I say Iconoclast Empire and you, Fishface, you remember where you are. A subject of normal surveillance. Box maker, clandestine artist. Subject of suspicion. This is the plan, make a box, a picture box. Moving pictures with sound. Small one, small enough to carry, large enough for a small crowd to see. We make some pictures, acceptable pictures. Loyal to the Empire, so they can’t but approve. They’ll give us a licence. We’ll go and ask for one. Street entertainer and monkey. You show the pictures in the box and I’ll tumble around hold out my hat for money. They won’t be able to help themselves. Official pictures, they’ll give a few coins. Just to be normal. Probably think we are working for the surveillance section. Our cover must be impenetrable no one must ever know who we are working for until we reach our destination. Simple street entertainer, and monkey. Roll up ladies and gentlemen gather round and see our life in sound and pictures in this box. The doors are opened, the pictures appear, the crowd watches, following the images. We are showing them some sport pictures. Favorite teams they love to watch. They pay up for that, and we move on. First to some friends of mine, some monks far out on the edge of the empire. From there? Mosaic land.