Muriel was known for her deep, deep, thinking. As a child, she would be the student sitting on a stone wall in the back of the playground during recess. The
one staring into space while the other children played around her. As a teenager, she rarely even thought about boys and had few friends. She could be found
sitting in a corner reading a book, or looking out a window and thinking.
Now an adult, Muriel worked as a librarian. Often customers would have to cough, or even nudge, the inattentive lady to get her attention. She'd be thinking deep metaphysical thoughts instead of attending to her work.
All this was odd behavior for a very pretty young lady. Her shapely figure and bright-red hair attracted men like flies to honey. Muriel paid little attention to the opposite sex, unless they wanted to discuss a subject like astrophysical metamorphosis in its virulent atmospheric-latitudinal variations--or the ilk.
One fateful day, Murial was contemplating transitional access to multi-dimensional universes, while idly scanning the aisles for secretive smokers. She happened to move her eyes in a certain, seemingly natural, direction--but in reality a very obtuse and unnatural movement. Muriel snapped out of her revelry, to find herself looking at a forest. A forest on the second floor of the library.
A study in applied shock, she stopped and, moving her head back, saw an aisle with long rows of bookcases--along with a window at the other end. A quick shift forward, and there was the forest.
Bracing herself against a shelf, she tried again, jerking her head back and forward. Forest, books, forest, books. In forest mode, she looked down at her feet and saw grass starting two steps from where she stood. It was on a slightly lower level. About eight inches lower than where the floor ended. The transition was abrupt, like cut off with a knife.
Taking a small tentative step, the young lady closed her eyes, hopping up and back a step. Opening her eyes, Muriel saw she was still in the library. She had to hold onto a sturdy book-rack to do what she did best--think.
Looking around, Muriel saw nothing different. It was the same aisle she had trodden many times in the past. But, the woodland had seemed so real. She had heard the cries of birds, and smelled the trees and flowers.
Tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, Muriel walked forward a few steps and nothing happened. It must have been a dream, she thought.
Now, where was I? She crinkled her brow, trying to get her train of thought back. Muriel hated, once she was on a subject, not to follow it to a conclusion. Oh, yes, she remembered, it was about the possibility of transitional access to multi-dimensional universes. As she returned to her former contemplation, Muriel happened to realize something. She'd just had one!
If it had been real, she had been in another dimension. Feeling weak, she walked down to the window at the end of the row of bookshelves, sat on the ledge and tried to remember how it had happened--if it had, indeed, happened. Soon, feeling foolish, she stood and went back to the start of the aisle and tried to repeat her motions, back and forth, she stepped, trying to form an image of the forest in her mind, angling her walk, everything she could remember about the former aberration.
Eventually, Muriel remembered her eye movement, and that she had swung them in a somewhat strange motion as she stepped at an angle to avoid what could be a spot of chewing-gum on the floor. As she did, still moving, Muriel fell down a steep incline, sprawling on her face across a field of high grass.
Opening her eyes, she could again see the forest. Getting to her feet, knees hurting slightly, she brushed grass off the front of her skirt and legs, then looked carefully in all directions.
She stood in a clearing, trees all around her. There were birds in the trees, and a sun in the sky. As she stepped forward, Muriel felt her feet give slightly in the damp ground. Feeling self-conscious, Muriel walked over and stood among the trees, feeling the bark to make certain they were real.
Turning quickly, to look for any wild animals or other dangerous things, she saw nothing but the deep woods. A cool fresh breeze assailed her nostrils, along with various odors that reminded her of the area behind her house--as seen when a child. Feeling like "Alice," in the book, she started walking down the hill, a thin stream evident at the bottom.
Now, of course, Muriel was more than a little frightened of the scene, but it seemed so dreamlike that she wasn't really all that afraid. After all, what could hurt her in a dream? Maybe she would even see Alice's white rabbit, if she were lucky.
If it were a dream, it wasn't very exciting. She made it almost all the way down the hill before stumbling and landing on her knees again, skinning one of them that time. It hurt, which didn't seem right in a dream. She managed to brush off most of the leaves, dirt, and blood. Her knee was still dirty and green-stained, though.
The young lady walked for a while, until she got tired, not seeing anyone or any animals. Then she sat on a fallen tree to think. She was good at that, at least.
Her thoughts turned to how she had gotten there. Remembering the eye movement, she repeated it and found herself looking at a city street, about four-feet above her level. It was a spot she knew from walking that way to work.
People were walking by, some almost tromping on her head, but none of them seemed to notice her or the forest. She knew that she had never seen one at that spot, and she'd walked through the area hundreds of times.
Again, she went through the former process of switching her eyes from forest to street, over and over. She moved back up the hill, stepping around a stand of bushes, until she judged herself to be at street level in the other vision. That time, in street mode, she steeled herself and waited until she couldn't see anyone coming. Then she grasped a sign-pole on the street edge and stepped high, onto the sidewalk. Looking back, she couldn't see any trees.
Realizing she should be at work, Muriel hurried back to the library. To keep from being seen, she used her key to go back in through a side door. Not wanting to let her supervisor see her, Muriel kept a careful eye out while returning to her assigned section.
Finally, again sitting at her desk, she wondered if it had actually happened? It wouldn't be the first time she had such a vivid dream. However, all she had to do was move her leg to get an answer. Her knee was still colored green and red from the fall.
Making a conscious effort, Muriel immersed herself in her work and determined not to think about her experience until she got home. In fact, since she concentrated so hard, her supervisor noticed a distinct improvement in her work that day.
***
Sitting in her easy-chair and smoking a cigarette, she let her thoughts drift back to the occasion. Trying the eye movement and getting a bird's eye view of deep woods far under her feet--she was in a third floor apartment--the woman decided that, for some reason, she could cross over into a different dimension. Possibly one where humans were absent.
After further experimenting with her eyes, she found herself looking at an apparent slide show. All of the views were basically the same, but with minor changes. Her ability seemed to extend into multiple dimensions. Why hadn't anyone done it before? she thought. That was a good question.
Apparently nobody else had ever been thinking the same type of thoughts at the time they rolled their eyes that certain way. Or maybe, she thought, others had, but found a better dimension and moved there. She remembered that her thoughts had been about "transitional access in multi-dimensional universes," which was not a common thing to think about. It would have been almost impossible odds to have anyone else ever doing the same, along with the distinctive eye movement while shifting direction in that exact manner.
Then. her thoughts turned to how she could use her new ability. Of course, she could just get her things together and move to another world, one that suited her more. She could always return to get supplies. But, being a city girl, that was an unlikely course. More thinking led her to the thought that a lot of people would pay one hell of a lot of money to own not only their own world, but probably their own universe.
***
Being a daring little dame, Muriel called in sick to work the next morning. She would have to have time to herself to think about her problem. Now, how, she thought, would you go about selling a universe? And who would you sell it to? Also, could she even sell it? After all, just because she could go back and forth didn't mean others could. If she tried to teach others how to move their eyes, her secret would soon be out and everyone would be doing it themselves.
It was obvious that her first step would have to be to try it with someone else to see if others could step into the extra dimensions. To see if it was even feasible. Who did she trust enough? One of her friends? She had no real friends, only acquittance's and co-workers. Maybe a lawyer, who could help her sell? But Muriel didn't trust lawyers. They'd insist on knowing her secret, then wouldn't need her.
In an attempt to decide, she opened an old newspaper to the want ads, and idly perused the pages. Her eye fell on a small ad at the bottom of one page.
"See Sam," it instructed her. The ad was from a private detective. It explained that he could help people out of impossible situations. If her situation wasn't impossible, what was? It was worth a try, she supposed. She picked up her phone and dialed.
***
Private Investigator Sam Flint sat at a worn badly-scarred desk. The desk sat on three good legs, in an equally run-down office on the sixth-floor of a walk-up office building in a quaintly cheap part of town. He had just gotten his diploma from a correspondence school and recently put his first ad in the local newspaper.
Now he had only to wait for a client. Not having the deposit for a telephone of his own, he had used his newly acquired skills and rigged a connection to a line going into a vacant office next door. That business's previous tenant was in jail and the office locked up until the trial. Sam figured the connection would be good for a month or so. By that time, he would be established and solvent.
He sat at the desk and read one of his collection of ancient dime novels from the forties, while waiting for the proverbial beautiful client to enter his domain. At the moment, he was reading a Rock Quarry, Private Detective novel which went....
Rock awoke to find himself bound, hand and foot, with a thick hemp rope wound around his ample chest. He found himself under a large "Indian" brand motorcycle. Its front wheel was removed and the front-end bolted to a post set in a dirty concrete floor. He was obviously in a motorcycle shop. The last thing our hero could remember was kissing the beautiful blond, Tessie. "She must have had knockout drops on her lovely red lips," Rock decided.
Returning to his predicament, he looked up to see the back tire of the huge cycle spinning a few inches over his chest. Hands bound behind him, Rock noticed a little slack in the rope, but not enough to get the bindings off.
"Well, you cheap bastard, I have the microfilm, and I'll see you in hell," came a voice, along with a few evil snickers.
Twisting his head to the side, Rock spotted the Nazi spy grinning down at him. The motorcycle was held up by an auto-jack with the handle extended. Hitler's protege balanced a bucket on top of the jack-handle and left for a few seconds. He came back with a hose in his hand. A steady stream of water spilled from the end and splashed on both Rock and the floor. The dirty Nazi placed his hose in the bucket. Laughing diabolically, The nefarious villain turned and left the room. Grinning back at Rock, he slowly eased the door shut.
Rock looked back at the bucket, which was slowly filling with water. When it became heavier, it would release the jack-handle. That, in turn, would drop the spinning tire directly onto the chest of our hero. The wheel was intended to chew Rock up like confetti, splashing his blood and tissue over the entire room.
Tensing his manly muscles, our hero tried to fight his way out of the ropes. Too late. With a "ping," the jack handle hit the floor and the spinning wheel dropped....
Sam, the dauntless detective, jumped to the sound of his first telephone call. Shakily, he picked up the receiver and waited to see if it were for him or the original owner.
"Hello. Hello. Is this Mr. Flint's office?"
Getting his cue, Sam answered, "Sam Flint, Private Eye. Happy to hear from you." He finished with, "How can I help you? Helping is MY business."
"I have an unconventional problem. Do you have time to listen?" a woman's voice asked him.
"Certainly, madam. Go ahead and tell me about it."
"I don't think I should over the telephone. Do you know anything about dimensions--different ones, that is?"
"Madam, I know EVERYTHING about different dimensions. Why don't you come on over and tell me about it? I should be free about two p.m.. Would that be okay with you?"
A pause, and then the words he had been waiting years to hear. "Okay. You at the address in the paper?"
"Yes, ma'am. See you then." He hung up. Sam was elated. His first client. Now he had to go downstairs to the bookstore and get one about "Dimensions, different ones," and read fast.
***
Muriel began having doubts by the time she arrived at the address in the advertisement. Her doubts only increased as she found the elevator didn't work and she had to climb all those stairs. Finally, she arrived at an office that had a sign saying "Samuel Flint, Private Detecittive," written with a shaky magic-marker, which--along with the spelling--did nothing to erase those doubts.
Going in, she found herself facing a rather handsome young man reading a paperback novel. A small pile of such missives sat nearby, the only items on an otherwise empty bookcase. He was dressed in a black suit bearing a pattern of cigarette ashes across the front. A hubcap on the desk was full of old butts.
It was his dream come true. Looking up, he saw a beautiful redheaded woman in the doorway. Standing to greet her, Sam knocked over his stack of paperback science fiction novels based on various dimensions.
On her part, she saw the young man stand up, flailing away at the falling books while stumbling against his desk in the process and stuttering, "Hi there, What CAN I do for you? What can I DO for YOU? I'm Sam, Sam Flint at your service."
