"I have never been there—1 found its name on the map. But you forget the strength of IM. We would welcome them here and aid them, so they will be welcome there. Do not worry. I will guide them and return in two days. Ohh, here they come, don't they look handsome out of those dreary uniforms!"
They looked rotten, I thought, the demon of jealousy burning within me. I almost wished that I was going with them. But no, the work was here. I turned to the next table where Morton was mooning after the lovely retreating form of Sharia. I had to kick him twice before I could attract his attention.
"She'll be back, don't worry. Did you get all that on tape?"
"Every word. Can I have another beer? All I had was the one Sharia bought me before you came in. And you had a steak…"
"No drinking on duty, soldier."
'Stimer joined us and pointed to the basket he was carrying. "I have their uniforms in here, just as you asked."
"Good. We'll need that for the video. Now—take us to your recording studio."
He led us by tack streets to the back of a building, to the back door that opened as we approached. They were eagerly waiting for us on the soundstage, brightly lit, windowless and invisible from the street. Volunteers all, IM enthusiasts just dying to subvert the troops, I held up the audio cassette.
"We'll need a few hun.dred copies of this."
"Within the hour!" It was snatched from my hand and whisked away. I turned tg the waiting production crew who were trembling with enthusiasm. "Director?" I asked. A gorgeous redhead stepped forward.
"At your service. Lights, sound, camera ready."
"Wonderful. As soon as my associate and I put on these uniforms—you can roll. Point us to the dressing room." As I stripped Morton took one of the uniforms out of the basket and held it out between thumb and index finger like a dead rat.
"I feel depressed even looking at this thing," he said. Depressedly. "To feel its touch upon my skin again, the clammy embrace…"
"Morton," I hinted, "shut up." I whipped it away and held it before me. A good fit. I climbed into it. "You are an actor now, Morton, playing before the camera. You will act your role—then remove the uniform forever. Burn it if you wish to. Thousands will applaud your performance. So put it on. Like this."
I sat and pushed my legs into the trousers and something fell from a pocket and tinkled to the floor. I bent and picked it up. An ID disc. Private soldier Pyek0765 had been eager to wipe all memory of the army from him, to be reborn a happy civilian. I turned it over and over in my fingers and an idea began to sizzle about low down in my brain. Morton's cry of dismay cut through my thoughts.
"It's there! I can see it! That glazed look in your eye. Whenever you are dreaming up a suicidal idea you get it. Not again! I don't volunteer!"
I patted his shoulder cheerfully, then reknotted his tie into a semblance of military order. "Relax. I have had a brilliant idea, yes. But you are not involved, no. Now let us shoot this video and after it is done I will tell you all about this plan."
I stood Morton up with a wall for a backdrop; not a good choice because he looked like he was waiting to be shot. No changes, time was of the essence.
"If you please. I want a full-figure shot of that man. Let me have a roving microphone. Ready when you are, " Morton winced a bit when two spotlights pinned him to the wall. A mike was thrust into my hand and a pure contralto voice rang out across the set.
"Silence. Ready to roll. Sound. Camera. Action."
"Ladies and gentlemen of Chojecki, I bring you greetings. You are looking at a typical unwilling member of the invading Nevenkebia army. With this video you will have received an audio cassette that is a live recording of an actual encounter with two of these soldiers. You will listen to their bieating complaints, will be shocked at the terror of their involuntary servitude, will cry with joy as they are given the opportunity to hurl the shackles from their shoulders and stride forth into the green countryside, to prosper under the glowing sun of Individual Mutualism." My sales pitch was so sincere that Stimer could not restrain himself and burst out clapping—as did the crew and technicians, Morton clasped his hands over his head—there is a bit of ham lurking in all of us—and bowed.
"Silence," I ordered and all was instantly quiet. I strode onto camera and pointed at the subdued Morton. "This is the kind of soldier you will meet and befriend and subvert. Note then the complete absence of markings upon the sleeve." Morton extended his arm and I pointed to the right place. "Empty of stripes, chevrons, angled or curved bits of colored cloth. This is what you must look for. If there is a single stripe, two or more, or most frightening thought, three up and three down with a lozenge in the middle—retreat! Do not talk to anyone with these kinds of adornment because you will be addressing one of the enslaving devils incarnate!
