Young men in purple uniforms materialized from every direction. They neither laughed nor talked; moved with hardly a sound. They completely surrounded her, pressed close. They were tall and broad and she could not see beyond them.
Susan trembled. She started to run, to break out of the circle, but powerful and yet gentle hands restrained her.
"It's a girl from the factory," one said. "Make it casual. Don't crowd. We'll have to get her out of here."
A brief order was snapped. The men moved as one. At the center of the group she was carried along. She knew when they entered a building, but uttered no sound. The men fell back. She waited, trembling.
"Girl," said one, "do you know you could be put to death for coming here?"
Susan stopped trembling, held herself rigid. Long ago she had learned not to cry. There was no excuse for breaking a rule. Her mother had once told her that things had not always been this way; that if everyone worked hard enough things would soon be again as they were in that bright and free past. To break a single rule was to commit a crime against everyone on the planet and delay that bright future. She waited.
"You're working dayshift in the factory?"
She nodded.
"How many hours??"
"Twelve."