Si Pond was a great believer in the institution of the spree. Any
excuse would do. Back when he had finished basic education at the age
of twenty-five and was registered for the labor draft, there hadn't
been a chance in a hundred that he'd have the bad luck to have his
name pulled. But when it had been, Si had celebrated.
When he had been informed that his physical and mental qualifications
were such that he was eligible for the most dangerous occupation in
the Ultrawelfare State and had been pressured into taking training
for space pilot, he had celebrated once again. Twenty-two others had
taken the training with him, and only he and Rod Cameroon had passed
the finals. On this occasion, he and Rod had celebrated together. It
had been quite a party. Two weeks later, Rod had burned on a faulty
take-off on what should have been a routine Moon run.
Each time Si returned from one of his own runs, he celebrated. A spree,
a bust, a bat, a wing-ding, a night on the town. A commemoration of
dangers met and passed.
Now it was all over. At the age of thirty he was retired. Law prevented
him from ever being called up for contributing to the country's labor
needs again. And he most certainly wasn't going to volunteer.
He had taken his schooling much as had his contemporaries. There wasn't
any particular reason for trying to excell. You didn't want to get the
reputation for being a wise guy, or a cloddy either. Just one of the
fellas. You could do the same in life whether you really studied or
not. You had your Inalienable Basic stock, didn't you? What else did
you need?
It had come as a surprise when he'd been drafted for the labor force.
In the early days of the Ultrawelfare State, they had made a mistake
in adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution.
They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number of
working hours in the day, and the number of working days in the week.
It finally became ludicrous when employees of industry were working
but two days a week, two hours a day. In fact, it got chaotic. It
became obvious that it was more practical to have one worker putting in
thirty-five hours a week and getting to know his job well, than it was
to have a score of employees, each working a few hours a week and none
of them ever really becoming efficient.
The only fair thing was to let the technologically unemployed remain
unemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent of
unemployment insurance, while the few workers still needed put in a
reasonable number of hours a day, a reasonable number of weeks a year
and a reasonable number of years in a life time. When new employees
were needed, a draft lottery was held.
All persons registered in the labor force participated. If you
were drawn, you must need serve. The dissatisfaction those chosen
might feel at their poor luck was offset by the fact that they were
granted additional Variable Basic shares, according to the tasks
they fulfilled. Such shares could be added to their portfolios, the
dividends becoming part of their current credit balance, or could be
sold for a lump sum on the market.
Yes, but now it was all over. He had his own little place, his own
vacuum-tube vehicle and twice the amount of shares of Basic that most
of his fellow citizens could boast. Si Pond had it made. A spree was
obviously called for.
He was going to do this one right. This was the big one. He'd
accumulated a lot of dollars these past few months and he intended
to blow them, or at least a sizeable number of them. His credit card
was burning a hole in his pocket, as the expression went. However, he
wasn't going to rush into things. This had to be done correctly.
Too many a spree was played by ear. You started off with a few drinks,
fell in with some second rate mopsy and usually wound up in a third
rate groggery where you spent just as much as though you'd been in the
classiest joint in town. Came morning and you had nothing to show for
all the dollars that had been spent but a rum-head.
Thus, Si was vaguely aware, it had always been down through the
centuries since the Phoenecian sailor, back from his year-long trip to
the tin mines of Cornwall, blew his hard earned share of the voyage's
profits in a matter of days in the wine shops of Tyre. Nobody gets
quite so little for his money as that loneliest of all workers, he who
must leave his home for distant lands, returning only periodically and
usually with the salary of lengthy, weary periods of time to be spent
hurriedly in an attempt to achieve the pleasure and happiness so long
denied him.
Si was going to do it differently this time.
Nothing but the best. Wine, women, song, food, entertainment. The
works. But nothing but the best.
* * * * *
To start off, he dressed with great care in the honorable
retirement-rank suit he had so recently purchased. His space pin he
attached carefully to the lapel. That was a good beginning, he decided.
