Politburo Chairman Torsky stood stiffly on the balcony. His hands patted each other impatiently behind his back as he looked down at the mob milling in the street below. Several people lay unconscious or dead among the rioters, victims of frantic police action. Torsky finally snorted angrily, turned and stamped into the room.
“Stupid sheep!” he bellowed at the uneasy government officials gathered there. “They will turn Moscow into a shambles!”
“They are frightened, sir,” an aide said timidly.
“Frightened of what!” Torsky roared at the unfortunate man. “Of nine animated circus balloons? Do they think we’d trade them off as slaves? We have enough labor battalions in Siberia to supply the aliens for a century!”
“Yes, your excellency,” the Propaganda Minister smiled apologetically, “but we’ve been keeping those labor battalions a secret from the public. As the leader himself pointed out, it would not be wise for the people to know just how many of them do… uh… become wards of the Slate. As far as those comrades outside are concerned, I’m afraid that they show a startling lack of confidence in the ability of their government to protect them. They feel that they will be the first to be sent to the aliens.”
“Perhaps,” Torsky sneered, “your propaganda is not as effective as your reports would have us believe.”
The Propaganda Minister coughed nervously and hurriedly returned to an examination of his portfolio.
“Has that scientist Chilko come yet?” Torsky bellowed at his secretary as he paced the room.
“Yes, your excellency, he arrived a moment ago. Shall I have him sent in?”
“Yes, yes, send him in at once!” Torsky sat down heavily behind his huge desk.