rr.eastofealing-第12章

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　GOVERNMENT　GIVES　RIGHT…HAND　PLAN　THE　THUMBS　UP；　he　read。
　An　all…party…sitting　last　night　gave　the　Lateinos　and　Romiith　scheme　for　personalized　account　enumeration　the　go…ahead。　This　scheme　will　eventually　make　all　previous　systems　of　monetary　exchange　obsolete。　Through　laser　implantation　of　a　personal　intromagnetic　puter　bar　code；　upon　either　the　forehead　or　right　hand　of　each　individual　member　of　society；　it　is　thought　that　all　crimes　involving　monetary　theft　will　henceforth　be　made　impossible。　Also　the　need　for　passports　or　any　other　form　of　identity　paper　will　be　eliminated。
　Linked　with　Lateinos　and　Romiith's　master　puter　now　currently　in　production；　the　system　is　expected　to　be　instituted　nationally　within　the　next　six　months。
　Norman　whistled　as　he　weighed　up　the　concept。　It　was　certainly　ingenious：　no…one　could　steal　your　money　if　you　never　carried　any；　or　use　your　banker's　card　if　they　found　your　wallet　in　the　street。　With　your　own　personal　number　printed　on　your　forehead　they'd　have　to　cut　your　head　off　and　pass　it　across　the　bank　counter　to　get　at　your　wealth。　And　with　no　money　there　would　be　no　paperwork。　No　more　monthly　accounts；　the　money　would　pass　invisibly；　simply　at　the　wave　of　a　light…pen。　The　more　Norman　thought　about　it　the　more　impressed　he　became。　And　the　more　miffed　that　he　hadn't　thought　of　it　first。
　He　scribbled　'15　Balfour'　on　to　the　first　paper　and　turned　it　aside　without　giving　the　rest　of　the　news　even　a　cursory　once…over。　As　it　happened；　there　was　little　else　but　for　wars　and　rumours　of　wars　and　a　continuance　of　the　black　fly　plague；　so　he　certainly　hadn't　missed　much。
　In　the　curtained　alcove　in　the　kitchenette　his　duplicate　sat　staring　into　space　and　thinking　absolutely　nothing　whatsoever。
　Neville　the　part…time　barman　stirred　in　his　pit。　He　blinked　open　his　good　eye　and　stared　up　at　the　ceiling；　which　unaccountably　appeared　to　have　lowered　itself　by　a　couple　of　inches　during　the　night。　Drawing　back　his　continental　quilt；　he　set　a　monumental　foot　upon　the　worn　Axminster。　He　yawned；　stretched　and　considered　his　hands。　'Gross；'　he　thought。　The　wrists　appeared　massive；　swelling　from　his　pyjama　sleeves　to　join　great　five…pound　hams　with　pork　sausages　glued　on　to　them。　Whatever　was　happening　to　him　was　doing　it　at　an　accelerated　rate　of　knots。　'It's　getting　out　of　control；'　said　Neville；　as　to　the　acpaniment　of　groaning　floorboards；　he　arose　from　his　bed。　He　would　give　up　eating；　he　told　himself；　live　exclusively　on　scotch；　crispbread；　and　the　occasional　lime　to　stave　off　scurvy。
　Neville　staggered　across　the　floor；　pictures　rattled　upon　the　wall　in　time　with　his　tread；　and　the　entire　upper　storey　of　the　pub　seemed　dangerously　near　to　collapse。　Why　would　nobody　admit　to　seeing　the　state　he　was　in？　It　had　to　be　part　of　some　enormous　conspiracy　aimed　at　ousting　him　from　the　Swan。　Neville　pawed　at　his　swollen　skull　with　a　preposterous　forefinger。　Was　that　it？　Was　it　the　brewery　having　a　go？　That　nest　of　vipers？　Most　horrors　which　befell　him　were　directly　attributable　to　them。　Possibly　they　were　bribing　his　patrons　to　ignore　his　plight？　Or　possibly　they　were　hypnotizing　him　while　he　slept？　Neville　had　read　of　slimming　courses　you　got　on　cassettes　and　played　while　you　were　asleep。　He'd　never　quite　figured　out　how　you　turned　the　tape　recorder　on　if　you　were　fast　a…kip；　but　it　was　a　thought。　He　would　search　his　apartments　for　hidden　speakers　as　soon　as　he'd　had　his　morning　shower。
　He　struggled　to　squeeze　himself　through　the　bathroom　doorway。　Whatever　it　was；　he　would　have　to　suss　it　out　pretty　rapidly　or　the　entire　building　was　going　to　e　down　about　his　ears。
　Old　Pete　ambled　along　the　Haling　Road；　his　tatty　half…terrier；　as　ever；　upon　his　heels。　He　had　just　paid　his　weekly　visit　to　each　of　Brentford's　two　sub…post　offices；　in　order　to　cash　the　two　pension　cheques　the　post　office's　errant　puter　chose　weekly　to　award　him。　'God　bless　the　GPO；'　the　old　reprobate　had　been　heard　to　utter　upon　more　than　one　occasion。
