Nothing But the Best
By ALAN COGAN
Illustrated by CAL
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction September 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
If he took the high road—and also the low
road—he'd be in the same place afore himself!
Charles Mead stood on top of Hobson's Hill and stared at thetown below, as though trying to imprint a permanent impressionof the view on his memory. He paid particular attention to awood-and-corrugated-iron construction at the bottom of the hill by therailroad tracks, which bore the sign, FINLAY'S LUMBER CO.
Well concealed in the bushes behind him and humming mutely were fourblack metal boxes forming a small square. Antennae sprouted fromeach box, curving inward to form an arch in which the light seemed tovibrate and shimmer. Charles Mead made an adjustment on one of theboxes and then stepped quickly into the shimmering arch.
Darkness smothered him immediately. There was a sudden terrifyingsensation of weightlessness, of falling. He kept pushing and pushing,although there seemed to be nothing to push against except swirling,spinning blackness.
Then, suddenly, he was standing on another Hobson's Hill.
The four black boxes had gone, but the blurred arch of light wasstill there. He fell to his knees, clutching in terror at the grass,trembling and breathless: the switch from one world to another wasalways unnerving. Immediately between worlds, the sensation of being inno world, of stepping into a bottomless abyss, always left him raggedwith panic. He had not made the trip many times before, but he doubtedif he would ever get used to it.
The town looked substantially the same as the one he had just left,though he was pleased to note that Finlay's Lumber Co. was no longer insight. It was proof that he had made the switch successfully. For somereason, Finlay never seemed to have established his business anywherebut in Charles Mead's world. There were similar changes in everyworld—some large changes, some small—but at least Hobson's Hill wasalways there, which was why he chose it as his jumping-off point.
Charles Mead set off down the hill and along the highway into town. Ina telephone booth, he searched the directory and then began walkingagain with a new eagerness in his step.
Ten minutes later, he turned onto the front porch of a small, neatbrick bungalow. He was about to press the bell button when he paused,listening. From inside the house, he heard voices yelling—a man and awoman—strident with anger.
Charles Mead smiled faintly and rather smugly and put his finger to thebutton. The voices stopped yelling as the bell jangled somewhere in thehouse. A moment later, the front door opened and, at the same time, heheard a woman's high heels stamping through to the back of the house.Then a door slammed.
The man in the doorway wore moccasins, jeans and a red plaid shirt.Except for the general sloppiness of his dress compared with theunwrinkled neatness of Charles Mead's expensive gray slacks andsports jacket, the pair could have been twins. Both were slim and tallwith the slightly stooped appearance of tall men. Their short, sandyhair and wide blue eyes gave them both a boyish look.
"Chuck Mead?" Charles Mead asked. This one was sure to be called Chuck,he thought.
The man nodded, frowning slightly.
"Good," said Charles. "That's my name, too. May I co