Gusterson sucked in such a big gasp that he hiccuped. The right
shoulder of Fay's jacket and shirt had been cut away. Thrusting up
through the neatly hemmed hole was a silvery gray hump with a one-eyed
turret atop it and two multi-jointed metal arms ending in little
claws.
It looked like the top half of a pseudo-science robot--a squat evil
child robot, Gusterson told himself, which had lost its legs in a
railway accident--and it seemed to him that a red fleck was moving
around imperceptibly in the huge single eye.
"I'll take that memo now," Fay said coolly, reaching out his hand. He
caught the rustling sheets as they slipped from Gusterson's fingers,
evened them up very precisely by tapping them on his knee ... and then
handed them over his shoulder to his tickler, which clicked its claws
around either margin and then began rather swiftly to lift the top
sheet past its single eye at a distance of about six inches.
"The first matter I want to take up with you, Gussy," Fay began,
paying no attention whatsoever to the little scene on his shoulder,
"--or warn you about, rather--is the imminent ticklerization of
schoolchildren, geriatrics, convicts and topsiders. At three zero zero
tomorrow ticklers become mandatory for all adult shelterfolk. The
mop-up operations won't be long in coming--in fact, these days we find
that the square root of the estimated time of a new development is
generally the best time estimate. Gussy, I strongly advise you to
start wearing a tickler now. And Daisy and your moppets. If you heed
my advice, your kids will have the jump on your class. Transition and
conditioning are easy, since Tickler itself sees to it."
Pooh-Bah leafed the first page to the back of the packet and began
lifting the second past his eye--a little more swiftly than the first.
"I've got a Mark 6 tickler all warmed up for you," Fay pressed, "_and_
a shoulder cape. You won't feel one bit conspicuous." He noticed the
direction of Gusterson's gaze and remarked, "Fascinating mechanism,
isn't it? Of course 28 pounds are a bit oppressive, but then you have
to remember it's only a way-station to free-floating Mark 7 or 8."
Pooh-Bah finished page two and began to race through page three.
"But I wanted _you_ to read it," Gusterson said bemusedly, staring.
"Pooh-Bah will do a better job than I could," Fay assured him. "Get
the gist without losing the chaff."
"But dammit, it's all about _him_," Gusterson said a little more
strongly. "He won't be objective about it."
"A better job," Fay reiterated, "_and_ more fully objective.
Pooh-Bah's set for full precis. Stop worrying about it. He's a
dispassionate machine, not a fallible, emotionally disturbed human
misled by the will-o'-the-wisp of consciousness. Second matter: Micro
Systems is impressed by your contributions to Tickler and will recruit
you as a senior consultant with a salary and thinking box as big as my
own, family quarters to match. It's an unheard-of high start. Gussy, I
think you'd be a fool--"
* * * * *
[Illustration]
He broke off, held up a hand for silence, and his eyes got a listening
look. Pooh-Bah had finished page six and was holding the packet
motionless. After about ten seconds Fay's face broke into a big fake
smile. He stood up, suppressing a wince, and held out his hand.
"Gussy," he said loudly, "I am happy to inform you that all your fears
about Tickler are so much thistledown. My word on it. There's nothing
to them at all. Pooh-Bah's precis, which he's just given to me, proves
it."
"Look," Gusterson said solemnly, "there's one thing I want you to do.
Purely to humor an old friend. But I want you to do it. _Read that
memo yourself._"
"Certainly I will, Gussy," Fay continued in the same ebullient tones.
"I'll read it--" he twitched and his smile disappeared--"a little
later."
"Sure," Gusterson said dully, holding his hand to his stomach. "And
now if you don't mind, Fay, I'm goin' home. I feel just a bit sick.
Maybe the ozone and the other additives in your shelter air are too
heady for me. It's been years since I tramped through a pine forest."
"But Gussy! You've hardly got here. You haven't even sat down. Have
another martini. Have a seltzer pill. Have a whiff of oxy. Have a--"
"No, Fay, I'm going home right away. I'll think about the job offer.
_Remember to read that memo._"
"I will, Gussy, I certainly will. You know your way? The button takes
you through the wall. 'By, now."
He sat down abruptly and looked away. Gusterson pushed through the
swinging door. He tensed himself for the step across onto the
slowly-moving reverse ribbon. Then on a impulse he pushed ajar the
swinging door and looked back inside.
Fay was sitting as he'd left him, apparently lost in listless
brooding. On his shoulder Pooh-Bah was rapidly crossing and uncrossing
its little metal arms, tearing the memo to smaller and smaller shreds.
It let the scraps drift slowly toward the floor and oddly writhed its
three-elbowed left arm ... and then Gusterson knew from whom, or
rather from what, Fay had copied his new shrug.