The Stardroppers Read Online Free PDF Page A

wiped his perspiring forehead with a tissue, reflecting that if any of his friends had shown him that one, he might be a real enthusiast by now.
    “That’s
what stardropping is all about, you realize.” Watson patted the instrument he held, like a pet animal “This model had an excellent repertoire. I’ve known people who’ve gone on to build big fixed installations and haven’t brought themselves to trade in their original Gale and Welchmans because they like the repertoire so much.”
    A reference encountered in
Starnews
crossed Dan’s memory. He said, “You can’t get that on any other instrument, then?”
    “Oh no. Why, even Gale and Welchman turn out the occasional failure without the setting I just demonstrated. But I wouldn’t sell one here, of course. It would be unfair to the customers.”
    He pointed to Dan’s copy of
Starnews
, visible in the side pocket of his jacket. “You’ll find a lot of correspondence in there between people who are trying to pair up signals received on different instruments. At present the system of calibration is arbitrary—not to say chaotic—and even one repeatable signal would serve as a valuable standard. Our club does a certain amount of research into this kind of thing, incidentally, and I gather you were asking about it.”
    “That’s right. Obviously there’s a lot for me to learn, and I don’t want to waste my time in London.”
    “Here, then.” Watson produced a small card from his pocket and wrote his name on the back before handing it to Dan. “We meet every Wednesday, as you see. Please join us tomorrow if you like. There’s a small entrance fee to cover the cost of renting the room, and if you want to come regularly you pay a subscription of ten pounds. But you’ll be welcome as a guest tomorrow night.”
    The card said CLUB COSMICA and gave the address of a pub called the Hunting Horn in the same postal zone as this store. From the other side Dan saw that Watson’s given name was Walter. He put it in his wallet.
    “Thanks very much. What time should I arrive?”
    “About eight. We have a demonstration this week, so it’ll pay to be prompt if you want to be sure of a good seat.”
    Outside the store, Dan almost fell over a girl sitting on the ground. She had the earpiece of a stardropper in, and with eyes closed and mouth open she was chalking a series of spiral lines on the pavement. Half a dozen passersby paused to inspect what she was doing, but by now the spirals covered one another so heavily it was impossible to make out the order in which they had been drawn. Presumably she was hoping someone would recognize the pattern and speak to her. No one did.
    In a drugstore window, as he approached Marble Arch, he saw single earplugs on sale, labeled TO AID CONCENTRATION WHILE STARDROPPING.
    Waiting to cross at a stoplight, he heard a boy in his late teens hailing a friend: “Dropped any good stars lately?”
    Then a man of about sixty, smartly dressed in dark blue, went by pushing a handcart, which Dan guessed might be an old hawker’s barrow. On its cracked, dirty boards was a huge stardropper in a shiny cabinet, a heavy home-model type. From its speaker oozed a sound like something flat and clumsy being moved about in thick mud, sucking and plopping. The man had his head cocked on one side, frowning fiercely. Behind him followed five or six youths and girls, also neatly dressed, though they were keeping to the sidewalk. Every time a driver hooted a complaint at being balked by the slow pushcart, they waved their fists at him threateningly.
    One of the girls had a look on her face like a saint in ecstasy, and the boy with her was having to lead her by the hand. Next to her was another girl, who was clearly getting nothing from the sound and kept shooting envious looks at her luckier companion. She had short-cut black hair and a peaked gamine face with a sullen mouth, andshe wore the leisure clothes currently popular with both sexes—a