"My name's Muriel Adams. Your ad said you could help with 'impossible situations' and I have one."
"Tell me about it, Muriel. I can call you Muriel?"
"Why not. I have a problem with alternate dimensions, I can see them, and even enter them."
Great, my first customer's a nut, he thought. "How long've you been seeing these dimensions, Ms. Adams?" Better not get too friendly yet, he thought.
"It started yesterday. What I want is someone to come downstairs with me. I'll show you what I mean. Come on," she insisted.
Why not, he thought. It wasn't as if he were too busy. "All right, young lady. I have a few minutes to spare."
They left and tackled the long flights again, that time going down. Muriel insisted, however, on stopping every few steps on the third, and then the second floor. While Sam stood, watching, she would look around the stairwell and jerk her head around while doing sort of a half-step sideways.
Watching her, Sam was getting nervous. He hoped she wasn't armed. Finally, about halfway up from the first floor, she stopped in the stairwell and rolled her eyes yet again. Muriel walked slowly, down two more steps, and did it again. Standing, face contorted as though making a decision, her body tensed.
Then she took a another step--and disappeared. Sam had been nervous before, but now he was in shock. One second she was there and then, "poof," she was gone. Not only that, but it was a progressive action. First her front and then the rest of her body. Quickly and neatly. She was gone.
He was about to get the hell out of there, when he saw an arm come out of nowhere and grasp his. The detective jerked back, bringing half her head and one shoulder into view. He looked up and could see trees. In the stairwell? No wall--a bunch of trees. He was going as crazy as his new client, he thought.
"Come on, hurry up and come in, scaredy cat." She jerked him in after her. He found himself standing on dirt, which was rare for him. All around him, Sam saw nothing but trees and bushes.
"Wh--Where Are we? How did we get here?"
"You don't know? I came to you, specifically, because you said you knew all about these things."
"Well, yeah, but not so close up." Sam got himself under control, still refusing to let go of her. "And only in theory, is all. My God, look at it? Where's the restroom? I need one right now."
Muriel was regretting going to all that trouble to meet this character. At least he'd proved that she could bring others in with her.
"Go behind some bushes, stupid. There aren't any cops around here."
Sam soon returned and found Muriel walking down the small hill they'd been standing on.
"Where you going? We'll never find those steps again. Did you mark where we came through?" he asked, running to catch up with her.
"It'll be easier walking down this hill than more flights of stairs, Hurry up or I'll leave you here."
Sam hurried to catch up, not comfortable with the idea of being left in the strange forest. He fully expected some monster to stick its head around one of the trees.
Muriel sat on a fallen tree and waited for him to catch up. Lighting a cigarette, Muriel started thinking. Her first thought was that this was a better place to discuss the situation than the filthy office. "Come on, we'll talk about it here. Find out what you can do to help me."
"I think I wiped with poison ivy or something, it itches." he told her.
He sat down near her, near enough for her to move away a few inches. A girl has to have some space, she thought.
"Don't expect me to scratch it for you. Look, what I want is to make some money by selling the rights to some of these 'universes.' I'll have to figure out a way to get people in without me bringing each one in individually. After that, it belongs to them," Muriel explained. "I need you to help me by being a sort of guinea pig. Maybe you can help me sell them later for a commission. I can't do it all alone."
"How much money we talking about?"
"Millions, to start. There must be a lot of people who would want to own their own universe."
Of course, the destitute Sam agreed to take the job. "Where can we try this stuff out. My office is too high up."
"Right here. Take off your belt."
"I hardly know you, lady. How do you know I go in for that stuff?"
"We don't have time to joke. Give me the damn thing. Your's is longer than mine."
"I should hope so." He gave it to her.
She took the plastic belt and, holding one end, gave him the other. Muriel walked into yet another dimension. Turning around, she couldn't see him. Muriel pulled and the belt came through by itself. Well ... plastic doesn't work, she thought. Going back to Sam, she found him with both hands down the back of his pants, scratching. Giving him back the belt, she looked for something living to try. There wasn't any metal around, that she could see. She'd also want to try that.
There was a six-foot-high weed growing beside the tree. "Give me a hand, Sam," She ordered him, and they managed to pull the inch-thick plant out by its roots.
The young woman tried the same experiment using the weed. Stepping over to the other place, she could still see Sam. Here we go, she thought and tugged. He came, slowly and reluctantly, over with her.
"It looks like living things work," she told him. "Now we have to see if they work without me."
She took the other end out of his hand, and dropped it to the ground. "Try to cross over in a couple of minutes, after I lay this back down."
"Hey, whatever you do, don't forget where you left me," he said as he watched her disappear. Sam did notice that she didn't really disappear that time. He could see her clearly until she let go of the weed. At that point she, and the other world, got real hazy, like seen through a thick fog. When he figured it was about time, he hurried along the weed, and back to where Muriel was standing.
"Go back and forth a few more times, to make certain. Each time a little further from the weed," Muriel instructed him.
It turned out that the weed's influence extended about ten feet in either direction. Muriel assumed that it was the same in height. She had Sam try, holding another weed over his head. Her assumption proved correct. Since his clothing and belt came over, another point was proved, but she needed to check out a couple of more things and couldn't do it at the moment. It was also necessary to see if the exit would get larger if something with more substance than the weed were used, and whether things like trucks would also work. They would have to go back to what she now thought of as the "Home World" to check out those points.
"Lets go back home." She asked Sam, "Do you own a car?"
They spent the rest of the day in renting a vehicle and going out to the countryside. The two had to find a place where they were unseen and had space enough to make more tests. On the way, they picked up some lengths of ropes of different sizes and compositions, along with other test objects. It was found that the thicker the rope, the larger the entrance radius. Also, if two ropes were spaced correctly, the radius was more than doubled. When Muriel drove, she could drive right through in the car. Sam needed to be between, or close to, parallel ropes. They also found that the opening disappeared immediately if a the connections were withdrawn.
The young lady could now concentrate on sales. A subject neither of them knew anything about--but one that Sam professed expertise with. He figured a bright energetic man like himself could learn quickly.
***
"The first thing we need is a good professional prospectus. One that details the benefits and terms--also giving us no liability. We can hardly guarantee anything about the worlds. They'll have to be sold 'as is.' On top of that, we'll probably have to get some kind of business license," Sam advised.
"It might even be necessary to use a licensed real estate agent. The right kind of bank account will have to be opened," he told her, ticking the items off on his fingers. "I don't know what kind, but a normal bank account might not do to store millions of dollars," Sam brainstormed.
"And we have to decide on the first customer," Muriel interrupted him, in a hurry to make a sale and be a millionaire. "Any meeting could be dangerous--to me, that is."
"Yeah, they might not want to pay. Once they have their own world, they might want the money for other things, like buying equipment for their new home. We have to get cash up front."
"I meant that they might want to kill or kidnap me in order to keep their worlds secure. They'd be afraid I would sell it to someone else later. Some of the customers might not be too trustworthy. In fact, I was thinking to start with the Palestinians," Muriel admitted. "It would go a long ways toward world peace."
They finally agreed on a process where Sam would make initial contact. They would first find a place to meet where the ground levels coincided. Muriel would protect Sam during the meetings by standing next to him in an alternate dimension while he negotiated. If something would go wrong, she could reach out and pull him in with her, to safety.
If negotiations went right, she could come back to Home World by simply stepping into the room, and then bring the prospective customer back to the other world for a demonstration. That was to be the only time the customer had to see her, with Sam handling all the rest of the process. She could lay the ropes across the dimensions in privacy. All sales would be cash before delivery, as is, and final.
Sam being broke, she had to advance the money from her savings account to get the business started. After that, it was up to her to borrow more money in order to get them to Israel.
***
Getting there was no problem. The airport was shrouded with security, but when you can bypass it by going partway in another dimension, the labyrinth was easily negotiated, The problem was getting a meeting with Assur Fattur, the Palestinian leader. Since Yassar Arafat had died, the leadership seemed to change weekly. The current leader's security made that at the airport seem simple.
According to plan, Muriel stayed at the hotel while Sam tried to make contact with the elusive Palestinian leader. Despite asking around and trying to use his meager detective skills to find Assur, Sam wasted three days looking for the man, without success.
On the morning of their third day, while Muriel was eating breakfast in the hotel restaurant, she idly asked her waitress about finding Assur.
"Yes, ma'am. He's my uncle twice removed, both times to jail." She smiled at her own joke.
"Seriously, do you know him?"
"I told you, he's my uncle." She smiled. "On my mother's side. You want more toast?"
"No toast. I want Assur. I have a business deal I know he'd like to hear."
"I can tell him, but it will cost you."
"You get me--no, get my companion in to see him and I'll give you a thousand US dollars."
Sam came back discouraged. He had covered almost the whole of Tel Aviv by then, without seeing any results. He was surprised to hear the Muriel had found the guy without any effort, or even leaving the hotel.
The next morning, they both had breakfast in the same waitress's part of the room. They had no sooner sat down than a man in a business suit sat across from them.
"You want see Mr. Fattur? What you want him?"
Sam motioned Muriel to stay quiet. "I have something he would be interested in. It would solve his biggest problem and give you your homeland back."
"You talk big, Mr. . . ?"
"Flint. And what I have is very, very big," Sam told the man. Well, he figured, what was bigger than a private universe?
"You show me first. Maybe I show Mr. Fattur."
Sam looked at Muriel, who nodded. "Alright Mr. . . ? Please come with us for a few minutes."
"My name not needed. Shall we go up to your rooms and you show now?"
Muriel paid the bill and they left. Not, however, in the manner the stranger expected. Leaving the restaurant, Muriel guided them across the street and into a nearby alley. Midway through the alley she grasped both the men by their shoulders and worked her eyes. As the stranger pulled away, showing alarm and reaching into his jacket pocket, all three found themselves standing on a field of foot-high grass.
The shocked stranger, still reaching for his armpit, apparently to draw a gun,stopped before doing so. He looked around and saw nothing but grass and blue sky in any direction.
"Where is we, and how you do that?" he demanded, still staring around him, looking for a trick. "Where is we?"
Sam explained and made his offer. A universe for ten-million US dollars, cash. The stranger recovered his equilibrium and started bargaining. He soon had the pair down to five million.
Five was alright for the first sale. After all they had an apparently limitless supply of universes to sell.
"I is impressed. We can our homeland have back, without even having the Zionists for neighbors. I must show Mr. Fattur immediately. Take us back. We go to him."
The three joined hands and Muriel took them back to the alley. They took a long taxi ride to an office complex on the outskirts of town.
When the taxi stopped, the two men got out and Muriel told them, "I have to go back to the hotel. I have a hair appointment. You can take care of it, Sam."
The two men went through several checkpoints, complete with hard-faced men carrying Kalashnikov assault rifles who searched Sam each time. Finally, they entered a ground-floor room containing a desk manned by a fat little Arab in traditional flowing white robes.
While introductions were being made, Sam felt a tug at his pants cuff. Glancing down, he saw a disembodied hand shaking his trouser leg. He relaxed, knowing that Muriel was looking out for him. If he got in trouble, she could simply jerk him in with her.
"So, Yuseph says you can show me this 'world,' yes?" a skeptical Yassur asked. "When can you do this thing, Mr. Flint?"
"Right now, if you want, sir," Sam told him. "But first we'll need a ladder brought in." Sam had noticed how Muriel had reached up to grab him.
Mr. Fattur called out in Arabic, and a large dirty stepladder was brought in. Sam set it down at his side and it disappeared. "Don't be alarmed, sir, my assistant has taken it into the other world. We're next."
Feeling a hand grasp his ankle again, Sam told the two men, "Stand over here with me a moment, gentlemen, and we'll cross over."
He grasped their shoulders and nodded his head at the sky that suddenly appeared in the little room. They went down the ladder to stand on a sandy plain.
