Commune 2000 AD by Mack Reynolds

Author:Mack Reynolds
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: utopia, future, science fiction, series
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2017-03-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Ted Swain was working on his reports to Englebrecht when Mike Latimer showed up the next day. Initially, he had played the disk upon which he had recorded all the conversations he’d had at the communes into the voco-typer and gotten it all on paper. He had reread it, snorting sour amusement at his razzle at Lesbos with the butch named Gloria, snorting more amusement at the sounds which issued forth on his occasions with first Sue Benny Voss and, the next day, with Terpsichore. The New Athens girl had let out a startled gasp at first entry; evidently he was larger than she had expected. Both times he had forgotten to turn off the bug.

The reports came hard. In actuality, he could think of precious little to put into them. Certainly nothing that would be of particular interest to Academician Englebrecht. He attempted to sort out and analyze the facts he had accumulated thus far, but the effort seemed only to lead him up blind alleys to stone walls.

Of course, he had thus far only investigated two of these mushrooming communes, but their investigation certainly gave him little that could go into a comparison of primitive and modern communes. Here this was, his big chance, and deep inside he felt that he was flubbing it. He simply didn’t get the scenario.

There was a gentle buzz and he flicked the door identity screen switch on his TV phone. The face that faded in was that of Mike Latimer. He pushed the button to open the front door, then came to his feet and went into the living room to greet his visitor.

The other was dressed in Bermuda shorts, wore heavy walking shoes and carried a black thorn walking stick.

He waved the stick at Ted, in way of greeting, slumped down into a comfort chair and said, “Just passing by on a stroll and thought I’d drop in for a minute. How about a drink?”

“At this time of morning?” Ted growled, but motioned with his head at the autobar. “How about a glass of retsina?”

Mike struggled up from his chair and went over to the bar. “What’s retsina?”

“Wine with resin in it.”

“Sounds awful.” Mike dialed himself a glass of ale.

“It is, but the Greeks used to drink it that way, so that’s what they drink in New Athens. They do other things the Greeks used to do in New Athens. Even the girls.”

Mike Latimer returned to his chair, bearing the glass. “Oh, yes. Your book about the communes. How’s it going?”

“It’s a real jazzer,” Ted said glumly. He had half a mind to join the other in a drink.

Mike sipped at his brew. “You know, Ted, I think you’ve got a bad scene. If I were you, I’d get out from under like a goosed ballet dancer.”

“Don’t roach me. I wasn’t so hot about the idea myself, but everybody else seems to be.”

“Who’s everybody else?”

“I told you about George Dollar. Well, yesterday the academician had me over to meet Henry Neville.

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