A gloomy crowd crept slowly along the pavement of a dark, stinky tunnel. Their discoloured
uniforms all looking the same, gave a nasty rustle as the callous sweating bodies touched each other. Sometimes
one or another stumbled on the damp dirty pavement bricks, but even then not a single curse would slip off the
lips tightly pressed together.
Marius was walking indifferently on among the other figures, methodically measuring the way to the door in the
same monotonous steps. But his eyes distinguished him from all the others: a piercing and investigative look was
shooting rapidly in all directions. A more attentive observer might even have perceived a hardly noticeable ironic
smile hiding in the corners of his lips. He despised that meek herd ruled by blind instincts only.
A thick wall of panels of coated plastic reliably separated the pavement from the mad play of flickering lights
in the street. The panels were semi-transparent, worn out, and filthy.
The crowd stopped at a huge door reinforced by steel panels. Above the door there was a small signpost with rows
of numbers blinking in a greenish light. The glassy stare of the watery eyes were fixed on the play of constantly
changing numbers, until the single number "0" shining on the board. The door shuddered and opened.
A stuffy passage radiating some warm putrid smell vibrated with a hard din of engines. Hundreds of vehicles were
patiently waiting while the column of people crept slowly along the narrow passage across the street. The shining
numbers danced indifferently on the board, inevitably coming closer to "60". The flow of people ceased
abruptly: the majority of them has already reached the other side of the street, and the others did not dare to
step into the passage, anxiously watching the dancing symbols: 53, 54...
Only one fellow unexpectedly found himself in between the two groups. He stopped indecisively in the middle of
the street. Hesitating, he made several steps backward, but then changed his mind suddenly and dashed forward hoping
to reach the other side in time.
Helas! The number "60" flashed out mercilessly on the board and the door slammed just in the face of
the poor hurrying ill-fated man.
Marius spat in contempt, which, again made him different from the faceless crowd. One more fool doomed, only because
he lacked personal will and capability to make a firm decision in due time! The spittle fell directly on a shin
of a girl standing next to him. But she said nothing, her expression never changed. The renewed din of engines
immediately carried a terrible scream away. The pale plastic wall was spattered with bloody pieces of flesh and
bones that slipped down slowly and mixed with the mud splashed by the speeding vehicles. The show was over.
Marius fixed his eyes on the girl's shin again. Spellbound, he watched the spittle (his spittle!) slide down the
sock, leaving it's greasy, mucous trace. At last the leg jerked from its place. People pulled forward indifferently
and scattered in the tangled narrow sideline tunnels, passing by the crowd streaming out of them.
He remained in the same place with his hands in his pockets, whistling something tunelessly. When the hurrying
people had moved away far enough from the passage, and the newcomers had not yet approached it, the young man's
behaviour suddenly changed. The hand of the static figure made a quick gesture and a large, black object flew towards
sign. With a little clink of the magnetic bottom the thing stuck imperceptibly onto the side of the iron sign.
Again the man turned into a slow and grim fellow, making his way in silence through the sea of callous bodies.
At the entrance to a sideline tunnel, Marius stopped and turned back. People were already crowding at the passage
door, waiting for it to be opened. Meek sheep! A herd of sheep that will go with the same resignation both to the
watering-place and to the slaughterhouse. Yes, to the slaughterhouse.
Suddenly there came a blinding flash of light, and the loud echo of an explosion rolled along the low and narrow
tunnel. The passage turned into an enormous ball of fire, swallowing most of the crowd.
As if enchanted Marius observed the feeble human figures twitching strangely and hitting the wall even several
dozen of metres away from the explosion. He could even hear the crash of their breaking bones. Good explosives.
The best. The fireball faded, leaving a formless, burnt out opening where the passage had been. The job was completed.
Marius turned and stepped rapidly into the darkness of the tunnel, shirking unintentionally with the moans and
lamentations reaching his ears from behind.
* * *
"A real man."