"Your new universe, Mr. Fattur." Sam gestured broadly.
***
The agreement was finalized and, while waiting for the money to show up in her bank account, Muriel and Sam went out in the desert. Finding a lone but distinctive tree in a barren area of the desert, they laid out two thick ropes, about thirty feet apart with one end in each universe. With the thick hemp ropes spaced right, it was possible to drive vehicles through. Unless you touched the ropes or walked through between them it was impossible to see the portal.
After Muriel received confirmation through a long distance call to the bank, she went to pay her helpful waitress, and then hopped a jet for home. Meanwhile, Sam took Mr Fattur and Yuseph to the ropes and told them.
"It's all yours, sir. Good luck." After hugging and handshaking, he got back into a rented Land Rover and left them to their devices.
During the following few weeks, the world was astounded to find the Palestinian
problem was apparently solved. There were no more violent attacks on Israel's citizens. Only Israel seemed to notice that there were also fewer and fewer Palestinians for then to shoot and knock around.
Entire villages and sections of the country were depopulated. Also, a shortage of large trucks and specialized equipment was noticed. Finally, with the almost total disappearance of the Palestinians, the United Nations accused Israel of genocide--but, with no bodies, nothing could be proved against them.
***
"Wheeee! Watch me." Muriel dove from the top-level board, into her new swimming pool. A newly purchased mansion stood in the background.
Sam was, of course, watching closely as she swam over to where he was lounging beside their Olympic-sized pool. To both of them, it felt good to be rich. They'd already spent months getting used to it.
"You better get out, honey, and get dressed. We have to go to town and check out our new airplane. It comes in this afternoon." He sighed. "We can try it out by flying to California to see Reverend Felcher."
The leader of a particularly large and powerful Fundamentalist church, with over a million television parishioners, the good reverend was a good prospect for his own universe. His church was so strict they argued over every "if," "and," and "but," in the King James version of the Bible. The only thing keeping them from fragmenting over a particularly confusing comma in the Book of Revelations was that Felcher himself had Divine Powers to make such decisions. God had told him so.
Looking luscious to Sam, she climbed out, shook herself like a dog--spraying water from long red hair--and strode toward a golf cart to drive to the house. They were so new there that they still hadn't hired any servants.
***
At the large private airport, their plane was delivered on time. While Muriel took care of the paperwork, Sam walked over to the terminal to meet their hired pilot. Of course, given a choice of a grizzled veteran specializing in that make and model, and a nice-looking blonde female graduate of a mail-order flying school, he'd chosen the latter.
Julie Trask, the new pilot, had studied a video on how to fly that craft. At least she knew where the controls were and what they were for. On the "pro" side, she was very good with her uncle's 1947 Piper Cub. She figured a jet couldn't be much different, only faster. Also, on her trip from New York she'd ridden in the cockpit, sitting on the factory pilot's lap. Julie figured that in as "seat-of-the-pants" experience.
By the time Sam and Julie returned, Muriel was sitting, half-asleep, in one of the dozen stuffed seats inside, behind a little table. She hardly noticed as Julie went up to the cockpit and did whatever pilots did before a flight. She didn't notice when Sam sat down beside her, in another seat. Muriel was still in a daze as the aircraft taxied down a runway.
Muriel paid no attention as the engines whined louder and louder, and the plane shook. It wasn't until it jerked forward, then seemed to rise, only to slam down again--several times--knocking Muriel's purse and notebook onto the floor.
"What the hell!" she screamed as the craft twisted and fell over maybe thirty degrees. Muriel tried to stand, sliding off the seat and onto her rear-end.
Sam's thoughts were roughly the same as his companion's, in hoping for a quick rather than a lingering one.
Helping each other, and holding onto whatever was available, they made their way forward.
Julie was sitting, face white as alabaster, one set of bloodless fingers holding a steering wheel, while trying to read a manual with the other.
"I--I--I never drove a jet before," she mumbled. "Please turn the book back two pages. I don't wanna let go."
"You said you could fly this thing," Sam reminded her, jerking page edges from between sweaty fingers.
"We took off, didn't we?"
"But can we get down," Muriel asked. A reasonable question under the circumstances.
"Get ... Getting down is the easy part. Alive is a little harder." Julie looked around, trying to force a smile. "An old flying joke." Nobody was laughing.
"We're okay now," the pilot told them. I know how to follow a compass, and the GPS. "I gotta pee though. Can one of you take the wheel a few minutes...? Please?"
Sam and Muriel looked at each other, then back at the fidgeting young lady. Sam shook his head.
"Hurry the hell up." Muriel lowered herself down into the other seat. "What do I do?"
Squeezing her legs together tightly and jerking around in her seat, Julie gave Muriel a crash course on staying on course. Then she ran for the toilet compartment in the rear. A few minutes later, she came running back, obviously in better shape.
"I got it now. Gimme the book. I know there's one of those automatic pilot thingies on here, and I want to find out how it works."
"You never used one?"
"My Uncle John's little plane didn't have one."
"What's that red light over here?" Muriel asked from the other seat.
"I .... uh, I think we lost a wheel already."
"You think?" Sam asked.
"It's not my fault. I didn't get to that part of the book .... yet. But the little writing on the button says so."
"How'll we land without a wheel?"
"No problem. Uncle John showed me before. His airplane often dropped one off."
"His wasn't a jet."
"Same thing. Only this one is bigger and faster, is all. Uncle John always says to think positive."
"We're positively dead," Muriel said, sighing.
The rest if the flight was smooth, the powerful and almost silent engine pulling them through space. Sam spend a little time looking for non-existent parachutes that he had no idea how to use if he'd found them. Julie spent the time reading the aircraft's operations manual while the other two worried.
"Let's build a little fort, maybe? Sam asked, looking at all the chairs, couches, and cushions lying around.
So they piled everything between two sturdy bolted down couches, making a little nest, then settling in together. It did seem a little safer, especially after Sam used all the curtain cords in the cabin to tie it into one large lump. Muriel spent the time looking out a window at one end of the lump, once in a while shoving Sam's exploring fingers off her legs and thighs.
A series of jerks and changes in direction caused them both to shove their heads into the window glass. Then the engine quit. Suddenly cut out. Too afraid to even think of getting out of the safety of the cushions, they fearfully pressed noses into the window.
"We...! No. We can't be. We're going backwards," Muriel screamed into Sam's ear. "How did she get this thing to fly backwards? And without power."
In the cockpit, Julie was in her element. As her Uncle John had shown her, she'd turned the craft around and was looking out the rearview monitor. Once in a while, she'd tap a pedal or nudge the wheel. The unaccustomed drag on wings and fuselage was rapidly slowing the craft. She'd found that battery power was sufficient to maintain the hydraulics of the controls. When the radio became too insistent, she'd told the San Francisco tower what she intended to do, then turned it off so they couldn't bother her.
Julie had landed her uncle's little craft many times, and this one was just larger and faster, was all. She knew what she was doing. Idly, she lifted the craft to a slight angle, taking advantage of air resistance to slow it further, then lowered the flaps again.
By the time the airplane hovered above the runway, it was going only five-miles-an-hour. As it settled lower, it lost more speed. At about a quarter-inch from the level surface, it stopped completely, and dropped down with a slight bump.
Feeling the "bump" and hearing emergency vehicles, Muriel and Sam extracted themselves, surprised to be alive.
It took Muriel and Sam over an hour to get out of the airport. Julie was to stay half the night, trying to explain how to land a jet backwards and without wheels. The authorities tried to charge her with something, but she had broken no laws. To do it that way wasn't illegal. It was on the right runway, the one assigned her, and in the specified time. Nothing was damaged, and she couldn't even be charged with the expense of the emergency vehicles, since they weren't her idea.
***
Muriel and Sam first rented both a car and an old Piper Cub airplane for Julie. Being small enough to fit between ropes, the aircraft was to show prospective customers their new universes. Then, Sam bought some cheap desert property to work out of and they set it up for a sale.
The three laid thick ropes across dimensions on the property and used the car to shove the airplane, on its trailer, into the best of several universes Muriel checked out. Leaving Julie to get things ready--after a stiff explanation on not touching those ropes--they set out to make a sale.
***
Reverent Felcher strode angrily across a spacious office. Every morning, he exercised by running four times around his enormous desk. At the 25yard line, he stopped to bellow things like, "Why, Lord, do you do this?" or, "Why make such an imperfect world?" or even, "Why can't everyone be God-fearing?" He felt it helped train his preaching voice.
Of course, he ignored a divine answer of, "Then you'd be out of a job, stupid." Or, anyway, he would have. Instead, the intercom at the other side end of the desk answered him. It was his secretary stating, "Sir. Your two o'clock appointment is here."
Since he kept it on "speaker," he could scream, "send them in," while muttering, "More crazies. Selling me a, he, he, 'universe.' Jeeze." He hurried around two corners of the desk, to climb a short ladder to his chair. Panting, he was still out of breath when the door opened.
Since the visitors were strangers, the receptionist brought Sam and Muriel in and introduced them to his boss. Then, taking out a legal pad and pencil, the 240 lb ex-commando gorilla stood against a wall. He was ready to take notes or tear them apart, whichever seemed appropriate.
Felcher was becoming tired of all the assassination attempts on his life. They'd started when the news media found out about the church's Nookie Shoe Factory down in the Marianna Islands. Why, Reverend Felcher often asked himself, should they care if he worked underage islanders 15 hrs a day with no pay? It wasn't as though they were White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. He did feed and bed them, and instruct them in the true religion. With the press, public opinion, and the law smothering him, Felcher was ready to grasp at straws. Universe, indeed!
"So, you have ten minutes to tell me about this so-called 'universe'." Felcher sat back, smiling. "Why should I buy one, when this one here is perfectly good?"
"For one thing, it'll get you out of this 'perfectly good' one. And get you into one where you run the prisons, rather than reside in one." Sam smiled back.
Muriel gave her companion an angry look. "What he means is that you'll have complete control. There will be no taxes or laws except those you approve. If you close the door, nobody from this earth can bother you."
"And are there any residents in my new world? We're a peace-loving religion, and don't believe in wars."
"I don't make any guarantees. You have to take it or leave it, as is. Its never been explored."
"One-hundred million is a lot of money. Are you amenable to a payment plan?"
"You must be kidding?" Sam couldn't believe the audacity. "With an entire world to hide in, you could disappear."
"No. Like he says, cash only, and before you move in," Muriel added.
"Can I at least see it, check it out. I'm not buying a pig in a poke."
"Of course. We'll take you there any time you want, you alone. We'll even give you a free airplane ride so you can check it out. "
***
Julie Trask had the tiny airplane ready to go. She felt uncomfortable alone in the sparsely vegetated desert, only truck, trailer, and aircraft with her. As she sat, reading a pocket novel in the cab of the truck, two thick ropes ran out in front for twenty-yards, and were cut off abruptly. She could feel the silence, as though alone in an entire world.
At least I can see in every direction, she thought, so no alien creatures can crawl up to me.
She jumped straight, banging her head on the roof, as something moved from behind a cactus. It was a bunny rabbit, gazing curiously at the strange vehicles.
Julie smiled, relaxing.
Without warning, a blue car came out of nowhere, driving between the ropes and coming to park in front of the truck. Her new employers came out, along with a rotund little bald-headed man. At first, he was blindfolded, but Sam took it off. The man was obviously nervous, staring and turning around in his tracks.
"Nothing unusual here," the man said, "except for that plane. We gotta fly the rest of the way, or what?"
"We're already here, reverend," Sam told him. "Julie, here, is going to fly you around a bit. Show you part of your new home."
"So! What is there to see? Los Angeles in the distance? I can see that from my parish."
