“Whoever thought this up had real genius. It fills a fucking felt need. I only wish I was going to collect one percent of the net.”
“Is it expensive?”
“In the neighborhood of nine or ten K.” Fred took out a new pack of cigarettes, and broke the cellophane with his thumbnail. “And of course it costs another K or so a year to operate.”
“But you won’t be saving any money then,” Paul objected.
“Hell, no. Why should we save money?” Fred said, tapping his cigarette on the desk. “Butt?”
“No thanks. Well, hell, I suppose so as to apply it somewhere else, to buy something you need, or save the government some money, or raise our salaries—I mean, you read about how these automated machines are going to do all that.”
“Boy, have you got the wrong idea,” Fred said from between his hands as he crouched over the flame, for even in the windless air-conditioned climate of Nutting he behaved as if he were trying to light up on some stormy beach-head. “You’re all confused, boy,” he said. “You can’t apply your small-time civilian standards to this kind of operation. You’re talking as if N.R.D.C. was your family budget, a few dollars saved on rent, a few dollars more to blow on whisky. It just doesn’t work that way here. You don’t have to get all shook up about a little matter of nine K. There’s plenty more where that comes from.
“Think what we’re buying with it,” he went on. “Absolute security. Say, that’s a good line: I can work that in. Another thing you’ve got to keep in mind. The bigger the yearly cost figures for the department, the bigger the yearly increment. I know it takes some getting used to after you’ve been up in that scruffy ivory tower. You don’t have to tell me. Don’t tell me, just ask me.” Fred grinned, and drew on his cigarette. “Any time.”
“Thanks, Chief,” Paul said. “Thanks for that generous offer.” He wished Skinner would go away, though, so that he could clean up his desk and be ready to leave at three.
“You’ve got to learn to ride with it,” Fred went on. “Listen, when I was first here, soon as I began to see what the score was, I started requisitioning supplies. I put in for every fucking thing I could think of, every kind of paper and pencil and notebooks; even some furniture, a chair and a couple of lamps, everything. I was testing, you know. Testing. I couldn’t believe it. Well, it all came through. Not a bitch from anywhere. Jesus, when I think what us poor instructors used to go through trying to get a couple of red pencils out of Miss Rollins’s supply cupboard.” He sucked in, then blew out smoke.
“What do you know?” Paul looked at Skinner’s cigarette. Presumably Skinner would not leave until it was finished, and he always smoked them to a minimal stub. “Guess I’ll send in for some stuff tomorrow,” he said. He looked at the UnDat brochure again, comparing the model hugging the machine (unfavorably) to Cecile O’Connor. They were both dark blondes, though; not dissimilar in shape.
“That’s the spirit,” Skinner said. “Keep up the cost figures.” The plant buzzer sounded, a metallic, penetrating hum. Paul stood up, and began to straighten his desk.
The Joy Superdupermarket covered nearly a whole block. It was brilliantly lit; noisy with piped music, with the screams of children and the jazz clang of twenty cash-registers; and packed from wall to wall with pre-Thanksgiving shoppers.
“This is really a great place,” Ceci said as the photoelectric doors swung open to coax them in, and they entered the maelstrom of consumption. “It’s got everything.” People surged up and down the aisles, buying not only food, but gin, shampoo, life-sized dolls, Capri pants, electric frying-pans, and photomurals of Yellowstone National Park. “All the cats come here.” Silently Paul imagined, among the men and women and children, a number of large cats of all colors, walking on their hind legs and
“Is it expensive?”
“In the neighborhood of nine or ten K.” Fred took out a new pack of cigarettes, and broke the cellophane with his thumbnail. “And of course it costs another K or so a year to operate.”
“But you won’t be saving any money then,” Paul objected.
“Hell, no. Why should we save money?” Fred said, tapping his cigarette on the desk. “Butt?”
“No thanks. Well, hell, I suppose so as to apply it somewhere else, to buy something you need, or save the government some money, or raise our salaries—I mean, you read about how these automated machines are going to do all that.”
“Boy, have you got the wrong idea,” Fred said from between his hands as he crouched over the flame, for even in the windless air-conditioned climate of Nutting he behaved as if he were trying to light up on some stormy beach-head. “You’re all confused, boy,” he said. “You can’t apply your small-time civilian standards to this kind of operation. You’re talking as if N.R.D.C. was your family budget, a few dollars saved on rent, a few dollars more to blow on whisky. It just doesn’t work that way here. You don’t have to get all shook up about a little matter of nine K. There’s plenty more where that comes from.
“Think what we’re buying with it,” he went on. “Absolute security. Say, that’s a good line: I can work that in. Another thing you’ve got to keep in mind. The bigger the yearly cost figures for the department, the bigger the yearly increment. I know it takes some getting used to after you’ve been up in that scruffy ivory tower. You don’t have to tell me. Don’t tell me, just ask me.” Fred grinned, and drew on his cigarette. “Any time.”
“Thanks, Chief,” Paul said. “Thanks for that generous offer.” He wished Skinner would go away, though, so that he could clean up his desk and be ready to leave at three.
“You’ve got to learn to ride with it,” Fred went on. “Listen, when I was first here, soon as I began to see what the score was, I started requisitioning supplies. I put in for every fucking thing I could think of, every kind of paper and pencil and notebooks; even some furniture, a chair and a couple of lamps, everything. I was testing, you know. Testing. I couldn’t believe it. Well, it all came through. Not a bitch from anywhere. Jesus, when I think what us poor instructors used to go through trying to get a couple of red pencils out of Miss Rollins’s supply cupboard.” He sucked in, then blew out smoke.
“What do you know?” Paul looked at Skinner’s cigarette. Presumably Skinner would not leave until it was finished, and he always smoked them to a minimal stub. “Guess I’ll send in for some stuff tomorrow,” he said. He looked at the UnDat brochure again, comparing the model hugging the machine (unfavorably) to Cecile O’Connor. They were both dark blondes, though; not dissimilar in shape.
“That’s the spirit,” Skinner said. “Keep up the cost figures.” The plant buzzer sounded, a metallic, penetrating hum. Paul stood up, and began to straighten his desk.
The Joy Superdupermarket covered nearly a whole block. It was brilliantly lit; noisy with piped music, with the screams of children and the jazz clang of twenty cash-registers; and packed from wall to wall with pre-Thanksgiving shoppers.
“This is really a great place,” Ceci said as the photoelectric doors swung open to coax them in, and they entered the maelstrom of consumption. “It’s got everything.” People surged up and down the aisles, buying not only food, but gin, shampoo, life-sized dolls, Capri pants, electric frying-pans, and photomurals of Yellowstone National Park. “All the cats come here.” Silently Paul imagined, among the men and women and children, a number of large cats of all colors, walking on their hind legs and
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