“That was the reality you specified.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t understand. What I really needed was a universe where I would be appreciated for myself, for the real me, as a thinking person.”
“And are you?”
“Am I what?”
“A thinking person?”
Bryant scratched his head. “I think so. I mean I go around thinking all the time, don’t I?”
“You picked the wrong reality twice in a row.”
“Ah, but that was because I didn’t think.” Bryant narrowed his eyes, suspecting the other man was trying to make him look stupid. “I’ve thought the whole thing over—and I want you to transfer me to a reality in which I’ll be regarded as the wisest man in the world.”
“I’m afraid the Probability Redistributor can’t cope with that sort of request,” Marzian said. “The target is too vague, you see. So many people have different ideas as to what constitutes wisdom. If we tried to effect a transfer under those terms, you’d be diffused into thousands of different realities. You’d become a kind of statistical gas, and you don’t really want that to happen.”
Bryant considered the prospect for a moment. “You’re right—so what can we do?”
“The trick is to particularise,” Marzian replied with weary expertise. “You think up something really deep, and I’ll incorporate it into the specification and transfer you to a reality where it’s regarded as the wisest thing ever said. Do you see what I mean?”
“Of course I see what you mean.”
“Go ahead then.”
“I’m going to—it’s just that …” Bryant’s voice tailed off uncertainly as he came face to face with the realisation that it was much easier to proclaim oneself a thinker than to measure up to the job. “Well, it’s just that…”
“We close in ten minutes,” Marzian said unhelpfully. “Can’t you think of anything?”
“Don’t rush me.” Bryant placed a hand on his brow and tried to concentrate. “Let me see now…something’s coming …”
“Let’s have it—I’ve got a train to catch.”
“Okay, here goes.” Bryant closed his eyes and began to intone in a hollow voice. “There’s no point in fishing for truth unless you are using the right bait.”
Marzian gave an unexpected bark of laughter which almost drowned out a low gurgle from Miss Cruft.
“What’s the matter?” Bryant said, unnerved and deeply offended. “You think that’s funny?”
“No, no—it’s very…profound. “Marzian dabbed something from one of his eyes. “Forgive me—I’ve been under a strain lately, and my nerves aren’t too …” He cleared his throat and turned to the control panels on his desk. “Please step on to the probability focus plate and we’ll proceed.”
Bryant hesitated. “Don’t I have to sign new papers?”
“Not this time,” Marzian said carelessly, beginning to tap at his keyboards. “We like to get everything down in black and white for each client’s first two transfers, just in case there’s any quibbling afterwards, but this is your third shot—and this time you won’t be coming back. Whatever reality you fetch up in, you’re there for keeps.”
“I see.” Bryant, now older and wiser with regard to all the hazards of reality-switching, felt a sudden timidity about what he was proposing to do. His first two excursions into alternative universes had been disastrous, and this time there would be no prearranged escape hatch. He hung back for a moment, teetering, then noticed that Miss Cruft was observing his reactions with broody interest. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped on to the silver disk and nodded for Marzian to go ahead.
“Here we go,” Marzian said as he finished keying in the new specification. “Goodbye and good luck!”
With a showman’s flourish he brought his hand over the red button and pressed down hard.
Nothing happened.
Bryant, who had been unconsciously cringing, straightened up and watched attentively as Marzian pressed the button again and again. The familiar surroundings of the office refused even to waver. They remained solid, immutable, real.
“I can hardly believe this,” Marzian exclaimed, his jowls turning a lighter shade of grey. “It’s the very first time the Probability Redistributor has ever failed to … unless…Wait a minute!” He depressed a few keys, examined dials and instruments, and sat back in his chair looking thunderstruck.
“Fuse gone?” Bryant ventured, wishing he had a technical background.
“The capacitors are fully discharged,” Marzian said. “The machine did everything it was supposed to do!”
Bryant had another look around the office, searching for small signs of change. “Does that mean we’re all in a different reality?”
Marzian shook his head impatiently. “That can’t happen. What it means is that there is somebody in our reality who actually thinks that dumb remark of yours about fishing for truth is the wisest thing ever said.”
“But that’s impossible! I only made it up a minute ago, so nobody could have …” Bryant’s voice faded under the impact of a startling new thought. He turned to face Miss Cruft.
She lowered her gaze and began to blush.
“What have you done?” Bryant demanded, advancing on her. “You’ve wasted my third shot! At least, I think you’ve wasted my…” His voice trailed away again as it came to him that although Miss Cruft was undeniably plump, some parts of her were plumper than others, and concerning those Nature had made a judicious selection. She also had a charming smile and wore sexy perfume, but the thing that attracted Bryant most of all was Miss Cruft’s intellect—not many girls could appreciate genuine wisdom when they heard it. Looking down at her, he found himself falling deeply and irrevocably in love.
“I can’t apologize enough,” Marzian said, still scrutinising his control panels. “Under the circumstances, I guess you’re entitled to a fourth transfer free of charge.”
“Forget it.” Bryant was so elated that he was unable to resist composing another aphorism. “Far-off pastures are green with fool’s gold.”
The saying, even to his own ears, seemed to have a flaw somewhere, but the gratified smile it drew from Miss Cruft was assurance that she knew exactly what he meant, and that they were going to share a wonderful future in the best of all possible universes.