LESLIE bypassed the buzzer and used the tuned voice-key at the front door. She went through the inspection corridor, and paused before the last slot, waiting open for her on the swift message of the photo-cells. She pressed down seven levers in the bank over the group of slots, informing the robot control of her unit code and personal code numbers.
The inner door opened automatically, and a single liftmobile rolled up to carry her up to the thirty-fourth floor, and around two corridors to her space unit.
On silent wheels it rolled away when she got out in front of her own door, and allowed her fingerprints against the hand-panel to give her access to the unit.
Inside, she dropped her coat and hat on automatic storers, and pushed her gloves into the refresher. Her mother waited in the kitchen.
Mrs. Caster was a well-built, graceful woman of middle age and moderate disposition. Those who did not call her a perfect mother hesitated to do so only because they thought she might be a bit too strict, a trifle too much of a perfectionist. But her three older daughters had made brilliant successes, and she was determined that Leslie should do likewise.
"How did it go, darling?" Her beautifully modulated voice carried through the speaker tubes, as the flashing light in the soundproof wall announced Leslie's approach.
"It was wonderful, Mom." Leslie charged through the door like any other teenager for centuries back. The only difference was that her feet on the velvadown linoleum made no more noise than the door did when photo-cells caught its impact and eased it into place. "The first time I ever went alone, and everything came out perfect!" She displayed a pin-head-size seal stamped on the paper-thin alloy of her learner's permit. "Fourteen more and I can get a prelim license," she caroled.
"All right, calm down, darling," Mrs. Caster cautioned, "and tell me all about it."
"Well, there's nothing to tell, Mom. I did just what you always do...except, oh, they had this perfectly heavenly self-seal celloluminum we read about, so I used that instead of standard wrap. Really, I think it's worth the extra twist." She looked up a little anxiously, questioningly, but her mother was nodding complete approval.
"You were right, dear," she agreed. "We ought to try it anyhow. But I want you to start at the beginning and tell me just exactly what you did. Everything!" she finished with hungry relish. It had been a long time since she herself had experienced the thrills of training.
Leslie settled down and ran her fingers through her hair, loosening it. She punched a row of keys on the table unit, and the latest popular song came on to provide background for the story.
"Well, I took the servocar at the door and used Main Ramp as far as Store Town. Then I navigoed to Supply, and..."
"Leslie!" her mother was shocked. "Aren't you ever going to learn to us the automatics? You know you're too old to navigo now. No lady navigoes herself?"
A blush spread over the girl's face. "Well I like to!" she said defiantly, and then added, "but I won't, I guess, if I have to stop it to get my license. Anyhow, when I checked in the permitalloy slot, I got the proper outline stamp"—she pointed to the deeply indented ring around the seal on the permit—"and keyed down my unit and personal codes. Then the automatic took me to Baker. There wasn't much of a line. I didn't have to wait more than half an hour. Well when I finally got there, the woman before me had left the whole thing jammed up, so I signaled repair, and had to wait two more minutes in self-service to fix it up."
Mrs. Caster was nodding. So far, so good.
"I set contents first, just the way you told me, all eight keys, to be sure we had it just the way Dad wants it to be. Then I punched for size and shape. I know texture takes care of itself, but I figured I'd play safe, and..."
A tiny chime announced the opening of the servo-slot, and the shining package Leslie had deposited in the X-ray-inspect-shute downstairs slid onto a pre-storage rack. The girl jumped up in excitement, but her mother put a restraining hand on her arm.
"Sit down, dear," Mrs. Caster said primly; "and finish telling me first."
"We-e-l-l-l..." Leslie kept talking, but her eyes never left the glowing bundle. "That was when I noticed they had the celloluminum installed, and set for serve-size, and then wrap. It was really tricky. They have a four-way key twist on the wrap, and..."
By that time she was out of the chair, and had the package safe in her hands. "It's something, Mom, really!" she insisted. "Look!" She peeled off a thin ribbon of celloluminum, carefully removing it only from the upper half of the slice she wanted to expose, then pressed down, and let the stiff bottom part propel the piece into her hand, while the celloluminum ribbon, released, wrapped itself back into place in the immediate reaction to the leverage.
She handed it to her mother, beaming with pride, and Mrs. Caster took it from her, with her expression changing slowly from one of maternal joy and affection to the horrified stare of the betrayed pedant.
"Leslie!" she gasped, and sank into her chair, almost, but not quite, too exasperated for words. "Leslie, I'm ashamed to admit my daughter could do a thing like that!"
The girl blanched, uncomprehending, and poked out a cautious finger to find out what was wrong with the slice of bread her mother held.
"Leslie," Mrs. Caster finally managed to say, "You had this smooth-sliced instead of rough-cut! What do you think your father's going to say, the way he likes home-made-style? Leslie Caster," she wailed, "You'll just never be a decent housekeeper. I can feel it in my bones. Never!"