"You wouldn't have some idle time tonight, would you?" asked the girl hopefully.
Madison ran.
He got in the airbus and Flick closed the door for him. "We got some money?" said Flick. And when Madison patted his pocket, Flick leaped behind the controls and they took off.
"I'm STARVING!" said Flick, as he threaded his way through Government City air lanes. "I'll just drop down to a busy street and we'll get some hot jolt and FRESH sweetbuns off a vendor. You also owe me a pack of puffsticks. I gave one to that guard, remember?"
He dropped down into the parking strip beside the thronged and noisy street. He yelled at a dark-complected old man who was pushing a cart laden with comestibles and other things.
"Two hot jolts, four sweetbuns, one pack of puff-sticks," said Flick.
Dutifully the old man handed them in and then held out his hand.
"Pay him," said Flick.
Madison got out a thousand-credit note and handed it over.
"I can't take that," the old man said. "It would clean out the change of the whole street. You only owe me a tenth of a credit. Haven't you got a coin?"
"Wait a minute," said Madison. "Two coffees, four buns, one pack of puffsticks. Ten cents? You must be mistaken."
"Well, things are a little high these days," the old man said. "And after all, I've got to make a living."
"No, no," said Madison. "I'm not haggling with you. I'm just trying to figure out how much a credit is worth. I got it: how much is a good pair of shoes?"
"Oh, call it a credit and a half," the old man said. "They're kind of dear, the good ones I mean."
Madison did a racing calculation. He had been thinking in terms of dollars. As close as he could guess, one credit must be worth at least twenty bucks!
He sank back on the seat in a sudden shock. He didn't have a billion-dollar drawing account.
HE HAD ONE FOR TWENTY BILLION!
A voice penetrated his shock. "Well, pay the man," said Flick. "He's got some blank vouchers there. Just stamp one."
Madison was still in shock. Flick came back to him, stuffed the thousand-credit note into his breast pocket and tapped around his coat and found his identoplate and drew it out. The old man was presenting the paper through the window and Flick, looking at the stamp face, was pushing the button to get it to come up with the right stamp.
Suddenly Flick froze.
He was staring at the plate.
Suddenly Flick cried, "Pay Status UNLIMITED?"
He stared at Madison.
The mouth opened in the squashed oval of a face. The mouth closed.
Flick looked back at the identoplate. He worked the button and made the picture of Madison come up. He looked at it. He looked back at Madison. Then Flick shifted the button and stared at the pay status again.
Flick sat back. His eyes were jiggling.
The old man urged the paper at the driver. "Stamp it for my tenth of a credit, please."
Flick got his eyes in focus. He went into sudden motion. He scribbled on the paper and stamped it and said, "THROW THE WHOLE CONTENTS OF YOUR CART IN!"
The old man looked at the paper in shock. Then he hastily began to pitch things through the window. He barely managed to tip up the last tray when Flick took off.
"HOT SAINTS!" cried Flick as he raced into the air. "MY DREAMS HAVE JUST COME TRUE!"
The airbus was accelerating so rapidly and with such a wild turn that Madison was sent sprawling into the tumbling packs, canisters, chank-pops and jugs of sparklewater. He thought the world had gone vermilion until he found, from the floor of the vehicle, that he was looking at it through a disposable umbrella of that hue which, somehow, had sprung open.
"What the blazes are you doing?" yelped Madison.
"Just hold on," said Flick. "I'll have us there in a minute flat!"
"I didn't give you any orders to go anywhere!" howled Madison from amongst cartons of puffsticks.
"You don't know the place like I do," Flick called back. "Just don't worry. We're not lost. I know exactly where we're going."
The airbus swooped perilously. It wasn't a minute. It was more like ten. And Madison had just begun to get himself sorted out when WHAM! they landed.
Flick was out of the airbus like a flash. Madison, prying a sweetbun off his face, heard him chortling. "There she is. Oh, Gods, you beauty! Just what I have always wanted!"
Madison gingerly pried himself out of the car, dabbing at his face. They had evidently landed straight through the open doors of a huge display room. The sign in reverse on the window said Zippety-Zip Manufacturing Outlet, Commercial City.
Flick was standing ecstatically, looking at the ceiling.
A rather good-looking man in a bright green suit came over, somewhat upset about this unorthodox landing but not saying so. "I'm Chalber. Is there something I can do for you gentlemen?"
"That!" said Flick, jabbing with his finger.
Madison had gotten the sweetbun crumbs out of his eyes. They were surrounded by rows and rows of airbuses of every shape and hue. But Flick wasn't pointing at any of them. He was jabbing at the ceiling.
Up there, on a transparent sheet suspended by cables, was a vehicle on display, visible from the air if one looked through the high windows or glass dome. It was utterly huge: it had a flying angel in lifelike colors protruding forward from each of its four corners and it appeared to be solid gold.
"That, that, that!" said Flick. "I've wanted it for years!"
"Oh, I am sorry," said Chalber, "that's the Model 99. There were only six of them ever built and they were used for parades and vehicle shows. It's sort of our symbol of excellence to show what Zippety-Zip can do. It's not for sale."
"Oh, yes, by Gods, it's for sale. Look at that sign on the window. It says, 'We Sell Everything That Flies.' "
"Well, that's just a figure of speech," said Chalber.
"You better start figuring," said Flick. "I WANT THAT AIRBUS!"
"Well, really," said Chalber, "you must realize that when the Model 99s were built, they were never intended for sale. We were merely seeking to prove we could do better than any other manufacturers. One or two of them were presented to noblemen as a gesture of good will. But you gentlemen aren't noblemen."
"You want a fight?" said Flick, putting up his fists.
"Listen, Flick," said Madison. "I don't think we should get into any brawls...."
"Listen yourself!" said Flick. "That 99 has a bar, a toilet, a washbasin with jewelled buttons. It has a color organ and every known type of screen and viewer. The back seats break down into beds that massage you. The upholstery is real lepertige fur. It flies at six hundred miles an hour and can reach any place on the planet nonstop. It is fully automatic. It is completely soundproof and it is pressurized for flights up to three hundred miles altitude. When you land, a piece of the back end pulls out and becomes a ground car and you don't need to walk. The Model 99 has tons of storage cabinets and you can even hide a girl under the seat." He shook his fist at Chalber pugnaciously. "I've had dreams of driving one around, snooting at all the other traffic and I'm NOT going to be stopped!"
"Really," said Chalber. "Be reasonable. The price would be ten times that of a top-grade limousine airbus. I can show you gentlemen some very fine vehicles that– – "
"How much?" said Flick.
"That Model 99," said Chalber with a superior sneer, "sits on the books at thirty thousand credits. I am sure..."
Flick still had Madison's identoplate. He stuck it in front of Chalber's face and said, "Will that do?"
Chalber looked at it. Then he went into staring shock. "Pay Status UNLIMITED?"
"Him," said Flick, jabbing a finger at Madison. "Apparatus-Palace City-Royal. Now get that beauty down here! Service it! And don't delay!"