"God, Red! Everybody calls you that."

I was all wound up before going into the Zone and cold sober to boot. I hauled him up by his shoulder belt and told him in precise detail just what he was and what maternal line he was descended from. He spat on the floor, returned my pass, and said without any of the niceties:

"Redrick Schuhart, your orders are to appear immediately before Chief of Security Captain Herzog."

"That's better,” I said. “That's the ticket. Keep plugging away, sergeant, you'll make lieutenant yet."

Meanwhile I was thinking, what was this curve coming my way? What did Captain Herzog need me for during working hours? All right, I went off to make my appearance. His office was on the third floor, a nice office, with bars on the windows just like a police station. Willy was sitting at his desk, puffing on his pipe, and typing some kind of gibberish. Some little sergeant was digging through the metal file cabinet in the corner. A new guy I'd never seen. We have more sergeants at the institute than at division headquarters. They're all well-built healthy fellows. They don't have to go into the Zone and they don't give a damn about world issues.

"Hello,” I said. “You called for me?"

Willy looked right through me, moved away from the typewriter, laid a hefty file on the desk, and started leafing through it.

"Redrick Schuhart?"

"The same,” I answered, feeling a nervous laugh welling up. I couldn't help it, it was funny.

"How long have you been with the institute?"

"Two years, starting my third."

"Family?"

"I'm alone,” I said. “An orphan."

Then he turned to his little sergeant and gave him an order in a stern tone.

"Sergeant Lummer, go to the files and bring back case number one-fifty."

The sergeant saluted and disappeared, and Willy slammed the file shut and asked gloomily: