"What's the matter, boy? You sick?"
"N—no, of course not."
Harry Hayden laughed. "I get it. You thought you'd get to really see one. Get in it, I mean, try it out. It's too late in the day, boy. Shop's closing. You couldn't drive one anyway. Regulation is that new drivers start in the morning when they're fresh. But tomorrow morning one of those Hornets'll be assigned to you. Delivered to the terminal nearest your home. Live far from your terminal?"
"About four blocks."
"Half a minute on the mobile-walk. What college you go to?"
"Western U."
"Lord, that's 400 miles away. You been living there?"
"No. Commuting every day on the monorail."
"Hell, that's for old women. Must have taken you over an hour to get there. Now you'll make it in almost thirty minutes. Still, it's best to take it easy the first day. Don't get 'er over 600 per. But don't let 'er fall beneath that either. If you do, some old veteran'll know you're a greenhorn and try to knock you off."
Suddenly Harry Hayden stiffened.