"You'll be surprised. I don't know if anything's out there. But, whatever it is, it will all be yours. As soon as you pay us."
The aircraft was only a two-seat prop plane. When it came back, landing backwards, the preacher had lost his composure.
"Jesus. How the hell did she do that?" he said, shuddering while watching Julie, still sitting in the plane. "I didn't know you could land backwards like that."
"You see anything interesting, Mr. Felcher?" Muriel asked. "We haven't done any exploring."
"You must be for real. No modern cities, or even roads. We only traveled about an hour to get here by can, and couldn't have gone very far." He stopped to shake his head. "There was some sort of strange city, very old and odd-looking. I know all the native sites around here, and it didn't look like any of them. You didn't tell me there were people around here."
"I told you. We haven't done any exploring at all." Muriel shook her head. "If you want, I can get you a new universe. I have plenty of others and it won't take long. But, I can't guarantee any of them don't have populations."
"I don't know, Ms. Adams. If I paid you all that money, and found myself in a war with natives, it would be wasted. Ours is a peaceful religion, not accustomed to carrying weapons around. I'd have to have some sort of guarantee."
"Tell you what, Reverend Felcher. I'll give you a year's guarantee," Muriel told him. "If you don't like it, I'll take this this world back, and give you another. Changing over will be at your expense. Only a one time deal, no third world at the same price."
"Sounds fair. When can I move in?"
"We'll have to blindfold you for part of the way back," Sam told him. "You have our hotel suite number. Contact us and we'll turn it over to you. Julie can fly you back if you want?"
Felcher looked back at the pilot, getting ready to winch the plane back onto the trailer. He shook his head. "I'd rather go back by car." That backward landing still had him shaken up.
It wasn't long before winding convoys of vehicles began leaving town, going into the desert. Felcher built two warehouses, one on each side of the entrance. Many thousands of homes and businesses around the country were being sold, all the money going to the reverend to buy supplies for his new world. Oddly, to any observers, furniture was being kept. There were enough carpenters and utility workers among his people to start building in the new world. He figured on taking his time and moving in an orderly manner.
Although they tried to do it in secret, too many people were involved. It didn't take long before the news media found out. Days later, news vans and tents started accumulating next to the entrance. Reverend Fletcher did try to keep reporters out of his new universe but, with all the activity through the doorway, some of them slipped inside.
When word got out, another chain of events was started. Not knowing how dangerous the new universe would be to earth, the military moved into the area, encamping on both sides of the entrance. Lawyers and politicians were also involved. Was it to be part of California? Was it even legal for a private enterprise to own a universe? Was it fair to other religions? There were many legal questions to hammer out. Meanwhile, in all the uncertainty, Reverend Felcher managed to keep all others out, guarding the entrance with his own people. He wanted no unbelievers on his new world.
It also didn't take long for Felcher to truck in a couple of his own helicopters and a small jet airplane. He wanted to check out his new planet and look for danger. The reverend figured he only had a year to do it, and it was best before too many buildings had been constructed.
***
Johnny Patrick was a member of the church, had been for years. He wasn't very religious himself, only converting to please his wife, Ethel. He was also one of their few helicopter pilots, learning in the army, and an employee of the L.A. Times. So far, Johnny had managed to keep his family on the earth side. For one thing, she was undecided on leaving her relatives behind, to move to a strange world. Johnny, however, saw a chance for advancement to reporter by pretending to move along with them.
His chopper had a range of 400-500 miles, and he was ordered to fly a grid for his maximum distance, while passengers took photos and movies. The idea was to look for anything interesting. Sometimes an amateur geologist, biologist, anthropologist, or other scientific people would come along. The helicopter could only hold four at a time without equipment, or three with. And, of course, weight cut down on range. But it did give Johnny a unique opportunity to get to know what was going on, which he promptly reported to the Times. Reverend Felcher would have killed him, literally, if he ever found out the leak.
In most part, the land was a copy of earth. It had the same animals, except some seemed to have shifted attributes a bit. The deer had no horns, while the beavers did, for example. Obviously, it had followed a slightly different evolutionary path. A formerly mined out iron deposit was at the same place, still untouched. The same for a large deposit of copper.
There was no sign of people. What had seemed like a town to Julie and Felcher was found to be a colony of huge ants, and didn't seem like from intelligent design, with no squared corners or circular patterns. It was simply piles of dried mud with many meandering paths.
The small jet plane flew much further, but with the same results. No intelligent life was found. Although a huge bear forty-feet high was seen, along with ten-foot-long bees, there didn't seem to be anything that would actually threaten humans that some good rifles or a small cannon couldn't handle.
***
While all the activity was going on in California, Muriel and Sam bought a large parcel of land, and a comfortable mansion, in Arizona. By then, they were lovers and Sam a full partner.
"We should quit now," Sam advised, sitting in the sun on a patio behind the house. "We've got more money than we could ever use. Now we can travel and see this world."
Muriel stood next to his chair, watching a servant shaking a new batch of martinis. "We're on a roll. I want to stake out a dozen more entrances on our property here. Over at the northern edge is a good place, far from town, so it won't bother anyone. We can contract for a few hotels to be built there. Maybe a couple of fast-food places, too, and build a few roads in. It will make a base from which to sell, without having to tramp around the world. Let the customers come to us. Why stop now?"
"We don't need any more money."
"Screw the money. With all those special interests off the earth, this will be a better planet for the rest of us. This time, we'll fix the outside up first, then sell to the highest bidder. Instead of ropes, we can build concrete arches or something, the ropes hidden inside. We can give the extra money to charity or something."
She got the ball rolling. They contracted for road construction. Hotel and restaurant chains vied for permission to build. With efforts started, the two of them loaded a newer jet and, flown by Julie Trask, set out to tour the world. Julie loved the idea, even though she was ordered to land normally--not backwards. The latter caused too much trouble with airport authorities.
During the trip, they sold universes to various rebel groups around the world. There were prospective customers there to meet them at every stop. It only took a few hours to make a sale, and money wasn't much of an object. Some places, like Saudi Arabia, simply wanted more worlds for their oil deposits. Already knowing where to find the deposits, they could pump it there and sell in on this and other worlds.
The reasons made little difference to Muriel, who happily laid out cables when they returned, shook hands and turned away, another world sold.
*** Organized Crime and Government?
Inevitably, problems crept in. The first was a scarcity of heavy construction equipment. Both the equipment manufacturers and the smaller suppliers of parts tried to increase output but ran into a scarcity of raw materials. Prices for that equipment doubled, tripled, then quadrupled.
Political pressure, and bribes, brought relaxation of environmental rules, along with complaints from environmentalists. Governments, around the world, destabilized. On one hand, their business taxes increased. On the other, with populations leaving, so were workers and payroll taxes. Trained workers of all levels were disappearing into the equivalent of Black Holes. Air pollution rules were also relaxed, bringing almost worldwide smog. The earth itself was being raped of anything valuable.
The US government, for instance, being the entrance point of most of the universes, had little control over them. What good was passing laws? If a universe didn't like those laws, all they had to do was pull up a couple of ropes or cables and they'd be where the Feds couldn't touch them.
Muriel and Sam were forced to hire armed guards around their mansions. They heard that organized crime had put out contracts on their lives. The crime bosses, being businessmen at heart, could see their profits going down as their victims left. Sam even had a meeting with the Don in charge of the Colorado area.
"What the hell we need with our own frickin' world?" Don Silvio told Sam. "We should melt our guns into plowshares or somethin'? You're frickin' nuts. I can't get my people to turn into farmers. We need victims, is what we need."
***
One night, they received a call from one of Reverend Felcher's people.
"We need some help," the woman on the line told them. "The government is after us to pay taxes."
"So?" Sam answered, "Just close the entrance, and they can't bother you."
"But we don't want to lose all contact with the Home World. Who knows, we might need something later."
"I'll see what I can do. Call back in a couple of days."
He took the matter up with Muriel.
"This is getting silly," she said. "All this interference. I'll start putting in secret entrances for any customer that asks."
So she disguised herself. Sneaking to a back corner of their property, Muriel and Sam drove a pickup filled with coils of rope. Muriel would sneak into the sold worlds, leaving narrow but unmarked passages leading to Home World, then informing the people inside. Now, they could close the main entrance and still get back and forth.
***
That strategy worked for a while, until one woman from that was wanted by the law and presumed to be in another world was caught. She told about a secret entrance.
Muriel had a visit from a man in a gray suit. He came in a limousine in the center of a convoy of police and other government cars--obviously an important official.
"Congress has passed a law, retroactively, to tax all these new worlds," he told her. "We'll have to have access to all of them. Each will have to accept an embassy, along with a small police force and maybe military presence. We, Congress and the White House, think it necessary to have control over all land within the borders of this grand country."
"They're not in this country," Muriel said.
"Technically, they are, by a majority vote of Congress. As such, they're part of the United States and should be under United States control ... and taxation." He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Actually, we're going broke. With all those resources and people moving away, our tax base is going to hell.
"Every special interest group left in this country is complaining. Several of your new 'worlds' are now exporting raw materials, such as steel ore, back into our world. Environmentalists are worried that they'll ruin the air in their own worlds. How do we know their workers are following safety rules and laws? And some Congressmen are incensed, in private, that they're losing all those campaign contributions.
"Having moved out, organizations like the religious lobbies haven't been giving us our yearly dole. They simply aren't interested in us anymore."
"We're also thinking of the future, when those worlds begin building factories and have excess foodstuffs to sell here. By that time, all this country will be is a transportation hub.
"No. For the good of the United States, we have to retain and take back control. The future of the country is at stake."
"Just what," Muriel said, sighing, "do you propose I do about it? Shouldn't you talk to them, individually? Hey! All I am is a salesman. I sell them the worlds, as is. After I get my pay, I'm out of the loop. And," she told him, emphatically, "I do pay my taxes."
"We know you give them multiple entrances. And some of them keep their worlds sealed away from our authority, sneaking in and out like criminals, whenever they want. That all has to stop. And it will, when we have troops stationed in every 'universe' you've sold.
"Right now, I have a court order with me, instructing you to give us our own entrance to each and every world you've sold, or will sell in the future. It will be done on a government reservation. We're thinking of Fort Knox, in Kentucky."
He reached into a jacket pocket, bringing out an envelope and slapping in onto Muriel's lap.
"You are hereby served," he told her. "If you have questions, the paper has a reserved phone number to our offices in Washington."
After the convoy left, Muriel sat and simmered for the rest of the day.
When he returned, Sam was also angry.
"Damn it, Muriel. We have to increase our guards. Simpson, from Acme Security, just told me he found another mafia asshole among his men. The guy had grenades in his locker. Simpson became suspicious and checked the locker out. More damned trouble from them bastards."
Organized crime was trying to find out ways to get into some of the universes. Many of their best customers had left Home World. Even though offered a free universe of their own, the mafia had declined, preferring to prey on workers, rather than working themselves. It was only one more harassment.
"I'm tired, Sam. I thought we'd have a life of leisure. Instead, it's problem after problem. Now the government is after us. We might even cause another world war.
"When I told the Chinese about the US government, they went ballistic. Some of our universes have been sold there, and they want the same control and, specifically, do NOT consider them as US property. After all, those worlds spread across both countries.
"In the end, they'll probably want the same rights as the US wants. And you can bet other countries will want the same. We're, you and me, right in the middle.
Sam considered their options. "Why don't we move in with one of our customers, honey? Let the Home World do what they want, but we'll be out of it?
"Which one?" Muriel was relenting. She looked over their vast mansion, with many servants. She wondered how many of them were secretly mafia assassins. What good was that luxury? Really?
"Well," Sam said, scratching his butt again while thinking, "I hear the peace activists world is doing pretty good. Back to basics, like in the early twentieth century, but advancing rapidly."
