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his inspections even more rigorously. He was also told a nice promotion was a definite possibility if he performed his duties flawlessly. A Level E function might well be within his reach.
    In one of the very last apartments to be checked in his district he discovered a box holding what looked like dried up remains of plants and seeds. He had found the box in a cupboard that clearly hadn’t been opened for years, and the man living here probably didn’t know about the box anymore. Its contents had virtually fallen to dust. For a moment Ross considered what to do. Would it be justified to denounce the owner of the box for possessing illegal organic material, even if he might have forgotten about its existence by now and it hardly posed a threat anymore? After all the man would perhaps hardly understand what he was being accused of.
    A number of memories came flooding back. The flower with its bright red petals, the wasp that had stung him, the blinding pain setting his arm aflame. The briefing, telling him the City relied on men of his moral stamina to keep life going under difficult circumstances. The spectre of a revolution rearing its ugly head, a menace that had to be stamped out. It was clear what he should do.
    The man who had kept this box, even if he might have forgotten all about it, must at one point have been prone to deviant behaviour. In the current climate, with social unrest brewing and a rebel movement trying to organise itself, one should not take any chances. If this man was approached by subversive elements, there was a possibility he might yield and throw in his lot with the rebels.
    Ross took his communicator, convinced he was doing the right thing. This man should pay for his crimes. His sentence would be an example to others. Without him and others of his ilk, the City would be a safer place.
    In the afternoon he received the news that the public trial was scheduled for tomorrow. He finished the last inspections on his round, which did not reveal any suspicious behaviour. Later that night, he went down to the Level D pub, as he felt the need to socialise. Instead of engaging in conversations that might ease his mind, strained by the incident, the medical treatment and the heavy inspection schedule, he was immersed in heated discussions that were on the verge of erupting into violent arguments.
    The City Council failed to deal efficiently with the food supply problem, some claimed. The overly restrictive rationing only served to stimulate the social unrest. The prison was filling rapidly with convicts, and the staff were not equipped to handle the situation. The City had been free of serious problems for a long time, and the Council’s reaction to a limited presence of small animals and vegetation was exaggerated. Most of these views were heavily contested, and even more fiercely defended. Ross was too tired to take part in the attacks and counter-attacks. Why couldn’t level D workers content themselves to doing their jobs as best they could and leave the rest to the Council? If there hadn’t been any serious problems in a long time, wasn’t that proof that the City Council’s strategy worked perfectly?
    The following day he woke up and noticed it must have rained during the night, but the clouds had already made room for an even blue sky and sunshine. This was not a good sign. It was the day of the trial in his district, and he had a gut feeling it might not go entirely as planned. The very moment he arrived at the scheduled place and time, he knew something wasn’t right.
    There were way too many people out on the street. It was unthinkable the Council had invited all these people to a simple trial. He looked around and noted there were a fair number of level B and C workers among them, even a handful of A levels. This was unheard of! Who had given these people permission to stay away from their factories and offices? Why were they hanging around here?
    Just before the trial was about to begin,