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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Too heavy for one of the kids." The footsteps doubled in volume and came rapidly closer. Along with them there was an agonized gasping. Daisy stopped, staring fearfully at the open doorway. Gusterson moved past her. Then he stopped too. Fay stumbled into view and would have fallen on his face except he clutched both sides of the doorway halfway up. He was stripped to the waist.
"But I bet Daisy'd prefer it underground. And your kids wouldn't have to explain why their father lives like a Red Indian. Not to mention the safety factor and insurance savings and a crypt church within easy slidewalk distance. Incidentally, we see the stars all the time, better than you do by repeater." "Stars by repeater," Gusterson murmured to the ceiling, pausing for God to comment.
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.
"Hey, didn't I suggest cocaine injections last time I saw you?" "So you did," Fay agreed flatly. "Oh by the way, Gussy, here's that check for a yard I promised you. Micro doesn't muzzle the ox." "Hooray!" Daisy cheered faintly. "I thought you said it was going to be for two." Gusterson complained. "Budgeting always forces a last-minute compromise," Fay shrugged.
Gusterson and then took Daisy into the bedroom and told her everything. When he'd finished she said, "This is something I've got to see for myself." Gusterson shrugged. "If you think you've got to. I say we should head for the hills right now. One thing I'm standing on: the kids aren't going back to school." "Agreed," Daisy said.
Flash the old viriler charm, cootch them up a bit, emphasize the delights of high living, but make sure they're compatible roommates. You could pick up that two-yard check from Micro at the same time." "You're an immoral money-ravenous wench," Gusterson said absently, trying to dream of an insanity beyond insanity that would make his next novel a real id-rousing best-vender.
"Nothing, you worm!" Gusterson roared, "Except that an hour ago I forgot to tune in on the only TV program I've wanted to hear this year Finnegans Wake scored for English, Gaelic and brogue. Oh, damn-damn-DAMN!" "Too bad," Fay said lightly. "I didn't know they were releasing it on flat TV too." "Well, they were! Some things are too damn big to keep completely underground. And I had to forget!
After about half an hour Gusterson said softly, "I think the ticklers are so psionic that it's as if they just had one mind. If I were with them very long I'd start to be part of that mind. Say something to one of them and you say it to all." Fifteen minutes later: "They're not crazy, they're just newborn.
"I may be back for supper and I may not." Davidson pushed out from the wall against which he'd been resting himself and his two-stone tickler and moved to block the hall. But Gusterson simply walked up to him. He shook his hand warmly and looked his tickler full in the eye and said in a ringing voice, "Ticklers should have bodies of their own!"
By the time they got to the bottom, the message had become, "Ticklers should have a planet of their own!" They never did catch up with Fay, although they spent two hours skimming around on slidewalks, under the subterranean stars, pursuing rumors of his presence. Gusterson continued to deliver his message to all and sundry at 30-second intervals.
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