Late that night, they ordered some servants to load two large pickup trucks with personal items, then signed the mansion and grounds over to them.
That's the last the Home World saw of Muriel and Sam.
Charlie
Now an adult, Muriel worked as a librarian. Often customers would have to cough, or even nudge, the inattentive lady to get her attention. She'd be thinking deep metaphysical thoughts instead of attending to her work.
All this was odd behavior for a very pretty young lady. Her shapely figure and bright-red hair attracted men like flies to honey. Muriel paid little attention to the opposite sex, unless they wanted to discuss a subject like astrophysical metamorphosis in its virulent atmospheric-latitudinal variations--or the ilk.
One fateful day, Murial was contemplating transitional access to multi-dimensional universes, while idly scanning the aisles for secretive smokers. She happened to move her eyes in a certain, seemingly natural, direction--but in reality a very obtuse and unnatural movement. Muriel snapped out of her revelry, to find herself looking at a forest. A forest on the second floor of the library.
A study in applied shock, she stopped and, moving her head back, saw an aisle with long rows of bookcases--along with a window at the other end. A quick shift forward, and there was the forest.
Bracing herself against a shelf, she tried again, jerking her head back and forward. Forest, books, forest, books. In forest mode, she looked down at her feet and saw grass starting two steps from where she stood. It was on a slightly lower level. About eight inches lower than where the floor ended. The transition was abrupt, like cut off with a knife.
Taking a small tentative step, the young lady closed her eyes, hopping up and back a step. Opening her eyes, Muriel saw she was still in the library. She had to hold onto a sturdy book-rack to do what she did best--think.
Looking around, Muriel saw nothing different. It was the same aisle she had trodden many times in the past. But, the woodland had seemed so real. She had heard the cries of birds, and smelled the trees and flowers.
Tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, Muriel walked forward a few steps and nothing happened. It must have been a dream, she thought.
Now, where was I? She crinkled her brow, trying to get her train of thought back. Muriel hated, once she was on a subject, not to follow it to a conclusion. Oh, yes, she remembered, it was about the possibility of transitional access to multi-dimensional universes. As she returned to her former contemplation, Muriel happened to realize something. She'd just had one!
If it had been real, she had been in another dimension. Feeling weak, she walked down to the window at the end of the row of bookshelves, sat on the ledge and tried to remember how it had happened--if it had, indeed, happened. Soon, feeling foolish, she stood and went back to the start of the aisle and tried to repeat her motions, back and forth, she stepped, trying to form an image of the forest in her mind, angling her walk, everything she could remember about the former aberration.
Eventually, Muriel remembered her eye movement, and that she had swung them in a somewhat strange motion as she stepped at an angle to avoid what could be a spot of chewing-gum on the floor. As she did, still moving, Muriel fell down a steep incline, sprawling on her face across a field of high grass.
Opening her eyes, she could again see the forest. Getting to her feet, knees hurting slightly, she brushed grass off the front of her skirt and legs, then looked carefully in all directions.
She stood in a clearing, trees all around her. There were birds in the trees, and a sun in the sky. As she stepped forward, Muriel felt her feet give slightly in the damp ground. Feeling self-conscious, Muriel walked over and stood among the trees, feeling the bark to make certain they were real.
Turning quickly, to look for any wild animals or other dangerous things, she saw nothing but the deep woods. A cool fresh breeze assailed her nostrils, along with various odors that reminded her of the area behind her house--as seen when a child. Feeling like "Alice," in the book, she started walking down the hill, a thin stream evident at the bottom.
Now, of course, Muriel was more than a little frightened of the scene, but it seemed so dreamlike that she wasn't really all that afraid. After all, what could hurt her in a dream? Maybe she would even see Alice's white rabbit, if she were lucky.
If it were a dream, it wasn't very exciting. She made it almost all the way down the hill before stumbling and landing on her knees again, skinning one of them that time. It hurt, which didn't seem right in a dream. She managed to brush off most of the leaves, dirt, and blood. Her knee was still dirty and green-stained, though.
The young lady walked for a while, until she got tired, not seeing anyone or any animals. Then she sat on a fallen tree to think. She was good at that, at least.
Her thoughts turned to how she had gotten there. Remembering the eye movement, she repeated it and found herself looking at a city street, about four-feet above her level. It was a spot she knew from walking that way to work.
People were walking by, some almost tromping on her head, but none of them seemed to notice her or the forest. She knew that she had never seen one at that spot, and she'd walked through the area hundreds of times.
Again, she went through the former process of switching her eyes from forest to street, over and over. She moved back up the hill, stepping around a stand of bushes, until she judged herself to be at street level in the other vision. That time, in street mode, she steeled herself and waited until she couldn't see anyone coming. Then she grasped a sign-pole on the street edge and stepped high, onto the sidewalk. Looking back, she couldn't see any trees.
Realizing she should be at work, Muriel hurried back to the library. To keep from being seen, she used her key to go back in through a side door. Not wanting to let her supervisor see her, Muriel kept a careful eye out while returning to her assigned section.
Finally, again sitting at her desk, she wondered if it had actually happened? It wouldn't be the first time she had such a vivid dream. However, all she had to do was move her leg to get an answer. Her knee was still colored green and red from the fall.
Making a conscious effort, Muriel immersed herself in her work and determined not to think about her experience until she got home. In fact, since she concentrated so hard, her supervisor noticed a distinct improvement in her work that day.
***
Sitting in her easy-chair and smoking a cigarette, she let her thoughts drift back to the occasion. Trying the eye movement and getting a bird's eye view of deep woods far under her feet--she was in a third floor apartment--the woman decided that, for some reason, she could cross over into a different dimension. Possibly one where humans were absent.
After further experimenting with her eyes, she found herself looking at an apparent slide show. All of the views were basically the same, but with minor changes. Her ability seemed to extend into multiple dimensions. Why hadn't anyone done it before? she thought. That was a good question.
Apparently nobody else had ever been thinking the same type of thoughts at the time they rolled their eyes that certain way. Or maybe, she thought, others had, but found a better dimension and moved there. She remembered that her thoughts had been about "transitional access in multi-dimensional universes," which was not a common thing to think about. It would have been almost impossible odds to have anyone else ever doing the same, along with the distinctive eye movement while shifting direction in that exact manner.
Then. her thoughts turned to how she could use her new ability. Of course, she could just get her things together and move to another world, one that suited her more. She could always return to get supplies. But, being a city girl, that was an unlikely course. More thinking led her to the thought that a lot of people would pay one hell of a lot of money to own not only their own world, but probably their own universe.
***
Being a daring little dame, Muriel called in sick to work the next morning. She would have to have time to herself to think about her problem. Now, how, she thought, would you go about selling a universe? And who would you sell it to? Also, could she even sell it? After all, just because she could go back and forth didn't mean others could. If she tried to teach others how to move their eyes, her secret would soon be out and everyone would be doing it themselves.
It was obvious that her first step would have to be to try it with someone else to see if others could step into the extra dimensions. To see if it was even feasible. Who did she trust enough? One of her friends? She had no real friends, only acquittance's and co-workers. Maybe a lawyer, who could help her sell? But Muriel didn't trust lawyers. They'd insist on knowing her secret, then wouldn't need her.
In an attempt to decide, she opened an old newspaper to the want ads, and idly perused the pages. Her eye fell on a small ad at the bottom of one page.
"See Sam," it instructed her. The ad was from a private detective. It explained that he could help people out of impossible situations. If her situation wasn't impossible, what was? It was worth a try, she supposed. She picked up her phone and dialed.
***
Private Investigator Sam Flint sat at a worn badly-scarred desk. The desk sat on three good legs, in an equally run-down office on the sixth-floor of a walk-up office building in a quaintly cheap part of town. He had just gotten his diploma from a correspondence school and recently put his first ad in the local newspaper.
Now he had only to wait for a client. Not having the deposit for a telephone of his own, he had used his newly acquired skills and rigged a connection to a line going into a vacant office next door. That business's previous tenant was in jail and the office locked up until the trial. Sam figured the connection would be good for a month or so. By that time, he would be established and solvent.
He sat at the desk and read one of his collection of ancient dime novels from the forties, while waiting for the proverbial beautiful client to enter his domain. At the moment, he was reading a Rock Quarry, Private Detective novel which went....
Rock awoke to find himself bound, hand and foot, with a thick hemp rope wound around his ample chest. He found himself under a large "Indian" brand motorcycle. Its front wheel was removed and the front-end bolted to a post set in a dirty concrete floor. He was obviously in a motorcycle shop. The last thing our hero could remember was kissing the beautiful blond, Tessie. "She must have had knockout drops on her lovely red lips," Rock decided.
Returning to his predicament, he looked up to see the back tire of the huge cycle spinning a few inches over his chest. Hands bound behind him, Rock noticed a little slack in the rope, but not enough to get the bindings off.
"Well, you cheap bastard, I have the microfilm, and I'll see you in hell," came a voice, along with a few evil snickers.
Twisting his head to the side, Rock spotted the Nazi spy grinning down at him. The motorcycle was held up by an auto-jack with the handle extended. Hitler's protege balanced a bucket on top of the jack-handle and left for a few seconds. He came back with a hose in his hand. A steady stream of water spilled from the end and splashed on both Rock and the floor. The dirty Nazi placed his hose in the bucket. Laughing diabolically, The nefarious villain turned and left the room. Grinning back at Rock, he slowly eased the door shut.
Rock looked back at the bucket, which was slowly filling with water. When it became heavier, it would release the jack-handle. That, in turn, would drop the spinning tire directly onto the chest of our hero. The wheel was intended to chew Rock up like confetti, splashing his blood and tissue over the entire room.
Tensing his manly muscles, our hero tried to fight his way out of the ropes. Too late. With a "ping," the jack handle hit the floor and the spinning wheel dropped....
Sam, the dauntless detective, jumped to the sound of his first telephone call. Shakily, he picked up the receiver and waited to see if it were for him or the original owner.
"Hello. Hello. Is this Mr. Flint's office?"
Getting his cue, Sam answered, "Sam Flint, Private Eye. Happy to hear from you." He finished with, "How can I help you? Helping is MY business."
"I have an unconventional problem. Do you have time to listen?" a woman's voice asked him.
"Certainly, madam. Go ahead and tell me about it."
"I don't think I should over the telephone. Do you know anything about dimensions--different ones, that is?"
"Madam, I know EVERYTHING about different dimensions. Why don't you come on over and tell me about it? I should be free about two p.m.. Would that be okay with you?"
A pause, and then the words he had been waiting years to hear. "Okay. You at the address in the paper?"
"Yes, ma'am. See you then." He hung up. Sam was elated. His first client. Now he had to go downstairs to the bookstore and get one about "Dimensions, different ones," and read fast.
***
Muriel began having doubts by the time she arrived at the address in the advertisement. Her doubts only increased as she found the elevator didn't work and she had to climb all those stairs. Finally, she arrived at an office that had a sign saying "Samuel Flint, Private Detecittive," written with a shaky magic-marker, which--along with the spelling--did nothing to erase those doubts.
Going in, she found herself facing a rather handsome young man reading a paperback novel. A small pile of such missives sat nearby, the only items on an otherwise empty bookcase. He was dressed in a black suit bearing a pattern of cigarette ashes across the front. A hubcap on the desk was full of old butts.
It was his dream come true. Looking up, he saw a beautiful redheaded woman in the doorway. Standing to greet her, Sam knocked over his stack of paperback science fiction novels based on various dimensions.
On her part, she saw the young man stand up, flailing away at the falling books while stumbling against his desk in the process and stuttering, "Hi there, What CAN I do for you? What can I DO for YOU? I'm Sam, Sam Flint at your service."
"My name's Muriel Adams. Your ad said you could help with 'impossible situations' and I have one."
"Tell me about it, Muriel. I can call you Muriel?"
