“But your trip is primarily business?”
“Yes, yes. My primary purpose is to study your roadcities, and report to my government on the advisability of trying to adapt your startling American methods to our social problems Down Under. I thought you understood that such was the reason I was sent to you.”
“Yes, 1 did, in a general way. I don’t know just what it is that you wish to find out. I suppose that you have heard about our road towns, how they came about, how they operate, and so forth.”
“I’ve read a good bit, true, but I am not a technical man, Mr. Gaines, not an engineer. My field is social and political. I want to see how this remarkable technical change has affected your people. Suppose you tell me about the roads as if I were entirely ignorant. And I will ask questions.”
“That seems a practical plan. By the way, how many are there in your party?”
“Just myself. I sent my secretary on to Washington.”
“I see.” Gaines glanced at his wrist watch. “It’s nearly dinner time. Suppose we run up to the Stockton strip for dinner. There is a good Chinese restaurant up there that I’m partial to. It will take us about an hour and you can see the ways in operation while we ride.”
“Excellent.”
Gaines pressed a button on his desk, and a picture formed on a large visor screen mounted on the opposite wall. It showed a strong-boned, angular young man seated at a semi-circular control desk, which was backed by a complex instrument board. A cigarette was tucked in one corner of his mouth.
The young man glanced up, grinned, and waved from the screen. “Greetings and salutations, Chief. What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Dave. You’ve got the evening watch, eh? I’m running up to the Stockton sector for dinner. Where’s Van Kleeck?”
“Gone to a meeting somewhere. He didn’t say.”
“Anything to report?”
“No, sir. The roads are rolling, and all the little people are going ridey-ridey home to their dinners.”
“O.K.-keep ’em rolling.”
“They’ll roll, Chief.”
Gaines snapped off the connection and turned to Blekinsop. “Van Kleeck is my chief deputy. I wish he’d spend more time on the road and less on politics. Davidson can handle things, however. Shall we go?”
They glided down an electric staircase, and debauched on the walkway which bordered the northbound five mile-an-hour strip. After skirting a stairway trunk marked OVERPASS TO SOUTHBOUND ROAD, they paused at the edge of the first strip. “Have you ever ridden a conveyor strip before?” Gaines inquired. “It’s quite simple. Just remember to face against the motion of the strip as you get on.”
They threaded their way through homeward-bound throngs, passing from strip to strip. Down the center of the twenty-mile-an-hour strip ran a glassite partition which reached nearly to the spreading roof. The Honorable Mister Blekinsop raised his eyebrows inquiringly as
he looked at it.
“Oh, that?” Gaines answered the unspoken inquiry as he slid back a panel door and ushered his guest through.
“That’s a wind break. If we didn’t have some way of separating the air currents over the strips of different speeds, the wind would tear our clothes off on the hundred-mile-an-hour strip.” He bent his head to Blekinsop’s as he spoke, in order to cut through the rush of air against the road surfaces, the noise of the crowd, and the muted roar of the driving mechanism concealed beneath the moving strips. The combination of noises inhibited further conversation as they proceeded toward the middle of the roadway. After passing through three more wind screens located at the forty, sixty, and eighty-mile-an-hour strips respectively, they finally reached the maximum speed strip, the hundred-mile-an-hour strip, which made the round trip, San Diego to Reno and back, in twelve hours.
Blekinsop found himself on a walkway twenty feet wide facing another partition. Immediately opposite him an illuminated show window proclaimed:
JAKE’S STEAK HOUSE No. 4
The Fastest Meal on the Fastest Road!
“To dine on the fly Makes the miles roll by!!”
“Amazing!” said Mr. Blekinsop. “It would be like dining in a tram. Is this really a proper restaurant?”