Part 2 (2/2)
A section of the wall groaningly slid aside. Jason, peering, saw into nothing more than additional darkness. And abandonment.
”Step on through,” the clerk said, and maneuvered him forward. The wall, after a pause, slid shut again behind them.
Lights winked on. Momentarily blinded, Jason s.h.i.+elded his eyes and then took a good look at her workshop.
It was small. But he saw a number of what appeared to be complex and highly specialized machines. On the far side a workbench. Tools by the hundreds, all neatly mounted in place on the walls of the room. Below the workbench large cartons, probably containing a variety of papers. And a small generator-driven printing press.
And the girl. She sat on a high stool, hand-arranging a line of type. He made out pale hair, very long but thin, dribbling down the back of her neck onto her cotton work s.h.i.+rt. She wore jeans, and her feet, quite small, were bare. She appeared to him to be, at a guess, fifteen or sixteen. No b.r.e.a.s.t.s to speak of, but good long legs; he liked that. She wore no makeup whatsoever, giving her features a white, slightly pastel tint.
”Hi,” she said.
The clerk said, ”I'm going. I'll try not to spend the five hundred dollars in one place.” Touching a b.u.t.ton, he caused the section of wall to slide aside; as it did so the lights in the workroom clicked out, leaving them once again in absolute darkness.
From her stool the girl said, ”I'm Kathy.”
”I'm Jason,” he said. The wall had slid shut, now, and the lights had come on again. She's really very pretty, he thought. Except that she had a pa.s.sive, almost listless quality about her. As if nothing to her, he thought, is worth a d.a.m.n. Apathy? No, he decided. She was shy; that was the explanation.
”You gave him five hundred dollars to bring you here?” Kathy said wonderingly; she surveyed him critically, as if seeking to make some kind of value judgment about him, based on his appearance.
”My suit isn't usually this rumpled,” Jason said.
”It's a nice suit. Silk?”
”Yes.” He nodded.
”Are you a student?” Kathy asked, still scrutinizing him. ”No, you're not; you don't have that pulpy pasty color they have, from living subsurface. Well, that leaves only one other possibility.”
”That I'm a criminal,” Jason said. ”Trying to change my ident.i.ty before pols and nats get me.”
”Are you?” she said, with no sign of uneasiness. It was a simple, flat question.
”No.” He did not amplify, not at that moment. Perhaps later.
Kathy said, ”Do you think a lot of those nats are robots and not real people? They always have those gas masks on so you can't really tell.”
”I'm content just to dislike them,” Jason said. ”Without looking into it any further.”
”What ID do you need? Driver's license? Police-file ident card? Proof of employment at a legal job?”
He said, ”Everything. Including members.h.i.+p tab in the Musicians Union Local Twelve.”
”Oh, you're a musician.” She regarded him with more interest, now.
”I'm a vocalist,” he said. ”I host an hour-long TV variety show Tuesday night at nine. Maybe you've seen it. The Jason Taverner Show.”
”I don't own a TV set any more,” the girl said. ”So I guess I wouldn't recognize you. Is it fun to do?”
”Sometimes. You meet a lot of show-biz people and that's fine if that's what you like. I've found them mostly to be people like anybody else. They have their fears. They're not perfect. Some of them are very funny, both on and off camera.”
”My husband always used to tell me I have no sense of humor,” the girl said. ”He thought everything was funny. He even thought it was funny when he was drafted into the flats.”
”Did he still laugh by the time he got out?” Jason asked. ”He never did. He was killed in a surprise attack by students. But it wasn't their fault; he was shot by a fellow nat.”
Jason said, ”How much is it going to cost me to get my full set of ID? You better tell me now before you start on them.”
”I charge people what they can afford,” Kathy said, once more setting up her line of type. ”I'm going to charge you a lot because I can tell you're rich, by the way you gave Eddy five hundred dollars to get you here, and by your suit. Okay?” Briefly she glanced in his direction. ”Or am I wrong? Tell me.”
”I have five thousand dollars on me,” Jason said. ”Or, rather, less five hundred. I'm a world-famous entertainer; I work a month every year at the Sands in addition to my show. In fact, I appear at a number of first-cla.s.s clubs, when I can squeeze them into my tight schedule.”
”Gee,” Kathy said. ”I wish I had heard of you; then I could be impressed.”
He laughed.
”Did I say something stupid?” Kathy asked timidly.
”No,” Jason said. ”Kathy, how old are you?”
”I'm nineteen. My birthday is in December, so I'm almost twenty. How old did you think I am by looking at me?”
”About sixteen,” he said.
Her mouth turned down in a childlike pout. ”That's what everybody says,” she said in a low voice. ”It's because I don't have any bosom. If I had a bosom I'd look twenty-one. How old are you?” She stopped fiddling with her type and eyed him intently. ”I'd guess about fifty.”
Fury flowed through him. And misery.
”You look like your feelings are hurt,” Kathy said.
”I'm forty-two,” Jason said tightly.
”Well, what's the difference? I mean, they're both--”
”Let's get down to business,” Jason broke in. ”Give me a pen and paper and I'll write down what I want and what I want each card to say about me. I want this done exactly right. You better be good.”
”I made you mad,” Kathy said. ”By saying you look fifty. I guess on closer examination you really don't. You look about thirty.” She handed him pen and paper, smiling shyly. And apologetically.
Jason said, ”Forget it.” He patted her on the back.
”I'd rather people didn't touch me,” Kathy said; she slid away.
Like a fawn in the woods, he thought. Strange; she's afraid to be touched even a little and yet she's not afraid to forge doc.u.ments, a felony that could get her twenty years in prison. Maybe n.o.body bothered to tell her it's against the law. Maybe she doesn't know.
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