"Impossible. I have my orders."
"I am a woman."
"You are a volunteer for the Stalintrek. You will take no personal property—no clothing—with you. Strip and advance, please."
Sophia flushed slightly, while the men behind her began to call and taunt.
"I like this Stalintrek."
"Oh, yes."
"We are waiting, Comrade."
Quickly and with an objective detachment which surprised her, Sophia unbuttoned her shirt, removed it. Her one wish—and an odd one, she thought, smiling—was for wax for her ears. She loosened the three snaps of her skirt, watched it fall to the floor. She stood there briefly, lithe-limbed, a tall, slim girl, then had the white shorts over her nakedness in one quick motion. She still wore a coarse halter.
"All personal effects, Comrade," said the nervous little man.
"No," Sophia told him.