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Updated: June 24, 2025
As he'd known it would, the hatch robot whirred an extra and higher-pitched ten seconds when it came to his topside address, but it ultimately dilated the hatch for him, first handing him a claim check for his ID card. Gusterson's heart was ticking like a sledgehammer by now.
Coué mostly used 'better and better' but that seems too general. And every hundredth time it says them out loud and the tickler gives me a brush just a faint cootch to make sure I'm keeping in touch." "That third word-pair," Daisy wondered, feeling her mouth reminiscently. "Could I guess?" Gusterson's eyes had been growing wider and wider.
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.
But I hate selling other people spiritual ideas and that'd still leave ticklers parasitic on humans...." As he murmured those last words Gusterson's eyes got wide as a maniac's and a big smile reached for his ears. He stood up and faced himself toward the door. "What are you intending to do now?" Daisy asked flatly. "I'm merely goin' out an' save the world," he told her.
That scene marked the beginning of the return of Gusterson's mind and memory. He shuffled around for a bit, spoke vaguely to three or four people he recalled from the dream days, and then headed for home and supper three weeks late, and as disoriented and emaciated as a bear coming out of hibernation. Six months later Fay was having dinner with Daisy and Gusterson.
Gusterson found himself part of a human stream moving into the tickler factory adjacent to his apartment or another factory very much like it. Thereafter Gusterson's awarenesses were dimmed. It was as if a bigger mind were doing the remembering for him and it were permissible and even mandatory for him to dream his way along. He knew vaguely that days were passing.
It stuck in Gusterson's mind, for he had never seen Fay use such a gesture and he wondered where he'd picked it up. Maybe imitating a double-jointed Micro Finance chief? Fay yawned again and said, "Please, Gussy, don't disturb me for a minute or so." His eyes half closed. Gusterson studied Fay's sunken-cheeked face and the great puff of his shoulder cape.
Gusterson's voice grew a trifle solemn. "Inner-directed worthwhile thinkin'. Fay, when a man forgets to do something, it's because he really doesn't want to do it or because he's all roiled up down in his unconscious. He ought to take it as a danger signal and investigate the roiling, not hire himself a human or mech reminder." "Bushwa," Fay retorted.
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.
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