The Shift Key by John Brunner Page A

reporter,’ Jenny muttered under her breath. ‘I keep overlooking the obvious …’
    ‘Sorry? What did you say?’ – from Stick.
    ‘Never mind … Steve, you wanted to ask Stick something, didn’t you?’ – as he set glasses on the table.
    ‘Well, I would like to ask a few questions,’ Steven agreed, resuming his chair and drawing it an inch closer to Jenny’s.
    ‘Plough ahead, squire,’ Stick said expansively. ‘I won’t guarantee to answer, but what I can’t tell you I’ll happily invent … Sorry. I didn’t mean that. But what is truth? – said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer … Anyway, here’s peeping up your kilt,
señor!
    He sank half the fresh pint of cider, brushed drops from his moustache, tilted back his chair and looked expectant.
    ‘Well, you see,’ said Steven, ‘some very odd things have apparently been going on here today. Excuse me; I do nowrealize who you are, though we never met before. I’ve seen you at work, haven’t I? I’m Steven Gloze. And you know Jenny Severance – Jenny?’
    She was rising, her face a mask of determination.
    ‘Excuse me. It’s my turn for the phone.’
    ‘What about that bite to eat?’
    ‘In a little while, maybe. My phone calls come first.’
    She departed. Looking uneasy, Steven followed her with his eyes for as long as she remained in view, then turned back to Stick.
    ‘I was about to say: there have been some odd goings-on in Weyharrow today, haven’t there?’
    ‘Well …’ Stick folded his hands together, seeming to find the intertwining of his fingers endlessly fascinating. ‘Well, if you’ll forgive me for mentioning it, I heard one very funny thing about yourself.’
    ‘From –?’ Steven steeled himself.
    ‘From a mate of mine called Willy Cashcart.’ Stick glanced around. ‘He sometimes drops in here of an evening, but I don’t see him. He said the chemist refused to give him what you said he ought to have – just some ordinary pills. He’s tried pills. None of them ever worked, and some of them made him feel sick.’
    To his incredulous relief, Steven realized he was talking to someone who wasn’t going to mock him for his error. Nonetheless, he said hastily, ‘I hope he realizes that –’
    ‘You prescribed something a bit unorthodox? Sure he does. But I told him straight out: he ought to give it a whirl, at least, and he said he would. Said he’d buy a cockerel from one of the local farms. You see, me, I’ve always believed that all these damned pill manufacturers – like the ones at Trim-borne – they’re on the wrong track! Oh, I grant that when it comes down to epidemic diseases like syphilis or TB they’ve discovered plenty of effective treatments. But if you want to
be healthy
, that’s to say avoid degenerative conditions likearthritis and cancer and MS, you have to lead a healthy life and eat the right food. The trouble I have convincing the lady I live with to give her kids a proper diet …!’
    Slurp!
And the cider-glass was emptier by another inch.
    ‘Which reminds me. You were talking about odd things happening round here.’
    Steven nodded. His mind wasn’t really on what Stick was saying. He had been preparing an orthodox defence of orthodox medicine when Stick forestalled him by admitting its efficacy in particular cases. He took another sip of his drink. He’d chosen white wine because he had already had so much sherry at the parsonage, but he seemed to have absorbed a remarkable number of glassfuls.
    ‘Well, I had one happen to me today,’ Stick said, cheerfully oblivious. ‘When I got up, I could have sworn that Sheila’s kids – that’s Sheila that I’m living with – I could have sworn that they were boys. I pulled the covers off to rouse them, and they aren’t.’
    ‘You mean –?’
    But before Steven could complete the sentence Stick had added, ‘Of course, after the way I got stoned last night I couldn’t be surprised. I – Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to say