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Updated: June 21, 2025
From his hassock in the center of the room he looked uneasily around. "Say, did that violet tone in the glass come from the high Cleveland hydrogen bomb or is it just age and ultraviolet, like desert glass?" "No, somebody's grandfather liked it that color," Gusterson informed him with happy bitterness. "I like it too the glass, I mean, not the tint.
"Sure," Gusterson said dully, holding his hand to his stomach. "And now if you don't mind, Fay, I'm goin' home. I feel just a bit sick. Maybe the ozone and the other additives in your shelter air are too heady for me. It's been years since I tramped through a pine forest." "But Gussy! You've hardly got here. You haven't even sat down. Have another martini. Have a seltzer pill. Have a whiff of oxy.
"No, I'm doing something to that portion of me just now. But hang onto the yard, Gusterson." "Aye-aye, Cap'n," he assured her. Then, turning back to Fay, "So you've taken the Dr. Coué repeating out of the tickler?" "Oh, no. Just balanced it off with depressin. The subliminals are still a prime sales-point. All the tickler features are cumulative, Gussy.
Daisy came dragging in without her hat, looking as if she'd been concentrating on a chess problem for hours herself and just now given up. Her stripes seemed to have vanished; then Gusterson decided this was because her whole complexion was a touch green.
This time he added, "Ticklers shouldn't be tied to the frail bodies of humans, which need a lot of thoughtful supervision and drug-injecting and can't even fly." Crossing the park, Gusterson stopped a hump-backed soldier and informed him, "Ticklers gotta cut the apron string and snap the silver cord and go out in the universe and find their own purposes."
"I'll bet," Gusterson said drily. "Daisy?" "You gave it to the kids and they got to fooling with it and broke it." "No matter," Fay told them with a large sidewise sweep of his hand. "Better you wait for the new model. It's a six-way improvement." "So I gather," Gusterson said, eyeing him speculatively. "Does it automatically inject you with cocaine? A fix every hour on the second?" "Ha-ha, joke.
It looked like the top half of a pseudo-science robot a squat evil child robot, Gusterson told himself, which had lost its legs in a railway accident and it seemed to him that a red fleck was moving around imperceptibly in the huge single eye. "I'll take that memo now," Fay said coolly, reaching out his hand.
I say if they've got the equipment for being conscious, they're conscious. What has wings, flies." "Including stuffed owls and gilt eagles and dodoes and wood-burning airplanes?" "Maybe, under some circumstances. There was a wood-burning airplane. Fay," Gusterson continued, wagging his wrists for emphasis, "I really think computers are conscious.
"No, you won't," Gusterson called back. "You having a face like that would scare the kids. Better cancel that one, Fay. Half the adult race looking like Vina Vidarsson is too awful a thought." "Yah, you're just scared of making a million dollars," Daisy jeered.
The clock face blurred briefly three times before showing the setting he'd mentioned. Then Fay spoke into the punctured area: "Turn on TV Channel Two, you big dummy!" He grinned over at Gusterson. "When you've got all your instructions to yourself loaded in, you synchronize with the present moment and let her roll. Fit it on your shoulder and forget it.
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