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.Sidney felt a chill in his spine from the patriotism of the moment, and mentoed the number into a Tele-Charge board that was connected to an arm of his chair.He signed the board with a transmitting pen, noting that Hodges was doing the same.With glazed eyes, Sidney watched the Mister Sugar Follies now, a group of twelve men clad in blue-and-white soft drink cans.After an explanation by one that they were permitted to expend energy since it was Job-Supportive, the men danced stiffly in a row like tin dolls to a twangy tune.As they kicked their feet in near unison, Sidney noticed his throat gone dry.The subliminal receiver in his brain had been activated.“You thirsty?” he asked, glancing at Hodges.“And how!” came the reply.“Feel like I’m out in the desert!”Sidney mentoed for drinks, and presently two frosty cans of Mr.Sugar popped out of a table compartment between their chairs.As Sidney drank the icy cola, an unbearable itching sensation took over his body.“Quickly!” Hodges said, feeling the same thing.“Mento for your Itcho-Spray! The commercial’s on!”Sidney had barely noticed the Itcho-Spray Man on stage, and he quickly mentoed for the product.“You DO have some on hand?” Hodges asked, near panic.“Certainly.But I think.I’m going to have to scratch—”“Don’t do it! You have to use the product! Hang tough, man! Hang tough!”“Aaaagh!” Sidney grunted, fighting an overwhelming urge to claw his back, chest and legs.A white ball of Itcho-Spray popped out of the table compartment and floated in the air above their heads.It exploded in a little “pop,” showering them with clear liquid droplets.They sighed in unison as the itching crisis subsided!“Relief is just an Itcho-Spray away!” the Itcho-Spray Man said.The spotlight shifted to a smiling President Ogg now, who stood at a podium bearing the Great Seal of the President of the American Federation of Freeness.Sidney felt the videodome vibrate as the crowd auto-clapped and roared its approval.“Employment and consumption are at record levels under my administration!” the President boomed.“A vote for me is a vote for prosperity!” He delivered a short speech concerning his past accomplishments and promises for the future, then short-stepped to one side of the podium and bowed.He blew kisses and waved as the curtain closed.“Who you gonna vote for?” Hodges asked, leaning toward Sidney to be heard over the crowd noise.“I don’t know,” Sidney replied.“Probably Ogg again.Ben Morgan may be all right, but we don’t know much about him.”“Better the evil that we do know?”Sidney laughed.“Think I’ll go with a punch-in this time,” Hodges said.“I like General Munoz.”Hodges’s last words seemed exceedingly loud to Sidney, as the crowd noises had subsided quickly.Another commercial was onstage now, a chorus line of dancing soap bubbles selling laundry detergent.“But I’ve heard he isn’t interested,” Sidney said.“Maybe not,” Hodges concurred, shrugging his shoulders.“But I have to vote my conscience.It came to me last night like an inspiration.I’m convinced he’s the only man for the job.”Sidney glanced at his wrist digital, mentoed it to activate the sexy-voiced time singer.She reported that it was eleven twenty-nine.“Time to get ready for work,” Sidney said.* * *Another holy water break approached.Before dismissing the class, Sayer Superior Lin-Ti explained the mechanics of the subliminal transmitting device:“Following Dr.Hudson’s instructions, General Munoz established the vote percentile he desired.One-hundred percent would be too obvious, of course, so he chose something more reasonable—around fifty-seven percent.Then he touched the cross with both hands instead of the one-hand method used for weather control.While touching the cross, Munoz transmitted his auto-suggestion.“This caused a powerful beam to enter the brains of millions of AmFed consumers, tapping their subliminal receivers and forcing them to vote as the General wished.To reinforce the auto-suggestion, he re-broadcast several times a day in the days preceding the election—* * *“This is much more than a room,” Onesayer Edward said as he and Lastsayer Steven rolled into the Bureau Monitoring Room at a little past one o’clock Friday afternoon.“Actually, it takes up the entire second floor of the Black Box.”“Most impressive,” Lastsayer said.He looked around the room curiously, watched sayermen scurrying about with microcomputer printouts.Other sayermen sat on high stools at consoles along each wall, operating CRT screens, minicam receivers and computerized memory terminals.A background hum of pink sound muffled most of the noises, making the room seem relatively quiet.“You are versed in Rosetran, I presume?” Onesayer asked.“I know fifteen computer languages,” Lastsayer said, gazing up with light green eyes at a large “Keep the Faith” sign on one wall beneath a sun-lite panel.“You will begin at Station Five,” Onesayer said, nodding toward a workstation along the wall to their left.A large red Arabic numeral “5” on the wall marked the station.He looked down at the smaller Lastsayer, saw him nod.“This is a highly efficient operation,” Onesayer said as he led the way to Station Five.“We accomplish a great deal with very few sayermen.Sophisticated machines do most of the work.Sayermen scrutinize problem areas flagged by the machines.”Lastsayer noticed it was a bit warm in the room, and said, “I believe I am familiar with everything here.We had a mockup on Pleasant Reef.”One of two stools at Station Five was occupied by a hooded sayerman who sat with his back to them mentoing entries on a console keyboard.The keys moved up and down without being touched.Onesayer and Lastsayer stopped a meter behind the occupied stool, continuing their conversation.“Every citizen of the American Federation works for the government,” Onesayer said.“So they regularly pass through our electronic security monitors.There, cell readers pick up every memory in their lifetimes.” He paused at Lastsayer and smiled broadly.“I am sorry.You did mention being familiar with everything.”Lastsayer smiled in return, nodded confidently.“You understand the drawback of the electronic monitors, do you not?” Onesayer asked.“The delay factor.Citizens who do not pass through the cell reader for a time have a gap in their lifelog files.”“Right.This gap can range from a few hours to several days.Even today, people stay home sick with common colds.”Lastsayer looked at Onesayer closely, noted a red streak in the corner of one eye.“Odd is it not, Onesayer Edward? All the terrible diseases modern medicine can cure, but the common cold remains a mystery.”The sayerman on the stool turned abruptly at the mention of Onesayer’s name, looked startled.“Oh!” he exclaimed, nearly falling off his stool in an effort to stand up.“I did not see you there, sir!”“Quite all right, Ninesayer,” Onesayer said.Ninesayer stood up straight to face Onesayer and extended his left hand.Onesayer and Lastsayer extended their hands as well, and the three men touched class rings, murmuring in unison, “Peace be upon you.”Ninesayer had large, loose cheeks and tiny blue eyes which peered back at Lastsayer from beneath an oversized hood.He seemed a friendly sort, and smiled pleasantly while Onesayer introduced them.“Lastsayer will be working with you,” Onesayer said.“I could use some assistance,” Ninesayer said, glancing at his battery of electronic equipment.“We have two rather large problems at the moment.”“I had not heard,” Lastsayer said, wrinkling his brow in concern.“Life on Pleasant Reef is rather sheltered.”Onesayer explained about the garbage comet and told of the plot to overthrow the AmFed government
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