Moment of Truth by Michael Pryor

picked his measurements so well and so quickly, but shrugged it off as a benefit of experience. He pulled on the black boots and they too fitted perfectly – even though the operative had no chance of seeing Aubrey’s feet.
    Aubrey stood back and looked at himself in the mirror. This wasn’t the uniform he’d been accustomed to seeing on Craddock’s operatives, so he assumed it was the equivalent of a regular soldier’s barrack dress, to be worn while stationed at headquarters. Regardless, he thought the simple black was dashing. Understated but stylish was his estimation. He had a fleeting pang wishing Caroline could see him, and then he was struck by the guilt he’d managed to put to one side.
    He hadn’t let Caroline know that George and he were going to enlist, and he hadn’t communicated with her in the forty-eight-hour home period either.
    His motives for this were mixed, and he was still trying to sort them out for himself. To begin with, he wasn’t sure of her reaction, and he’d learned enough not to presume where Caroline was concerned. She might be cool about the decision, or outraged, or simply angry about it. On the other hand, she might be supportive. Not knowing, Aubrey had taken the coward’s route and avoided telling her at all.
    Which is only going to make it worse when she finds out, he thought. He considered sending her a letter, but glumly knew that his mother would let her know before a letter could possibly reach her.
    So much for my mission.
    Aubrey rolled his civilian clothes into a bundle and fastened his belt around them to keep them together. When he exited, an eager-faced recruit was at the counter, drumming his fingers while waiting for his turn. Aubrey took a moment to examine the place with his magical senses.
    He grinned. Right where the recruit was standing, a spell had been embedded in the floor. A little examination showed that it was a passive spell that measured and weighed a body in the vicinity, a neat and minor application of the Law of Dimensionality. The operative must have some connection on his side of the counter that directed him to the correct uniform components for each recruit. Aubrey’s tight beret must have been a hiccup in the spell, which was only to be expected with such a complex application.
    The slip of blue paper directed Aubrey next door to a large room that was bright with electric light. He winced when he saw the walls lined with mirrors and the halfdozen barber chairs on each side. The rotund fellow in a white coat nearest the entrance pounced. ‘A customer! At last!’
    His eleven colleagues watched enviously as Aubrey was guided to the nearest chair. ‘Now, what would you like?’ the barber cheerily said as he tied a smock around Aubrey’s neck. The white linen covered him entirely. ‘Something along the lines of the latest from Lutetia? Or were after the Venezian look?’
    â€˜Venezian?’
    The barber barked a laugh. ‘Only joking, youngster. Just one style here, so hold still.’
    A few minutes of buzzing, clipping and slashing later, Aubrey grimaced at the image in the mirror. Over his shoulder, the barber was grinning. ‘Done, and it’s not going to grow back while you’re sitting there. Next!’
    The barber whipped the sheet away. Aubrey was given a slip of yellow paper and pointed toward the door. Automatically, his hand went to his head to feel the closely shorn sides. On top, it was a little longer, but nothing like the luxurious crop he’d become used to. He had a fleeting pang, but he had more important things to worry about. The slip in his hand, for instance.
    On his way to the main hall Aubrey found that his beret now fitted perfectly; his admiration of the measurement magic rose.
    Everyone was going in the same direction. Most of the recruits were rubbing their arms and – to judge from their expressions – giving every impression