keys.
“Well, ma’am. I had begun to worry about you. Even had the telephone check and see that you were all right.”
“Thanks, Hank. I guess I should have called.”
“I truly wish you had. As it is, you just missed Meg again, and she’s going to be hard to live with for a week. Now, what can I do for you?”
“I need my car, Hank. There are a few things I’ve got to do.”
“I’ll give you a lift out to it, ma’am. It might take a bit to get it started, after all these months. You heading back to New York?” They got into a shiny new four-wheel—drive pickup.
“No, Hank, I’m dropping out and staying here. I’ve just got some loose ends to tie up. I’ve got to quit my job, do something about my apartment and bank accounts, and get the Lincoln back to the rental agency at the airport.”
“Then I guess I’d better follow you into Shoshone.”
“Shoshone? But—”
“They got a bank there, and a rental agency and what not. You ain’t the first one doing this, ma’am. Seems like I drive four, five people out there and back each week.”
“Thanks, Hank.”
“My pleasure. Now as I remember, that’s yours over there.”
Hank removed the tarp and shook out great billowing clouds of dust. The car windows were so dirty that you couldn’t see out of them, but Hank had a bucket and squeegee in his truck.
The Lincoln’s engine fired up without difficulty and in a half hour Hank followed her into the small desert town. Patricia had to stand in line at the car rental agency and the bank, but armed with her NBC card, everything went quickly. She was doing what thousands before her had done, and the clerks had it down to a pattern. Her apartment phone was disconnected, her New York landlord satisfied, a trucking company engaged to move her belongings west. Her bank account was transferred to Shoshone. It was surprisingly large—for three months, her paychecks had been deposited and she hadn’t spent a cent of the money.
Finally she rented a motel room for an hour so she could make a very private phone call. Most of her business had been taken care of in only two hours, but everything in town seemed so cramped, so tiny, so crowded. She was tempted to take a shower at the motel, but one look at the tiny shower stall dissuaded her.
Finally, taking a deep breath, she called her boss, feeling guilty about not having contacted him in three months.
“Oh, hello, Patty. It’s not Friday so it must be Tuesday.”
“What?”
“You always call on Fridays and Tuesdays. The calendar says Thursday so something is finally happening.”
“I don’t.know what you’re talking about, boss.”
“Patty, are you feeling all right?”
“Well, maybe not. Anyway, well, I’m quitting.”
“Are you on some kind of drugs, kid?”
“No, I’m not on drugs, dammit! I’m quitting. Dropping out. Going away!”
“Look, Patty, you can’t quit…”
“The hell you say! I’m a free woman in a free country! I’ll quit if I damn well want to!”
“What about your show, Patty? It’s still waiting for you.”
“Let Mary handle it.”
“She has been, and her ratings aren’t half what yours are.”
“I told you so. And I’m still quitting.”
“Patty, I’m worried about you. How about if I have some of the people from the Chicago office drop by to see you?”
“Chicago?”
“Well, you’re still in Wisconsin, aren’t you?”
“Wisconsin? Boss, this conversation is just too weird. Look. I’m quitting! Going away! Saying bye-bye!” She slammed the phone down. The man had to be drunk or stoned or insane or all three!
She found Hank in the saloon and drove with him back to Life Valley. On the way, she borrowed his jack— knife and cut her NBC credit card into very fine shavings.
The next day, Patricia decided she needed to be useful, so she volunteered to help Mona run the training room and kennel for the Transportation, Recreation, and Construction units in one of Pinecroft’s huge subbasements.
“As you can see, all the TRACs are variations on the same basic theme,” Mona said.
“Really?” Patricia turned her head slowly to take in all the TRACs in the room. Forty huge animals were frisking around, ranging in size from a one-person speedster, barely larger than a horse, to things as big as a gravel truck.
“Oh, there are minor differences in size and function,” Mona said, “but the basic design is similar. Two eyes in front plus one in the cockpit. Internal and external ears. Voice membranes inside and out. They all use the same sort of double-ended lung structure that permits continuous breathing. And take a close look at the legs. The jointing on all of them is such that the body has a smooth motion at any speed.”
“They all have two arms near the doors,” Patricia said, looking for similarities among the bizarre animals.
“Yes, and they can reach any part of their bodies with them,” Mona said. “Let’s give one a workout. Rolls! Here, boy!”
A twenty-footer broke off from playing with something that resembled a flatbed truck and trotted over to them. It had eight legs, four across in front and four in back. Its streamlined, rigid body was six feet wide and five high, and was covered with sleek gray fur.
“Rolls, I want you to meet Patty. She will be working with us from now on.”
“Hi, Patty.” For all his size, Rolls had a young boy’s voice.
“Open up, Rolls. We’re going for a ride,” Mona said.
“Oh, goodie!” Rolls opened both doors in his side. Patricia sat comfortably in a seat designed for two, but Mona, with her large frame, was somewhat cramped inside.
“They’re all only about three quarters of their adult size,” Mona said, “and their speed and endurance are only half of what they will be. When he grows up, Rolls will be able to hold eight people. Rolls, do a few laps.” The animal began a graceful lope for the perimeter of the cavernous subbasement.
“He certainly makes up for it in enthusiasm,” Patricia said.
“With good reason. Heinrich tied the pleasure centers of the TRACs’ brains in with the pressure sensors under the seats. They’re only really happy when they’re running somebody around.”
“Well, it works both ways.” Patricia ran her fingers through the thick fur on the seat next to her. “It feels like chinchilla.”
“Heinrich says that if you are going to do something, you might as well do it right. Not that it costs anything extra. We have twenty-five variants of passenger animals, from Vet, who’s a single seater, to Greyhound, who will be able to seat sixty-four. And Winnie’s an animal version of a motor home, for vacationing.
“The others here are for heavy transportation, like Reo and Mack, or construction, like Le Tourneau.”
“You certainly gave them cute names,” Patty said.
“They picked their own after Uncle Martin talked with them,” Mona said. “Mole over there is for tunneling. The plan is to build an underground road system, for practical, aesthetic, and safety reasons.”
“What’s safe about a tunnel?” Patricia asked.
“A hollow root lines the thing, so there’s little danger of a cave-in,” Mona said. “The safety comes from a clean, dry roadbed without any children playing on it.”
“Rolls, run us over to Uncle Martin’s house.”
Without slowing, the TRAC ran up a circular ramp, then headed down the tunnel to Guibedo’s house.
