'Very probably it does,' Woodbine said. 'Or will, after Briskin is in. Even Bill Schwarz may want to; he's not that stupid.'
Bristling, Turpin said, 'Look here, Woodbine, you're working for TD, now. Our opinion is your opinion, whether you like it or not. This place is company property, and no one can come here without TD's permission. And that includes you,' Turpin said, turning toward the news media people. 'So watch your step.'
'Just a moment,' Howard said. "The boys want me back.' He hurried over to his post at the monitoring gear. Presently he returned, a perplexed expression on his face. 'They're picking up no lights from Australia,' he said. 'But a tremendous concentration from Southeast Asia and from the region of the Gobi Desert. The greatest concentrations yet. And all throughout China. But none in Japan.'
'Where are we on the planet's surface ?' Woodbine asked. 'According to the QB ?'
'In North America on the East Coast. Near the Potomac. Where the TD central complex is located - or at least in that vicinity, give or take ten miles.'
'There's no TD here,' Woodbine said. 'And no Washington D.C. So that's that. We haven't gone through a circular doorway and found ourselves led back to a remote area of our own world. This may be Earth, but it's obvious that it isn't our Earth. In that case, whose is it ? And how many
Earths are there ?'
'I thought there was only one,' Turpin said.
'And they used to think that one was flat,' Woodbine reminded him. 'You learn as you go along.
I'd like to get into that jet-hopper right now, if no one objects, and get started surveying. Is that agreeable, Turpin ?'
'Yes, it is,' Turpin said eagerly. 'What do you think we'll find, Frank ? Is this more or less exciting than exploring planets in other star systems ?' He chuckled knowingly. 'I can see you're all steamed up, Frank; this situation has got you hooked.'
Shrugging, Woodbine said, 'Why not ?' He started toward the jet-hopper; Leon Turpin and
Stanley followed. 'I never implied I was jaded; I certainly am not about to fall asleep over this.'
'I know what this is!' Leon Turpin bleated excitedly. 'Listen, this is a parallel Earth, in another universe; do you get it ? Maybe there are hundreds of them, all alike physically but you know, branching off and evolving differently.'
Sourly, Woodbine said, 'Let's not go up in the 'hopper; let's just stand here in one spot with our eyes shut and theorize.'
But I know I'm right, Leon Turpin said to himself. I've got a sure instinct, sometimes; that's how
I rose to be chairman of the board of directors of TD. Frank Woodbine will find out, pretty soon, and he'll have to apologize to me. I'll wait for that and not say anything more.
Together, Woodbine and Stanley assisted the old man in entering the 'hopper. The hatch slid shut; the 'hopper rose in the air and headed out across the meadow and over the nearby great trees.
If that's true, Turpin realized suddenly, then TD owns an entire Earth. And, since I control TD, what Don Stanley said is true; Earth belongs to me. This particular Earth, anyhow. But isn't one as good as another ? They're all equally real.
Rubbing his hands together with excitement, Turpin said, 'Isn't this a lovely virgin place ? Look at that forest down below; look at all that timber!' And mines, he realized. Maybe there's never been any coal mined here or oil wells sunk. All the metals, all the ores, may still be buried, on this particular Earth - unlike our own, where everything valuable has been brought up long ago.
I'd rather possess this one than our own, Turpin said to himself. Any day. Who wants a worn-out world, thoroughly exploited over tens of centuries ?
'I'll carry it to the Supreme Court,' he said aloud, 'with the finest legal minds in the world. I'll put all the financial resources of TD into this, even if it breaks the company's back. It'll be worth it.'
Both Stanley and Woodbine glanced at him sourly.
Below them, directly ahead, lay an ocean. Evidently it was the Atlantic, Turpin decided. It looked like the Atlantic, at least. Gazing down at the shoreline, he saw only trees. No roads, no towns - in fact no sign of human habitation of any variety whatsoever. Like it was before the damn Pilgrims showed up here, he said to himself. But he also saw no Indians, either. Strange.
Assuming he was correct, assuming this was an Earth parallel to their own, why was it so underpopulated ? For instance, what had become of the racial groups which had lived in North
America before the whites arrived ?
Could parallel Earths differ that much and still be considered authentically parallel ? Unparallel is more like it, Turpin decided.
All at once in a hoarse voice, Don Stanley said, 'Woodbine, something is following us.'
Turpin looked back, but his eyes were not good enough; he made out nothing in the bright blue mid-morning sky. Woodbine, however, seemed able to see it; he grunted, rose from the controls of the 'hopper and stood peering. By autopilot, the 'hopper continued on.
'It's losing ground,' Stanley said. 'We're leaving it behind. Want to turn around and approach it ?'
'What's it seem to be ?' Turpin asked apprehensively. 'We better not get too close; it may shoot us down.' He cringed from the idea of an emergency crash: he was well aware of the brittleness of his bones. Any sort of unsafe landing would end his life. And he did not want it ended, just now.
This was the worst possible time.
'I'll swing back that way,' Woodbine said, returning to the controls. A moment later the 'hopper had reversed its direction.
And, at last, Turpin could perceive the other object in the sky. It was clearly not a bird; no wings flapped, and anyhow it was too large. He knew, saw with his own eyes, that it was an artificial construct, a man-made vehicle.
The vehicle was hurrying off as rapidly as possible.
Woodbine said, 'It won't be long; it's very slow. You know what it looks like ? A boat, a goddam boat. It's got a hull and sails. It's a flying boat.' Hi; laughed tautly. 'It's absurd!'
Yes, Turpin thought. It does look grotesque. It's a wonder it can stay up. And now, sure enough, the boat-shaped airborne vehicle was dipping down in increasingly narrowing spirals, its sails hanging limply. The vehicle held one single person who, they could now see, was working frantically with the controls of his craft. Was he trying to land it or keep it in the air ? Turpin did not know, but in any case the vehicle was about to land - or crash.
It landed. In an open pasture, away from trees.
As the 'hopper began to descend after it, the figure within leaped from the vehicle and scampered off to disappear into the closest stand of trees.
'We frightened him,' Woodbine said, as he brought the 'hopper expertly down beside the parked, abandoned craft. 'But anyhow we get to examine his ship; that ought to tell us a lot, practically everything we want to know.' Immediately he slammed the cabin hatch back and scrambled out, to drop to the ground. Without waiting for Stanley or Turpin, he sprinted toward the parked alien vehicle.
As he, too, clambered out of the 'hopper Don Stanley murmured, 'It looks like it's made out of wood.' He dropped to the ground and walked over to stand beside Woodbine.
I'd better stay here, Leon Turpin decided. Too risky for me to try to get out; I might break a leg.
And anyhow it's their job to inspect this flying machine. That's what I hired them for.
'It's wood, all right,' Stanley said, his voice filtering to Leon Turpin, mixing with the rushing of wind through the nearby trees. 'And a cloth sail; I guess it's canvas.'
'But what makes it go ?' Woodbine said, walking all around it. 'Is it just a glider ? No power supply ?'