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"Well, then, how about a beauty mask? How about that, hey? I don't mean one to repair a woman's complexion, but one she'd wear all the time that'd make her look like a 17-year-old sexpot. That'd end her worries." "Hey, that's for me," Daisy called from the kitchen. "I'll make Gusterson suffer. I'll make him crawl around on his hands and knees begging my immature favors."
"That's not a suitable topic for jesting," Fay frowned. "We're hoping that Tickler will mobilize the full potential of the Free World for the first time in history. Gusterson, you are going to have to wear a ticky-tick. It's becoming impossible for a man to get through modern life without one." "Maybe I will," Gusterson said appeasingly, "but right now tell me about Moodmaster.
Somehow, underground, the little man seemed to carry more weight. "You're having cocktails in my thinking box. Besides, climbing a down escaladder will give you a heart attack." In his home habitat Gusterson was about as easy to handle as a rogue rhinoceros, but away from it and especially if underground he became more like a pliable elephant.
He held still for a moment, as if thinking, and then walked over to Gusterson and looked him in the face and again held still. Fay's expression was jaunty on the surface, agonized underneath. Gusterson knew that he wasn't thinking at all, but only listening for instructions from something that was whispering on the very threshold of his inner ear.
Oh, yes, and it literally does tickle you every time it delivers an instruction. That's what the little rollers are for. Believe me, you can't ignore it. Come on, Gussy, take off your shirt and try it out. We'll feed in some instructions for the next ten minutes so you get the feel of how it works." "I don't want to," Gusterson said. "Not right now. I want to sniff around it first.
Why, before Micro Systems put a single one on the market, we'd made it a rule that every Micro employee had to wear one! If that's not having supreme confidence in a product " "Every employee except the top executives, of course," Gusterson interrupted jeeringly. "And that's not demoting you, Fay. As the R & D chief most closely involved, you'd naturally have to show special enthusiasm."
"Hey," Gusterson protested, thinking especially of the sulky-lipped girl, "do you mean to tell me all those other people were toting two stone?" Fay shook his head heavily. "They were all wearing Mark 3 or 4. I'm wearing Mark 6," he said, as one might say, "I'm carrying the genuine Cross, not one of the balsa ones." But then his face brightened a little and he went on.
"Everything that's a body is also a spirit. Gussy, that dubious old metaphysical dualism went out centuries ago." "Maybe so," Gusterson said, "but we still haven't anything but that dubious dualism to explain the human mind, have we? It's a jelly of nerve cells and it's a vision of the cosmos. If that isn't dualism, what is?" "I give up. Gussy, are you going to try out this tickler?" "No!"
Gusterson nodded vaguely, sat down on the couch and propped his chin on the base of his palm. After a while his brow smoothed and Daisy knew that the wheels had started to turn inside and the electrons to jump around except that she reminded herself to permanently cross out those particular figures of speech from her vocabulary.
"I wish I could " A claw reached for his ear, a spasm of pain crossed his face, he stiffened and marched off. The door shut. Gusterson took two deep breaths that were close to angry sobs. Then, still breathing stentorously, he stamped into the bedroom. "What ?" Daisy asked, looking after him. He came back carrying his .38 and headed for the door.
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