"I've been certified," said the man bluntly. "Not enough credits for
support. I had to go to the Welfare Office and ask for assistance. Had
my own gravity harness repair shop till a month ago. But the new ones
are foolproof, business fell off. Now I'm in for it."
"Gosh," muttered Jeb, "that's really tough. But what do you mean,
'compared to where you're heading?' Sure, you'll be assigned a dirty
underground job, on the cables maybe, and the pay will be ridiculous,
but it'll be right here, won't it?"
"Haven't you heard?" The other smiled grimly. "So many of us small
business guys are being certified, the Welfare people had no more jobs.
And you know the law. Indigents must be assigned to some duty. And it
just happens that they're opening new mines on Mars and they can't get
help. I've no choice."
"Mines?" Jeb paled at the thought. "That Melbonite dust. One speck
through the sealed-in suit and you've got a burn they still can't
heal." He shuddered; then, seeing the face of the Unassigned Citizen,
he said soothingly, "But those suits are foolproof, I understand."
"Not always," said the man in gray. "Anyway, they haven't licked the
ventilation problem. The last suits they tried to air-condition, so
much Melbonite dust filtered in...." He took a deep breath of horror.
"So the ones in use become awfully sweaty. I'm going to a living
hell...."
Bong!
Jeb's Monitex glowed red with a violation. "Living Hell" was an
old-fashioned dramatic phrase somebody sharp had dug up after diligent
study and copyrighted in the hope of picking up a few credits.
As Jeb numbly listened to the droning voice detail the facts and four
credits charge, the man in the gray suit said mirthlessly, "Well, well,
that's just fine. Thanks a lot, my friend, for a nice sendoff."
Jeb snapped off the Monitex. "Look," he said hurriedly, "that was an
accident. This one is on me. Here." He took four credit tokens from a
pocket and thrust the silvery rectangles at the Unassigned Citizen.
"Put these aside until you're billed for the violation and pay it with
my credits. Okay?"
"Thanks," said the man gratefully. "I'll remember you."
Jeb gave him a twisted grin. "You may not have to, pal. I may be right
beside you in the next shipment. My wife is ready to certify me for
non-support. If I don't clean up a nice fat commission by tonight,
blooey, it's the mines for me, too."
* * * * *
The Unassigned Citizen started to form the words _Good luck!_ when Jeb
hastily interrupted, "That's on Copyright. Take it easy."
"Uh ... my heart goes beside yours," said the man, choosing his words
carefully. "My sympathy has arms, one of which is around your mighty
shoulders. I say to you farewell."
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Jeb. He pumped the other's hand. "I like the way
you put that. It's new. It has a freshness."
They smiled at each other. Then the oval building that housed The
SuperMonitex Feeder came into view and Jeb waved good-by and swung out
of the commuter stream in the regulation spiral under the cold eyes of
a golden-clad traffic cop. Jeb landed on the balcony ledge outside the
ninetieth-level corridor and walked in, finally entering a huge room in
the center of which was a circular wall with plug outlets and sets of
dials and screens at intervals all the way around.
Jeb greeted a few of his co-workers, but didn't pause to gossip. He
wasn't in a gay mood this morning, as were many of them who were
gleefully recounting some of the slick violations they'd picked up. Jeb
went to the circular wall and plugged his Monitex into a receptacle. He
punched a button marked _New Copyrights_ and waited for the humming to
stop indicating that his Monitex had been fed all the latest phrases
added to the huge group protected by law.
With his Monitex coded up to date, its memory bank fattened, Jeb went
to the supply room to requisition a hollowed-out air pollution meter to
conceal his Monitex. A hand tapped his shoulder.
"Hi, there," said Monitor Platt, a lean-faced, smirking man Jeb
disliked. "I just came off night shift. Had a big evening."
"Yeah?" asked Jeb, his skin crawling. Monitor Platt specialized in
copyright violations in the area of lakes and parks where lovers
murmured words they soon found out were not at all new and quite
expensive.
Monitor Platt chuckled. "Been cleaning up on a new copyright just
registered. The good old wolf whistle. One hundred credits fee."