"Why not. I have a problem with alternate dimensions, I can see them, and even enter them."
Great, my first customer's a nut, he thought. "How long've you been seeing these dimensions, Ms. Adams?" Better not get too friendly yet, he thought.
"It started yesterday. What I want is someone to come downstairs with me. I'll show you what I mean. Come on," she insisted.
Why not, he thought. It wasn't as if he were too busy. "All right, young lady. I have a few minutes to spare."
They left and tackled the long flights again, that time going down. Muriel insisted, however, on stopping every few steps on the third, and then the second floor. While Sam stood, watching, she would look around the stairwell and jerk her head around while doing sort of a half-step sideways.
Watching her, Sam was getting nervous. He hoped she wasn't armed. Finally, about halfway up from the first floor, she stopped in the stairwell and rolled her eyes yet again. Muriel walked slowly, down two more steps, and did it again. Standing, face contorted as though making a decision, her body tensed.
Then she took a another step--and disappeared. Sam had been nervous before, but now he was in shock. One second she was there and then, "poof," she was gone. Not only that, but it was a progressive action. First her front and then the rest of her body. Quickly and neatly. She was gone.
He was about to get the hell out of there, when he saw an arm come out of nowhere and grasp his. The detective jerked back, bringing half her head and one shoulder into view. He looked up and could see trees. In the stairwell? No wall--a bunch of trees. He was going as crazy as his new client, he thought.
"Come on, hurry up and come in, scaredy cat." She jerked him in after her. He found himself standing on dirt, which was rare for him. All around him, Sam saw nothing but trees and bushes.
"Wh--Where Are we? How did we get here?"
"You don't know? I came to you, specifically, because you said you knew all about these things."
"Well, yeah, but not so close up." Sam got himself under control, still refusing to let go of her. "And only in theory, is all. My God, look at it? Where's the restroom? I need one right now."
Muriel was regretting going to all that trouble to meet this character. At least he'd proved that she could bring others in with her.
"Go behind some bushes, stupid. There aren't any cops around here."
Sam soon returned and found Muriel walking down the small hill they'd been standing on.
"Where you going? We'll never find those steps again. Did you mark where we came through?" he asked, running to catch up with her.
"It'll be easier walking down this hill than more flights of stairs, Hurry up or I'll leave you here."
Sam hurried to catch up, not comfortable with the idea of being left in the strange forest. He fully expected some monster to stick its head around one of the trees.
Muriel sat on a fallen tree and waited for him to catch up. Lighting a cigarette, Muriel started thinking. Her first thought was that this was a better place to discuss the situation than the filthy office. "Come on, we'll talk about it here. Find out what you can do to help me."
"I think I wiped with poison ivy or something, it itches." he told her.
He sat down near her, near enough for her to move away a few inches. A girl has to have some space, she thought.
"Don't expect me to scratch it for you. Look, what I want is to make some money by selling the rights to some of these 'universes.' I'll have to figure out a way to get people in without me bringing each one in individually. After that, it belongs to them," Muriel explained. "I need you to help me by being a sort of guinea pig. Maybe you can help me sell them later for a commission. I can't do it all alone."
"How much money we talking about?"
"Millions, to start. There must be a lot of people who would want to own their own universe."
Of course, the destitute Sam agreed to take the job. "Where can we try this stuff out. My office is too high up."
"Right here. Take off your belt."
"I hardly know you, lady. How do you know I go in for that stuff?"
"We don't have time to joke. Give me the damn thing. Your's is longer than mine."
"I should hope so." He gave it to her.
She took the plastic belt and, holding one end, gave him the other. Muriel walked into yet another dimension. Turning around, she couldn't see him. Muriel pulled and the belt came through by itself. Well ... plastic doesn't work, she thought. Going back to Sam, she found him with both hands down the back of his pants, scratching. Giving him back the belt, she looked for something living to try. There wasn't any metal around, that she could see. She'd also want to try that.
There was a six-foot-high weed growing beside the tree. "Give me a hand, Sam," She ordered him, and they managed to pull the inch-thick plant out by its roots.
The young woman tried the same experiment using the weed. Stepping over to the other place, she could still see Sam. Here we go, she thought and tugged. He came, slowly and reluctantly, over with her.
"It looks like living things work," she told him. "Now we have to see if they work without me."
She took the other end out of his hand, and dropped it to the ground. "Try to cross over in a couple of minutes, after I lay this back down."
"Hey, whatever you do, don't forget where you left me," he said as he watched her disappear. Sam did notice that she didn't really disappear that time. He could see her clearly until she let go of the weed. At that point she, and the other world, got real hazy, like seen through a thick fog. When he figured it was about time, he hurried along the weed, and back to where Muriel was standing.
"Go back and forth a few more times, to make certain. Each time a little further from the weed," Muriel instructed him.
It turned out that the weed's influence extended about ten feet in either direction. Muriel assumed that it was the same in height. She had Sam try, holding another weed over his head. Her assumption proved correct. Since his clothing and belt came over, another point was proved, but she needed to check out a couple of more things and couldn't do it at the moment. It was also necessary to see if the exit would get larger if something with more substance than the weed were used, and whether things like trucks would also work. They would have to go back to what she now thought of as the "Home World" to check out those points.
"Lets go back home." She asked Sam, "Do you own a car?"
They spent the rest of the day in renting a vehicle and going out to the countryside. The two had to find a place where they were unseen and had space enough to make more tests. On the way, they picked up some lengths of ropes of different sizes and compositions, along with other test objects. It was found that the thicker the rope, the larger the entrance radius. Also, if two ropes were spaced correctly, the radius was more than doubled. When Muriel drove, she could drive right through in the car. Sam needed to be between, or close to, parallel ropes. They also found that the opening disappeared immediately if a the connections were withdrawn.
The young lady could now concentrate on sales. A subject neither of them knew anything about--but one that Sam professed expertise with. He figured a bright energetic man like himself could learn quickly.
***
"The first thing we need is a good professional prospectus. One that details the benefits and terms--also giving us no liability. We can hardly guarantee anything about the worlds. They'll have to be sold 'as is.' On top of that, we'll probably have to get some kind of business license," Sam advised.
"It might even be necessary to use a licensed real estate agent. The right kind of bank account will have to be opened," he told her, ticking the items off on his fingers. "I don't know what kind, but a normal bank account might not do to store millions of dollars," Sam brainstormed.
"And we have to decide on the first customer," Muriel interrupted him, in a hurry to make a sale and be a millionaire. "Any meeting could be dangerous--to me, that is."
"Yeah, they might not want to pay. Once they have their own world, they might want the money for other things, like buying equipment for their new home. We have to get cash up front."
"I meant that they might want to kill or kidnap me in order to keep their worlds secure. They'd be afraid I would sell it to someone else later. Some of the customers might not be too trustworthy. In fact, I was thinking to start with the Palestinians," Muriel admitted. "It would go a long ways toward world peace."
They finally agreed on a process where Sam would make initial contact. They would first find a place to meet where the ground levels coincided. Muriel would protect Sam during the meetings by standing next to him in an alternate dimension while he negotiated. If something would go wrong, she could reach out and pull him in with her, to safety.
If negotiations went right, she could come back to Home World by simply stepping into the room, and then bring the prospective customer back to the other world for a demonstration. That was to be the only time the customer had to see her, with Sam handling all the rest of the process. She could lay the ropes across the dimensions in privacy. All sales would be cash before delivery, as is, and final.
Sam being broke, she had to advance the money from her savings account to get the business started. After that, it was up to her to borrow more money in order to get them to Israel.
***
Getting there was no problem. The airport was shrouded with security, but when you can bypass it by going partway in another dimension, the labyrinth was easily negotiated, The problem was getting a meeting with Assur Fattur, the Palestinian leader. Since Yassar Arafat had died, the leadership seemed to change weekly. The current leader's security made that at the airport seem simple.
According to plan, Muriel stayed at the hotel while Sam tried to make contact with the elusive Palestinian leader. Despite asking around and trying to use his meager detective skills to find Assur, Sam wasted three days looking for the man, without success.
On the morning of their third day, while Muriel was eating breakfast in the hotel restaurant, she idly asked her waitress about finding Assur.
"Yes, ma'am. He's my uncle twice removed, both times to jail." She smiled at her own joke.
"Seriously, do you know him?"
"I told you, he's my uncle." She smiled. "On my mother's side. You want more toast?"
"No toast. I want Assur. I have a business deal I know he'd like to hear."
"I can tell him, but it will cost you."
"You get me--no, get my companion in to see him and I'll give you a thousand US dollars."
Sam came back discouraged. He had covered almost the whole of Tel Aviv by then, without seeing any results. He was surprised to hear the Muriel had found the guy without any effort, or even leaving the hotel.
The next morning, they both had breakfast in the same waitress's part of the room. They had no sooner sat down than a man in a business suit sat across from them.
"You want see Mr. Fattur? What you want him?"
Sam motioned Muriel to stay quiet. "I have something he would be interested in. It would solve his biggest problem and give you your homeland back."
"You talk big, Mr. . . ?"
"Flint. And what I have is very, very big," Sam told the man. Well, he figured, what was bigger than a private universe?
"You show me first. Maybe I show Mr. Fattur."
Sam looked at Muriel, who nodded. "Alright Mr. . . ? Please come with us for a few minutes."
"My name not needed. Shall we go up to your rooms and you show now?"
Muriel paid the bill and they left. Not, however, in the manner the stranger expected. Leaving the restaurant, Muriel guided them across the street and into a nearby alley. Midway through the alley she grasped both the men by their shoulders and worked her eyes. As the stranger pulled away, showing alarm and reaching into his jacket pocket, all three found themselves standing on a field of foot-high grass.
The shocked stranger, still reaching for his armpit, apparently to draw a gun,stopped before doing so. He looked around and saw nothing but grass and blue sky in any direction.
"Where is we, and how you do that?" he demanded, still staring around him, looking for a trick. "Where is we?"
Sam explained and made his offer. A universe for ten-million US dollars, cash. The stranger recovered his equilibrium and started bargaining. He soon had the pair down to five million.
Five was alright for the first sale. After all they had an apparently limitless supply of universes to sell.
"I is impressed. We can our homeland have back, without even having the Zionists for neighbors. I must show Mr. Fattur immediately. Take us back. We go to him."
The three joined hands and Muriel took them back to the alley. They took a long taxi ride to an office complex on the outskirts of town.
When the taxi stopped, the two men got out and Muriel told them, "I have to go back to the hotel. I have a hair appointment. You can take care of it, Sam."
The two men went through several checkpoints, complete with hard-faced men carrying Kalashnikov assault rifles who searched Sam each time. Finally, they entered a ground-floor room containing a desk manned by a fat little Arab in traditional flowing white robes.
While introductions were being made, Sam felt a tug at his pants cuff. Glancing down, he saw a disembodied hand shaking his trouser leg. He relaxed, knowing that Muriel was looking out for him. If he got in trouble, she could simply jerk him in with her.
"So, Yuseph says you can show me this 'world,' yes?" a skeptical Yassur asked. "When can you do this thing, Mr. Flint?"
"Right now, if you want, sir," Sam told him. "But first we'll need a ladder brought in." Sam had noticed how Muriel had reached up to grab him.
Mr. Fattur called out in Arabic, and a large dirty stepladder was brought in. Sam set it down at his side and it disappeared. "Don't be alarmed, sir, my assistant has taken it into the other world. We're next."
Feeling a hand grasp his ankle again, Sam told the two men, "Stand over here with me a moment, gentlemen, and we'll cross over."
He grasped their shoulders and nodded his head at the sky that suddenly appeared in the little room. They went down the ladder to stand on a sandy plain.
"Your new universe, Mr. Fattur." Sam gestured broadly.
