found for themselves a central line, a median, to which they conformed. It was so much more logical and rewarding that way. If your brother looks and act as you do, you can predict him. If you can predict him, efficiency will follow.

Only these Crackpots defied prediction. Madmen!

“There are two current items on our order of business today, gentlemen,” Furth announced, rising.

Note pads and styli appeared as though by magic, but Furth shook his head and indicated they were not needed.

“No, these aren’t memoranda, gentlemen. The first is a problem of discipline. The second is an alert.” There was a restless murmur in the room, and Themus glanced around to see uneasiness on many faces. What could it be?

“The problem of discipline is simply —” he pointed at Elix seated beside Themus, “— such of your Underclassmen as Watcher Elix.”

Elix rose to attention.

“Pack your gear, Watcher Elix, you leave for Kyben-Central this afternoon.”

Themus noted with fascination that the Watcher’s face turned a shade paler.

“M-may I ask why, Superior Furth?” Elix gasped out, maintaining Corps protocol even through his panic.

“Yes, yes, of course,” replied Furth in a casual, matter-of-fact manner. “You were on the scene of an orgy in the Hagars Building yesterday during second shift, were you not?”

Elix swallowed with difficulty and nodded yes, then, catching himself, he said, “Yes, Superior Furth.”

“How much of that orgy did you record?”

“As much as I could before it broke up, sir.”

“What you mean is, as much as you could before you found that fondling a young woman named Guzbee was more interesting than your on-duty job. Correct?”

“She — she just talked to me for a short time, Superior; I recorded the entire affair. It was —”

“Out!” Furth pointed toward the door to the common room. Elix slumped visibly, turned out of the row, walked up the aisle, and out of the briefing room.

“And let that be an indication, gentlemen, that we will tolerate no activities with these people, be they Kyben or not. We are here to watch, and there are enough female Watchers and Central personnel so that any desires that may be aroused in you may be quenched without recourse to our wards. Is that quite clear, gentlemen?”

He did not wait for an answer. They knew it was clear, and he knew it was clear. The message had been transmitted in the most readily understood manner.

“Now to the other business at hand,” continued Furth. “We are currently looking for a man named Boolbak, who, we are told, pinches steel. I have no explanation of this description, gentlemen, merely that he ‘pinches steel.”

“I can tell you that he has a big, bushy white beard, what they call twinkling eyes, a puffy-cheeked face and a scar across his forehead from temple to temple. He weighs something between 190 and 200 pounds, fat and short, and always dresses in a red jacket and knickers with white fur on them.”

“If you see this man, you are to follow him, dictograph him completely — completely , do you understand? — and not lose sight of him unless you are relieved by at least ten other Watchers. Is that clear?”

Again he did not wait for an answer, but snapped his fingers casually, indicating the daily briefing was over.

Themus rose with the other thirty-eight Watchers and began to leave the room. There was a uniform look on all their faces; they all had the picture of Elix behind their eyes. Themus began to edge out of his row. He started when Furth called to him.

“Oh, Watcher Themus, I’d like a word with you.”

Furth was a strange man, in many ways. He did not fit Themus’s picture of a Superior, from previous experience with them, and, still bewildered by the abrupt fate assigned Elix, he found himself looking on his Superior with a mixture of awe, incredulousness, hatred, and fear.

“I hope the — uh — little lesson you saw today will not upset you. It was a harsh measure, to be sure, but it was the only way to get the point across.”

Themus knew precisely what the Superior Watcher meant, for he had been taught from youth that this was the way matters should be handled. He also knew what he felt, but he was Kyben, and Kyben know their place.

Furth looked at him for a long moment, then pulled the black sheen that was his cloak closer about him. “I have you slated for big things here, Themus. We will have a post open for a new Junior Watcher in another six to eight months, and your record indicates you’re a strong possibility.”

Themus was shocked at the familiarity in both conversation protocol and exposition of Corps business, but he kept the astonishment from showing on his face.

“So I want you to keep an eye open here in Valasah,” continued Furth. “There are a number of — well — irregularities we want to put a stop to.”

“What sort of irregularities, Superior?” The Superior’s familiarities had caused a corresponding ease to settle over the Underclassman.

“For one, this fraternization — oh, strictly on an ‘occupying troops’ level, to be sure, but still a deviation from the norm — and another is that we’ve had a number of men leave the Corps.”

“You mean sent home or — like Watcher Elix?”

The Superior squirmed visibly. “Well, no, not exactly. What I mean is, they’ve — you might say disappeared.”