"Susan Wildress. My identification number is on the back of my sweater."

"I'm Alfred Wilson. The boys will walk out to the groundcars. You walk in the midst of them and try to look like a boy. Get in the first car and stay out of sight."

On the way Sue had an opportunity to study the boys. Most of them were younger than her seventeen years. For their age they were unusually tall and broad. Few were under six feet. Their purple uniforms were emblazoned with a single splash of white in the center of the back, in the shape of a burning sun.

She slid into the car, remained quiet. Alfred Wilson got in beside her. A moment later the car rose gently, accompanied by another off to port.

Sue pointed to the wood and explained that her car was there. Wilson spoke into his communicator and the other car descended in that direction.

"They'll return it to the dormitory," he said. "My job is to get you back without creating an emergency."

"Why are you doing it?" Sue asked. "Why don't you turn me over to the Council?"

Wilson set the robot controls and turned to face her. "Nobody wants to punish you girls," he said softly. "Members of the Council least of all. But they have to maintain discipline. It's the only way we can get the big job done."

She understood. She had heard it all a thousand times before. No one's feelings, nothing, neither life nor death, must be allowed to halt or hinder the big job, the job that was to bring that bright future.

"Can you tell me anything about Darth Brady?" she said.

"I can tell you only that he wears two ribbons and three stars."

"Two ribbons?" Sue gasped. "Is he dead?"

"No." Wilson's voice was deep, controlled with effort. "No. Darth Brady isn't dead. But, Sue, you must not think about him. You know the rules."

The tight knot in Sue's breast worked up into her throat. She blinked rapidly and squeezed the flesh around her eyes to keep the moisture back. "I know the rules," she said.

Wilson tuned the communicator to the factory. "Tube department foreman," he said, but didn't cut in the viewplate. "Al Wilson, from the Center," he went on. "Sure, Mom, I'm fine. I've borrowed one 

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