As he drifted along Thorn became more a part of the current, took on its coloring, ceased to arouse special suspicion. He began to overhear words, phrases, then whole fragments of dialogue. All of these had one thing in common: some mention of, or allusion to, the activities of a certain "they." Whatever the subject-matter, this pronoun kept cropping up. It was given a score of different inflections, none of them free from haunting anxiety and veiled resentment. There grew in Thorn's mind the image of an authority that was at once tyrannical, fatherly, arbitrary, austere, possessed of overpowering prestige, yet so familiar that it was never referred to in any more definite way.
"They've put our department on a twelve-hour shift."
The speaker was evidently a machinist. Anyway, a few hyperlathe shavings stuck to his creased garments.
His companion nodded. "I wonder what the new parts that are coming through are for."
"Something big."
"Must be. I wonder what they're planning."
"Something big."
"I guess so. But I wish we at least knew the name of what we're building."
No answer, except a tired, mirthless chuckle.
The crowd changed formation. Thorn found himself trailing behind another group, this time mostly elderly women.