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"Can I buy you lunch?"
"You sure you want to get that involved?" she said with a sidelong glance.
"Okay," Dalt laughed, "I deserved that. But how about it? You've got to eat
somewhere."
She smiled. "I'd love to have you buy me lunch, but first I've got to catch up on a few
things that 'break' I just took was well over an hour long." She thought for a minute.
"There's a place on the square "
"You actually have a town square?" Dalt exclaimed.
"It's a tradition on Tolive; just about every town has one. The town square is one of
the very few instances of common ownership on the planet. It is used for public
discussion and ... uh ... other matters of public concern."
"Sounds like a quaint locale for a restaurant. Should be nice."
"It is. Why don't you meet me there at 13.0. You can familiarize yourself with the
square and maybe catch a little of the flavor of Tolive." The square was near the IMC
complex and she told him how to get there, then called an orderly to drive him out of
the maze of buildings to the front entrance.
A cool breeze offset the warmth of the sun as he walked and when he compared the
vaguely remembered cab trip of the morning to the route El had given him, he realized
that his hotel was right off the square. He scrutinized his fellow pedestrians in an effort
to discern a fashion trend but couldn't find one. Men wore everything from briefs to
business jumpers; women could be seen in everything from saris through clingsuits to
near-nude.
Shops began to proliferate along the street and Dalt sensed he was nearing the square.
A sign caught his eye: LIN'S LIT in large letters, and below, at about a quarter of the size
above, For the Discerning Viewer.
("There's plenty of time before your lunch date. Let's see what they sell on
Tolive you can learn a lot about a culture's intellectual climate from its literature.")
All right. Let's see.
They should have been prepared for what was inside by the card on the door: "Please
be advised that the material sold within is considered by certain people to be
obscene you might be one of those people."
Inside they found a huge collection of photos, holos, telestories, vid cassettes, etc.,
most devoted to sexual activity. Categories ranged from human & human, through
human & alien animal, to human & alien plant. And then the material took a sick turn.
I'm leaving, Dalt told Pard.
("Wait a minute. It's just starting to get interesting.")
Not for me. I've had enough.
("Immortals aren't supposed to be squeamish.")
Well, it'll he a couple more centuries before I can stomach some of this junk. So much for Tolive's
cultural climate!
And out they went to the street again. Half a block on, they came to the square, which
was actually round. It was more like a huge traffic circle with the circumference rimmed
by shops and small business offices; inside the circle was a park with grass and trees
and amusement areas for children. A large white structure was set at its hub; from Dalt's
vantage point it appeared to be some sort of monument or oversized art object in the
ancient abstract mode.
He wandered into a clothing store and was tempted to make some purchases until he
remembered that he had no credit on Tolive as yet, so he contented himself with
watching others do the buying. He watched a grossly overweight woman step onto a
fitting platform, punch in a style, fabric weight and color code, and then wait for the
measuring sensors to rise out of the floor. A beep announced that her order was being
processed and she stepped down and took a seat by the wall to wait for the piece she
had ordered to be custom-made to her specifications.
A neighboring shop sold pharmaceuticals and Dalt browsed through aimlessly until
he heard a fellow shopper ask for five hundred-milligram doses of Zemmelar, the trade
name for a powerful hallucinogenic narcotic.
"You sure you know what you're getting into?" the man behind the counter asked.
The customer nodded. "I use it regularly."
The counterman sighed, took the customer's credit slips, and punched out the order.
Five cylindrical packages popped onto the counter. "You're on your own," he told the
man who pocketed the order and hurried away.
Glancing at Dalt, the counterman burst out laughing, then held up his hand as Dalt
turned to leave. "I'm sorry, sir, but by the expression on your face a moment ago, you
must be an off-worlder."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you think you just witnessed a very bold illegal transaction."
"Well, didn't I? That drug is reserved for terminal cases, is it not?"
"That's what it was developed for," the man replied. "Supposed to block out all
bodily sensations and accentuate the patient's most pleasant fantasies. When I'm ready
to go, I hope somebody will have the good sense to shoot some of it into me."
"But that man said he uses it regularly."
"Yeah. He's an addict I guess. Probably new in town ... never seen him before."
"But that drug is illegal!"
"That's how I know you're an off-worlder. You see there are no illegal drugs on
Tolive."
"That can't be true!"
"I assure you, sir, it is. Anything in particular you'd like to order?"
"No," Dalt said, turning slowly and walking away. "Nothing, thanks."
This place will take some getting used to, he told Pard as they crossed the street to the park
and took a seat on the grass beneath one of the native conifers.
("Yes. Apparently they do not have the usual taboos that most of humanity carried
with it from Earth during the splinter-world period.) [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]