Illustrated by Paul Orban
DP
BY ARTHUR DEKKER SAVAGE
Allen Kinderwood slowedhis pace so his forelock wouldquit bobbing. The damn thingwasn't supposed to bob; it wassupposed to be a sort of peakedcrest above rugged, handsome features—adark lock brushed carelesslyaside by a man who hadmore important things to do thanfuss with personal grooming. Butno matter how carefully he combedit and applied lusto-set, it alwaysbobbed if he walked too fast.
But then, why should it matternow? He wasn't looking for awoman tonight. Not when his appointmentwith the Social Adjustmentcounsellors was tomorrowmorning, and he would get a DeparturePermit. Should get one,he corrected himself. But he hadnever heard of a petition for aDP being refused.
He wanted to spend his lastnight in the city over here in themain park of C Sector, walking inthe restless crowds, trying to settlehis thoughts. He moved throughslow aimless eddies of brightly appareledcitizens, avoiding otherpedestrians, skaters and the heavy,four-wheeled autoscooters. Everythingwas dully, uncompromisinglythe same as in his own sector,even to the size and spacing of thehuge, spreading trees. He hadhoped, without conviction, thatthere might be some tiny, refreshingdifference—anything but themind-sapping sameness that haddriven him to the petition.
Allen was careful not to brushagainst any girl with an escort.Since he wasn't on the make, whatwould be the use of fighting? Kindof an odd feeling, though, to knowyou'd never date or fight again,or ... Or what? What else wasthere to do, if you hadn't the luckto be a jobman or a tech? You ate,and slept, and preened, and exercised,and found what pleasureyou could, and fought mostly becauseit was momentarily stimulating,and, eventually, after a hundredand fifty years or so, you died.
Unless you were a tech. If youwere a tech, Government gave youstuff to keep you alive longer. Ajobman got a somewhat differentdeal—he got nothing to keep himalive abnormally, because ninetypercent of Earth's population waswaiting for his job anyway.
Allen skirted a huge fountainthrowing colored, scintillant sprayhigh into the dark summer sky,stealing a glance backward over hisshoulder. That girl was still behindhim. Following him? It wouldn'tbe anything new, in his case—especiallyin his own sector—butmaybe she just happened to begoing his way.
It would be easy to find out. Hecircled the fountain twice. Withher looks she should have beenpicked up before she'd left hercompartment building block—exceptthat whoever got her mighthave to fight more than once duringthe evening to hold her. Definitelya young man's darling.
And, the way it began to look,definitely Allen's darling. On thesecond trip around, she had backtrackedto meet him face to face—herpurpose obvious.
He tried to dodge, but there wasno way it could be done withoutinsult. Damn....
"Hi, brute. Nedda Marsh.Alone?" She ran soft hands alongthe hard biceps under his shortjacket sleeves. The motion threwopen her shriekingly bright orangecloak, displaying saucy breasts,creamy abdomen and, beneath herbrief jeweled skirt, long smooththighs. And the perfume assailedhis nostrils with almost physicalforce.
"Hi, Nedda. Allen Kin