"Thanks, Freddy. Thanks all," Joe said into the camera, before turning away. He wasn't particularly keen about this part of the job, but you couldn't underrate the importance of pleasing the buffs. In the long run it was your career, your chances for promotion both in military rank and ultimately in caste. It was the way the fans took you up, boosted you, idolized you, worshipped you if you really made it. He, Joe Mauser, was only a minor celebrity, he appreciated every chance he had to be interviewed by such a popular reporter as Freddy Soligen. * * * * * Even as he turned, he spotted the four men with whom he'd had his spat earlier. The little fellow was still to the fore. Evidently, the others had decided the one place extra that he represented wasn't worth the trouble he'd put in their way defending it. On an impulse he stepped up to the small man who began a grin of recognition, a grin that transformed his feisty face. A revelation of an inner warmth beyond average in a world which had lost much of its human warmth. [Illustration] Joe said, "Like a job, soldier?" "Name's Max. Max Mainz. Sure I want a job. That's why I'm in this everlasting line." Joe said, "First fracas for you, isn't it?" "Yeah, but I had basic training in school." "What do you weigh, Max?" Max's face soured. "About one twenty." "Did you check out on semaphore in school?" "Well, sure. I'm Category Food, Sub-division Cooking, Branch Chef, but, like I say, I took basic military training, like most everybody else." "I'm Captain Joe Mauser. How'd you like to be my batman?" Max screwed up his already not overly handsome face. "Gee, I don't know. I kinda joined up to see some action. Get into the dill. You know what I mean." Joe said dryly, "See here, Mainz, you'll probably find more pickled situations next to me than you'll want--and you'll come out alive." The recruiting sergeant looked up from the desk. It was Max Mainz's turn to be processed. The sergeant said, "Lad, take a good opportunity when it drops in your lap. The captain is one of the best in the field. You'll learn more, get better chances for promotion, if you stick with him." Joe couldn't remember ever having run into the sergeant before, but he said, "Thanks, sergeant." The other said, evidently realizing Joe didn't recognize him, "We were together on the Chihuahua Reservation, on the jurisdictional fracas between the United Miners and the Teamsters, sir." It had been almost fifteen years ago. About all that Joe Mauser remembered of that fracas was the abnormal number of casualties they'd taken. His side had lost, but from this distance in time Joe couldn't even remember what force he'd been with. But now he said, "That's right. I thought I recognized you, sergeant." "It was my first fracas, sir." The sergeant went businesslike. "If you want I should hustle this lad though, captain--"