“I guess not,” he said eventually. “I guess with luck it may not. If I go on getting better at using the talent, I may be able to take precautions. I could avoid exhaustion, for instance. Illness, though . . . I don’t know.”
“The way I see it,” Magda said firmly, “is that anything that made you sick and weak would probably screw up the talent anyway. It uses up a hell of a lot of your energy, that’s for sure. I mean, look at you! You’re not just lean, you’re scrawny I can count your ribs.”
Danty gave his body a self-conscious glance.
“I’ll fix you a good big breakfast,” Magda said, rising. “After that I’ll have to stash you behind the curtain. I have a customer due at noon.”
“No need for that,” Danty said. “I guess I can relax a bit today. I don’t feel there’s anything I have to do at once.”
He added, stretching, “Christi Does that make a change”
Sunday was spreading slowly across the nation. The super ways, of course were packed to capacity-literally millions of people knew no more enjoyable way to spend their free time than hurtling from place to place at high speed. Many people routinely did a thousand miles every weekend, and a few notched up double that.
Buzzing low over one stretch of superway close to the Atlantic coast there came a flight of plain gray helicopters, their only distinguishing mark a big white number: 33. Recognizing them, people in cars below began to wind down windows and wave, and probably also shout, only the traffic-noise drowned out their cries.
Everyone was always delighted when they spotted one of the Energetics General service teams. More than the Army (because the Army wag often called on for domestic duties and hence was little liked by those who had personal experience of martial law), and far more than the Navy (because the Navy had gone into politics full-time the current Prexy was a Navy nominee, though likely to be the last for some time because everyone knew that the Army was winding up for the next election and had something extraordinary up its collective sleeve-and most
Americans still vaguely distrusted professional politicians), the engineers of EG were the people who had armed and armored the United States against the malevolence of a hostile world.
In the lead helicopter of the flight, Gunnar Sandstrom waved back, because he knew his crew expected it of him, but he was glad when the superway was out of sight. He was becoming more and more concerned about his name. He was wondering how to change it to something-well, something plainer. It had been an okay thing for the past couple of decades to bear a Scandinavian patronymic, but the climate was getting tougher all the time, and you could hardly find any Polish, Italian, or German names now.
On the other hand, if he did decide to indent for a fresh name, it would mean months of grilling by security, probably temporary suspension from his job, endless re-evaluation of his record, and he might all too easily be graded down to so low a clearance that EG couldn’t keep him on…
He was still debating with himself when they came to the reserved area that was their day’s destination. But he hadn’t reached a decision. And he knew he would go on pondering tomorrow, the day after, the day after …. He had been divorced once because his wife, in the long run, didn’t like the name that had originally struck her as romantic. And at thirty-five it was getting harder and harder to find girls who were still inclined to regard a touch of “foreignness” as interesting.
In accordance with normal routine, the ‘copters made a pass beyond the reserved area to check the seaward side. A mile to the north there was a beach that wasn’t too badly fouled with oil, sewage, and garbage to be used, and now and then they found a small sailboat blown off course around here, or a swimmer-wearing rubber and a mask, naturally. Today, however, there was no one, so they circled and set down.
“Josh!” Potatohead said, and pointed at a display of papers outside the little store they were passing on the way to a hoverhalt. “Saw’n Cronkle?”