On the evening of his first public appearance, Shamar was given a
neatly typed speech. He rehearsed it hurriedly, stammers and all.
"Fellow citizens! As I stand here, looking over this sea of faces,
hearing your applause and seeing how your hearts go out to one poor man
in distress, it--I--Well, I'm deeply touched. I can't tell you how much
it means to me. I prepared a speech for tonight, but I'm not going to
use it. I'm just going to stand here, instead, and tell you, just as
the words come out, how I feel." Here he would pause for applause and
then continue. "Thank you so very much. Thank you. I know you're all
behind me--except for the police agents in the audience." Here he would
wait for laughter. "We all know them, don't we? I see about a dozen.
A dozen agents have come down here to find out what I'm going to say.
Isn't that ridiculous?" Here there would be mixed laughter, applause
and cries in the affirmative. "All right! Thank you. I hope they get an
earful tonight."
Later in the speech he would demand, "Why are they doing this to me? I
want you to tell me why. What have I done? What am I accused of doing?
Well, I'll tell you this--I'm not the kind of a man who is going to
submit meekly to this persecution. I'm going to fight back. I've got a
little money left from my lottery winnings, and I'll spend every cent
of it to fight these people doing this thing to me." Here he would
pause dramatically. "I want to leave you with this point. It's not just
Shamar the Worker that's involved. What am I? A poor, itinerant laborer
going from town to town. I'm nothing, I have never had anything, and
I guess I never will have anything. I'm no rich black marketeer or
businessman. I'm no fat politician. I'm just one little man. But it's
not me--and this is the point I want to leave you with--it's not Shamar
the Worker. He's unimportant. What is important is that if they can
do this to me, they can do it to you. If they can do it to Shamar the
Worker today, next year one of you will be up here on this platform
speaking just the way I am. So you see, this is your fight. It's not me
that's important--it's the principle that's important--"
The meeting went brilliantly. Every time he paused, the audience
responded just as the speech-writer had indicated. It was as if they
were as well rehearsed as he.
The next night, another meeting. And another. And another. He slept no
more than four hours a night when the campaign was in full swing. He
spoke dozens of times into the bright glare of TV cameras. He paraded
down a million streets in an open-topped car. Faces poured in front of
his own; on and on they came. People with tears in their eyes cried,
"God bless Shamar the Worker!" Once the Committee hired a brass band.
So, for two weeks, it went.
Then the Party threw him back in jail, in an apparent effort to deprive
the movement of its momentum.
* * * * *
After three days, during which time Shamar was held incommunicado,
Counselor Freemason obtained permission to interview his client.
"We're making marvelous progress! Ge-Ge is turning into a most
effective crusader. You should hear her when she cries, 'Give me back
my man!' This is a wonderful development for us. It's having the
opposite of the intended effect. Von Stutsman has over-reached himself
this time. The Party is going to have to back down, and it will cost
him dearly."
"How's the finances?"
"Ge-Ge has given us some advances--"
"How much have you spent?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't been keeping track closely.
Perhaps we've run a little more than we anticipated. The response, you
see--"
Shamar returned to his cell wishing Earth's printing presses had worked
a little longer.
It took nearly two weeks to arrange for Ge-Ge to visit him. When she
arrived, she was nearly on the point of tears.
"Oh, my darling, how I've missed you!"
She brought him up to date on the progress of his case. As Counselor
Freemason had reported, his imprisonment merely increased the vigor of
his supporters. Now they were at their highest pitch: a pitch which
would be difficult to maintain.
"I'm just worried sick," she said. "If the Party can hold out another
week or two. I don't want to worry you, Shamar, but I want you to know
how you stand. Counselor Freemason says the worst that could happen
would be a short prison sentence, no more than a year, for not filing
tax forms. We could keep you out on appeal for quite a while."
"Ge-Ge, how much have we spent so far?"
"About three hundred thousand dollars."
"Good God! They'll have it all when they get through! If I ever get
back to Earth--"
"I don't care about money, Shamar! I just want you free!"
He took her shoulders. "Ge-Ge, suppose the Party can't afford to back
down? Maybe they feel they have to stand firm to prevent a lot of
future trouble. And when Freemason gets all the money ... then what
chance will we stand? They might railroad me for years. They'll make an
example out of me. Now, are you willing to gamble? Everybody would jump
at the chance to vote them out. If we could--"
"Please, Shamar," Ge-Ge said. "All this voting thing you've always been
so sold on is all right, I guess--but it just won't work. To begin
with, there isn't any way to vote."
