"I have orders to report to the Commander-in-Chief," said the soldier, with a pleasant smile.
"Let's see," said the sentry, glancing at the insignia on the helmet, "you're a decurion of the Eightieth Division. And the name?"
"Dynamon," said the soldier.
"Oh, yes," said the sentry, with a recollective smile, "I remember you as an athlete. Didn't I see you in the Regional Games two years ago?"
"Yes," said the soldier, with pleased surprise. "I was on the team from North Central 4B."
"I thought so," the sentry chuckled. "As I remember you walked away with practically everything but the stadium. Hold on a minute now and I'll clear the channels for you."
The sentry bent over the panels, punched some buttons, threw a switch, and recited a few words in a monotone. He listened for a moment, then threw the switch back and looked up.
"It seems you're expected," he said, "third building to the right and they'll take care of you there."
Ten minutes later Dynamon stood in the doorway of a large, beautiful room and saluted. The salute was answered by a grizzled, dark-skinned man sitting behind an enormous desk. This man was Argallum, Commander-in-Chief of the Armies of the World. He rose and beckoned to the young soldier.
"This way, Dynamon," said he, opening a small door. "What we have to talk about requires platinum walls."