us an Avis jet—we'll fly ourselves up."
"That's what I thought."
Gray played the mini keyboard below the screen to summon an index, consulted it briefly, then touched another key to display a directory. Selecting a number from one of the columns, he mouthed it silently to himself as he tapped it in. A copy of the number appeared near the bottom of the screen with a request for him to confirm. He pressed the Y button. The screen went blank for a few seconds and then exploded into a whirlpool of color, which stabilized almost at once into the features of a platinum-blonde, who radiated the kind of smile normally reserved for toothpaste commercials.
"Good morning. Avis San Francisco, City Terminal. This is Sue Parker. Can I help you?"
Gray addressed the grille, located next to the tiny camera lens just above the screen.
"Hi, Sue. Name's Gray—R. J. Gray, airbound for SF, due to arrive about two hours from now. Could I reserve an aircar, please?"
"Sure thing. Range?"
"Oh—about five hundred . . ." He glanced at Hunt.
"Better make it seven," Hunt advised.
"Make that seven hundred miles minimum."
"That'll be no problem, Mr. Gray. We have Skyrovers, Mercury Threes, Honeybees, or Yellow Birds. Any preference?"
"No—any'll do."
"I'll make it a Mercury, then. Any idea how long?"
"No—er—indefinite."
"Okay. Full computer nav and flight control? Automatic VTOL?"
"Preferably and, ah, yes."
"You have a full manual license?" The blonde operated unseen keys as she spoke.
"Yes."
"Could I have personal data and account-checking data, please?"
Gray
"That's what I thought."
Gray played the mini keyboard below the screen to summon an index, consulted it briefly, then touched another key to display a directory. Selecting a number from one of the columns, he mouthed it silently to himself as he tapped it in. A copy of the number appeared near the bottom of the screen with a request for him to confirm. He pressed the Y button. The screen went blank for a few seconds and then exploded into a whirlpool of color, which stabilized almost at once into the features of a platinum-blonde, who radiated the kind of smile normally reserved for toothpaste commercials.
"Good morning. Avis San Francisco, City Terminal. This is Sue Parker. Can I help you?"
Gray addressed the grille, located next to the tiny camera lens just above the screen.
"Hi, Sue. Name's Gray—R. J. Gray, airbound for SF, due to arrive about two hours from now. Could I reserve an aircar, please?"
"Sure thing. Range?"
"Oh—about five hundred . . ." He glanced at Hunt.
"Better make it seven," Hunt advised.
"Make that seven hundred miles minimum."
"That'll be no problem, Mr. Gray. We have Skyrovers, Mercury Threes, Honeybees, or Yellow Birds. Any preference?"
"No—any'll do."
"I'll make it a Mercury, then. Any idea how long?"
"No—er—indefinite."
"Okay. Full computer nav and flight control? Automatic VTOL?"
"Preferably and, ah, yes."
"You have a full manual license?" The blonde operated unseen keys as she spoke.
"Yes."
"Could I have personal data and account-checking data, please?"
Gray