microphone.
Almost at once a clear voice from the monitor said, “This is Red Vanilla Three answering.” The voice was cold and harsh; it struck him forcefully as distinctly alien. Hooker was right.
“Do you have Connie Companion down there where you are?”
“Yes we do,” the Oakland fluker answered.
“Well, I challenge you,” Norman said, feeling the veins in his throat pulse with the tension of what he was saying. “We’re Perky Pat in this area; we’ll play Perky Pat against your Connie Companion. Where can we meet?”
“Perky Pat,” the Oakland fluker echoed. “Yeah, I know about her. What would the stakes be, in your mind?”
“Up here we play for paper money mostly,” Norman said, feeling that his response was somehow lame.
“We’ve got lots of paper money,” the Oakland fluker said cut-tingly. “That wouldn’t interest any of us. What else?”
“I don’t know.” He felt hampered, talking to someone he could not see; he was not used to that. People should, he thought, be face-to-face, then you can see the other person’s expression. This was not natural. “Let’s meet halfway,” he said, “and discuss it. Maybe we could meet at the Berkeley Fluke-pit; how about that?”
The Oakland fluker said, “That’s too far. You mean lug our Connie Companion layout all that way? It’s too heavy and something might happen to it.”
“No, just to discuss rules and stakes,” Norman said.
Dubiously, the Oakland fluker said, “Well, I guess we could do that. But you better understand—we take Connie Companion doll pretty damn seriously; you better be prepared to talk terms.”
“We will,” Norm assured him.
All this time Mayor Hooker Glebe had been cranking the handle of the generator; perspiring, his face bloated with exertion, he motioned angrily for Norm to conclude his palaver.
“At the Berkeley Fluke-pit,” Norm finished. “In three days. And send your best player, the one who has the biggest and most authentic layout. Our Perky Pat layouts are works of art, you understand.”
The Oakland fluker said, “We’ll believe that when we see them. After all, we’ve got carpenters and electricians and plasterers here, building our layouts; I’ll bet you’re all unskilled.”
“Not as much as you think,” Norm said hotly, and laid down the microphone. To Hooker Glebe—who had immediately stopped cranking—he said, “We’ll beat them. Wait’ll they see the garbage disposal unit I’m making for my Perky Pat; did you know there were people back in the ol-days, I mean real alive human beings, who didn’t have garbage disposal units?”
“I remember,” Hooker said peevishly. “Say, you got a lot of cranking for your money; I think you gypped me, talking so long.” He eyed Norm with such hostility that Norm began to feel uneasy. After all, the Mayor of the pit had the authority to evict any fluker he wished; that was their law.
“I’ll give you the fire alarm box I just finished the other day,” Norm said. “In my layout it goes at the corner of the block where Perky Pat’s boyfriend Leonard lives.”
“Good enough,” Hooker agreed, and his hostility faded. It was replaced, at once, by desire. “Let’s see it, Norm. I bet it’ll go good in my layout; a fire alarm box is just what I need to complete my first block where I have the mailbox. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Norm sighed, philosophically.
When he returned from the two-day trek to the Berkeley Fluke-pit his face was so grim that his wife knew at once that the parley with the Oakland people had not gone well.
That morning a careboy had dropped cartons of a synthetic tea-like drink; she fixed a cup of it for Norman, waiting to hear what had taken place eight miles to the south.
“We haggled,” Norm said, seated wearily on the bed which he and his wife and child all shared. “They don’t want money; they don’t want goods—naturally not goods, because the darn careboys are dropping
Almost at once a clear voice from the monitor said, “This is Red Vanilla Three answering.” The voice was cold and harsh; it struck him forcefully as distinctly alien. Hooker was right.
“Do you have Connie Companion down there where you are?”
“Yes we do,” the Oakland fluker answered.
“Well, I challenge you,” Norman said, feeling the veins in his throat pulse with the tension of what he was saying. “We’re Perky Pat in this area; we’ll play Perky Pat against your Connie Companion. Where can we meet?”
“Perky Pat,” the Oakland fluker echoed. “Yeah, I know about her. What would the stakes be, in your mind?”
“Up here we play for paper money mostly,” Norman said, feeling that his response was somehow lame.
“We’ve got lots of paper money,” the Oakland fluker said cut-tingly. “That wouldn’t interest any of us. What else?”
“I don’t know.” He felt hampered, talking to someone he could not see; he was not used to that. People should, he thought, be face-to-face, then you can see the other person’s expression. This was not natural. “Let’s meet halfway,” he said, “and discuss it. Maybe we could meet at the Berkeley Fluke-pit; how about that?”
The Oakland fluker said, “That’s too far. You mean lug our Connie Companion layout all that way? It’s too heavy and something might happen to it.”
“No, just to discuss rules and stakes,” Norman said.
Dubiously, the Oakland fluker said, “Well, I guess we could do that. But you better understand—we take Connie Companion doll pretty damn seriously; you better be prepared to talk terms.”
“We will,” Norm assured him.
All this time Mayor Hooker Glebe had been cranking the handle of the generator; perspiring, his face bloated with exertion, he motioned angrily for Norm to conclude his palaver.
“At the Berkeley Fluke-pit,” Norm finished. “In three days. And send your best player, the one who has the biggest and most authentic layout. Our Perky Pat layouts are works of art, you understand.”
The Oakland fluker said, “We’ll believe that when we see them. After all, we’ve got carpenters and electricians and plasterers here, building our layouts; I’ll bet you’re all unskilled.”
“Not as much as you think,” Norm said hotly, and laid down the microphone. To Hooker Glebe—who had immediately stopped cranking—he said, “We’ll beat them. Wait’ll they see the garbage disposal unit I’m making for my Perky Pat; did you know there were people back in the ol-days, I mean real alive human beings, who didn’t have garbage disposal units?”
“I remember,” Hooker said peevishly. “Say, you got a lot of cranking for your money; I think you gypped me, talking so long.” He eyed Norm with such hostility that Norm began to feel uneasy. After all, the Mayor of the pit had the authority to evict any fluker he wished; that was their law.
“I’ll give you the fire alarm box I just finished the other day,” Norm said. “In my layout it goes at the corner of the block where Perky Pat’s boyfriend Leonard lives.”
“Good enough,” Hooker agreed, and his hostility faded. It was replaced, at once, by desire. “Let’s see it, Norm. I bet it’ll go good in my layout; a fire alarm box is just what I need to complete my first block where I have the mailbox. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Norm sighed, philosophically.
When he returned from the two-day trek to the Berkeley Fluke-pit his face was so grim that his wife knew at once that the parley with the Oakland people had not gone well.
That morning a careboy had dropped cartons of a synthetic tea-like drink; she fixed a cup of it for Norman, waiting to hear what had taken place eight miles to the south.
“We haggled,” Norm said, seated wearily on the bed which he and his wife and child all shared. “They don’t want money; they don’t want goods—naturally not goods, because the darn careboys are dropping
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