Still, this was only a fraction of the League membership. There were cameras flying at each corner of the platform, and the bulk of the electorate were watching from their homes. There was no telling what their reaction was, but Kimmensen, on thinking it over, decided that the older, more settled proportion of the League--the people in the comfort of their homes, enjoying the products of their own free labor--would be as outraged at this man as he was. He turned his head back over his shoulder and looked at Jem. "We'll be starting in a moment. How do you feel?" Jem's smile was a dry-lipped grimace. "A little nervous. How about you, Joe?" Kimmensen smiled back at him. "This is an old story to me, Jem. Besides, I'm not running." He clasped his hands in his lap and faced front again, forcing his fingers to keep still. The surprisingly heavy crowd here in the plaza was all young people. In a moment, the light flashed on above the microphone, and Kimmensen stood up and crossed the platform. There was a good amount of applause from the crowd, and Kimmensen smiled down at them. Then he lifted his eyes to the camera that had flown into position in front of and above him. "Fellow citizens," he began, "as you know, I'm not running in this election." There was silence from the crowd. He'd half expected some sort of demonstration of disappointment--at least a perfunctory one. There was none. Well, he'd about conceded this crowd of youngsters to Messerschmidt. It was the people at home who mattered. "I'm here to introduce the candidate I think should be our next League President--Secretary Jem Bendix." This time the crowd reacted. As Jem got up and bowed, and the other cameras focussed on him, there was a stir in the plaza, and one young voice broke in: "Why introduce him? Everybody knows him." "Sure," somebody else replied. "He's a nice guy." Messerschmidt sat quietly in his chair, his eyes still on the mountains. He made a spare figure in his dark clothes, with his pale face under the shock of black hair. Kimmensen started to go on as Jem sat down. But then, timed precisely for the second when he was firmly back in his chair, the voice that had shouted the first time added: "But who wants him for President?" A chorus of laughter exploded out of the crowd. Kimmensen felt his stomach turn icy. That had been pre-arranged. Messerschmidt had the crowd packed. He'd have to make the greatest possible effort to offset this. He began speaking again, ignoring the outburst. "We're here today to decide whom we want for our next president. But in a greater sense, we are here to decide whether we shall keep our freedom or whether we shall fall back into a tyranny as odious as any, as evil as any that crushed us to the ground for so long." As he spoke, the crowd quieted. He made an impressive appearance on a platform, he knew. This _was_ an old story to him, and now he made use of all the experience gathered through the years.