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Something had gone wrong with the building's old transformer and, pending repairs, the two remaining occupied apartments were making do with batteries, which turned bright globes to mysterious amber candles and made Gusterson's ancient typewriter operate sluggishly. Fay's manner was subdued or at least closely controlled and for a moment Gusterson thought he'd shed his tickler.
"The dirty kind of kidding, too." "I'm sorry," Fay said with light contrition. "Well, now you've sniffed at it, how about trying on Tickler?" He picked up the gleaming blunted crescent and jogged it temptingly under Gusterson's chin. "Why should I?" Gusterson asked, stepping back. "Fay, I'm up to my ears writing a book.
For a day or two longer their thoughts and conversations were haunted by Gusterson's vague sardonic visions of a horde of tickler-energized moles pouring up out of the tunnels to tear down the remaining trees, tank the atmosphere and perhaps somehow dismantle the stars at least on this side of the world but then they both settled back into their customary easy-going routines. Gusterson typed.
When they were about ten feet away the wall whipped aside, then whipped shut behind them so fast that Gusterson wondered momentarily if he still had his heels and the seat of his pants. Fay, tucking away his badge and pancake phone, dropped the button in Gusterson's vest pocket. "Use it when you leave," he said casually. "That is, if you leave."
"I just don't keep up with progress," Gusterson said, shaking his head bleakly. "I'm falling behind on all fronts." "You ought to have your tickler remind you to read Science Service releases," Fay told him. "Or simply instruct it to scan the releases and no, that's still in research." He looked at Gusterson's shoulder and his eyes widened.
"Who'd want to loaf around in an imaginary world and take a chance of missing out on what his tickler's doing? I mean, on what his tickler has in store for him what he's told his tickler to have in store for him." Ignoring Gusterson's shiver, Fay straightened up and seemed to brisken himself. "Ha, that little slump did me good.
"Only if I meet a piebald one with a taste for Scotch or maybe a pearl gray biped jaguar with violet spots," Gusterson told her, clapping on the cap with a We-Who-Are-About-To-Die gesture. Halfway across the park to the escalator bunker Gusterson's heart began to tick. He resolutely switched on his headlamp.
Then Gusterson's big arms were around him and he was carrying him to the couch. Daisy came running from the kitchen with a damp cool towel. Gusterson took it from her and began to mop Fay off. He sucked in his own breath as he saw that Fay's right ear was raw and torn. He whispered to Daisy, "Look at where the thing savaged him." The blood on Fay's shoulder came from his ear.
One of them grabbed hold of Gusterson and saved him from staggering onto a slidewalk that might have carried him to Toledo. "Gussy, you dog, you must have esped I wanted to see you," Fay cried, patting him on the elbows. "Meet Davidson and Kester and Hazen, colleagues of mine. We're all Micro-men." Fay's companions were staring strangely at Gusterson's blinking headlamp.
All his bones dropped out through his feet, as he described it to Daisy. "So you won't stand out," he explained. Another swift survey. "You'll do. Come on, Gussy. I got lots to brief you on." Three rapid paces and then Gusterson's feet would have gone out from under him except that Fay gave him a mighty shove.
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