A bit of prestige didn't hurt you when you went out on the town. In
the Ultrawelfare State hardly one person in a hundred actually ever
performed anything of value to society. The efforts of most weren't
needed. Those few who did contribute were awarded honors, decorations,
titles.
Attired satisfactorily, Si double-checked to see that his credit
card was in his pocket. As an after-thought, he went over to the
auto-apartment's teevee-phone, flicked it on, held the card to the
screen and said, "Balance check, please."
In a moment, the teevee-phone's robot voice reported, "Ten shares of
Inalienable Basic. Twelve shares of Variable Basic, current value, four
thousand, two hundred and thirty-three dollars and sixty-two cents
apiece. Current cash credit, one thousand and eighty-four dollars." The
screen went dead.
One thousand and eighty-four dollars. That was plenty. He could safely
spend as much as half of it, if the spree got as lively as he hoped it
would. His monthly dividends were due in another week or so, and he
wouldn't have to worry about current expenses. Yes, indeedy, Si Pond
was as solvent as he had ever been in his thirty years.
He opened the small, closet-like door which housed his vacuum-tube
two-seater, and wedged himself into the small vehicle. He brought down
the canopy, dropped the pressurizer and considered the dial. Only one
place really made sense. The big city.
He considered for a moment, decided against the boroughs of Baltimore
and Boston, and selected Manhattan instead. He had the resources. He
might as well do it up brown.
He dialed Manhattan and felt the sinking sensation that presaged his
car's dropping to tube level. While it was being taken up by the robot
controls, being shuttled here and there preparatory to the shot to his
destination, he dialed the vehicle's teevee-phone for information on
the hotels of the island of the Hudson. He selected a swank hostelry
he'd read about and seen on the teevee casts of society and celebrity
gossip reporters, and dialed it on the car's destination dial.
"Nothing too good for ex-Space Pilot Si Pond," he said aloud.
The car hesitated for a moment, that brief hesitation before the
shot, and Si took the involuntary breath from which only heroes could
refrain. He sank back slowly into the seat. Moments passed, and the
direction of the pressure was reversed.
Manhattan. The shuttling began again, and one or two more traversing
sub-shots. Finally, the dash threw a green light and Si opened the
canopy and stepped into his hotel room.
A voice said gently, "If the quarters are satisfactory, please present
your credit card within ten minutes."
Si took his time. Not that he really needed it. It was by far the most
swank suite he had ever seen. One wall was a window of whatever size
the guest might desire and Si touched the control that dilated it to
the full. His view opened in such wise that he could see both the
Empire State Building Museum and the Hudson. Beyond the river stretched
the all but endless city which was Greater Metropolis.
He didn't take the time to flick on the menu, next to the auto-dining
table, nor to check the endless potables on the autobar list. All that,
he well knew, would be superlative. Besides, he didn't plan to dine
or do much drinking in his suite. He made a mock leer. Not unless he
managed to acquire some feminine companionship, that was.
He looked briefly into the swimming pool and bath, then flopped
himself happily onto the bed. It wasn't up to the degree of softness
he presently desired, and he dialed the thing to the ultimate in that
direction so that with a laugh he sank almost out of sight into the
mattress.
He came back to his feet, gave his suit a quick patting so that it
fell into press and, taking his credit card from his pocket, put it
against the teevee-phone screen and pressed the hotel button so that
registration could be completed.
For a moment he stood in the center of the floor, in thought. Take it
easy, Si Pond, take it all easy, this time. No throwing his dollars
around in second-class groggeries, no eating in automated luncheterias.
This time, be it the only time in his life, he was going to frolic in
the grand manner. No cloddy was Si Pond.
He decided a drink was in order to help him plan his strategy. A drink
at the hotel's famous Kudos Room where celebrities were reputed to be a
dime a dozen.
He left the suite and stepped into one of the elevators. He said,
"Kudos Room."