Rolltown. Mack Reynolds

exactly put my finger on it. It’s kind of intuitive. But, for one thing, where are the local people?”

      “How do you mean?” Bat said, scowling.

      He had run into this intuitive feeling of Ferd Zogbaum’s before. The other hadn’t been with New Woodstock very long but on two occasions he had come up with this intuitive feeling, or whatever it was, and had been astonishingly accurate. That time, for instance, in Colorado when they had parked in an almost dry river bed, strung out along the side of the trickling stream. Ferd, frowning unhappily, as he was frowning now, had suddenly snapped “A cloud burst,” although there wasn’t much in the way of clouds in the sky. He had been proven right. They had barely gotten the town out of the river bed before the flood was upon them. Two of the mobile homes had been lost, though happily the occupants survived.

      Now Ferd said stubbornly, “The last time I was in Mexico, about five years ago, the locals used to hang around the site when a group of American homes came through. Some were there just to gawk, but some had souvenirs and such to sell. Where are they this time?”

      Bat scowled again. “Damned if I know. Possibly so many Americans have been coming through that we’re no longer a novelty.”

      Ferd shook his head. “That wouldn’t apply to peddlers, or beggars. It especially wouldn’t apply to kids. Kids never get tired of gaping at strangers and different ways of doing things.”

      Bat thought about it, biting his lower lip. He said slowly, “Did you notice at the border this morning a, well, kind of a sullen quality about some of the authorities?”

      “As a matter of fact, I did. We had all of our papers, permission to enter and all, but I got a distinct feeling that most of them hated to see us pass.”

      Bat said suddenly, “Look, what do you say we go into town this evening after we eat? Take a look around.”

      Ferd came to his feet, pulled out his pocket phone and dialed the time. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve got to get back over to Di’s now.”

      “Pick me up here when you’re through,” Bat said. “I’ll have to whomp up my own supper, you lucky jazzer.”

      Ferd grinned at him. “Virtue is its own reward,” he said mockingly.

      “And where’ll it get you? In the end?” Bat growled back.

      After Ferd Zogbaum had gone, Bat went back into his mini-kitchen, opened the refrigerator-freezer and scowled in at the purchases he had made earlier. He wasn’t particularly hungry after the heat of the day.

      In honor of their first stop in Mexico, he brought forth a container-dish of chili con carne and placed it in the electronic heater and gloomily watched as the container top melted, becoming part of the prepared contents.

      The chili con carne heated but the dish remained at room temperature and Bat took the food over to the small table in the living room. From a cabinet he brought forth a set of utensils, some crackers and another plastic of beer and sat down to eat. He wasn’t going to need the knife with this meal so he ate it along with the chili.

      Come to think of it, he remembered that chili con carne wasn’t actually a Mexican dish. Something like chop suey which had been invented by a dishwasher in San Francisco, many years ago, chili con carne was an American version of what the norteamericanos thought the Mexicans ought to eat. It had actually been devised in the American border states, probably Texas or Arizona. However, he liked the dish, hearty, filling and flavorful.

      When he had finished, he ate the plate and the spoon and fork and went back to his favorite chair to wait for Ferd Zogbaum.

      He considered dialing himself an after-dinner drink but decided not to. He had no idea of what they might run into in Linares and didn’t want to be even slightly befuddled. He spotted the two plastic glasses he and Ferd had drunk from and got up again to toss them into the sink where they could melt away and go down the drain. Bachelor-like, he hated to have the place cluttered up with dirties.

      He reached up for a book from his shelves and sat again. He could have, of course, sat before his library TV screen and dialed practically any book ever published. Long since, the National Data Banks had recorded every volume in the Library of Congress, the British Museum Library and the libraries of every university in the West, all available on his screen for free if the books were on the public domain or at a very nominal sum, automatically deducted from his credit account, if the copyright was still in the hands of the author. However, there was something in Bat Hardin that appreciated the feel of book-in-hand while he was reading. The size of his mobile home prevented him from collecting a large library but he carried with him his favorites, usually to the amusement of visitors to his home.

CHAPTER V

      When Bat and Ferd had returned from their disastrous visit to Linares, Ferd had staggered off for his own quarters but Bat got out of his electro-steamer on his side and started over to the colony physician.

      Doc Barnes looked startled and came to his feet. “What in the world’s happened?” he snapped. And then to his nurse, “Miss Stevens!”

      Barbara Stevens hustled to her own feet and held open the door to the colony hospital.

      Bat headed into the interior, saying, “Ferd Zogbaum and I went into town and got into trouble at a bar.”

      Doc Barnes, following him, said grumpily, “I wouldn’t think either of you were the types to get into barroom brawls. Here, let me look at that.”

      They had entered the emergency room and Nurse Stevens, a middle-aged woman, professionally efficient, was going about the necessary tasks to treat the cut.

      Bat said, “They were laying for us, Doc. Haven’t you noticed the atmosphere?”

      “I can’t say that I have. Hold still.”

      “Well, we’re evidently not as popular around here as we might be.”

      The veteran doctor moved briskly, staunched the blood flow, treated the cut, closed it and placed a layer of pseudo-flesh over the wound. “There you are,” he said. “Nurse.”