‘Yes, Mr Strikerock,’ the adult female said, nodding.
‘And we’re cheerful, too. You can count on that.’ Obligingly she smiled in a neighbourly way at him. ‘It will be a relief to leave Earth with its repressive legislation. We were listening OH the FM to the news about the McPhearson Act.’
‘We consider it dreadful,’ the adult male said.
‘I have to agree with you,’ Chic said. ‘But what can one do?’ He looked around for the mail; as always it was lost somewhere in the mass of clutter.
‘One can emigrate,’ the adult male simulacrum pointed out.
‘Um,’ Chic said absently. He had found an unexpected heap of recent-looking bills from parts suppliers; with a feeling of gloom and even terror he began to sort through them. Had Maury seen these? Probably. Seen them and then pushed them away immediately, out of sight. Frauenzimmer Associates functioned better if it was not reminded of such facts of life. Like a regressed neurotic, it had to hide several aspects of reality from its percept system in order to function at all. This was hardly ideal, but what really was the alternative? To be realistic would be to give up, to die. Illusion, of an infantile nature was essential for the tiny firm’s survival, or at least so it seemed to him and Maury. In any case both of them had adopted this attitude. Their simulacra — the adult ones — disapproved of this; their cold, logical appraisal of reality stood in sharp contrast, and Chic always felt a little naked, a little embarrassed, before the simulacra; he knew he should set a better example for them.
‘If you bought a jalopy and emigrated to Mars,’ the adult male said, ‘We could be the famnexdo for you.’
‘I wouldn’t need any family next-door,’ Chic said, ‘if I emigrated to Mars. I’d go to get away from people.
‘We’d make a very good family next-door to you,’ the female said.
‘Look,’ Chic said, ‘you don’t have to lecture me about your virtues. I know more than you do yourselves.’ And for good reason. Their presumption, their earnest sincerity, amused but also irked him. As next-door neighbours this group of sims would be something of a nuisance, he reflected. Still, that was what emigrants wanted, in fact needed, out in the sparsely-populated colonial regions. He could appreciate that; after all, it was Frauenzimmer Associates’ business to understand.
A man, when he emigrated, could buy neighbours, buy the simulated presence of life, the sound and motion of human activity — or at least its mechanical near-substitute to bolster his morale in the new environment of unfamiliar stimuli and perhaps, god forbid, no stimuli at all. And in addition to this primary psychological gain there was a practical secondary advantage as well. The famnexdo group of simulacra developed the parcel of land, tilled it and planted it, irrigated it, made it fertile, highly productive. And the yield went to the human settler because the famnexdo group, legally speaking, occupied the peripheral portions of his land. The famnexdo were actually not next-door at all; they were part of their owner’s entourage. Communication with them was in essence a circular dialogue with oneself; the famnexdo, it they were functioning properly, picked up the covert hopes and dreams of the settler and detailed them back in an articulated fashion. Therapeutically, this was helpful, although from a cultural standpoint it was a trifle sterile.
The adult male said respectfully, ‘Here is Mr Frauenzimmer now.’
Glancing up, Chic saw the office door swing slowly open; carefully carrying his cup of coffee and doughnut, Maury appeared.
‘Listen, buddy,’ Maury said in a hoarse voice. He was a short, round, perspiring man, like a reflection in a bad mirror. His legs had an inferior look, as if they just barely managed to support him; he teetered as he moved forward.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I guess I got to fire you.’
Chic stared at him.
‘I can’t make it any longer,’ Maury said. Gripping the handle of his coffee cup with his blunt, work-stained fingers he searched for a place to set it and the doughnut down, among the papers and manuals littering the surface of the desk.
‘I’ll be darned,’ Chic said. In his ears his voice sounded weak.
‘You knew it was coming.’ Maury’s voice had become a bleak croak. ‘We both did. What else can I do? We haven’t turned over a major order in weeks. I’m not blaming you. Understand that. Look at this famnexdo group hanging around here — just hanging. We should be able to unload them long before now.’ Getting out his immense Irish linen handkerchief, Maury mopped his forehead. ‘I’m sorry Chic.’ He eyed his employee anxiously.
