"Where are we going, Perry?"
"I hadn't thought about it. Where would you suggest?"
"Would you like to see San Francisco?"
"Fine!"
"Then let me set the course."
"I can do it. I know this country." He located the South Fork of the American River and followed it by eye until it joined the Sacramento River. Presently Diana got up and went to the rear of the car. When they were approaching Sacramento she announced lunch. "Can't do," answered Perry. "I'm coming into traffic." She peered over his shoulder.
"I'll set the robot to circle Sacramento and pick up the San Francisco beam. You mustn't fly in traffic until you have qualified in the rules. Now come to lunch."
Hot soup. Stuffed eggs and celery. Oatmeal cookies and grapes. Cold milk. When it was inside Perry felt no desire to move. He lay on his stomach with his head over the edge of the lazy bench and watched the ground slip by the deck port. Diana regarded him lazily. Presently the ground changed to water.
"Coming into San Francisco!" he cried, jumped to his feet and seated himself in the bow.
"Don't touch the controls, Perry," Diana cautioned. "They are on full automatic." Perry didn't answer for they were slicing across the bay bridge.
"Dian', is that the same bridge?"
"I believe so."
Perry looked proud. "They had engineers in my day, too."
"Indeed they did."
"Why, there is the Ferry Building. Don't tell me that has stood all these years."
"No, that is a replica. It's a museum of California history."
"There's Nob Hill! And the Fairmont Hotel."
"You're right, but I don't see how you recognized it. It's only been there ten years."
"I can see how it's not the same building. But it's in the right place." The car changed course and commenced leisurely to circle the city in a clockwise direction. Several other aircraft were in the same circle at the same speed.
"The streets are decked over, aren't they? What's that moving under the glass decks?"
"Those are the streets, with people traveling on them."
"But how? I don't see any automobiles or other vehicles, yet they are going pretty fast."
"The streets move in strips. The strip nearest the buildings goes five kilometers an hour, then next ten and so on to the middle. Those have seats on them and travel forty kilometers."
"How about the end of the line?"
"The end of the line? Oh, they travel in loops. If you stay on one you come back to where you started. The cross traffic is on a lower level, naturally. Shall we land, Perry?"
His brow furrowed. "What do you think? I probably don't know how to behave. Besides I can't go into a city like this, can I?" He indicated his bare condition.
"No real reason why you shouldn't, except to avoid being conspicuous. But the public kit you bought yesterday is by you in the locker under the bench you are sitting on." Diana dug it out, and gave it to him. Perry donned it. It consisted of a kilt of bright blue silk hung on a broad leather belt with pockets and hooks in it. A strap over one shoulder helped to support the belt. Slashes in the kilt were lined with bright silver stuff which glittered as he moved. The belt and strap were black with chromium fittings which matched his sandals. Diana surveyed him.
"There. All set? Then I'll land us." Diana put the car down carefully through a maze of traffic onto a platform on Nob Hill. Before leaving the car she picked up a garment of her own and slipped it on. It was a Grecian tunic of black velvet, caught at the right shoulder with a jeweled silver clip. The right side hung open. The left shoulder and breast were bare. Perry whistled.
"Dian', you look perfectly gorgeous in that outfit, but in my home town they would toss us in jail and throw away the key."
"What for?"
"Indecent exposure."
"How silly. Let's go."
Diana received a check from the parking attendant, and they started for the stairs. It was cold on the platform. Perry felt goose flesh form on his chest and a sharp wind fluttered his kilt. Diana appeared not to mind. But it was warm in the stairway. As they rode to the street level Perry glanced at the other passengers. Apparently he and Diana were sufficiently clad. Most of the women wore as much as Diana, but several of them wore more provocative clothes. Passing the seventh level he noticed leaning in a doorway marked CORECTIV MASAJ a big Scandinavian girl clad only in a bored look. No one seemed to take special note of her. The men's costumes were varied. Many of them wore coveralls of heavy cloth. These Perry judged to be mechanics from the platform. A goodly number were dressed much as Perry was. He noticed one old gentleman in a Roman toga, who read a newspaper as he rode. But in a moment they debarked at the street level and Perry was too busy to worry much about clothes. They were caught in a swirl of foot traffic at the landing which separated him from Diana. He felt a wave of panic as he looked for her and failed to find her. Then a little warm hand slipped into his and he heard her voice. "Let me hold your hand. I nearly got carried away." He looked down at her face and knew that she was being diplomatic, but he didn't care. He held her hand tightly.
"What do you want to see, Perry?"
"Gosh, I don't know. Suppose you show me around a bit. If I think of anything, I'll tell you."
"All right." They proceeded along a wide corridor toward the street. The corridor was lined with brightly lighted little studio shops. Perry glanced at the displays as they walked. Most of the items seemed to be handcraft of various sorts, curios and beautiful things, some familiar in conception and use, some unintelligible. The Chinese, Japanese, and Indian shops seemed most familiar. In a few cases prices were marked. These seemed surprisingly high to him. He asked Diana about this.
"Why, naturally they cost a lot, Perry. These things are handmade. They are worth whatever the artist asks for them, if you want them enough to pay his price. A lot of them are queer ducks though. If you appreciate something they have made and you can't afford to buy it, they may just give it to you."
"But how can these hand workers compete with factory production?"
"They don't compete. Their work is for people who appreciate individual creation. The value of the things they make has nothing to do with the cost of the materials or the usefulness of the article. They are aesthetic values, that can't be standardized."
"Suppose people won't pay for an artist's work?"
"In that case he can do as he likes—either go on creating and keep the results or give them away—or stop and do something else."
"I didn't make myself clear. How can he go on creating if people won't buy?"
"He lives on his heritage checks, or he works for pay part of the time and works at his art part of the time."
Perry fell silent. They passed a row of public visiphone booths and came out on Mason Street. Perry had his first view of traffic on the moving ways and was made a little giddy by the sight. The crowds of people in front of him all appeared to be pedestrians but they moved at various speeds, those furthest away moving the fastest. It reminded him of times when, on a dance floor, he had whirled with a light-footed partner and then stopped suddenly. He glanced back at the adjacent building to steady himself. Then he looked back at the street. The movements gradually ordered themselves in his mind. He saw that each moving strip was about eight feet wide. He counted six strips to the middle of the street. The last strip carried a continuous bench on its far side and facing him. People were seated on this bench, reading, talking, and watching the life around them. Between their heads Perry saw flashing past in the opposite direction the heads of the passengers on the other side of the street. Overhead the glass canopy stretched from side to side from the window level of the second story, perhaps twenty feet in the air. On his left a pedestrians foot bridge arched daintily over the ways. From beneath the moving ways came a whisper and purr of machinery. Diana squeezed his hand. "Want to go for a ride?"