At last, with a sigh, Norvell surrendered to the terrifying theme.
“I don’t think I ought to,” he said faintly.
Dworcas inclined his head. “It’s your decision, Norvell,” he said courteously.
“I just don’t see how I can, Arnie. I’d lose the house, Virginia would raise holy——”
Arnie stopped him. He shrugged. “You may be right. Who knows? There’s certainly no security in the world for a man without a contract job. You’d have to leave your home, true, and move to the suburbs—” Norvell blinked “—at least temporarily. It’s a hard life there. Hard work, few amusements, a constant challenge to prove yourself—to make your way in spite of hell or high water—or fall by the wayside.” He looked speculatively at Norvell, and dismissed the subject. “Well,” he said generously, “I just wanted to give you the benefit of my thinking on the point. You do as you see fit. I guess you’ll want to be getting home.”
“Sure,” Norvell said. And remembering: “Oh, Arnie, I meant to thank you for steering me to that lawyer. I don’t know what I would have——”
“Think nothing of it. I’m always glad to do anything I can for you, you know that. You won’t forget about the tickets.”
“Tickets?” Norvell asked wildly.
“The tickets for the Field Day. Not general admission, you know. As close to the Master’s box as you can get them.”
Norvell’s eyes opened wide. He said in a thin voice, “Arnie, you were bragging to your boss that you could get tickets even though they’ve been sold out for six weeks. Isn’t that it?” They stared nakedly at each other; then Norvell’s eyes fell. “Just kidding,” he mumbled. “I’ll try to get them.”
He got home, somehow. Virginia was still awake, but there was only a minor squabble over the music coming from behind Alexandra’s locked door. Norvell made the mistake of com-
meriting that it was past midnight, and a ten-year-old should
His wife said raucously, “Should be this, and should be that, and should do everything Mr. Bligh wants her to. Surel Norvie, did you ever stop to think that she’s a person?! This whole house isn’t organized around you, you know; irs our home too, and——**
Norvell had had all he could take. He yelled, “It’s our house now, but it’s the company’s house too, and one more word out of you and I give it back to them. Then you two prize packages from Belly Rave will be right back where you belong.”
The words “Belly Rave” did it, more than the threat. Virginia’s face stiffened in shocked surprise. Norvell stalked out and down the steps and poured himself a drink.
He sat with it in his hand for a long minute of wordless anger and finally set it down untasted. Belly Rave; hell, it couldn’t be too bad. He looked in sudden wonder at the room around him.
Such a difference between a bubble-city G.M.L. house and Belly Rave? Why did they take it so hard? He decided he’d have to visit Belly Rave one of these days, anyhow. Not for anything nasty. Thank God he didn’t care for that sort of thing. Just to get a look. But what could the difference be? A house was a house. It had warm resilient loors; it had walls; it had utilities. If you didn’t like the floor warm you dialed it to cool. If you didn’t like the wall color or pattern you turned the selector wheel to something else. If you didn’t like a room plan you undipped the wall and clipped it somewhere else. Hell, that’s what a house was.
Norvell dialed a bed and set the house to full automatic. As he lay down his pillow chimed softly, but he didn’t need sleepy music that night; with a curse, he reached over his head and turned it off. In the copper plexus at the house’s core transistors pulsed; solenoids barred the doors; microswitches laid traps for intruders; thermocouples tasted the incoming air and cooled it an additional four degrees. Commutator points roved around a hidden dial until they reached the stations where a sweeping clock hand would boil the water for the coffee, heat the griddle for the eggs, set the breakfast dishes. But by then Norvell was already asleep.