The adult male simulacrum said, ‘This is indeed a distressing exchange.’
‘I feel the same way,’ its mate added.
Glaring at them, Maury spluttered, ‘Tough, I mean, mind your own darn business. Who asked for your artificial, contrived opinion?’
Chic murmured, ‘Leave them alone.’ He was stunned at the news; emotionally, he had been caught totally by surprise, despite his intellectual forebodings.
‘If Mr Strikerock goes,’ the adult male simulacrum stated, ‘we go with him.’
Sourly, Maury grunted at the simulacra, ‘Aw, what the hell, you’re just a bunch of artefacts. Pipe down while we thrash this out. We have enough troubles without you getting involved.’ Seating himself at the desk he opened the morning Chronicle.
‘The whole world’s coming to an end. It’s not us, Chic, not just Frauenzimmer Associates. Listen to this item in today’s paper: “The body of Orley Short, maintenance man, was discovered today at the bottom of a six-foot vat of gradually hardening chocolate at the St Louis Candy Company.”‘ He raised his head. ‘You get that “Gradually hardening chocolate” — that’s it. That’s the way we live. I’ll continue. “Short, 53, failed to come home from work yesterday, and — “‘
‘Okay,’ Chic interrupted. ‘I understand what you’re trying to say. This is one of those times.’
‘Exactly. Conditions are beyond any individual’s power. It’s when you got to be fatalistic, you know: resigned-like. I’m resigned to seeing Frauenzimmer Associates close forever. Frankly, that’s next.’ He eyed the famnexdo group of simulacra moodily. ‘I don’t know why we constructed you fellows. We should have slapped together a gang of street hustlers, floozies with just enough class to interest the bourgeoisie. Listen, Chic, this is how this terrible item in the Chronicle ends. You simulacra, you listen, too. It’ll give you an idea of the kind of world you’ve been born into.
“Brother-in-law Antonio Costa drove to the candy factory and discovered him three feet down in the chocolate, St Louis police said.”‘ Maury savagely closed up the newspaper. ‘I mean, how are you going to work an event like that into your Weltanschauung? It’s just too damn dreadful. It unhinges you. And the worse part is that it’s so dreadful it’s almost funny.’
There was silence and then the male adult simulacrum, no doubt responding to some aspect of Maury’s subconscious, said, ‘This is certainly no time for such a bill as the McPhearson Act to come into effect. We require psychiatric help from whatever quarter we can obtain it.’
‘ “Psychiatric help,” ‘ Maury mocked. ‘Yeah, you’ve put your finger on it, Mr Jones or Smith or whatever we named you. Mr Next-door Neighbour, whoever you are. That would have saved Frauenzimmer Associates — right? A little psychoanalysis at two hundred dollars an hour for ten years … isn’t that how long it generally takes? Keerist.’
He turned away from the simulacra, disgusted, and ate his doughnut.
Presently Chic said, ‘Will you give me a letter of recommendation?’
‘Of course,’ Maury said.
Maybe I’ll have to go to work for Karp und Sohnen, Chic thought. His brother Vince, a Ge employee there, could get him put on; it was better than nothing, better than joining the pitiful jobless, the lowest order of the vast Be class, nomads who roamed the face of the Earth, now too poor even to emigrate. Or perhaps he should emigrate. Perhaps the time had at last come; he should face it squarely. For once give up the infantile ambitions upon which he had traded for so long.
But Julie. What about her? His brother’s wife made matters hopelessly complex; for example was he now responsible financially for her? He would have to thrash it out with Vince, meet him face to face. In any case. Whether he sought a position with Karp u. Sohnen Werke or not.
It would be awkward, to say the least, approaching Vince under these circumstances; the business with Julie had happened at a bad time.
‘Listen, Maury,’ Chic said. ‘You can’t lay me off, now. I’ve got a problem; as I related to you on the phone, I have a girl now who — ‘
‘All right.’
‘P-pardon?’
Maury Frauenzimmer sighed. ‘I said all right; I’ll keep you on a little longer. So it hastens the bankruptcy of Frauenzimmer Associates. So what. He shrugged massively.