The Science Fiction Anthology. Филип Дик
If a product isn’t right, back it comes, no questions asked. We believe in pleasing our customers.”
“I certainly appreciate it, Mr. Pathis.”
CARRIN hoped the A. E. man wouldn’t ask to see the kitchen. He visualized the Castile Motors Bartender in there, like a porcupine in a dog show.
“I’m proud to say that most of the people in this neighborhood buy from us,” Mr. Pathis was saying. “We’re a solid firm.”
“Was Mr. Miller a customer of yours?” Carrin asked.
“That fellow who killed himself?” Pathis frowned briefly. “He was, as a matter of fact. That amazed me, sir, absolutely amazed me. Why, just last month the fellow bought a brand-new Jet-lash from me, capable of doing three hundred and fifty miles an hour on a straightaway. He was as happy as a kid over it, and then to go and do a thing like that! Of course, the Jet-lash brought up his debt a little.”
“Of course.”
“But what did that matter? He had every luxury in the world. And then he went and hung himself.”
“Hung himself?”
“Yes,” Pathis said, the frown coming back. “Every modern convenience in his house, and he hung himself with a piece of rope. Probably unbalanced for a long time.”
The frown slid off his face, and the customary smile replaced it. “But enough of that! Let’s talk about you.”
The smile widened as Pathis opened his briefcase. “Now, then, your account. You owe us two hundred and three thousand dollars and twenty-nine cents, Mr. Carrin, as of your last purchase. Right?”
“Right,” Carrin said, remembering the amount from his own papers. “Here’s my installment.”
He handed Pathis an envelope, which the man checked and put in his pocket.
“Fine. Now you know, Mr. Carrin, that you won’t live long enough to pay us the full two hundred thousand, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t suppose I will,” Carrin said soberly.
He was only thirty-nine, with a full hundred years of life before him, thanks to the marvels of medical science. But at a salary of three thousand a year, he still couldn’t pay it all off and have enough to support a family on at the same time.
“Of course, we would not want to deprive you of necessities, which in any case is fully protected by the laws we helped formulate and pass. To say nothing of the terrific items that are coming out next year. Things you wouldn’t want to miss, sir!”
Mr. Carrin nodded. Certainly he wanted new items.
“Well, suppose we make the customary arrangement. If you will just sign over your son’s earnings for the first thirty years of his adult life, we can easily arrange credit for you.”
MR. Pathis whipped the papers out of his briefcase and spread them in front of Carrin.
“If you’ll just sign here, sir.”
“Well,” Carrin said, “I’m not sure. I’d like to give the boy a start in life, not saddle him with—”
“But my dear sir,” Pathis interposed, “this is for your son as well. He lives here, doesn’t he? He has a right to enjoy the luxuries, the marvels of science.”
“Sure,” Carrin said. “Only—”
“Why, sir, today the average man is living like a king. A hundred years ago the richest man in the world couldn’t buy what any ordinary citizen possesses at present. You mustn’t look upon it as a debt. It’s an investment.”
“That’s true,” Carrin said dubiously.
He thought about his son and his rocket ship models, his star charts, his maps. Would it be right? he asked himself.
“What’s wrong?” Pathis asked cheerfully.
“Well, I was just wondering,” Carrin said. “Signing over my son’s earnings—you don’t think I’m getting in a little too deep, do you?”
“Too deep? My dear sir!” Pathis exploded into laughter. “Do you know Mellon down the block? Well, don’t say I said it, but he’s already mortgaged his grandchildren’s salary for their full life-expectancy! And he doesn’t have half the goods he’s made up his mind to own! We’ll work out something for him. Service to the customer is our job and we know it well.”
Carrin wavered visibly.
“And after you’re gone, sir, they’ll all belong to your son.”
That was true, Carrin thought. His son would have all the marvelous things that filled the house. And after all, it was only thirty years out of a life expectancy of a hundred and fifty.
He signed with a flourish.
“Excellent!” Pathis said. “And by the way, has your home got an A. E. Master-operator?”
It hadn’t. Pathis explained that a Master-operator was new this year, a stupendous advance in scientific engineering. It was designed to take over all the functions of housecleaning and cooking, without its owner having to lift a finger.
“Instead of running around all day, pushing half a dozen different buttons, with the Master-operator all you have to do is push one! A remarkable achievement!”
Since it was only five hundred and thirty-five dollars, Carrin signed for one, having it added to his son’s debt.
Right’s right, he thought, walking Pathis to the door. This house will be Billy’s some day. His and his wife’s. They certainly will want everything up-to-date.
Just one button, he thought. That would be a time-saver!
AFTER Pathis left, Carrin sat back in an adjustable chair and turned on the solido. After twisting the Ezi-dial, he discovered that there was nothing he wanted to see. He tilted back the chair and took a nap.
The something on his mind was still bothering him.
“Hello, darling!” He awoke to find his wife was home. She kissed him on the ear. “Look.”
She had bought an A. E. Sexitizer-negligee. He was pleasantly surprised that that was all she had bought. Usually, Leela returned from shopping laden down.
“It’s lovely,” he said.
She bent over for a kiss, then giggled—a habit he knew she had picked up from the latest popular solido star. He wished she hadn’t.
“Going to dial supper,” she said, and went to the kitchen. Carrin smiled, thinking that soon she would be able to dial the meals without moving out of the living room. He settled back in his chair, and his son walked in.
“How’s it going, Son?” he asked heartily.
“All right,” Billy answered listlessly.
“What’sa matter, Son?” The boy stared at his feet, not answering. “Come on, tell Dad what’s the trouble.”
Billy sat down on a packing case and put his chin in his hands. He looked thoughtfully at his father.
“Dad, could I be a Master Repairman if I wanted to be?”
Mr. Carrin smiled at the question. Billy alternated between wanting to be a Master Repairman and a rocket pilot. The repairmen were the elite. It was their job to fix the automatic repair machines. The repair machines could fix just about anything, but you couldn’t have a machine fix the machine that fixed the machine. That was where the Master Repairmen came in.
But it was a highly competitive field and only a very few of the best brains were able to get their degrees. And, although the boy was bright, he didn’t seem to have an engineering bent.
“It’s possible, Son. Anything is possible.”