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_Illustrated by Paul Orban_
DP
_Once upon a time life was perfection. Government made sure its citizens were supplied with every comfort and pleasure. But sometimes perfection breeds boredom and ..._
BY ARTHUR DEKKER SAVAGE
Allen Kinderwood slowed his pace so his forelock would quit bobbing. Thedamn thing wasn't supposed to bob; it was supposed to be a sort ofpeaked crest above rugged, handsome features--a dark lock brushedcarelessly aside by a man who had more important things to do than fusswith personal grooming. But no matter how carefully he combed it andapplied lusto-set, it always bobbed if he walked too fast.
But then, why should it matter now? He wasn't looking for a womantonight. Not when his appointment with the Social Adjustment counsellorswas tomorrow morning, and he would get a Departure Permit. _Should_ getone, he corrected himself. But he had never heard of a petition for a DPbeing refused.
He wanted to spend his last night in the city over here in the main parkof C Sector, walking in the restless crowds, trying to settle histhoughts. He moved through slow aimless eddies of brightly appareledcitizens, avoiding other pedestrians, skaters and the heavy,four-wheeled autoscooters. Everything was dully, uncompromisingly thesame as in his own sector, even to the size and spacing of the huge,spreading trees. He had hoped, without conviction, that there might besome tiny, refreshing difference--anything but the mind-sappingsameness that had driven him to the petition.
Allen was careful not to brush against any girl with an escort. Since hewasn't on the make, what would be the use of fighting? Kind of an oddfeeling, though, to know you'd never date or fight again, or ... Orwhat? What else was there to do, if you hadn't the luck to be a jobmanor a tech? You ate, and slept, and preened, and exercised, and foundwhat pleasure you could, and fought mostly because it was momentarilystimulating, and, eventually, after a hundred and fifty years or so, youdied.
Unless you were a tech. If you were a tech, Government gave you stuff tokeep you alive longer. A jobman got a somewhat different deal--he gotnothing to keep him alive abnormally, because ninety percent of Earth'spopulation was waiting for his job anyway.
Allen skirted a huge fountain throwing colored, scintillant spray highinto the dark summer sky, stealing a glance backward over his shoulder.That girl was still behind him. Following him? It wouldn't be anythingnew, in his case--especially in his own sector--but maybe she justhappened to be going his way.
It would be easy to find out. He circled the fountain twice. With herlooks she should have been picked up before she'd left her compartmentbuilding block--except that whoever got her might have to fight morethan once during the evening to hold her. Definitely a young man'sdarling.
And, the way it began to look, definitely Allen's darling. On the secondtrip around, she had backtracked to meet him face to face--her purposeobvious.
He tried to dodge, but there was no way it could be done without insult.Damn....
"Hi, brute. Nedda Marsh. Alone?" She ran soft hands along the hardbiceps under his short jacket sleeves. The motion threw open hershriekingly bright orange cloak, displaying saucy breasts, creamyabdomen and, beneath her brief jeweled skirt, long smooth thighs. Andthe perfume assailed his nostrils with almost physical force.
"Hi, Nedda. Allen Kinderwood. Alone, natch." Natch, hell. But what couldany male do to combat Government perfume? He smiled, his pulse suddenlyquickening. "Date, darling?" She _was_ a beautiful thing.
Her large, sparkling eyes showed pleasure. "Take me, Al." She touchedvivid red lips lightly against his. And the formula was complete.Private citizens Allen Kinderwood and Nedda Marsh were dated at leastuntil dawn--or a better man did them part.
He squeezed her arm where she'd snuggled it against his side, startingwith her away from the fountain. "How come the most gorgeous thing inKansas City wasn't dated earlier?"
She looked up at him, and the passion in her gaze made his heart skiplike a teener's. "Could be I'm very particular, darling, but," her lookwas suddenly beseeching, "the truth is, I'm protected."
A slow, tiny fire of distaste fanned itself alive in Allen's brain. Whyin the name of World Government did every other girl who made first playwith him have to be protected? But there was his out. By unwrittensocial code he could declare the date off. Except that he had grown toincreasingly hate the spiteful practice of 'protection'. It meant Neddahad peeved some local lothario who, along with other males in hisclique, was going to damn well see she wasn't intimate with anyone elseuntil she begged another date with the original one. If you had asadistic turn of mind, it meant you could keep a delectable bit infreeze until her natural inclinations forced her into your arms. Butyou'd have to fight any man who tried to date her in the meantime.
Fighting was legal, of course, as long as the loser was surgicallyrepairable, and it was considered a normal catharsis for strainedrelationships between males.
Not, Allen thought glumly, that he had any stake in the future offrantically weary society, but he had reached the conclusion long agothat a man without the courage to back up his personal convictionswasn't worth the energy it took to down him.
He stopped and held Nedda against him protectively. "I still want thedate, sprite," he said. "I have to leave early tomorrow, but I'll tryto get you out of protection--okay?"
Her lips trembled. "Oh, yes. If you knew how it's been, these last fewdays--"
He shook her again, but more tenderly. "Deal. We'll try to reach yourcompartment." Living quarters were a sanctuary no one but a medic couldlegally enter without invitation. He removed his stainlessidentification plaque and slipped its chain about her throat. "If yousee any of the guys who're watching for you, tell me but don't look atthem." He took her arm again and alertly began to work through thethrong. "Describe your protector."
"Jeff Neal-Hayne. He's big, Al. Bigger than you. Heavier, but you've gotmuscles like he never saw. You look faster, too."
Allen didn't know him, but the name was revealing. Not that anything butyour Earth society number was official, but use of a double surnamemeant your father had elected to stay with your mother for at least awhile after you were born. Most babies, of course, were immediatelyturned over to a Government creche, but it had always seemed to Allenthat kids raised by one or more parents had other advantages too,although he had never been able to figure out just what they were. Maybeit was only his imagination.
* * * * *
At the edge of the park they chose the nearest double scooter whichshowed full battery charge.
Allen leaned against the forward rail. "Herd it, will you, Nedda? Everytime I think of the hundreds of hours I've spent plowing air with one ofthese gut-weighted things I want to break one. Hell, I can run faster.Anyway, you know where we're going."
The girl smiled, pushed the power lever into forward range and steeredinto slow-moving traffic. "I saw a man lift a single, once, but that'sall he was able to do with it."
The lighted street seemed intensely bright after the dimmer reaches ofthe park. "Ever think of running one into the river?"
She looked at him in amazement. "Fright, no. Why--you'd have to drivealong a pedestrian path for at least a block to reach the bank!" Neddaspun the steering wheel to avoid a long string of solemn teeners playingfollow the leader on singles. "You have funny thoughts, Al."
"I'm laughing." He flexed his muscles, impatient, as usual, with anothercitizen's sluggish mentation. "I suppose the damn music never gets onyour nerves, either?"
"Music? Oh--the music." She listened as though for the first time to themuted strains which played continuously throughout the city--calming,soothing, lulli
ng. "Of course not. Why should it?"
"They've got it synchronized," said Allen. "Government's got itsynchronized so you hear it just the same volume no matter where you areoutside. You _have_ to listen to it."
"Darling, your boredom's showing."
He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Don't let me spin you, lovely. I'vegot the answer."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I applied for a DP this morning."
"Al--_no_!"
"Why not?" He put it like the needle thrust of a fighting knife, daringher to find a reason, half hoping she could.
"I--" She glanced at him once, quickly, then away. Then she drew a deepbreath