The light flicked off and OMM’s picture disappeared. Absolutely empty and weak, THX clawed the door open and nearly fell as he tried to get out of the stinking booth. Another man pushed past him, started to enter the booth, then turned and looked sharply at THX.
After a stop at a Mercicontrol booth for cleaning up and a stimulant, THX felt better. I can make it home now. She’ll be there, she’ll be there.
Chapter 4
The fastest way back to his own apartment was the slideway that whisked through the main pedestrian corridor. But the slideway was stopped, THX saw.
People were milling around in the corridor and on the stilled conveyor belt of the slideway itself, some patient, others obviously irritated.
“Fourth time it’s broken down this month.”
“Been out of service for an hour.”
“An hour? I’ve been waiting for two hours!”
And purring from the overhead speakers:
“Please hold the handrail and stand to the right; if you wish to pass, pass on the left… Please hold the handrail and stand on the right. If you…”
THX started shouldering his way through the crowd. But soon it got thicker and slower- moving as he worked down the corridor. Finally he reached a point where the throng wasn’t moving at all, just shuffling, murmuring, complaining, buzzing like an immense clot of swarming insects. Jammed shoulder-to-shoulder with pill-nibbling strangers, THX couldn’t move forward. Nor backward.
“Never seen a traffic jam like this one.”
“Nah… last week, you should’ve seen that one. Lasted six hours. I fell asleep standing up!”
There were no police robots in sight. No repair crews. No orders or instructions or apologies from the overhead speakers. Nothing but the insane, “Please hold the handrail and stand to the right…”
Through a forest of heads, THX saw a lift tube entrance. He squeezed and pushed and elbowed his way through the mostly docile crowd and took the lift up one flight, to the shopping level.
I can get across up at this level, and then go back down.
It was crowded here, too. The people had a different attitude in the shopping plazas: more frenzied, eyes glittering, arms clutching packages, hands grabbing at displays. There were plenty of chrome robots here in police helmets and black leather uniforms.
The ubiquitous overhead speakers were saying in a friendly, smiling voice:
“Remember! Only two more days to fulfill Consumption Quota 88. Don’t be caught underconsuming. Be the first in your unit to complete Consumption Quota 88. Buy now!”
I ought to, THX realized. He had underconsumed on his last quota, and didn’t want to get docked for the same thing again.
The stores looked crowded. LUH. I want to get home to LUH.
But the overhead voices insisted:
“Only two more days to fulfill Consumption Quota 88. Don’t be caught underconsuming. Be the first…”
Somehow it sounded almost like a command.
“Buy now!”
It’ll only take a minute.
“Buy NOW!”
He stepped into the nearest store entrance and found a head-tall pyramid of bright orange plastic hexagons. Each one was stamped Consumption Quota 88.
He picked up one of the hexagons and walked over to the credit machine next to the display. Unclipping the badge from his lapel, he inserted it in the box-like machine.
Then he realized, “Wait… this is the old type…” An observer’s voice, thin and metallic- sounding, came from the credit machine. “What’s wrong?”
“This consumption unit… it’s the old type. I just had my consumall changed last month to take the new type. This one won’t fit.”
There was a barely perceptible click from the machine and a warm, soothing feminine voice said:
“For more enjoyment and greater efficiency, consumption is being standardized. We are sorry if you have experienced any temporary inconvenience. Place your identification badge in the reader and we will have units transferred to your account as soon as possible.”
“No…” THX said. “You already have my badge… and this is the wrong hexa…”
“For more enjoyment and greater efficiency,” the voice began repeating.
THX didn’t feel warmed or soothed. “Wait! You have my badge in the reader akeady. I want it back.”
The observer’s voice came back, “The mechanism seems to be jammed. Stay where you are, and we will have a member of the store’s staff assist you.”
“But I’m in a hurry to get home!”
No answer.
Feeling foolish and angry at the same time, THX stood by the machine, orange hexagon in hand, waiting for someone to come and help him. Several shoppers stepped up to the machine, most of them women.
“It’s… jammed,” he told them each, lamely.
One old woman scowled at him and said, “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m going to get a policeman here.”
She scuttled off.
“What seems to be the trouble?”
THX turned and saw a man of his own age, thin, polished-looking, smiling at him without feeling.
“My badge is stuck in the machine… and I picked up the wrong-sized consumption unit.”
The store manager made a tch! sound somewhere between his lips and teeth. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Something like this is always happening. Come back into the office with me and we’ll make out a temporary badge for you. We’ll send yours to you when the machine repair crew gets it out.”
THX said, “But that’ll take too long. Can’t you get mine now? It’s right here.”
The manager shrugged. “Do I look like a mechanic? I can’t get your badge out. It will only take a few minutes to make out a temporary badge for you.”
By now a handful of shoppers had gathered around them. One of them, an elderly man, cackled, “I can get your badge back for you—stand aside.”
He pushed THX out of the way with a frail arm and then whacked the machine on its side with his closed fist. The machine seemed to shudder, click, and THX’s badge popped out into the receiver slot.
“See?” The old man grinned, his mottled skin folding into accordion pleats. “You got to know how to do it!” The store manager looked as if he was going to have a stroke.
“Uh… thank you,” THX said.
“I’ll exchange this unit for a proper-sized one,” the manager said to THX, ignoring the old man.
A few minutes later, with a slightly smaller, yellow hexagon under his arm, THX left the store. But as he was leaving, another shopper—a middle-aged man—was banging on the same credit machine with his fists.
“Idiot machine! Someone ought to fix the machine! All the damned machines!”
A chrome police robot suddenly appeared at the man’s side and grasped him by the arm. Looking badly surprised, the man was hauled away. THX felt his stomach beginning to churn again. He left the store and hurried homeward.
She’ll be there. LUH will be there.
The apartment was dark.
THX stood by the front door as the overhead light panels automatically glowed to life. There was no sound in the apartment. Grim-faced, he went to the kitchen and popped the hexagon into the consumall. The bright plastic obligation disappeared with a hiss of suddenly released pressure.
He looked into the holoroom. She wasn’t there. With a boiling mixture of anger and hurt and fear rising inside him, THX went to the sanitary. He reached for the medicine cabinet.
“No, don’t.”
He whirled and saw her standing in the doorway. Her face looked so concerned, so beautiful. Childlike. Yet…