Second Variety and Other Stories (64 page)

Mrs Ellis beamed proudly, as if she personally were an employee of Terran Development. "Yes,
it is incredible. According to somebody down at the office, the whole history of civilization can be
explained in terms of transportation techniques. Of course, I don't know anything about history. That's for
Government research people. But from what this man told Henry --"

"Where's my briefcase?" came a fussy voice from the bedroom. "Good Lord, Mary. I know I left
it on the clothes-cleaner last night."

"You left it upstairs," Mary replied, raising her voice slightly. "Look in the closet."

"Why would it be in the closet?" Sounds of angry stirring around. "You'd think a man's own
briefcase would be safe." Henry Ellis stuck his head into the living-room briefly. "I found it. Hello, Mrs
Lawrence."

"Good morning," Dorothy Lawrence replied. "Mary was explaining that you're still here."

"Yes, I'm still here." Ellis straightened his tie, as the mirror revolved slowly around him. "Anything
you want me to pick up downtown, honey?"

"No," Mary replied. "Nothing I can think of. I'll vid you at the office if I remember something."

"Is it true," Mrs Lawrence asked, "that as soon as you step into it you're all the way
downtown?"

"Is it true," Mrs Lawrence asked, "that as soon as you step into it you're all the way
downtown?"

"A hundred and sixty miles! It's beyond belief. Why, it takes my husband two and a half hours to
get his monojet through the commercial lanes and down at the parking lot then walk all the way up to his
office."

"I know," Ellis muttered, grabbing his hat and coat. "Used to take me about that long. But no
more." He kissed his wife good-bye. "So long. See you tonight. Nice to have seen you again, Mrs
Lawrence."

"Can I -- watch?" Mrs Lawrence asked hopefully.

"Watch? Of course, of course." Ellis hurried through the house, out the back door and down the
steps into the yard. "Come along!" he shouted impatiently. "I don't want to be late. It's nine-fifty-nine and
I have to be at my desk by ten."

Mrs Lawrence hurried eagerly after Ellis. In the backyard stood a big circular hoop that gleamed
brightly in the mid-morning sun. Ellis turned some controls at the base. The hoop changed color, from
silver to a shimmering red.

"Here I go!" Ellis shouted. He stepped briskly into the hoop. The hoop fluttered about him. There
was a faint pop. The glow died.

"Good Heavens!" Mrs Lawrence gasped. "He's gone!"

"He's in downtown N'York," Mary Ellis corrected. "I wish my husband had a Jiffi-scuttler. When
they show up on the market commercially maybe I can afford to get him one."

"Oh, they're very handy," Mary Ellis agreed. "He's probably saying hello to the boys right this
minute."

Henry Ellis was in a sort of tunnel. All round him a gray, formless tube stretched out in both
directions, a sort of hazy sewer-pipe.

Framed in the opening behind him, he could see the faint outline of his own house. His back
porch and yard, Mary standing on the steps in her red bra and slacks. Mrs Lawrence beside her in
green-checkered shorts. The cedar tree and rows of petunias. A hill. The neat little houses of Cedar
Groves, Pennsylvania. And in front of him -

New York City. A wavering glimpse of the busy street-corner in front of his office. The great
building itself, a section of concrete and glass and steel. People moving. Skyscrapers. Monojets landing
in swarms. Aerial signs. Endless white-collar workers hurrying everywhere, rushing to their offices.

Ellis moved leisurely toward the New York end. He had taken the Jiffi-scuttler often enough to
know just exactly how many steps it was. Five steps. Five steps along the wavery gray tunnel and he had
gone a hundred and sixty miles. He halted, glancing back. So far he had gone three steps. Ninety-six
miles. More than half way.

The fourth dimension was a wonderful thing. Ellis lit his pipe, leaning his briefcase against his
trouser-leg and groping in his coat pocket for his tobacco. He still had thirty seconds to get to work.
Plenty of time. The pipe-lighter flared and he sucked in expertly. He snapped the lighter shut and restored
it to his pocket.

