“ My machine?” the red-faced man said, looking up incredulously. “It’s not my machine, sir. Not at all.”
Collins stared at him. “Don’t try to kid me, mister. You A-ratings want to protect your monopoly, don’t you?”
The red-faced man put down his paper. “Mr. Collins,” he said stiffly, “my name is Flign. I am an agent for the Citizens Protective Union, a non-profit organisation, whose aim is to protect individuals such as yourself from errors of judgement.”
“You mean you’re not one of the A’s?”
“You are labouring under a misapprehension, sir,” Flign said with quiet dignity. “The A-rating does not represent a social group, as you seem to believe. It is merely a credit rating.”
“A what?” Collins asked slowly.
“A credit rating.” Flign glanced at his watch. “We haven’t much time, so I’ll make this as brief as possible. Ours is a decentralised age, Mr. Collins. Our businesses, industries and services are scattered through an appreciable portion of space and time. The utilization corporation is an essential link. It provides for the transfer of goods and services from point to point. Do you understand?”
Collins nodded.
“Credit is, of course, an automatic privilege. But, eventually, everything must be paid for.”
Collins didn’t like the sound of that. Pay? This place wasn’t as civilised as he had thought. No one had mentioned paying. Why did they bring it up now?