Janice set his coffee beside him. She said, "Or Mrs. O'Leary's cow."
The screen came on. "Jansen, can you get over here right now? Wash Evans wants to talk to you in person."
"Okay." Jerryberry clicked off. He felt a thrumming inside him. . as if he felt the motion of the world, and the world were spinning faster and faster. Surely things were happening fast….
Janice said, "No lost weekend."
"Not yet, love. Have you any idea what you've let me in for? I may not sleep for days. I'll have to find out what teleportation is, what it does.
where do I start?"
"Wash Evans. You'd better get moving."
"Right." He bolted his coffee in three swift gulps. "Thanks. Thanks for coming over, thanks for jarring me off the dime. We'll see how it works out." He went, pulling on a coat.
Wash Evans was five feet four inches tall. People sometimes forgot that size was invisible in a teevee close-up. In the middle of a televised interview, when the camera was flashing back and forth between two angry faces, then the deep, sure voice and the dark, mobile, expressive face of Wash Evans could be devastatingly convincing.
Wash Evans looked up at Jerryberry Jansen and said, "I've been wondering if I owe you an apology."
"Take your time," said Jerryberry. He finished buttoning his coat.
"I don't. Fact is, I psyched out the mall riot as best I knew how, and I think I did it right. I didn't tell the great unwashed public you caused it all. I just told it like it happened."
"You left some things out."
"All right, now we've got something to talk about. Sit down." They sat. Their faces were level~ now. Jerryberry said, "This present conversation is not for publication and is not to be considered an interview. I have an interview to sell. I don't want to undercut myself."
"I accept your terms on behalf of the network. We'll give you a tape of this conversation."
"I'm making my own." Jerryberry tapped his inside pocket, which clicked.
Wash Evans grinned. "Of course you are, my child. Now, what did I miss?"
"Displacement booths."
"Well, sure. If the booths had been cut off earlier-"
"If the booths didn't exist."
"You're kidding. No, you're not. Jansen, that's a wishing horse. Displacement booths are here to stay."
"I know. But think about this. Newstapers have been around longer than displacement booths. Roving newstapers, like me-we've been using the booths since they were invented."
"So?"
"Why didn't the mall riot happen earlier?"
"I see what you mean. Hmm. The airport booths?"
"Jansen, are you actually going to face the great unwashed teevee public and tell them to give up long-distance displacement booths?"
"No. I.. don't know just what I have in mind. That's why I want some time. I want to know more."
"Uh-huh," said Evans, and waited.
Jerryberry said, "Turn it around. Are you going to try to talk the public into giving up news programs?"
"No. Maybe to put some restrictions on newstaping practices. We're too fast these days. A machine won't work without friction. Neither does a civilization. . But we'd ruin the networks, wouldn't we?"
"You'd cut your own throat."
"Oh, I'd be out." Evans mashed out a cigarette. "Take away the news broadcasts, and they wouldn't have anything left to sell but educational teevee. Nothing to sell but toys and breakfast cereal. Jansen, I don't know."
"Good," said Jerryberry.
"You question my dispassionate judgment?" Evans chuckled in his throat. "I'm on both sides. Suppose we do an interview live, at ten tonight. That'll give you twelve hours-"
"Twelve hours!"
"That's enough, isn't it? You want to research teleportation. I want to get this in while people are still interested in the riot. Not just for the ratings,but because we both have something to say." Jerryberry tried to interrupt, but Evans overrode him. "We'll advance you a thousand, and three more if we do the interview. Nothing if we don't. That'll get you back on time."
Jerryberry accepted it. "One thing. Can you make Bailey forget to cancel my C.B.A. card for a while? I may have to do a lot of traveling."
"I'll tell him. I don't know if he'll do it."
He flicked in at Los Angeles International, off-center in a long curved row of displacement booths: upright glass cylinders with rounded tops, no different from the booths on any street corner. On the opposite wall, a good distance away, large red letters said "TWA." He stood a moment, thinking. Then he dialed again.
He was home, at the Shady Rest. He dialed again.
He was near the end of the row-a different row, with no curve to it. And the opposite wall bore the emblem of United.
The terminal was empty except for one man in a blue uniform who was waxing the floor.
Jerryberry stepped out. For upwards of a minute he watched the line of booths. People flicked in at random. Generally they did not even look up. They would dial a long string of digits-sometimes making a mistake, snarling something, and starting over-and be gone. There were so many that the booths themselves seemed to be flickering.
He took several seconds of it on the Minox.
Beneath the United emblem was along, long row of empty counters with scales between them, for luggage. The terminal was spotless-and empty, unused. Haunted by a constant flow of ghosts.
A voice behind him said, "You want something?"
"Is there a manager's office?"
The uniformed man pointed down an enormous length of corridor. "The maintenance section's down that way, where the boarding area used to be. I'll call ahead, let them know you're coming."
The corridor was long, unnecessarily long, and it echoed. The walk was eating up valuable time. . and then an open cart came from the other end and silently pulled up alongside him. A straight-backed old man in a one-button business lounger said, "Hello. Want a ride?"