He was glad there was no phone service to the minor planets; it would be maddening to wait ten minutes or so between sentences-easier to stat a letter. “Sorry,” he said. “My mistake. How was the play? The crowds didn’t look so good.”
“Naturally the crowd was light. One shipload isn’t Noah’s Ark. But the play was okay. They had plenty of scrip and were anxious to spend. We reported to your agent.”
“Sure. I’ll get the report, but I wanted to know what gadgets were popular.”
“Lost Comet went strong. And so did Eclipses.”
“How about Claiming Race and Who’s Your Baby?”
“Okay, but not too heavy. Astronomy is the angle for this dive. I told you that.”
“Yes, I should have listened to you. Well, I’ll figure out a revamp. You could change Claiming Race right now. Call it High Trajectory and rename the mobiles after some of the asteroids. Get it?”
“Right. We’ll redecorate it in midnight blue and silver.”
“That’s right. I’ll send a stat to confirm. That’s all, I guess. I’m clearing.”
“Wait a minute. I took a whirl at Lost Comet myself, Felix. That’s a great game.”
“How much did you drop?”
Blumenthal looked suspicious. “Why about eight hundred and fifty, if you must know. Why do you assume I lost? Isn’t the game level?”
“Certainly it’s level. But I designed that game myself, Pete. Don’t forget that. It’s strictly for suckers. You stay away from it.”
“But look-I’ve figured out a way to beat it. I thought you ought to know.”
“That’s what you think. I know. There is no way to beat the game.”
“Well-okay.”
“Okay. Long life!”
“And kids.”
As soon as the circuit was clear the phone resumed its ubiquitous demand. “Thirty minutes. Better look at me, Boss. I got troubles. Better — ”
He removed a stat from the receiver; it shut up. “To Citizen Hamilton Felix 305-243 B47,” it read, “Greetings. The District Moderator for Genetics presents his compliments and requests that Citizen Hamilton visit him at his office at ten hundred tomorrow.” It was dated the previous evening and had an added notation requesting him to notify the moderator’s office if it were not convenient to keep the appointment, refer to number such-and-so.
It lacked thirty minutes of ten hundred. He decided to comply with the request.
The Moderator’s suite struck Hamilton as being rather less mechanized than most places of business, or perhaps more subtly so. It was staffed with humans where one expects auto-gadgets-the receptionist, for example. The staff was mostly female, some grave, some merry, but all were beautiful, very much alive, and obviously intelligent.
“The Moderator will see you now.”
Hamilton stood up, chucked his cigaret into the nearest oubliette, and looked at her. “Do I disarm?”
“Not unless you wish. Come with me, please.”
She ushered him as far as the door to the Moderator’s private office, dilated it, and left him as he stepped through. “Good morning, sir!” a pleasant voice called out.
Hamilton found himself staring at the Moderator. “Good morning to you,” he answered mechanically, then, “For the love o’ — !” His right hand slid of its own volition toward his sidearm, hesitated, changed its mind, and stopped.
The Moderator was the gentleman whose dinner party had been disturbed by the incident of the wayward crab leg.
Hamilton recovered some of his poise. “Sir,” he said stiffly, “this is not proper procedure. If you were not satisfied, you should have sent your next friend to wait on me.”
The Moderator stared at. him, then laughed in a fashion that would have been rude in another man-but from him it was simply Jovian. “Believe me, sir, this is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. I had no idea that the gentleman who exchanged courtesies with me yesterday evening was the one I wished to see this morning. As for the little contretemps in the restaurant-frankly, I would not have made an issue of the matter, unless you had forced me to the limit. I have not drawn my tickler in public for many years. But I am forgetting my manners-sit down, sir. Make yourself comfortable. Will you smoke? May I pour you a drink?”