A Handful of Darkness by Philip K. Dick Page A

spot. You picked your destination and that was that.
    But for an office worker, it was perfect. Step in one end, step out the other. Five steps—a hundred and sixty miles. A hundred and sixty miles that had been a two-hour nightmare of grinding gears and sudden jolts, mono jets cutting in and out, speeders, reckless flyers, alert cops waiting to pounce, ulcers and bad tempers. It was all over now. All over for him, at least, as an employee of Terran Development, the manufacturer of the Jiffi-scuttler. And soon for everybody, when they were commercially on the market.
    Ellis sighed. Time for work. He could see Ed Hall racing up the steps of the TD building two at a time. Tony Franklin hurrying after him. Time to get moving. He bent down and reached for his brief-case—
    It was then he saw them.
    The wavery grey haze was thin there. A sort of thin spot where the shimmer wasn’t so strong. Just a bit beyond his foot and past the corner of his brief-case.
    Beyond the thin spot were three tiny figures. Just beyond the grey waver. Incredibly small men, no larger than insects. Watching him with incredulous astonishment.
    Ellis gazed down intently, his brief-case forgotten. The three tiny men were equally dumbfounded. None of them stirred, the three tiny figures, rigid with awe. Henry Ellis bent over, his mouth open, eyes wide.
    A fourth little figure joined the others. They all stood rooted to the spot, eyes bulging. They had on some kind of robes. Brown robes and sandals. Strange, unTerran costumes. Everything about them was unTerran. Their size, their oddly coloured dark faces, their clothing—and their voices.
    Suddenly the tiny figures were shouting shrilly at each other, squeaking a strange gibberish. They had broken out of their freeze and now ran about in queer, frantic circles. They raced with incredible speed, scampering like ants on a hot griddle. They raced jerkily, their arms and legs pumping wildly. And all the time they squeaked in their shrill high-pitched voices.
    Ellis found his brief-case. He picked it up slowly. The figures watched in mixed wonder and terror as the huge bag rose, only a short distance from them. An idea drifted through Ellis” brain. Good Lord—could they come into the Jiffi-scuttler, through the grey haze?
    But he had no time to find out. He was already late as it was. He pulled away and hurried towards the New York end of the tunnel. A second later he stepped out in the blinding sunlight, abruptly finding himself on the busy street corner in front of his office.
    “Hey, there, Hank!” Donald Potter shouted, as he raced through the doors into the TD building. “Get with it!”
    “Sure, sure.“Ellis followed after him automatically. Behind, the entrance to the Jiffi-scuttler was a vague circle above the pavement, like the ghost of a soap-bubble.
    He hurried up the steps and inside the offices of Terran Development, his mind already on the hard day ahead.
    As they were locking up the office and getting ready to go home, Ellis stopped Co-ordinator Patrick Miller in his office. “Say, Mr. Miller. You’re also in charge of the research end, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “Let me ask you something. Just where does the Jiffi-scuttler go? It must go somewhere.”
    “It goes out of this continuum completely.” Miller was impatient to get home. “Into another dimension.”
    “I know that. But— where? ”
    Miller unfolded his breast-pocket handkerchief rapidly and spread it out on his desk. “Maybe I can explain it to you this way. Suppose you’re a two-dimensional creature and this handkerchief represents your—”
    “I’ve seen that a million times,” Ellis said, disappointed. “That’s merely an analogy, and I’m not interested in an analogy. I want a factual answer. Where does my Jiffi-scuttler go, between here and Cedar Groves?”
    Miller laughed. “What the hell do you care?”
    Ellis became abruptly guarded. He shrugged indifferently. “Just curious. It certainly