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be among them someday. The spray fell upon his face and cooled it. He saluted the twelve as he passed
them, and he walked between the rows of giant oaks and entered the nine-sided door. An elevator took
him to the top floor, where he greeted the receptionist. The room beyond was large and dome-shaped
with a huge round table in the center. Men and women rose from the chairs around it as he came in. He
answered their good-mornings, threw his hat on the table, put his bag on the floor, and sat down. His girl
Friday, a man, brought him coffee. Repp looked at the time strip on the wall. "Ten o'clock," he said.
"Exactly on time."
Another wall strip was recording his actions and speech. It would tell the government work-monitors
that he had not delayed between inserting his ID disc-tip into the office door and his entry into the room.
Visual artists were not given credit by the hour; they were paid as specified in their contracts with the
Department of Arts. This gave them a weekly credit, the amount varying according to the
government-decreed stature of the artist. If the project was finished on schedule, the artist concerned did
not have to refund a certain amount of credit. If the project was under schedule, the artist was given a
bonus. And if the government visual arts committee decided that the quality of the project was high
enough, it awarded the artist another bonus.
The artists, however, could put in as many hours as they wished to make sure that the project was
done in time or to raise the quality.
The arrangement was not one that most artists liked. In fact,
most of them, including Repp, detested it. They could do nothing about it except to make a formal
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organized protest. This they had done several times. So far, without success.
Nevertheless, although the schedule was the only really important item for the government, aside from
the budget, of course, the monitors kept a close watch on the time put in by the artists.
Some things had not changed since the ancient days of Hollywood. Repp, for instance, was getting
triple credits because he was the chief scriptwriter, the chief director, and a lead actor. He had used his
own influence and that of an immer on the visual arts committee to secure three simultaneous positions.
The political jockeying and jousting had cost Repp many evenings, not to mention many credits for giving
parties, but the effort had been worth it. If he could keep the triple positions for his next show, he could
get a bigger apartment. If one was available.
Work moved along smoothly if the squabbles and arguments and subtle insults were not considered.
These, however, were a part of TV and empathorium-making and to be taken in stride. The first two
scenes scheduled for the morning were graphed and regraphed until perfect. Repp had a short but hot
dispute with Bakaffa, the government censor, over the use of holographed subtitles. Repp claimed that
they distracted the viewer and were not necessary because they had been in so many shows that the
audience knew what the archaic words were. Bakaffa insisted that "nigger" and "wop" and "sawbones"
and "accumulation of interest" and "gat" and "rod" and "pansy" and "morphadite" would not be
understood by at least half the audience. Whether they did or did not understand these ancient words
made no difference. The government required that all such be explained in subtitles.
Repp lost, but he had the satisfaction of driving Bakaffa close to tears. He was not sadistic. He just
wanted to make Bakaffa earn his extra pay as a government informer.
At ten minutes after one, during the third scene, the main character's left leg suddenly shrank to half~
its length. The technicians tried to locate the malfunction in the holograph-projector, but they failed
because the trouble-shooting equipment had also malfunctioned.
"OK," Repp said. "It's twenty minutes to lunchtime, anyway. We'll eat now. Maybe the trouble'll be
fixed by the time we get back."
After he had eaten, he strode down the wide corridor of the first floor from the sandwich shop. The
sun coming through the story-high windows shone whitely on his Western outfit, and his high heels
clickety-clicked loudly. Many recognized him, and some stopped him to get his autograph. He spoke his
name and ID number into their recorders, said he was sure glad to meet them, and strode on. There was
one embarrassing though not entirely unpleasing incident. A beautiful young woman begged him to take
her to his or her apartment and do what he would. He turned her down graciously, but when she got on
her knees and put both arms around his legs, he had to call to two organics to pry her loose.
"No charges," he told them. "Just see that she doesn~t impede this pilgrim's progress."
"I love you, Wyatt!" the woman cried out after him. "Ride me like a pony! Fire me like a
six-shooter!"
Red-faced but grinning as he got on the elevator, Repp muttered, "Jesus Christ!"
Since he and his wife had agreed to be chaste while they were separated by her Chilean expedition,
he had not bedded a woman. He was honest enough to admit to himself that his celibacy had not been
based solidly on morality or lack of desire for any but his wife. He needed a rest from sex; he had to
recharge his battery, as it were. Though he had a wife on every day but Sunday, more than one on
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Thursday, and thus each day should have been stimulated afresh, much like a rooster in a barnyard, he
was sometimes not up to the freshness and the
challenge. His gonads did not use the same system or arithmetic as his mind.
Feeling good because he was wanted but did not want, he walked into his office and sat down at his
desk. Strips displayed messages for him, number-one priority being from his wife, Jane-John. She looked
happy because she was coming home next Friday. Stoned, she would be loaded into a plane on
Saturday, tomorrow, and delivered to the airport the same day. From there, she would be cargoed via
dirigible to the ThirteenPrinciples Towers. He was to pick her up next Friday at one in the morning. Or, if
he could not make it, she would take a taxi.
Jane-John Wilford Denpasat was a beautiful dark-skinned woman with depigged blonde hair and
depigged blue eyes.
"I love my work, Wyatt, but it's getting to be a drag because we have to be transported two hundred
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