LITMIR.BIZ

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passed in vain. Z gritted his teeth, and turning the other way, yelled again:

      “Toy, that’s enough! We are late!”

      And then, finally, in the quiet rustling of tires, Toy came, slowly and proudly. A proud beast male, a thoroughbred horse, a car of Alpha class, which, of course, could only belong to the real male, that is (according to the Charter) to any Undo service officer, including Z. Could the real male’s salary be less than the cost of a single wheel of his car? The Charter was silent. As well as about whether his IQ could be less than that of his car. Officers suspected that they could not. So did the cars. Naturally, the relations between officers and their cars were tinted with mistrust, misunderstanding and poorly hidden contempt.

      “Good morning, Toy,” Z greeted his car, taking a gloomy look at the acid green corpus with a picture of a very naked and very welcoming girl on the hood, “you look great.”

      “Thank you,” Toy replied politely, “I found this print in the last issue of ‘The Wheel’. Do you like it?”

      “Very nice,” Z agreed through clenched teeth.

      “Really pretty, eh?” continued Toy, opening the door.

      Every day Toy tried to choose the most disgusting color and picture, slowly but surely getting closer to the hidden complexes and fears of his owner. The game went into one gate, and Z had nothing left to do but endure it silently.

      “Too skinny for me,” he said indifferently, “and tits are too small.”

      “Really?” Toy was obviously surprised, “I was afraid they would hang from the hood if I enlarged them.”

      “Well,” Z drawled in disappointment, “let it be like this. Be so kind, open the rear door.”

      There was a silent buzzing of moving cameras: Toy was carefully examining Z’s burden.

      “What’s this?” he asked suspiciously.

      “The cook,” Z explained.

      “Why does he travel under your armpit?”

      “He broke down.”

      “Died?”

      “Broken,” Z repeated stubbornly. “He is ninety percent machine.”

      “Okay,” Toy agreed. “So he is ninety percent broken. Still, as far as I understand he is ten percent dead.”

      “Well,” Z laughed awkwardly. “What is ten percent? One has to score at least ninety to become a real corpse.”

      “Не will stink up all the upholstery,” Toy said with disgust. “Where are you going to take him? And what for. And, finally, why do you not just throw it out?”

      “Because I need it. By the way, I’m late.”

      “You could get up earlier,” Toy said.

      “I could if I knew he would die. That is, break.”

      There was a long silence. At last, Toy said reluctantly:

      “ОK, bring him here. Carefully!”

      The door swung open and Z sat the cook in the seat. When he slammed the door, the deceased, turning over like a jellyfish, slowly stuck to the window glass with his face. His dead eyes were looking in completely different directions. Z shivered and sat in the front seat.

      “Let us drive. We are in a great hurry.”

      “Thirty units,” Toy said drily.

      “Come on! The limit is still fifty.”

      “It’s the second time in a week.”

      “So what?” snarled Z.

      Toy kept silent.

      “Okay.” Z clenched his teeth. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe. I will think this over thoroughly in the evening, I promise. Now can we go?”

      “No,” Toy answered calmly. “You must promise that you will radically reconsider your relationship with alcohol.”

      “Bullshit. Are we in kindergarten?”

      “Citizen,” Toy repeated, and he did it much louder this time. “You must promise that you will radically reconsider your relationship with alcohol.”

      Z turned around in fright, but the garage seemed to be empty.

      “Not that loud!”

      He drew air into his lungs, opened his mouth, then cast a look at his watch and changed his mind:

      “ОK. I promise.”

      “What exactly do you promise?”

      “To reconsider. Radically reconsider my relationship with alcohol.”

      Toy grunted with obvious mistrust.

      “Perfect. You can hardly imagine how sensitive the self-assessment module is in cars of my class. If the driver is as drunk as a marquis…”

      “As a lord,” Z corrected mechanically.

      “Lord,” Toy agreed. “If the driver is as drunk as a lord every other day, a car of my physique can easily fall into depression. Do you understand how this would affect the quality and safety of driving?”

      “Of course,” Z nodded solemnly. “I hate myself for doing this to you.”

      The car’s engine came to life, but the door remained open.

      “I guess I’ll start reconsidering right now,” Z added.

      “Good,” Toy noted.

      “Already started,” Z said.

      “Congratulations. We set off…”

      Toy faltered and added in a strange, frivolous, voice:

      “By the way, the best whiskey is sold in ‘Good Wees Key’ market, right around the corner. Discounts on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Free tasting on Mondays and Thursdays.”

      Toy recovered his normal voice.

      “It’s unbearable! Why? Even you with your tiny IQ must understand how humiliating it is! You promised to unsubscribe from advertising last week.”

      “Surely I remember,” Z grinned, “but when, did you say, do they have free tasting?”

      Toy choked.

      “Mondays and Thursdays,” he repeated readily in that strange, sugary, voice. “Gentlemen who bring a lady are entitled to a free condom.”

      There was a pause.

      “Are you making fun of me?” asked Toy in his ordinary voice.

      “Never! I just have a bad memory. Just imagine, I have already forgotten what days they have a discount!”

      “Discounts are on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,” Toy informed readily. “Stop it now! I am sick.”

      “Oh, I am so sorry. But we are late, do you remember?”

      “Fasten your belt then,” Toy growled with hatred, “Estimated travel time is twenty minutes.”

      The door slammed shut at last, and Z, with a sigh of relief, got rid of his earphones, glasses, and nose filters. There was no need for them in the Alpha class car. Full protection was standard. “Feel like an embryo in the womb, like a chick in an egg, like a fish in an aquarium. And let this mad world wait outside!” And so it did: arrogant, loud, acidic. Quiet and harmless when viewed through Toy’s windows. Z glanced at his watch and frowned. Hell! Where did this traffic jam come from?

      Time seemed to freeze outside. Cars, like drops of tar, flowed unbearably slowly along the gray plane of the highway. Toy was only a drop now, one amidst thousands of others. Inside, Z gnawed his nails with impatience, counting down the minutes before the beginning of the morning instruction.

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