Free A Century of Progress by Fred Saberhagen Page B

to tell you it would be just temporary, for no more than a day or two.”
    “Hell yes, I’ll take a job. What do I have to do?” Even as Jerry spoke an idea struck him, and he glanced back at the racks of radio equipment. Something about the way the setup looked suggested fake to him. Maybe just because there was so damn much of the radio stuff. He lowered his voice slightly. “I already done a little bootlegging in my time. It wouldn’t bother me at all.”
    “No.” The old man calmly shook his head. “Nothing like that. This is completely legit, just like it says on the side of the truck. We’re taking a survey. Measuring how strong the broadcast signal is from certain radio stations, at different points on the map. That helps the companies judge how many people are listening to ‘em, that kind of thing. I’ll pay you a dollar an hour.”
    For a few seconds Jerry’s breathing was reverently suspended. Then: “What do I have to do?” he repeated.
    “I’ll show you. It’s not that hard. We’re mounting little gadgets, call ‘em radio markers, in certain places. Little units I got in a bin back there. You’ll climb up a wall or tree or something and attach ‘em, while I take readings on this equipment in the back of the truck, and tell you exactly where they have to go. I suppose you can use a hammer and a screwdriver?”
    “Yeah. Sure.”
    “That’s about all it takes. I got all the tools and fasteners we’ll need. Our first installation ought to be about a mile up this road.” The old man briefly concentrated on his driving, meanwhile humming under his breath some tune that Jerry didn’t recognize.
    Then he looked across at Jerry again, more sharply this time. “Oh, and one more thing. I expect you to keep quiet about what we’re doing. I mean, you can tell your family you got a job. But don’t tell anyone any details, not even your wife. There’s a lot of competition, you know. Other companies would give a lot to know about signal strength and so on. I mean the methods of how we measure it.”
    “Jeez, yeah, I will. I can keep quiet about anything.”
    “Good. Why don’t you just reach back there and we’ll see what we can get on the radio now? See that first brown knob? Then the second one over is the tuner.”
    Jerry twiddled knobs. A speaker right over his head came to life. First he got some dame singing, with piano music in the background. It was right at the end of the song, and now some man’s voice came on telling everyone how healthy their skins would be if they used this soap. Jerry estimated Norlund’s expression, and turned the dial for another station. This one had two women’s voices, engaged in a fake-sounding argument with stagy pauses, over whether someone’s long-lost daughter was ever going to come home.
    “My wife likes this one,” said Jerry. “She’s probably listening to it now . . . Jeez, I’m on the payroll now?”
    Norlund consulted his wristwatch. “It’s just about two o’clock. Starting at two, okay?”
    “Jeez, yes,” said Jerry. And he made a mental note to himself to make sure that this nice-sounding old guy actually paid him for this first half-day’s work when quitting time came around.
    Presently Norlund pulled over to the curb. Now he let Jerry take over the driving. Jerry eased the truck ahead, block by block, going slowly at Norlund’s direction, while Norlund sat in the chair in the rear of the truck and twiddled dials and read things off and called out orders. Jerry couldn’t really see what Norlund was doing back there, but then he wouldn’t have been able to understand it anyway. He wished for the millionth time that he had a real education of some kind. But he didn’t have one, and that fact wasn’t about to change. Not having much school just meant that you had to be that much smarter than you’d have to be otherwise, use willpower and determination, and look out for yourself every minute.
    “Now take it across the street,