Commandor put his hand on Marius' shoulder and embraced him with coarse, male warmth. The others around them greeted
Marius and amicably patted his shoulders. All the faces seemed sincere and cheerful.
Commandor straightened himself and brushed away a secret tear (but of course everybody noticed it).
"And I never expected you back", he said in a changed, coarse voice. Then he patted Marius on the shoulder
again.
"Excellently done! And look, he is completely calm! An iron soul in an iron body! Our revolution shall not
fail when we have men like him!"
Marius made no answer, his outward appearance remained untouched and really iron-like. But he felt his heart beating
wildly and tears filling his eyes. His revolution, his struggle! There was no faceless, blind herd there. Everybody
around him were faithful friends whom he could trust at any moment in his life. And Commandor was like a father
who would always offer help and advice, who was the only one they would follow. He was the one who could show them
the right way. The way to human happiness.
Marius sat down in a corner and started to clean his gun, listening to the conversation with half an ear. The leader
was pacing energetically up and down the room and brooding aloud. "Iron Stirks will be mad with fury now.
It's the third explosion directly in front of his agencies. He will be so much enraged that he might even forget
about being cautious. And we should use that to our own ends. The death of the dictator, the computer production
monopolist might change everything. We can kill thousands of his employees by explosions, but he doesn't care a
fig about them. But if he himself falls, the world-wide empire of evil, based on unconditional submission will
fall too."
Everybody listened, holding their breath. It was quite likely that the time for the final attack had come already.
It would bring the final end to the horrible experiments of Iron Stirks' laboratories, where people were trained
to submission in slavery. There would be no more synthetic food, uniform clothes and fictitious entertainment for
drowsy families, huddling at the stereo screens. Nobody own themselves anymore. Personal freedom and will have
been stolen by the automatic production methods, creating a fictitious environment for fictitious people. But not
every heart beating in a human breast is a plastic one. Not yet. And they would lead the degenerated humanity back.
If need be, they would do it by force.
Commandor's speech ceased abruptly. He looked around his people.
"Who wants to die for the revolution?"
Everybody stood as like one.
"This is exactly what I have expected. Otherwise I would not have chosen you and brought you into this organisation.
Tomorrow is the day of our triumph, or death. Prepare your weapons."
It was dawning. After having hastily smoked their last cigarettes, the men bid farewell and one after another they
went out into the street. They pressed their heavy weapons under their long raincoats. Soon they were out of sight
in the gloomy morning light. Marius gazed after the disappearing figures and suddenly he cast an unintentional
glance at Commandor. Does he see everything? Isn't his heart tearing apart at the sight of his sons going die for
real?
A single glance was enough. Marius started. The face of the leader was changed beyond recognition: there was an
angry flicker in his eyes and his thin lips were whispering one and the same word. The word seemed strangely familiar.
Then Marius shook himself and cursed. It must have been an illusion caused by the morning mist and tiredness after
the sleepless night. The leader: there he is. His eyes have not changed, they have the same sadness and suffering
in them. For everything and for everybody. If he could, he would go out into the street with a weapon himself.
Unfortunately, he couldn't Just yesterday he caught a cold and now he will lead the uprising from the headquarters.
It is even better this way. Why should the soul of the revolution run such an unreasonable risk?
But for some queer reason uneasiness was still creeping in his heart. It was the very same feeling that brought
him from the Iron Stakes' crowd to the Commandor's group several years ago. In his mind Marius repeated again and
again the movements of the leader's lips trying to guess what he had said. It must have been some kind of silent,
spontaneous appeal from his heart, meant for the leaving soldiers.
Only later, when he was in the sparking whirl of a fight, crawling in rivers of mud and blood, Marius quite unexpectedly
managed to restore the leader's words. These words made him drop his weapon and run crazily away from the field
of battle. Marius returned to his warm and cosy flat and secured the door. He had provisions of canned food there
enough for the whole year. Marius washed himself and waited anxiously for the outcome of the events.
"Sheep. Sheep. Sheep."