Part 48 (1/2)

talking about were the old kind, the Fahrenheit kind. One hundred on

the old scale might be forty or forty-five real degrees, she figured. But

he might be having some appercept trouble, or maybe even a boil-over

in the metabolism line. She leaned over and checked the master chair

readout. Everything looked okay. He must just be excited about getting

to go to the city.

The car that the Armistice Centennial people had sent was waiting out

front. It had a hinged gate and a wheelchair ramp so she could roll him

right into it. The driver looked like an android, though he probably

wasn't. Uncle James sat quietly, murmuring to himself, as the car

pulled away from the curb and headed down the hill toward the freeway.

”We in the city yet?” he asked, after a time. ”We're just reaching the

bridge, Uncle.”

”The bridge is broken. That was the first thing they bombed in the war.”

”There's a new bridge now,” Carlotta said. The new bridge was older

than she was, but she didn't see much purpose in telling him that.

She swung him around to face the window and pointed it out to him, a