Hotchkiss expression became, and the more defiant she got. “You can take your collect call,” she said, “and—”
“Wait a moment,” Jan said sweetly, at last. “According to the section of the Public Utilities Act of 2322 that governs the operations of the TP network, it’s illegal for any representative of the communications net to refuse to accept a collect call. The TP operative is not permitted to exercise independent judgment as to whether such a call will be ultimately accepted, but must undertake to inquire of the party called as to whether the call will be received.”
Marge Hotchkiss looked sick.
“What are you, a company spy?” she snapped. “All right, I’ll see if GNS will accept the call.”
Hotchkiss slipped into the TP trance and reached out toward the nearest pickup point of the news service, which I guess was about twenty light-years away. (You’d know that better than I, Lorie.) After a moment she returned her attention to us and said, still sullen, “Let’s have that blenking message of yours.”
I handed it over. Hotchkiss scanned it and began to relay it to the GNS operator. I began to wonder whether she might just garble it out of general bitchiness, and, if so, what protection we had against such sabotage. Jan must have thought the same thing, because when Hotchkiss was finished, Jan said, “Thank you very much. We’d like a confirming playback, of course.”
Why didn’t I think of that?
Hotchkiss glared demonically, but—half afraid that Jan really was a company spy checking up on her efficiency—she dutifully requested a playback of the message from her TP counterpart out yonder, wrote it down as it came in, and handed it to us for comparison. It checked out with the original down to the last comma.
“Very good,” Jan said. “Thank you so much!”
Outside the TP office I asked her how she had known that stuff about the Public Utilities Act of 2322, and so forth. “Don’t tell me you’re a refugee from the TP network,” I said.
“Oh, no! I don’t have a TP molecule in me, Tom. But I once watched my father get into a similar mess with a network girl, and I remembered how he got out of it.”
“Clever.”
“Why are all these TP people so slicy, though? Especially the females. They seem to be doing you a tremendous favor just to put your calls through. I guess they must really have contempt for us poor zoobs who don’t have their powers, and are forced to use mere words to communicate.”
“They aren’t all slicy,” I said. “My sister isn’t. Lorie’s very patient with everybody. Lorie’s a saint, in fact.”
“If she is, she’s the first TP girl I’ve ever heard of who shows any civility. How come I never draw someone like that when I have to make a call?”
“Lorie doesn’t take calls from the public,” I said. “On account of she’s confined to her hospital room all the time. She’s strictly pickup and relay.”
“It figures. They’ve probably got all the decent human beings working relay, and all the slicy howlers manning the public offices. I’d like to meet your sister some day.”
“Maybe you will.”
“Does she look much like you?”
“Not really. She’s shorter and softer and rounder in some places. Also she doesn’t need to shave.”
“Dodo! I mean, aside from her being a girl!”
“They say we look a lot alike, especially for fraternal twins,” I said. “It’s hard for me to judge that. She’s quieter than I am, and has a different kind of sense of humor. I mean, she’s likely not to say anything for half an hour or so, just listening to the other people in her room, and then she’ll come out with something in a very soft voice, so that you have to strain your ears to hear it, and it’ll be something absolutely devastating, something that manages to be funny and true all at once. She can really fuse a person sometimes, with two or three well-chosen words.”
“You must miss her very much.”
“This is
“Wait a moment,” Jan said sweetly, at last. “According to the section of the Public Utilities Act of 2322 that governs the operations of the TP network, it’s illegal for any representative of the communications net to refuse to accept a collect call. The TP operative is not permitted to exercise independent judgment as to whether such a call will be ultimately accepted, but must undertake to inquire of the party called as to whether the call will be received.”
Marge Hotchkiss looked sick.
“What are you, a company spy?” she snapped. “All right, I’ll see if GNS will accept the call.”
Hotchkiss slipped into the TP trance and reached out toward the nearest pickup point of the news service, which I guess was about twenty light-years away. (You’d know that better than I, Lorie.) After a moment she returned her attention to us and said, still sullen, “Let’s have that blenking message of yours.”
I handed it over. Hotchkiss scanned it and began to relay it to the GNS operator. I began to wonder whether she might just garble it out of general bitchiness, and, if so, what protection we had against such sabotage. Jan must have thought the same thing, because when Hotchkiss was finished, Jan said, “Thank you very much. We’d like a confirming playback, of course.”
Why didn’t I think of that?
Hotchkiss glared demonically, but—half afraid that Jan really was a company spy checking up on her efficiency—she dutifully requested a playback of the message from her TP counterpart out yonder, wrote it down as it came in, and handed it to us for comparison. It checked out with the original down to the last comma.
“Very good,” Jan said. “Thank you so much!”
Outside the TP office I asked her how she had known that stuff about the Public Utilities Act of 2322, and so forth. “Don’t tell me you’re a refugee from the TP network,” I said.
“Oh, no! I don’t have a TP molecule in me, Tom. But I once watched my father get into a similar mess with a network girl, and I remembered how he got out of it.”
“Clever.”
“Why are all these TP people so slicy, though? Especially the females. They seem to be doing you a tremendous favor just to put your calls through. I guess they must really have contempt for us poor zoobs who don’t have their powers, and are forced to use mere words to communicate.”
“They aren’t all slicy,” I said. “My sister isn’t. Lorie’s very patient with everybody. Lorie’s a saint, in fact.”
“If she is, she’s the first TP girl I’ve ever heard of who shows any civility. How come I never draw someone like that when I have to make a call?”
“Lorie doesn’t take calls from the public,” I said. “On account of she’s confined to her hospital room all the time. She’s strictly pickup and relay.”
“It figures. They’ve probably got all the decent human beings working relay, and all the slicy howlers manning the public offices. I’d like to meet your sister some day.”
“Maybe you will.”
“Does she look much like you?”
“Not really. She’s shorter and softer and rounder in some places. Also she doesn’t need to shave.”
“Dodo! I mean, aside from her being a girl!”
“They say we look a lot alike, especially for fraternal twins,” I said. “It’s hard for me to judge that. She’s quieter than I am, and has a different kind of sense of humor. I mean, she’s likely not to say anything for half an hour or so, just listening to the other people in her room, and then she’ll come out with something in a very soft voice, so that you have to strain your ears to hear it, and it’ll be something absolutely devastating, something that manages to be funny and true all at once. She can really fuse a person sometimes, with two or three well-chosen words.”
“You must miss her very much.”
“This is
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