”How about you, Malcolm? You coming to the gym, too?”
The freelance guide chuckled. “Just try and get rid of me. I wouldn’t miss this for a full-time job.”
”You,” Kit muttered, “are a pain in the neck.”
”Hey, don’t blame me,” Malcolm laughed. “You’re the one who agreed to teach her.”
”Yeah, I did. I figure it’s either teach her or bury her.”
Malcolm’s laughter vanished. “Yeah. I know. You need help, you let me know”
Kit gave him a pained smile. “I’ll do that. I figure I owe you.”
Malcolm groaned. “How come I have a bad feeling about this?”
”Because,” Kit punched his shoulder, “your luck stinks.”
The younger man chuckled. “Well, I won’t argue that. All right, here she comes. Smile, Grandpa.”
Kit muttered, “You’d better salute when you say that, mister.” Malcolm just laughed. Kit said forlornly, “I will never live this down. Never.” He pasted on what he hoped passed for a smile. “Okay, Margo, let’s go.”
Phase One underway.
And a lifetime’s worth of worrying yet to come.
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
News travels fast in a small town.
And despite its enormous size for a complex under one roof, TT-86 was, in fact, a very small town, as isolated in some ways as a medieval village. There was no live television, no live radio, no satellite hookups to talk to relatives left behind. Electronic recreation was available, of course, for a price. Most private quarters had televisions and laser-disk players and nearly every resident owned some kind of computer.
But in order to satisfy the craving for live entertainment, ‘eighty-sixers resorted to a time-honored form of recreation first invented by bored cave dwellers who found themselves stuck in cramped quarters with nowhere to go. ‘Eighty-sixers gossiped. About everythin. Tourists, other stations, down-time mishaps and adventures, each other …