"Three beers," I ordered, "large ones," and dropped the plastic slab of integrated circuits into the slot in the top of the bar. While the robot bartender, all chrome and brass with bottlecaps for eyes, drew three big brews, the cost was subtracted from Stirner's lifetime account. I grabbed the wirrdisc as it was rejected.
"Here's to the army, lads," I said raising my beer high. "I hope you enjoy your chosen careers."
They chugalugged enthusiastically, thengasped and whined nostalgically familiar whines that took me back to my own army days.
"Chose an army career! Cagal! Drafted. Chased, hunted down, caught."
"Then after that, basic training. Pursued at the double night and day by foul-mouthed fiends. Would anyone voluntarily choose a career like that?"
"Certainly not! But at least you eat well…" I enjoyed the outraged cries and loathsome descriptions of hotpups while I ordered up another round of beers. When their faces were buried in the suds again I made the suggestion.
"I know it is past your dinner hour, but I see three seats vacant at that table, next to the elderly gentleman with the kinky bird. Would you join me for a small repast—say a large steak and fried wirfles?"
The thunder of feet was my only answer yet one more time. I joined them in the steaks, and very good they were too. We polished them off quickly, had a few more beers—and tried not to belch because there was young lady at our table. Sated and boozed they now had time for the third of the troika of military pleasures and their eyes moved steadily in Sharla's direction. Time for act two.
"Well," I said, "if the food is bad in the army, at least you enjoy the wisdom and companionship of the sergeants." I listened to the answers for a bit, nodding and commiserating, then elicited other similar complaints with leading questions about officers, latrines, kitchen police—and all the other bitches so dear to the enlisted man's heart. When enough had been ventilated I gave Stimer his cue and sat back.
"Young draftee soldiers from a distant planet, you must excuse my impertinence in addressing strangers. But I, and my lovely daughter Sharia, could not help but overhear your conversation. Can it be true that you were forced into military service completely against your will?"
"You better believe it, Pops. Hi, Sharia, you ever go out with guys other than your Dad?"
"Very often. I simply adore the company of handsome young men. Like you."
All three of us fell into the limpid pool of her eyes, splashed around for a bit and emerged gasping. and in love. Stirner spoke and they did not hear. I finally ordered large beers and had them placed in front of their bulging eyes to cut off sight of the gorgeous Sharia. This produced the desired result. While they glugged Stirner talked.
"I am greatly taken by your plight, young gentlemen. On this planet such a thing is impossible. Against our laws, which laws state that there are no laws. Why do you permit yourself to be treated in this vile manner?"
"No choice, Pops. Barbed wire all around, watched night and day, shot if you try to escape, shot twice if recaptured. No place to go to, no place to hide, in uniform, every man's hand turned against you." He sniffed in maudlin self-pity; a tear ran down his companion's cheek.
"Well," Stirner said, sinking the gaff in deep and twisting it so it would take hold. "None of those things are .true here. There is no barbed wire, no one is watching you, no one is about to shoot you. There is a great big country out there that stretches away beyond the mountains and riv-
ers. A country where you will always find a welcome, always find hospitality and refuge. A country where the army will never find you."
They sat up at that, trying to understand his words through their alcoholic haze. "Cagal…" the drunkest one muttered. Sharia smiled angelically.
"I do not understand that word, young friend, but I feel that it indicates disbelief. Not so. Every word my father has spoken is true. For example, we live a full day's journey distant from this city in an idyllic farming village.
We travel there by speedy railroad—and these are our tickets to prove it. Why, look, the machine made a mistake, it issued four tickets instead of two. I must return them—unless you would like them for souvenirs?" Faster than light, they vanished.
"There is a side entrance to the railway station that is not guarded," she said brightly.
"But the train leaves soon," Stimer said, standing and picking up the bundle from the floor. "Before going I must use the necesejo, as we say down on the farm, and I am taking this bundle with me. It contains clothing for my two sons at home who, strangely enough, are just your size." He started away, then turned. "You may borrow the clothes—if you wish. "
They beat him to the cagalhouse door. Sharia smiled beatifically after them.
"You know this farming town well?" I asked. "So you can line the lads up with friends."