A wonderful thing, all right. The Jiffi-scuttler had already revolutionized society. It was now
possible to go anywhere in the world instantly, with no time lapse. And without wading through endless
lanes of other monojets, also going places. The transportation problem had been a major headache since
the middle of the twentieth century. Every year more families moved from the cities out into the country,
adding numbers to the already swollen swarms that choked the roads and jetlanes. But it was all solved
now. An infinite number of Jiffi-scuttlers could be set up; there was no interference between them. The
Jiffi-scuttler bridged distances non-spacially, through another dimension of some kind (they hadn't
explained that part too clearly to him). For a flat thousand credits any Terran family could have
Jiffi-scuttler hoops set up, one in the back yard -- the other in Berlin, or Bermuda, or San Francisco, or
Port Said. Anywhere in the world. Of course, there was one drawback. The hoop had to be anchored
in one specific spot. You picked your destination and that was that. But for an office worker, it was
perfect. Step in one end, step out the other. Five steps -- a hundred and sixty miles. A hundred and sixty
miles that had been a two-hour nightmare of grinding gears and sudden jolts, monojets cutting in and out,
speeders, reckless flyers, alert cops waiting to pounce, ulcers and bad tempers. It was all over now. All
over for him, at least, as an employee of Terran Development, the manufacturer of the Jiffi-scuttler. And
soon for everybody, when they were commercially on the market.

in one specific spot. You picked your destination and that was that. But for an office worker, it was
perfect. Step in one end, step out the other. Five steps -- a hundred and sixty miles. A hundred and sixty
miles that had been a two-hour nightmare of grinding gears and sudden jolts, monojets cutting in and out,
speeders, reckless flyers, alert cops waiting to pounce, ulcers and bad tempers. It was all over now. All
over for him, at least, as an employee of Terran Development, the manufacturer of the Jiffi-scuttler. And
soon for everybody, when they were commercially on the market.

It was then he saw them.

The wavery gray haze was thin there. A sort of thin spot where the shimmer wasn't so strong.
Just a bit beyond his foot and past the corner of his briefcase.

Beyond the thin spot were three tiny figures. Just beyond the gray waver. Incredibly small men,
no larger than insects. Watching him with incredulous astonishment.

Ellis gazed down intently, his briefcase forgotten. The three tiny men were equally dumbfounded.
None of them stirred, the three tiny figures, rigid with awe. Henry Ellis bent over, his mouth open, eyes
wide.

A fourth little figure joined the others. They all stood rooted to the spot, eyes bulging. They had
on some kind of robes. Brown robes and sandals. Strange, unTerran costumes. Everything about them
was unTerran. Their size, their oddly colored dark faces, their clothing -- and their voices.

Suddenly the tiny figures were shouting shrilly at each other, squeaking a strange gibberish. They
had broken out of their freeze and now ran about in queer, frantic circles. They raced with incredible
speed, scampering like ants on a hot griddle. They raced jerkily, their arms and legs pumping wildly. And
all the time they squeaked in their shrill high-pitched voices.

Ellis found his briefcase. He picked it up slowly. The figures watched in mixed wonder and terror
as the huge bag rose, only a short distance from them. An idea drifted through Ellis's brain. Good Lord -could
they come into the Jiffi-scuttler, through the gray haze?

But he had no time to find out. He was already late as it was. He pulled away and hurried
towards the New York end of the tunnel. A second later he stepped out in the blinding sunlight, abruptly
finding himself on the busy street-corner in front of his office.

"Hey, there, Hank!" Donald Potter shouted, as he raced through the doors into the TD building.
"Get with it!"

"Sure, sure." Ellis followed after him automatically. Behind the entrance to the Jiffi-scuttler was a
vague circle above the pavement, like the ghost of a soap-bubble.

He hurried up the steps and inside the offices of Terran Development, his mind already on the
hard day ahead.

As they were locking up the office and getting ready to go home, Ellis stopped coordinator
Patrick Miller in his office. "Say, Mr Miller. You're also in charge of the research end, aren't you?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Let me ask you something. Just where does the Jiffi-scuttler go? It must go somewhere."

"It goes out of this continuum completely." Miller was impatient to get home. "Into another
dimension."

"I know that. But --where?"

