Flux by Orson Scott Card Page B

wondering about us, whoever you are, you thinking about old Goo Boy and Dogwalker, you guessing whether the fangs who scooped Doggy’s skull and turned him into self-propelled property paid for it down to the very last delicious little drop.
    And in the meantime, I’ve got this goo machine to take care of. Only ten percent a man, he is, but then I’m only forty percent myself. All added up together we make only half a human. But that’s the half that counts. That’s the half that still wants things. The goo in me and the goo in him is all just light pipes and electricity. Data without desire. Lightspeed trash. But I have some desires left, just a few, and maybe so does Dogwalker, even fewer. And we’ll get what we want. Every speck. Every sparkle. Believe it.

B UT W E T RY N OT TO A CT L IKE I T
    T HERE WAS NO line. Hiram Cloward commented on it to the pointy-faced man behind the counter. “There’s no line.”
    â€œThis is the complaint department. We pride ourselves on having few complaints.” The pointy-faced man had a prim little smile that irritated Hiram. “What’s the matter with your television?”
    â€œIt shows nothing but soaps, that’s what’s the matter. And asinine gothics.”
    â€œWell—that’s programming, sir, not mechanical at all.”
    â€œIt’s mechanical. I can’t turn the damn set off.”
    â€œWhat’s your name and social security number?”
    â€œHiram Cloward. 528-80-693883-7.”
    â€œAddress?”
    â€œARF-487-U7b.”
    â€œThat’s singles, sir. Of course you can’t turn off your set.”
    â€œYou mean because I’m not married I can’t turn off my television?”
    â€œAccording to congressionally authorized scientific studies carried out over a three-year period from 1989 to 1991, it is imperative that persons living alone have the constant companionship of their television sets.”
    â€œI like solitude. I also like silence.”
    â€œBut the Congress passed a law , sir, and we can’t disobey the law— ”
    â€œCan’t I talk to somebody intelligent?”
    The pointy-faced man flared a moment, his eyes burning. But he instantly regained his composure, and said in measured tones, “As a matter of fact, as soon as any complainant becomes offensive or hostile, we immediately refer them to section A-6.”
    â€œWhat’s that, the hit squad?”
    â€œIt’s behind that door.”
    And Hiram followed the pointing finger to the glass door at the far end of the waiting room. Inside was an office, which was filled with comfortable, homey knickknacks, several chairs, a desk, and a man so offensively nordic that even Hitler would have resented him. “Hello,” the Aryan said, warmly.
    â€œHi.”
    â€œPlease, sit down.” Hiram sat, the courtesy and warmth making him feel even more resentful—did they think they could fool him into believing he was not being grossly imposed upon?
    â€œSo you don’t like something about your programming,” said the Aryan.
    â€œ Your programming, you mean. It sure as hell isn’t mine. I don’t know why Bell Television thinks it has the right to impose its idea of fun and entertainment on me twenty-four hours a day, but I’m fed up with it. It was bad enough when there was some variety, but for the last two months I’ve been getting nothing but soaps and gothics.”
    â€œIt took you two months to notice?”
    â€œI try to ignore the set. I like to read . You can bet that if I had more than my stinking little pension from our loving government, I could pay to have a room where there wasn’t a TV so I could have some peace .”
    â€œI really can’t help your financial situation. And the law’s the law.”
    â€œIs that all I’m going to hear from you? The law? I could have heard that from the pointy-faced jerk out