"Maybe there is," he said.
* * * * *
Shamar was still in jail the following day when Ge-Ge appeared on the
TV program.
PAMDEN had been reluctant to release time to her. PAMDEN was Itra's
largest industrial co-operative--Plastics, Agricultural Machinery,
Detergents, Electricity and Newsprint--and, being the most efficient,
was responsible for operating the TV networks.
"Good heavens," said the station executive. "Nobody can say we haven't
already given you coverage. Miss Germadpoldlt."
"They've ordered you to stop!" she protested.
"They? The Party? Miss Germadpoldlt, do you honestly believe that?
Nobody tells a station manager what to program. Believe me. There is no
prior censorship whatsoever. But, on the other hand, we can't turn over
the TV stations to minority propaganda either."
Ge-Ge argued and pleaded, and in the end the executive sighed wearily.
"I think we've been more than fair. But for you--and this is a personal
favor, Miss Germadpoldlt, because you are a young and attractive
woman--for you, I will phone our program director and see if he can get
you on the Noon Interview Show for tomorrow. It gives you the Itra-wide
network, which is certainly more than anyone has the right to ask.
You'll have ninety seconds to make your case. That's the best I can do."
"Oh, thank you, thank you," Ge-Ge sobbed. "You're so fair and
generous." Outside his office she took a deep breath, crossed her
fingers and went home to revise her speech. She had only expected sixty.
Ge-Ge arrived at the studio well in advance and was handed over to the
makeup department. With deft skill they converted her youth to age and
contrived to instill in her face weariness and defeat. Her protests
were ignored.
"This is the way you make up for TV," she was told.
They clucked collective tongues in disapproval when they were finished
and sent her on her way to a brief chat with the M.C.
The M.C. assured her that she looked divine and hastily scanned her
prepared remarks, which had been heavily edited by some anonymous hand
in the news department. The M.C. incorporated a few pointless revisions
and dispatched the message to the department handling idiot-board
material. It was explained that Ge-Ge was to read, word for word, from
the electronic prompter.
Ge-Ge watched the program from the wings. When she heard a commercial
message in favor of the consumption of a particular variety of candy,
her heart ran away with itself. Her courage faltered. But Shamar's face
brought it back.
The signal came. She walked into the terrible glare which held up every
imperfection to microscopic inspection. She shook hands, turned, and
the camera closed in, full face. Beyond the camera lay the largest
daytime TV audience on Itra. She felt they were examining her pores
with minute and critical attention.
She blinked nervously and began to read. "I am here to tell you about
Shamar the Worker." That was as far as she went with the prepared text.
Before the horrified ears of the auditors in the studio, she plunged
into remarks of another kind entirely.
"If you want to do something to help Shamar the Worker, stop buying
candy! Don't buy any more candy. If you want to help Shamar the Worker,
don't buy any candy until he's free. If you want to help Shamar,
please, _please_, don't buy--"
At this point the technicians cut Ge-Ge out and, with profound
mistiming, faded in an oleogenous taped message from the candy
manufacturer which began, "Friends, everybody likes Red Block candy,
and millions buy it every day. Here's why--"
Ge-Ge surveyed the surrounding confusion and walked unmolested from the
studio.
When she arrived home, an angry Counselor Freemason was waiting on her
doorstep. Inside, she allowed the Counselor to present his case.
This new move, he explained, would have terrible consequences.
Shamar's good faith would be prejudiced. One simply did not, with
impunity, go outside the law in such matters. There were rules you
absolutely _must_ play the game by. He washed his hands of all
responsibility for her conduct. "I hope to God nothing comes of it," he
concluded. "I'm having the Committee prepare a denial of--"
The phone rang at this point, and without asking permission, Counselor
Freemason answered it. "Yes? This is Counselor Freemason, go ahead." He
listened a moment, said, "They did," in a weary voice and cradled the
phone.
He turned to Ge-Ge. "Now we're in for it. That was Pete Freedle from
the Committee."
"Well," said Ge-Ge, "I think we'll just wait a few days and see what
happens."
A week later, Ge-Ge was still waiting. Counselor Freemason, deprived of
finances, was powerless to move. He saw everything crashing in shambles
at their feet.
