lads when the
situation's pickled, who's in the Telly lens where all the stupid
buffs can see him? One of the manufactured heroes."

Joe scowled. "The who?"

"Come off it, major. You've been around long enough to know heroes are
made, not born. We stopped having much regard for real heroes a long
time ago. Lindbergh and Byrd were a couple of the last we turned out.
After that, we left it to the Norwegians to do such things as crew the
_Kon-Tiki_, or to the English to top Everest--whether or not the
Britisher made the last hundred feet slung over the shoulder of a
Sherpa. I don't know if it was talking movies, the radio, the coming
of Telly, or what. Possibly all three. But we got away from real
heroes, they're not exciting enough. Telly actors can do it better.
Real heroes are apt to be on the dull side, they're men who do things
rather than being showmen. Actually, most adventure can be on the
monotonous side, nine-tenths of the time. When a Stanley goes to find
a Livingston, he doesn't spend twenty-four hours a day killing rogue
elephants or fighting off tribesman; most of the time he's plodding
along in the swamps, getting bitten by mosquitoes, or through the bush
getting bitten by tsetse flies. So, as a people, we turned it over to
the movies, and Telly, where they can do it better."

Joe Mauser's mind was working now, but he held silence.

Freddy Soligen went on, "Your typical fracas buff, glued to his Telly
set, wants two things. First, lots of gore, lots of blood, lots of
sadistic thrill. And the Lower-Lower lads, who are silly enough to get
into the Military Category for the sake of glory or the few shares of
common stock they might secure, provide that gore. Second, your Telly
fan wants some Good Guys whose first requirement is to be easily
recognized. Some heroes, easily identified with. Anybody can tell a
Telly hero when he sees one. Handsome, dashing, distinctively
uniformed, preferably tall, and preferably blond and blue-eyed, though
we'll eliminate those requirements in your case, if you'll grow a
mustache." He cocked his head to one side. "Yes, sir. A very dashing
mustache."

Joe said sourly, "You think that's all I need to hit the big time. A
dashing mustache, eh?"

"No," Freddy Soligen said, very slowly and evenly. "We're also going
to need every bit of stock you've accumulated, major. We're going to
have to buy your way into the columns of the fracas buff magazine.
We're going to have to bribe