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He threw aside, for the time, any attempt to explain the other's uncalled for aggression. Unless he did something, and quick, he was going to be a laughing stock, rather than the hero into which Freddy Soligen was trying to build him. Nadine said, Anxiously, "Joe ... please ... the waiters will deal with ". He didn't hear her.
Freddy Soligen said into the camera, "Well, all you good people of the Telly world, that's an able summation the captain has made, but it certainly doesn't jibe with the words of Baron Zwerdling we heard this morning, does it? However, justice triumphs and we'll see what the field of combat will have to offer. Thank you, thank you very much, Captain Mauser.
"What has that man been hiding within the craft?" Joe said formally, "Gentlemen, may I introduce Frederic Soligen, Category Communications, Sub-division Telly News, Rank Senior Reporter. Mr. Soligen has been assigned to cover the fracas from the air." Freddy looked at the Sov-world officer and said innocently, "Hiding?
Joe turned to mention this over his shoulder to Freddy Soligen, just in time to catch the shadow above and behind him. "Holy Zen!" he snapped, kicking right rudder, thrusting his stick to the right and forward. "What the devil!" Freddy protested, looking up from adjusting a lens on his camera.
Freddy Soligen pointed a finger at him, almost mockingly. "You're on the make, Mauser. In a world where few bother, any more, you're on the way up. The trouble is, you took the wrong path many years ago." Joe snorted his contempt of the other's lack of knowledge. "I was born into the Clothing Category, Sub-division Shoes, Branch Repair. In the old days they called us cobblers.
The old soldier grunted, turned and marched from the room. Freddy Soligen had been miraculously saved from the physical beating taken by Joe Mauser in the crash. The pilot, sitting so close before him, cushioned with his own body that of the Telly reporter.
Didn't read any of the publicity I got? No, I guess you didn't, it was mostly in the Category Communications trade press. Anyway, I got bounced not only in rank on the job, but up to Low-Middle in caste." There was the faintest edge of the surly in his voice as he added, "I was born a Lower, major." Joe snorted. "So was I. You didn't answer my question, Soligen. Why stick your neck out?
"Yes, sir. A very dashing mustache." Joe said sourly, "You think that's all I need to hit the big time. A dashing mustache, eh?" "No," Freddy Soligen said, very slowly and evenly. "We're also going to need every bit of stock you've accumulated, major. We're going to have to buy your way into the columns of the fracas buff magazine.
More than once, in the past fifteen years, Joe had seen the little man lugging his cameras into the center of the fracas, taking chances expected only of combatants. Vaguely, he wondered why. He demanded, "Why?" "Eh?" Soligen said. "Major, by the looks of you, you're going to have a beaut, comes morning. Why don't you stick to trank?" "Cause I'm not a slob," Joe sneered. "Why?" "Why, what?
"Gosh, you really feel the emotion. It's the most exciting thing in the world." "Yeah, son," Freddy Soligen said emptily. "I suppose it is." Joe was able to get around on auto-crutches by the time she finally arrived a stereotype visitor. Done up brightly, a box of candy in one hand, flowers in the other. He could see her coming across the lawn, from the visitor's offices.
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