"But are they selling candy?" Ge-Ge asked.
"That's beside the point!" Counselor Freemason cried. "Look here, every
crackpot on the planet will get into the act. They don't care about
Shamar. All you're going to prove now is that the Party is unpopular.
Everyone already knows that." He struck his forehead in exasperation.
* * * * *
For two weeks, all was quiet. There were no more rallies for Shamar
the Worker. Signs were torn down and destroyed. No bulletins were
printed. No word passed over the electronic communications network. The
Committee, bankrupt, dissolved in mutual recriminations and bickering,
convinced that the cause of civil liberties had been set back one
hundred years.
But candy was not selling.
It clogged the distribution channels. It piled up in warehouses. It
lay untouched in stores. It grew rancid. Mechanically the factories
continued to turn it out.
The Party denied the boycott was having any effect. This did not
appease the distributors of candy and the sellers of candy and the
producers of candy. Their jobs were at stake. They had payrolls to meet.
The Party stopped production of candy. People suddenly found themselves
with no jobs to go to.
The economic system was so tightly controlled and organized that the
effect was immediate. There was too little money available to purchase
the supplies normally purchased. Suppliers cut back on their factory
orders. This further reduced the need for supplies.
At this point, the Party decided that the people would, by heaven, eat
candy. The Party Leader himself went on TV to appeal to the patriotism
of the people and to order them to resume buying candy. This was a
tactical error. But being the idea of the Party Leader himself, who had
always crashed headlong into obstacles, none opposed it.
The issue was directly joined. People resented being told that it was
their patriotic duty to eat something that all medical opinion held was
harmful. Furthermore, people realized that they had somehow stumbled on
a fatal flaw in the system, which they could exploit without immediate
danger.
They responded by refusing to buy soap.
The people were now in open revolt. At last they had a method for
disapproving of things in general.
The economy plummeted. The computers were in a frenzy. Effects of
corrective actions were no longer predictable. The Party frantically
tried to buy soap and dump it. The people turned to other commodities.
Pressure now mounted from within the Party itself. The Supervisor of
PAMDEN saw his carefully nurtured empire begin to disintegrate. A
massive layoff in Consumer Plastics (badly hit by a running boycott)
took with it valuable key personnel. The Supervisor of PAMDEN told the
Party Leader himself that he damned well better do something about the
situation, and damned soon, too.
The Party Leader himself ordered the release of Shamar the Worker.
But by then no one was interested in Shamar the Worker.
* * * * *
The man came and unlocked Shamar's cell door. Shamar stood up. The
guard tossed in Shamar's clothing. "Get dressed." Shamar got dressed.
"Come along." Shamar came along.
Shamar had had no word from outside for nearly two months, and it was
not until he saw Ge-Ge's face, radiant with joy, that he realized he
had won.
"You're free!" she cried excitedly.
Shamar was given back his belt and possessions. As they waited for the
Judge to make it official, Shamar asked, "I wonder what will happen
now?"
"Nobody knows. Everybody says the Party's out for sure. Individual
Party members will try to form a new government, but it's going to
have to be radically different. They'll try to keep all they can, but
the people will wring them dry for every last concession. Maybe now
when they build the factories, they'll stay built and actually produce
something."
"For a little while," Shamar said.
"Longer than a little while," Ge-Ge said. "We've got a way to vote now,
when things get too bad."
The Judge, in his red robe, came in. They stood respectfully. He looked
at them for a long time and said nothing. Finally, he spoke:
"Well, Shamar the Worker, I guess you've got what you want. You pulled
down a whole civilization. I hope you're satisfied. What Dream will you
give us to replace the Dream you have taken from us?"
His face hardened.
"Shamar the Worker," he said, "the Party Leader himself has asked us to
dismiss the pending charges against you. This I now do. You are free to
go."
"Thank you, sir," Shamar said respectfully.
"Shamar the Worker, for your own sake, you better hope that I never see
you in my court. You better not get yourself arrested for anything. I
will show you no mercy, but justice will be swift and summary. So that
you may not rest easily at night, I am having some of my very skillful
and competent friends check through your background thoroughly. You
should hope, very sincerely, that they find nothing. You may go."
Ge-Ge and Shamar stood. They turned in silence. When they were at the
door, the Judge called, "Oh, Shamar the Worker!"