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Its screen lit up and the sound came on at teeth-jarring level:
"How do you spell comfort? For the wise Luna citizen today, overworked,
overstimulated, overstressed, it is spelled C, 0, M, F, I, E, S-that's Comfies,
the comfort therapists recommend most for acid stomach, heartburn, gastric
ulcers, bowel spasm, and simple tummy ache. Comfies! They Do More! Manufactured
by Tiger Balm Pharmaceuticals, Hong Kong Luna, makers of medicines you can rely
on. C, 0, M, F, I, E, S, Comfies! They Do More! Ask your therapist." Some
screech owls started singing about the delights of Comfies.
"This damn thing won't turn off!"
"Hit it!"
"Huh?"
"Hit it, Richard."
I could not see any logic in that but it did meet my emotional needs; I
slapped it, fairly hard. It continued to spout inanities about over-priced
baking soda.
"Dear, you have to hit it harder than that. Electrons are timid little
things but notional; you have to let them know who's boss. Here, let me." Gwen
walloped it a good one-I thought she would crack the shell.
It promptly displayed:
Ready for descent-Zero Time = 21-06-17.0.
Its clock showed 21-05-42.7
-which gave me just time to glance at the altimeter radar (which showed 298
klicks above ground, steady) and at the doppler readout, which showed us
oriented along our motion-over-ground line, close enough for government work
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