Miller unfolded his breast-pocket handkerchief rapidly and spread it out on his desk. "Maybe I
can explain it to you this way. Suppose you're a two dimensional creature and this handkerchief
represents your --"

"I've seen that a million times," Ellis said, disappointed. "That's merely an analogy, and I'm not
interested in an analogy. I want a factual answer. Where does my Jiffi-scuttler go, between here and
Cedar Groves?"

Miller laughed. "What the hell do you care?"

Ellis became abruptly guarded. He shrugged indifferently. "Just curious. It certainly must go some
place."

Ellis became abruptly guarded. He shrugged indifferently. "Just curious. It certainly must go some
place."

"As a matter of fact --" Ellis began.

"What is it?"

Ellis clamped his sentence off. "Nothing." He picked up his briefcase. "Nothing at all. I'll see you
tomorrow. Thanks, Mr Miller. Goodnight."

He hurried downstairs and out of the TD building. The faint outline of his Jiffi-scuttler was visible
in the fading late-afternoon sunlight. The sky was already full of mono jets taking off. Weary workers
beginning their long trip back to their homes in the country. The endless commute. Ellis made his way to
the hoop and stepped into it. Abruptly the bright sunlight dimmed and faded.

Again he was in the wavery gray tunnel. At the far end flashed a circle of green and white. Rolling
green hills and his own house. His backyard. The cedar tree and flower beds. The town of Cedar
Groves.

Two steps down the tunnel. Ellis halted, bending over. He studied the floor of the tunnel intently.
He studied the misty gray wall, where it rose and flickered -- and the thin place. The place he had
noticed.

They were still there. Still? It was a different bunch. This time ten or eleven of them. Men and
women and children. Standing together, gazing up at him with awe and wonder. No more than a half-inch
high, each. Tiny distorted figures, shifting and changing shape oddly. Altering colors and hues.

Ellis hurried on. The tiny figures watched him go. A brief glimpse of their microscopic
astonishment -- and then he was stepping out into his backyard.

He clicked off the Jiffi-scuttler and mounted the back steps. He entered his house, deep in
thought.

"Hi," Mary cried, from the kitchen. She rustled towards him in her hip-length mesh shirt, her arms
out. "How was work today?"

"Fine."

"Is anything wrong? You look -- strange."

"No. No, nothing's wrong." Ellis kissed his wife absently on the forehead. "What's for dinner?"

"Something choice. Siriusian mole steak. One of your favorites. Is that all right?"

"Sure." Ellis tossed his hat and coat down on the chair. The chair folded them up and put them
away. His thoughtful, preoccupied look still remained. "Fine, honey."

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong? You didn't get into another argument with Pete Taylor, did
you?"

"No. Of course not." Ellis shook his head in annoyance. "Everything's all right, honey. Stop
needling me."

"Well, I hope so," Mary said, with a sigh.

The next morning they were waiting for him.

He saw them the first step into the Jiffi-scuttler. A small group waiting within the wavering gray,
like bugs caught in a block of jello. They moved jerkily, rapidly, arms and legs pumping in a blur of
motion. Trying to attract his attention. Piping wildly in their pathetically faint voices.

Ellis stopped and squatted down. They were putting something through the wall of the tunnel,
through the thin place in the gray. It was small, so incredibly small he could scarcely see it. A square of
white at the end of a microscopic pole. They were watching him eagerly, faces alive with fear and hope.
Desperate, pleading hope.

Ellis took the tiny square. It came loose like some fragile rose petal from its stalk. Clumsily, he let
it drop and had to hunt all round for it. The little figures watched in an agony of dismay as his huge hands
moved blindly around the floor of the tunnel. At last he found it and gingerly lifted it up.

moved blindly around the floor of the tunnel. At last he found it and gingerly lifted it up.

"I'll look at it later," he said.

His voice boomed and echoed up and down the tunnel. At the sound the tiny creatures scattered.
They all fled, shrieking in their shrill, piping voices, away from the gray shimmer, into the dimness beyond.
In a flash they were gone. Like startled mice. He was alone. Ellis knelt down and put his eye against the
gray shimmer, where it was thin. Where they had stood waiting. He could see something dim and
distorted, lost in a vague haze. A landscape of some sort. Indistinct. Hard to make out.

Hills. Trees and crops. But so tiny. And dim...