Towers of Utopia 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

Part Four: Carol Ann Cusack

By the time Carol Ann Cusack had gotten back from her brisk constitutional in the parks which surrounded Shyler-deme, Sidney Cusack was up and shambling about the apartment. He looked at her blearily even as he dialed a cup of coffee on the auto-table in the little alcove that doubled as kitchen and dining room. Why they still called them kitchens was a question; less than half the apartments in the deme contained any kind of stove.

Carol Ann said commiseratively, “How are you feeling, dear?”

He grinned at her in self-deprecation. “Lousy as a louse. However I discovered a great truth which shall undoubtedly be useful the rest of my life. You should never mix liquor and trank.”

The table sank in the middle, came back up again with the steaming coffee. He reached for it shakily and carried it into the living room.

“Where’ve you been, doll, jogging around the woods again? One of these days you’re going to meet some crackpot out there, this early in the morning, when there’s nobody else around, and he’ll knock you over the head.”

“I doubt it,” she said, turning the sides of her wide warm mouth down. “The Security TV spy lenses are operative on a twenty-four hour a day basis. Anything offbeat picked up is flashed to whoever’s on duty. If necessary, a Human Relations officer comes zipping up in a patrol car. I don’t believe there’s been a successful mugging in the history of Phoenecia.”

“There can always be a first time.” He shakily sipped at the coffee.

Carol Ann went over to the auto-table and dialed her own breakfast. Scrambled eggs, synthetic bacon, toast, margarine, marmalade, coffee. She made a practice of taking a good breakfast. Watch the calories, if you must, at lunch and dinner, but start the day with a substantial meal.

She said casually, her glossy brows slightly quizzical, “You came in late, dear.”

He looked over at her impatiently. “I was discussing a deal with Larry Tinker and Bert Allen.”

“Over drinks and trank?”

“Oh, come off it Carol,” he said irritably.

“Sorry,” she said, sitting down to the small table. “But why is it always a deal you’re working on—never a job?”

He was slightly indignant. “You know how hard I’ve tried to get a job, doll. There just aren’t any jobs any more these days. You’re lucky to have one. Why, half the people in this country must be on Negative Income Tax.”

“It’s partly luck, perhaps, but luck averages out. Just about everybody gets just about the same amount, over the years. You’ve got to be able to grab it when it comes along.”

Her food arrived and she darted a look at the time and began to eat.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, as though being put upon.

She sighed. “Oh, golly, Sid, you’re too hard to please in looking for work. You don’t take your chances when they come along. Any kind of a job at all is better than just sitting around day in and out collecting your NIT.

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