***
The agreement was finalized and, while waiting for the money to show up in her bank account, Muriel and Sam went out in the desert. Finding a lone but distinctive tree in a barren area of the desert, they laid out two thick ropes, about thirty feet apart with one end in each universe. With the thick hemp ropes spaced right, it was possible to drive vehicles through. Unless you touched the ropes or walked through between them it was impossible to see the portal.
After Muriel received confirmation through a long distance call to the bank, she went to pay her helpful waitress, and then hopped a jet for home. Meanwhile, Sam took Mr Fattur and Yuseph to the ropes and told them.
"It's all yours, sir. Good luck." After hugging and handshaking, he got back into a rented Land Rover and left them to their devices.
During the following few weeks, the world was astounded to find the Palestinian
problem was apparently solved. There were no more violent attacks on Israel's citizens. Only Israel seemed to notice that there were also fewer and fewer Palestinians for then to shoot and knock around.
Entire villages and sections of the country were depopulated. Also, a shortage of large trucks and specialized equipment was noticed. Finally, with the almost total disappearance of the Palestinians, the United Nations accused Israel of genocide--but, with no bodies, nothing could be proved against them.
***
"Wheeee! Watch me." Muriel dove from the top-level board, into her new swimming pool. A newly purchased mansion stood in the background.
Sam was, of course, watching closely as she swam over to where he was lounging beside their Olympic-sized pool. To both of them, it felt good to be rich. They'd already spent months getting used to it.
"You better get out, honey, and get dressed. We have to go to town and check out our new airplane. It comes in this afternoon." He sighed. "We can try it out by flying to California to see Reverend Felcher."
The leader of a particularly large and powerful Fundamentalist church, with over a million television parishioners, the good reverend was a good prospect for his own universe. His church was so strict they argued over every "if," "and," and "but," in the King James version of the Bible. The only thing keeping them from fragmenting over a particularly confusing comma in the Book of Revelations was that Felcher himself had Divine Powers to make such decisions. God had told him so.
Looking luscious to Sam, she climbed out, shook herself like a dog--spraying water from long red hair--and strode toward a golf cart to drive to the house. They were so new there that they still hadn't hired any servants.
***
At the large private airport, their plane was delivered on time. While Muriel took care of the paperwork, Sam walked over to the terminal to meet their hired pilot. Of course, given a choice of a grizzled veteran specializing in that make and model, and a nice-looking blonde female graduate of a mail-order flying school, he'd chosen the latter.
Julie Trask, the new pilot, had studied a video on how to fly that craft. At least she knew where the controls were and what they were for. On the "pro" side, she was very good with her uncle's 1947 Piper Cub. She figured a jet couldn't be much different, only faster. Also, on her trip from New York she'd ridden in the cockpit, sitting on the factory pilot's lap. Julie figured that in as "seat-of-the-pants" experience.
By the time Sam and Julie returned, Muriel was sitting, half-asleep, in one of the dozen stuffed seats inside, behind a little table. She hardly noticed as Julie went up to the cockpit and did whatever pilots did before a flight. She didn't notice when Sam sat down beside her, in another seat. Muriel was still in a daze as the aircraft taxied down a runway.
Muriel paid no attention as the engines whined louder and louder, and the plane shook. It wasn't until it jerked forward, then seemed to rise, only to slam down again--several times--knocking Muriel's purse and notebook onto the floor.
"What the hell!" she screamed as the craft twisted and fell over maybe thirty degrees. Muriel tried to stand, sliding off the seat and onto her rear-end.
Sam's thoughts were roughly the same as his companion's, in hoping for a quick rather than a lingering one.
Helping each other, and holding onto whatever was available, they made their way forward.
Julie was sitting, face white as alabaster, one set of bloodless fingers holding a steering wheel, while trying to read a manual with the other.
"I--I--I never drove a jet before," she mumbled. "Please turn the book back two pages. I don't wanna let go."
"You said you could fly this thing," Sam reminded her, jerking page edges from between sweaty fingers.
"We took off, didn't we?"
"But can we get down," Muriel asked. A reasonable question under the circumstances.
"Get ... Getting down is the easy part. Alive is a little harder." Julie looked around, trying to force a smile. "An old flying joke." Nobody was laughing.
"We're okay now," the pilot told them. I know how to follow a compass, and the GPS. "I gotta pee though. Can one of you take the wheel a few minutes...? Please?"
Sam and Muriel looked at each other, then back at the fidgeting young lady. Sam shook his head.
"Hurry the hell up." Muriel lowered herself down into the other seat. "What do I do?"
Squeezing her legs together tightly and jerking around in her seat, Julie gave Muriel a crash course on staying on course. Then she ran for the toilet compartment in the rear. A few minutes later, she came running back, obviously in better shape.
"I got it now. Gimme the book. I know there's one of those automatic pilot thingies on here, and I want to find out how it works."
"You never used one?"
"My Uncle John's little plane didn't have one."
"What's that red light over here?" Muriel asked from the other seat.
"I .... uh, I think we lost a wheel already."
"You think?" Sam asked.
"It's not my fault. I didn't get to that part of the book .... yet. But the little writing on the button says so."
"How'll we land without a wheel?"
"No problem. Uncle John showed me before. His airplane often dropped one off."
"His wasn't a jet."
"Same thing. Only this one is bigger and faster, is all. Uncle John always says to think positive."
"We're positively dead," Muriel said, sighing.
The rest if the flight was smooth, the powerful and almost silent engine pulling them through space. Sam spend a little time looking for non-existent parachutes that he had no idea how to use if he'd found them. Julie spent the time reading the aircraft's operations manual while the other two worried.
"Let's build a little fort, maybe? Sam asked, looking at all the chairs, couches, and cushions lying around.
So they piled everything between two sturdy bolted down couches, making a little nest, then settling in together. It did seem a little safer, especially after Sam used all the curtain cords in the cabin to tie it into one large lump. Muriel spent the time looking out a window at one end of the lump, once in a while shoving Sam's exploring fingers off her legs and thighs.
A series of jerks and changes in direction caused them both to shove their heads into the window glass. Then the engine quit. Suddenly cut out. Too afraid to even think of getting out of the safety of the cushions, they fearfully pressed noses into the window.
"We...! No. We can't be. We're going backwards," Muriel screamed into Sam's ear. "How did she get this thing to fly backwards? And without power."
In the cockpit, Julie was in her element. As her Uncle John had shown her, she'd turned the craft around and was looking out the rearview monitor. Once in a while, she'd tap a pedal or nudge the wheel. The unaccustomed drag on wings and fuselage was rapidly slowing the craft. She'd found that battery power was sufficient to maintain the hydraulics of the controls. When the radio became too insistent, she'd told the San Francisco tower what she intended to do, then turned it off so they couldn't bother her.
Julie had landed her uncle's little craft many times, and this one was just larger and faster, was all. She knew what she was doing. Idly, she lifted the craft to a slight angle, taking advantage of air resistance to slow it further, then lowered the flaps again.
By the time the airplane hovered above the runway, it was going only five-miles-an-hour. As it settled lower, it lost more speed. At about a quarter-inch from the level surface, it stopped completely, and dropped down with a slight bump.
Feeling the "bump" and hearing emergency vehicles, Muriel and Sam extracted themselves, surprised to be alive.
It took Muriel and Sam over an hour to get out of the airport. Julie was to stay half the night, trying to explain how to land a jet backwards and without wheels. The authorities tried to charge her with something, but she had broken no laws. To do it that way wasn't illegal. It was on the right runway, the one assigned her, and in the specified time. Nothing was damaged, and she couldn't even be charged with the expense of the emergency vehicles, since they weren't her idea.
***
Muriel and Sam first rented both a car and an old Piper Cub airplane for Julie. Being small enough to fit between ropes, the aircraft was to show prospective customers their new universes. Then, Sam bought some cheap desert property to work out of and they set it up for a sale.
The three laid thick ropes across dimensions on the property and used the car to shove the airplane, on its trailer, into the best of several universes Muriel checked out. Leaving Julie to get things ready--after a stiff explanation on not touching those ropes--they set out to make a sale.
***
Reverent Felcher strode angrily across a spacious office. Every morning, he exercised by running four times around his enormous desk. At the 25yard line, he stopped to bellow things like, "Why, Lord, do you do this?" or, "Why make such an imperfect world?" or even, "Why can't everyone be God-fearing?" He felt it helped train his preaching voice.
Of course, he ignored a divine answer of, "Then you'd be out of a job, stupid." Or, anyway, he would have. Instead, the intercom at the other side end of the desk answered him. It was his secretary stating, "Sir. Your two o'clock appointment is here."
Since he kept it on "speaker," he could scream, "send them in," while muttering, "More crazies. Selling me a, he, he, 'universe.' Jeeze." He hurried around two corners of the desk, to climb a short ladder to his chair. Panting, he was still out of breath when the door opened.
Since the visitors were strangers, the receptionist brought Sam and Muriel in and introduced them to his boss. Then, taking out a legal pad and pencil, the 240 lb ex-commando gorilla stood against a wall. He was ready to take notes or tear them apart, whichever seemed appropriate.
Felcher was becoming tired of all the assassination attempts on his life. They'd started when the news media found out about the church's Nookie Shoe Factory down in the Marianna Islands. Why, Reverend Felcher often asked himself, should they care if he worked underage islanders 15 hrs a day with no pay? It wasn't as though they were White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. He did feed and bed them, and instruct them in the true religion. With the press, public opinion, and the law smothering him, Felcher was ready to grasp at straws. Universe, indeed!
"So, you have ten minutes to tell me about this so-called 'universe'." Felcher sat back, smiling. "Why should I buy one, when this one here is perfectly good?"
"For one thing, it'll get you out of this 'perfectly good' one. And get you into one where you run the prisons, rather than reside in one." Sam smiled back.
Muriel gave her companion an angry look. "What he means is that you'll have complete control. There will be no taxes or laws except those you approve. If you close the door, nobody from this earth can bother you."
"And are there any residents in my new world? We're a peace-loving religion, and don't believe in wars."
"I don't make any guarantees. You have to take it or leave it, as is. Its never been explored."
"One-hundred million is a lot of money. Are you amenable to a payment plan?"
"You must be kidding?" Sam couldn't believe the audacity. "With an entire world to hide in, you could disappear."
"No. Like he says, cash only, and before you move in," Muriel added.
"Can I at least see it, check it out. I'm not buying a pig in a poke."
"Of course. We'll take you there any time you want, you alone. We'll even give you a free airplane ride so you can check it out. "
***
Julie Trask had the tiny airplane ready to go. She felt uncomfortable alone in the sparsely vegetated desert, only truck, trailer, and aircraft with her. As she sat, reading a pocket novel in the cab of the truck, two thick ropes ran out in front for twenty-yards, and were cut off abruptly. She could feel the silence, as though alone in an entire world.
At least I can see in every direction, she thought, so no alien creatures can crawl up to me.
She jumped straight, banging her head on the roof, as something moved from behind a cactus. It was a bunny rabbit, gazing curiously at the strange vehicles.
Julie smiled, relaxing.
Without warning, a blue car came out of nowhere, driving between the ropes and coming to park in front of the truck. Her new employers came out, along with a rotund little bald-headed man. At first, he was blindfolded, but Sam took it off. The man was obviously nervous, staring and turning around in his tracks.
"Nothing unusual here," the man said, "except for that plane. We gotta fly the rest of the way, or what?"
"We're already here, reverend," Sam told him. "Julie, here, is going to fly you around a bit. Show you part of your new home."
"So! What is there to see? Los Angeles in the distance? I can see that from my parish."
"You'll be surprised. I don't know if anything's out there. But, whatever it is, it will all be yours. As soon as you pay us."
The aircraft was only a two-seat prop plane. When it came back, landing backwards, the preacher had lost his composure.