　The　ancient　shuffled　cheerfully　along；　rattling　his　stick　noisily　across　Mrs　Naylor's　front　railings　in　a　manner　calculated　to　rudely　awaken　the　insatiable　lady　librarian　from　her　erotic　dreams。　Young　Chips　chuckled　to　himself　and　gave　the　lampposts　a　bit　of　first…thing　nasal　perusal。　Norman's　new　paperboy　bustled　out　of　the　corner…shop；　the　heavy　bag　upon　his　shoulders；　and　mounted　his　bike。　Chips　momentarily　bared　his　teeth；　but　it　was　early　yet　and　he　hardly　felt　up　to　making　the　effort。
　Pete　steered　his　way　between　the　posts　supporting　Norman's　shop…front　and　thrust　open　the　temporary　door。　'Morning　Norman；'　said　he。　The　shopkeeper　tucked　away　the　copy　of　Donkey　Capers　he　had　been　ogling　and　turned　to　seek　out　Pete's　weekly　quota　of　tobacco。
　'How's　the　bed；　Pete？'　he　asked。　'To　your　satisfaction　I　trust？'
　'Magic；'　said　Old　Pete。
　'I'm　so　glad。　Two　ounces　of　Ships　is　it？'
　'And　a　copy　of　the　Mercury。'　Old　Pete　pushed　a　crisp　fiver　across　the　counter。
　'Ever　had　a　credit　card；　Pete？'　Norman　rang　up　the　sale　on　his　cash　register。
　Old　Pete　shook　his　head。　'Don't　think　so。　I　have　a　membership　card　for　the　British　Legion；　and　a　special　doo…dad　which　lets　me　travel　free　on　the　buses；　other　than　that。。。'　Old　Pete　scratched　his　snow…capped　head。　'Had　a　pack　of　nudie　playing…cards　I　bought　in　Cairo　during　the　last　lot。　What　does　it　do　then？'
　Norman　did　his　best　to　explain。
　'Oh　no；'　said　Pete。　'Never　had　one　of　those。　Mind　you；　I've　never　had　a　bank　account。　You　selling　them　now；　then？'
　Norman　shook　his　head。　'I　was　just　reading　this　article。　It　seems　that　they　are　now　obsolete。　The　Government　are　taking　to　stamping　the　numbers　on　people's　heads。'
　'Don't　talk　rubbish；'　said　Old　Pete。　'Here　now；　what　is　this？'　He　pointed　to　his　tin　of　tobacco。
　'What　is　what？'
　'This。'　Old　Pete　indicated　a　series　of　little　lines　imprinted　upon　the　lid。　'They　weren't　there　last　week。　What　are　they？'
　Norman　took　the　tin　and　examined　it。　'That's　the　lads；'　said　he。　'puter　bar　coding；　it's　called。　That's　what　I　was　trying　to　explain。　All　modities　are　now　being　printed　with　them。　They　tell　you　the　price　and　the　date　you　purchased　the　item　and　all　that　sort　of　thing。　You　pass　a　light…pen　over　them　and　it　logs　all　the　information　straight　into　some　master　puter。　The　Government　are　simply　taking　the　process　a　logical　step　further。'
　'I　don't　like　the　smell　of　that；'　said　Old　Pete。　'After　all；　you　know　when　you　purchased　it　and　how　much　it　costs；　what　do　you　need　the　lines　for？'
　Norman　shrugged。　'Progress；'　he　said。　'We　must　all　move　with　the　times　you　know。'
　'You　must。'　Old　Pete　snatched　back　his　tobacco。　'For　myself；　I　say　a　pox　on　the　times。　Now　don't　get　me　wrong；　I　have　nothing　against　puters；　one　in　particular　there　is　which　I　hold　in　the　highest　esteem。　But　for　progress　in　general。。。'　Old　Pete　made　the　appropriate　two…fingered　gesture；　snatched　up　his　paper；　which　unbeknown　to　him　bore　a　not　dissimilar　set　of　lines　upon　it；　and　shuffled　from　the　shop。
　'Daft　old　fogey；'　said　Norman　to　himself；　but　squinting　around　it　did　occur　to　him　that　every　item　he　had　ordered　during　the　last　few　weeks　possessed　similar　markings。　No　doubt　it　was　all　for　the　mon　good。　There　could　not　possibly　be　anything　sinister　at　the　back　of　it；　surely？　No；　it　was　all　part　of　a　great　masterplan　to　free　society　of　crime　and　bring　prosperity　to　all。　Norman　went　off　about　his　business；　whistling；　'The　Rock　Island　line　is　a　mighty　fine　line'。
　Jim　Pooley　was　already　upon　his　favourite　bench。　He　had　accosted　Norman's　paperboy　and　wrung　from　his　clammy　grip　a　copy　of　the　Sporting　Life。　Yesterday　had　been　a　total　disaster。　His　life　savings；　in　the　biscuit　tin　on　the　mantelpiece；　were　sadly　depleted。　In　the　dubious　excitement　of　the　night　before；　he　and　Omally　had　actually　forgotten　to　ask　Soap　for　the　thirty　quid。　Such　events　were　Wont　to　dash　any　hopes　Jim　had　for　the　future。　He　would　simply　have　to　pull　off　The　Big　One　today　and　that　was　that。
　Pooley　scanned　the　pages　in　search　of　inspiration。　Almost　at　once　he　spied　out　a　little　series　of　lines　printed　on　the　lower　left…hand　corner　of　the　sixth　page。　'Aha；'　said　Jim；　'a　code；　possibly　masonic。'　He　recalled　a　discussion　he　had　recently　had