“Tooker Compucorp in Medlam needs programmers,” I was told, “and your experience fits that bill. Two hundred units have been credited to your account compliments of the government, which will be enough to get you there and get you settled. It’s a good company and a good location if you like the tropics. Warm there most of the year.”
And with little more than this and some instructions on how to buy things like clothes and tickets and who to see, I was off.
I found that the little three-pronged gadgets were literally everywhere. To get on the shuttle to Medlam you walked up, put your card in the slot, and put on the little device. If everything checked, the fare was deducted from your account and your card returned to you, and in this case a physical ticket was printed. Very efficient and very simple.
I also found that a number of small purchases worked just with the card—newspapers, confections, that sort of thing.
It was a long ride with a lot of stops and several times I had to keep myself from dozing off—the situation could get serious if somebody else was dozing, too. Fortunately the shuttle had a small food service dispensing system where you could get stimulant drinks, including a Cerberan version of coffee and another of tea, and snacks. I drank a lot of stimulant drinks along the way and needed all of them.
I arrived late in the afternoon, but got a robocab to the Tooker offices anyway on the off-chance that I wouldn’t be too late for that day.
The place was imposing, that was for sure. Glassy windows lined towering tree trunks all around, and in between, cradled like some play treehouse for the impossibly rich, an imposing all-glass-fronted office building that connected to all the vast trunks. This, then, was Tooker.
The main offices had already closed for the day, but the night staff was very cordial and recommended a nearby hotel for the night. The hotel, entirely in a massive trunk, was modern and luxurious inside. Nervously, I called the Central Banking number to see how much I still had left after all this, and was surprised and relieved to find that I still had 168.72 units in my account.
The only unusual thing about the room was that there was a switch in the headboard of the bed with a sign that read: turn before sleeping. I discovered that turning it raised plating around the bed from floor to ceiling, plates of some thin but firm plasticlike substance through which ran metal threads of some sort.
Claustrophobia, then, was a real problem on Cerberus. The shield was obviously there to ensure a good night’s sleep with no unexpected exchanges. I wondered what sort of distance would be the maximum range for a sleep-exchange and decided I’d have to know that. I asked one of the desk employees about it, and he, upon finding I was new, told me that the shields weren’t necessary in the hotel and that almost nobody used them, but they were there because some big shots became paranoid. Although in some cases, an exchange could take place at up to twenty meters, the walls, floor, and ceiling of all rooms were treated to shield. That made me feel a little better, and I didn’t use the shield again that evening.
The room vision monitors were no help, since they seemed composed of years-old bad programming from the civilized worlds and some really horrible and amateurish local programming, but I got a print-out of the local paper and looked it over. Not much there, either—not big-city scope at all; more like the vacuous weeklies produced in some rural areas. The only unique item was a small column back with the classifieds for personals and announcements called “switched,” followed by a double column of names—maybe a dozen pairs. One way to know who your friends really were here, I reflected.
In fact, the ads were the only things of real interest. There was evidently a small but thriving competitive sector on consumer goods allowed between the corporations, assuring a variety of goods at less than totally uniform prices. On the civilized worlds, of course, there were few brands of anything. For example, the best tested and most recommended toothpaste was everybody’s toothpaste, perhaps in three or four flavors, and there were no brands or competition. Here there was, for the first time since I’d been on the frontier, and I found I kind of liked it.
There were also banks, although they were not such full-service institutions as those with which I was familiar. Apparently you could take some of your units out of the master account and place it with a bank at interest, and also borrow money from such banks. There was therefore a semi-independent subeconomy here, and that too was worth noting.
Judging from the want ads, Tooker was the big employer, but many other places also advertised, so some movement was possible on one’s own. The independent merchants advertised a lot for part-time help, too, suggesting some economic disparity and also indicating that, even if the executive offices closed in the late afternoon, Tooker operated around the clock in many divisions.
To my surprise, some churches were listed—in fact, a fair number of them for just about every belief under the sun, including some new to me that sounded pretty bizarre. Also part-time schools to better yourself or your position, lots of the usual stuff like that.
That brought up a point, and I checked the local phone directory. No schools for the young were listed anywhere, nor were there any headings for day care or other services for children or parents. Obviously I still had gaps to fill in for this new culture.
Medlam, being subtropical, seemed to have a number of resorts and tourist-orieiited stuff, including several for “Thrilling Charter Bork Hunts!” whatever a bork was.
Interestingly, nowhere, not in the briefing, not in the guide book, nor anywhere else was there reference to Wagant Laroo. The Lord of Cerberus certainly kept a low profile.
The next day I checked out bright and early and showed up at the Tooker personnel office. They were expecting me and quickly processed me into the corporation. The job was thirty-eight hours a week at 2.75 units per hour, although that could increase up to 9.00 units with seniority in my assistant’s position and even more should I move up. I definitely intended on moving up. I was told, too, that I was a Class I Individual, which was reserved for those with special skills. Class I’s kept the same job regardless of body. Class II’s kept the same job regardless of who was inside the body. There was also a Class III for unskilled workers who could switch jobs if they and their employers agreed—a sort of safety valve, I guessed. Idly I asked what happened if a I and II switched, and was told matter-of-factly that in that case the decision on who did what was made by the government, usually getting judges to switch them back forcibly.
“Take my advice if you’re the kind that likes switching around,” the personnel manager told me. “Switch only with other I’s. It’s simpler and causes no trouble.”
“I doubt if I’ll do much switching in the near future,” I assured him. “Not voluntarily, anyway.”
He nodded. “Just remember the possibilities and guard against them, and you never will switch unless you want to, and then only with whom you want. And when you’re gettin’ older and want a new start—well, that’s up to you. Stay clean, work hard, and make youself indispensable or at least important—that is the best insurance. Make ’em want to give you a new body every thirty years or so. That’s the best way.”
I nodded soberly. “Thanks. Il’l remember that.” Of course I had no intention of settling into a regular routine for that long a time. But I did need some time like that, time to get to know people and get to know the world and the society. Patience is the greatest of virtues if you’re going to subvert a society, and there’s no substitute for preparation.