The squat officer stared hard at Franz. "Hmm, I see. And what is your rank number, Provost?"
Franz told him a number that he remembered.
The officer looked them over searchingly, his lower lip protruding in obvious contempt. "Very well, carry on. But Provost, I'll remember you!" He stood watching as they marched away, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with the palm of his hand.
Sten felt a sickening void in his stomach as they marched past the officer. Surely the man suspected. Would it all end right here, before they even had a chance to get started? He felt the reassuring pressure of the knife inside his belt, the one weapon that Franz had advised, and resolved that, if it should be necessary, their lives would be sold dearly.
After a while they turned into a series of side passage-ways and Franz stopped before the door to one of the cubicles. The corridor was empty, and they were out of range of the view-screens. Johnathon relaxed against the wall and sighed. "What a sight. I never expected it to be as bad as this. Did you notice the look in most of their eyes? It's a dull, glazed almost dead look. They're nothing more than beaten animals."
"Easy," Franz cautioned, "wait till we get inside."
He pressed the button on the door. A woman's voice came through the door panel. "What do you want?"