"Jesus. How the hell did she do that?" he said, shuddering while watching Julie, still sitting in the plane. "I didn't know you could land backwards like that."
"You see anything interesting, Mr. Felcher?" Muriel asked. "We haven't done any exploring."
"You must be for real. No modern cities, or even roads. We only traveled about an hour to get here by can, and couldn't have gone very far." He stopped to shake his head. "There was some sort of strange city, very old and odd-looking. I know all the native sites around here, and it didn't look like any of them. You didn't tell me there were people around here."
"I told you. We haven't done any exploring at all." Muriel shook her head. "If you want, I can get you a new universe. I have plenty of others and it won't take long. But, I can't guarantee any of them don't have populations."
"I don't know, Ms. Adams. If I paid you all that money, and found myself in a war with natives, it would be wasted. Ours is a peaceful religion, not accustomed to carrying weapons around. I'd have to have some sort of guarantee."
"Tell you what, Reverend Felcher. I'll give you a year's guarantee," Muriel told him. "If you don't like it, I'll take this this world back, and give you another. Changing over will be at your expense. Only a one time deal, no third world at the same price."
"Sounds fair. When can I move in?"
"We'll have to blindfold you for part of the way back," Sam told him. "You have our hotel suite number. Contact us and we'll turn it over to you. Julie can fly you back if you want?"
Felcher looked back at the pilot, getting ready to winch the plane back onto the trailer. He shook his head. "I'd rather go back by car." That backward landing still had him shaken up.
It wasn't long before winding convoys of vehicles began leaving town, going into the desert. Felcher built two warehouses, one on each side of the entrance. Many thousands of homes and businesses around the country were being sold, all the money going to the reverend to buy supplies for his new world. Oddly, to any observers, furniture was being kept. There were enough carpenters and utility workers among his people to start building in the new world. He figured on taking his time and moving in an orderly manner.
Although they tried to do it in secret, too many people were involved. It didn't take long before the news media found out. Days later, news vans and tents started accumulating next to the entrance. Reverend Fletcher did try to keep reporters out of his new universe but, with all the activity through the doorway, some of them slipped inside.
When word got out, another chain of events was started. Not knowing how dangerous the new universe would be to earth, the military moved into the area, encamping on both sides of the entrance. Lawyers and politicians were also involved. Was it to be part of California? Was it even legal for a private enterprise to own a universe? Was it fair to other religions? There were many legal questions to hammer out. Meanwhile, in all the uncertainty, Reverend Felcher managed to keep all others out, guarding the entrance with his own people. He wanted no unbelievers on his new world.
It also didn't take long for Felcher to truck in a couple of his own helicopters and a small jet airplane. He wanted to check out his new planet and look for danger. The reverend figured he only had a year to do it, and it was best before too many buildings had been constructed.
***
Johnny Patrick was a member of the church, had been for years. He wasn't very religious himself, only converting to please his wife, Ethel. He was also one of their few helicopter pilots, learning in the army, and an employee of the L.A. Times. So far, Johnny had managed to keep his family on the earth side. For one thing, she was undecided on leaving her relatives behind, to move to a strange world. Johnny, however, saw a chance for advancement to reporter by pretending to move along with them.
His chopper had a range of 400-500 miles, and he was ordered to fly a grid for his maximum distance, while passengers took photos and movies. The idea was to look for anything interesting. Sometimes an amateur geologist, biologist, anthropologist, or other scientific people would come along. The helicopter could only hold four at a time without equipment, or three with. And, of course, weight cut down on range. But it did give Johnny a unique opportunity to get to know what was going on, which he promptly reported to the Times. Reverend Felcher would have killed him, literally, if he ever found out the leak.
In most part, the land was a copy of earth. It had the same animals, except some seemed to have shifted attributes a bit. The deer had no horns, while the beavers did, for example. Obviously, it had followed a slightly different evolutionary path. A formerly mined out iron deposit was at the same place, still untouched. The same for a large deposit of copper.
There was no sign of people. What had seemed like a town to Julie and Felcher was found to be a colony of huge ants, and didn't seem like from intelligent design, with no squared corners or circular patterns. It was simply piles of dried mud with many meandering paths.
The small jet plane flew much further, but with the same results. No intelligent life was found. Although a huge bear forty-feet high was seen, along with ten-foot-long bees, there didn't seem to be anything that would actually threaten humans that some good rifles or a small cannon couldn't handle.
***
While all the activity was going on in California, Muriel and Sam bought a large parcel of land, and a comfortable mansion, in Arizona. By then, they were lovers and Sam a full partner.
"We should quit now," Sam advised, sitting in the sun on a patio behind the house. "We've got more money than we could ever use. Now we can travel and see this world."
Muriel stood next to his chair, watching a servant shaking a new batch of martinis. "We're on a roll. I want to stake out a dozen more entrances on our property here. Over at the northern edge is a good place, far from town, so it won't bother anyone. We can contract for a few hotels to be built there. Maybe a couple of fast-food places, too, and build a few roads in. It will make a base from which to sell, without having to tramp around the world. Let the customers come to us. Why stop now?"
"We don't need any more money."
"Screw the money. With all those special interests off the earth, this will be a better planet for the rest of us. This time, we'll fix the outside up first, then sell to the highest bidder. Instead of ropes, we can build concrete arches or something, the ropes hidden inside. We can give the extra money to charity or something."
She got the ball rolling. They contracted for road construction. Hotel and restaurant chains vied for permission to build. With efforts started, the two of them loaded a newer jet and, flown by Julie Trask, set out to tour the world. Julie loved the idea, even though she was ordered to land normally--not backwards. The latter caused too much trouble with airport authorities.
During the trip, they sold universes to various rebel groups around the world. There were prospective customers there to meet them at every stop. It only took a few hours to make a sale, and money wasn't much of an object. Some places, like Saudi Arabia, simply wanted more worlds for their oil deposits. Already knowing where to find the deposits, they could pump it there and sell in on this and other worlds.
The reasons made little difference to Muriel, who happily laid out cables when they returned, shook hands and turned away, another world sold.
*** Organized Crime and Government?
Inevitably, problems crept in. The first was a scarcity of heavy construction equipment. Both the equipment manufacturers and the smaller suppliers of parts tried to increase output but ran into a scarcity of raw materials. Prices for that equipment doubled, tripled, then quadrupled.
Political pressure, and bribes, brought relaxation of environmental rules, along with complaints from environmentalists. Governments, around the world, destabilized. On one hand, their business taxes increased. On the other, with populations leaving, so were workers and payroll taxes. Trained workers of all levels were disappearing into the equivalent of Black Holes. Air pollution rules were also relaxed, bringing almost worldwide smog. The earth itself was being raped of anything valuable.
The US government, for instance, being the entrance point of most of the universes, had little control over them. What good was passing laws? If a universe didn't like those laws, all they had to do was pull up a couple of ropes or cables and they'd be where the Feds couldn't touch them.
Muriel and Sam were forced to hire armed guards around their mansions. They heard that organized crime had put out contracts on their lives. The crime bosses, being businessmen at heart, could see their profits going down as their victims left. Sam even had a meeting with the Don in charge of the Colorado area.
"What the hell we need with our own frickin' world?" Don Silvio told Sam. "We should melt our guns into plowshares or somethin'? You're frickin' nuts. I can't get my people to turn into farmers. We need victims, is what we need."
***
One night, they received a call from one of Reverend Felcher's people.
"We need some help," the woman on the line told them. "The government is after us to pay taxes."
"So?" Sam answered, "Just close the entrance, and they can't bother you."
"But we don't want to lose all contact with the Home World. Who knows, we might need something later."
"I'll see what I can do. Call back in a couple of days."
He took the matter up with Muriel.
"This is getting silly," she said. "All this interference. I'll start putting in secret entrances for any customer that asks."
So she disguised herself. Sneaking to a back corner of their property, Muriel and Sam drove a pickup filled with coils of rope. Muriel would sneak into the sold worlds, leaving narrow but unmarked passages leading to Home World, then informing the people inside. Now, they could close the main entrance and still get back and forth.
***
That strategy worked for a while, until one woman from that was wanted by the law and presumed to be in another world was caught. She told about a secret entrance.
Muriel had a visit from a man in a gray suit. He came in a limousine in the center of a convoy of police and other government cars--obviously an important official.
"Congress has passed a law, retroactively, to tax all these new worlds," he told her. "We'll have to have access to all of them. Each will have to accept an embassy, along with a small police force and maybe military presence. We, Congress and the White House, think it necessary to have control over all land within the borders of this grand country."
"They're not in this country," Muriel said.
"Technically, they are, by a majority vote of Congress. As such, they're part of the United States and should be under United States control ... and taxation." He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Actually, we're going broke. With all those resources and people moving away, our tax base is going to hell.
"Every special interest group left in this country is complaining. Several of your new 'worlds' are now exporting raw materials, such as steel ore, back into our world. Environmentalists are worried that they'll ruin the air in their own worlds. How do we know their workers are following safety rules and laws? And some Congressmen are incensed, in private, that they're losing all those campaign contributions.
"Having moved out, organizations like the religious lobbies haven't been giving us our yearly dole. They simply aren't interested in us anymore."
"We're also thinking of the future, when those worlds begin building factories and have excess foodstuffs to sell here. By that time, all this country will be is a transportation hub.
"No. For the good of the United States, we have to retain and take back control. The future of the country is at stake."
"Just what," Muriel said, sighing, "do you propose I do about it? Shouldn't you talk to them, individually? Hey! All I am is a salesman. I sell them the worlds, as is. After I get my pay, I'm out of the loop. And," she told him, emphatically, "I do pay my taxes."
"We know you give them multiple entrances. And some of them keep their worlds sealed away from our authority, sneaking in and out like criminals, whenever they want. That all has to stop. And it will, when we have troops stationed in every 'universe' you've sold.
"Right now, I have a court order with me, instructing you to give us our own entrance to each and every world you've sold, or will sell in the future. It will be done on a government reservation. We're thinking of Fort Knox, in Kentucky."
He reached into a jacket pocket, bringing out an envelope and slapping in onto Muriel's lap.
"You are hereby served," he told her. "If you have questions, the paper has a reserved phone number to our offices in Washington."
After the convoy left, Muriel sat and simmered for the rest of the day.
When he returned, Sam was also angry.
"Damn it, Muriel. We have to increase our guards. Simpson, from Acme Security, just told me he found another mafia asshole among his men. The guy had grenades in his locker. Simpson became suspicious and checked the locker out. More damned trouble from them bastards."
Organized crime was trying to find out ways to get into some of the universes. Many of their best customers had left Home World. Even though offered a free universe of their own, the mafia had declined, preferring to prey on workers, rather than working themselves. It was only one more harassment.
"I'm tired, Sam. I thought we'd have a life of leisure. Instead, it's problem after problem. Now the government is after us. We might even cause another world war.
"When I told the Chinese about the US government, they went ballistic. Some of our universes have been sold there, and they want the same control and, specifically, do NOT consider them as US property. After all, those worlds spread across both countries.
"In the end, they'll probably want the same rights as the US wants. And you can bet other countries will want the same. We're, you and me, right in the middle.
Sam considered their options. "Why don't we move in with one of our customers, honey? Let the Home World do what they want, but we'll be out of it?
"Which one?" Muriel was relenting. She looked over their vast mansion, with many servants. She wondered how many of them were secretly mafia assassins. What good was that luxury? Really?
"Well," Sam said, scratching his butt again while thinking, "I hear the peace activists world is doing pretty good. Back to basics, like in the early twentieth century, but advancing rapidly."
Late that night, they ordered some servants to load two large pickup trucks with personal items, then signed the mansion and grounds over to them.
That's the last the Home World saw of Muriel and Sam.
Charlie
