To Jim Briskin, Pethel said humbly, 'Hello, Mr. Briskin. You don't know me, but I'm going to vote for you.' He had just made up his mind; seeing Briskin in real life had decided him. 'I'm
Darius Pethel.'
Glancing at him, Briskin said, 'Hello, Mr. Pethel.'
'This Jiffi-scuttler belongs to me,' Pethel explained. 'I discovered the rent in it, the doorway to the other universe. Or rather, my repairman Rick Erickson did. But he's dead now.' He added, 'Very tragic; I was there when it happened,'
A TD official, appearing beside Jim Briskin, said, 'We're ready to get started, Mr. Briskin.'
A small, rather handsome man strolled up, and Darius, with a start, recognized him, too. This was Frank Woodbine, the famous deep-space explorer. Good lord, Pethel said to himself, and I'm going with them!
'Jim,' Woodbine said to Jim Briskin, 'we're all carrying laser pistols except you. Don't you think you're making a mistake ?'
'Hey,' Pethel said tremulously, 'nobody gave me a pistol.'
A TD employee passed a pistol, in its holster, over to him. 'Sorry, Mr. Pethel.'
'That's more like it,' Dar Pethel said, wondering if he was supposed to hold the thing in his hands or strap it on somehow.
'I don't need a gun,' Jim Briskin said.
'Of course you do,' Woodbine said. 'You want to come back, don't you ?' To Pethel, Woodbine said, 'Tell him he needs a gun."
'You ought to have one, Mr. Briskin,' Pethel said eagerly. 'No one knows what we'll run into over there.'
At last, with massive reluctance, Briskin accepted a gun. 'This is not the way,' he said, to no one in particular. 'We shouldn't be doing this, going to meet them armed like this.' He looked melancholy.
'What choice have we got ?' Woodbine said and disappeared through the entrance hoop of the
Jiffi-scuttler.
'I'll go in with you,. Mr. Briskin,' Pethel said. 'Instead of with those scientists.' He indicated the group which had formed behind them. 'I can't talk their language; I've got nothing in common with them.'
A man whom he recognized as Briskin's campaign manger, Salisbury Heim, hurried up to join
Briskin. 'Sorry I'm late.' Quickly, he made note of the news photographers, TV cameras, the gang of media people. 'You fellows get every step of this,' he called to them. 'You understand ?'
'Yes, Mr. Heim,' they murmured, moving forward.
'The time is now,' Salisbury Heim said, and gave Jim Briskin a small push in the direction of the entrance hoop. 'Let's go, Jim.'
'Are you ready, Mr. Pethel ?' Jim Briskin asked.
'Oh, thanks; I am, yes,' Pethel answered hurriedly. 'This is certainly a fascinating journey, isn't it ?'
'Momentous,' Salisbury Heim said.
'In fact even historical,' Briskin said, with a faint smile.
'Entering the Jiffi-scuttler now,' a TV newsman was saying into his lapel mike, 'the possible future president of the United States reveals no indication of concern for his personal safety.
Solicitous of the welfare of the others surrounding him, he makes certain that they understand the gravity or - as James Briskin himself just now put it - the historical significance of this body of persons passing across into a situation fraught with possible peril. But the stakes in this are vast, and no one has forgotten that, least of all James Briskin. Another world, another civilization ... what will this come to mean in future centuries to mankind ? Undoubtedly, James Briskin is asking himself that at this very instant as he crosses the threshold of the rather plain, almost ordinary-appearing Jiffi-scuttler.'
Jim Briskin winked at Darius Pethel.
Startled, Pethel attempted to wink back, but he was too tense.
'Hey, just a moment, Mr. Briskin!' a homeopape photographer called. 'We want to be sure we catch you going through the rent. Could you kindly retrace your steps back to the hoop, please ?
Those last four steps ?'
Obligingly, Jim Briskin did so.
The TV newsman was saying, 'So now in only a matter of seconds presidential candidate Jim
Briskin will be passing through the connecting link into a universe whose very existence was not even suspected two days ago. Authorities seem pretty well to agree now, on the basis of stellar charts taken by the no longer functioning Queen Bee satellite ...' -
I wonder why it's no longer functioning, Pethel mused. Has something gotten fouled up, over there ? It didn't sound like a good omen; it made him uncomfortable.
On the other side, amid a meadow of excellently green grass and small white flowers, they, now a party of thirty, boarded an express jet-hopper which TD engineers hid somehow managed to disassemble, pass through the rent, and then reassemble. Almost at once the 'hopper rose and soared out over the Atlantic, toward the northern coast of France.
Watching a flight of gulls, Jim Briskin thought: From this vantage point, it appears no different from our own world. The gulls disappeared behind them as the jet-hopper hurried on. Will we see ships of any sort on this ocean ? he wondered.
Fifteen minutes later, by his wristwatch, he saw a slip below.
It did not seem to be large. But it was ocean-going, and that, he decided, was something. Of course it was wooden; he took that for granted, as did the others in the 'hopper, all of whom were pressed against the windows, peering out. The ship, did not have sails, but it also lacked a stack.
What propels it ? he wondered. More nonsense machinery. If not the expansion of ice, then by all means the popping of paper bags.
The pilot of the jet-hopper swooped low over the ship; they were treated to a thorough look, at least momentarily. Figures on the deck scampered about in agitation, then disappeared down below, lost from sight. The ship continued on. And, presently, the 'hopper left it behind.
'We didn't learn much,' Dillingsworth, the anthropologist, said in disappointment. 'How long before we reach Normandy ?'
'Another half hour,' the pilot said.
They saw, then, a collection of small boats, perhaps a fishing fleet; the boats were anchored, and they did have sails. Aboard, the sailors gaped up at the sight of the 'hopper, frozen in their positions as if carved there. Again the 'hopper dipped low.
The anthropologist, staring down, said, 'Lower.'
'Can't,' the pilot answered. 'Too dangerous; we're overloaded'
'What's the matter ?' the sociologist from the University of California, Edward Marshak, asked
Dillingsworth. 'What did you see ?'
After a time Dillingsworth said, 'As soon as we reach the European landmass, as soon as we can land, let's do so. Let's not wait to seek out their centers of concentration; I want to have us set down by the first one of them we spot.'
The fishing boats disappeared behind them.
With shaking hands, Dillingsworth opened a textbook which he had brought, began turning pages. He did not allow anyone else to see its title; he sat off, by himself, in a corner of the
'hopper, a brooding, dark expression on his face.
Stanley, the senior official from TD, said inquiringly, 'Do you think we should turn back ?'
'Hell no,' Dillingsworth rasped. And that was all he said; he did not amplify.
Next to Jim Briskin, the round, heavy-set little businessman from Kansas City leaned over and said, 'He makes me nervous; he's found something and he won't say what it is. It was when he saw those fishermen. I was watching his face, and he almost fainted.'
Amused, Jim said, 'Take it easy, Mr. Pethel. We still have a long way to go.'
I'm going to find out what it was,' Pethel said. He scrambled to his feet and made his way over to
Dillingsworth. 'Tell me,' he said. 'Why keep it quiet ? It must have been pretty bad to make you clam up like this. What could you possibly have seen in those few seconds that would make you react this way ? Personally, I don't think we should go on until...'
'Look at it this way,' Dillingsworth said. 'If I'm wrong, it doesn't matter. If I'm right ...' He looked past Pethel to Jim Briskin. 'We'll know all about it before we make our return trip, later today.'