Morely watched him disappear, then turned to his communicator. "Get me Field Leader Denton," he ordered.
The pause was slight, then the face of a middle-aged man appeared in the viewsphere.
"Denton," said the district leader, "I want you to keep closer watch on your sector men. Last night I spot-checked Bond, in Fourteen, and I found an irregularity. I'll expect you to endorse the report back, and I'll expect you to tighten down. Keep an especially close eye on this man, Bond."
The field leader's eyebrows raised a little. "Bond, sir? He's one of—"
"Bond. Yes." His superior interrupted forcefully. "And tighten down on all your men. You know how I feel about laxity."
He snapped the communicator off and gathered Bond's report together. For a few seconds, he looked at the neat stack of paper, then he slipped a paper clamp on it and punched his call button.
"There!" Paul Graham straightened from his hunched-over position at the desk. He laid his soldering iron down and massaged the small of his back, grimacing slightly.
"Oh, me! I'll swear my back'll never be the same again. But that ought to do it, at last." He looked at the equipment before him and grinned ruefully.
"Of all the haywire messes. It started out so nice. And it ended up so awful."