SImp

I was packed and had presented myself to the transport department by five that afternoon.

"Hi Scotty," I said, as I approached our interstellar transport facility. Scotty only handled the interstellar Ports as the local transport booths required little in the way of finesse to use, as all local Ports maintained continuous communication to keep their coordinates locked on. Interstellar jumps were another story. To maintain continuous communication was prohibitively expensive, not in terms of energy, as very little power was required, but in processor time.

Scotty was a friend who shared my delight with some old classic flat videos. The rest of the staff thought we were crazy. Every time I'd leave on an assignment I'd quip, "Beam me up, Scotty," and we would go into a paroxysm of laughter.

"Hi Larry," he said, "What are you doing here?"

"I have a new assignment," I said, handing him my ID card.

With a question mark on his face, he placed my ID into the slot on his console. His jaw dropped as he looked at the display. "You're kidding . . ." He glanced back at the display, "Sir!"

"Scotty it's me, Larry, remember?"

"Sorry, Si—uh . . . Larry. It was a shock."

"If you think it's a shock to you. You should see it from my side!" I laughed, "Do me a favor—expedite the connection?"

"What's your hurry? You don't have to leave till tomorrow morning."

Scotty was a friend, and we had enjoyed many hours viewing old flat anime and similar videos together—he would understand, "You know Miss Lushbt?"

". . . You mean Pauline?" He queried, stars in his eyes.

"Yes, well the rumors are true. She's after me!"

"Diana is a bit puritanical, isn't she?" Scotty reflected.

"She sure is!" I said, thinking of my fiancée's probable reaction to Pauline nibbling on my ear.

"OK, for a friend," Scotty said. Checking the setup, he switched into his lecture mode.

I didn't interrupt although it was old hat to me. Besides, it gave Scotty something to think about besides losing a good friend. "Now there is no difference between an interstellar jump and a local jump," Scotty said, in a soothing tone, "in spite of the distances involved. Once we have communication with the transponder to verify the coordinates, the computers will sync. Then it's just a matter of convincing all the strings that make up the atoms of your body that they really would be more comfortable at the new location and there you are."

"So you are not beaming me up! You're stringing me along!" I quipped.

He looked at me and said, "I should be telling you, about quantum entanglement and string communications. Although the many-worlds theory indicates that it may not be strings at all, but multiple dimensions that we are taking a shortcut through. We really don't 'know'— we just use it. Kind of like the micro-fusion reactors that work, but shouldn't. . . ."

"True, but it helps us both relax and takes my mind off my problems."

Just then the communicator screen lit up. Pauline looking like a calm, efficient receptionist snapped, "I'm looking for Senior Secretary Young!" Then she spotted me, "Lawrence! Darling! What are you doing there? You're not scheduled to leave till tomorrow," as she talked, she leaned forward until I was in fear of her falling out of the screen or . . . .

Scotty came to my rescue, "I'm sorry Ma'am, but we have to process him tonight. Tomorrow the big one is going down for standard maintenance."

"Lawrence, you weren't leaving without saying goodbye were you?" She sobbed, her bosom heaving with emotion.

"Of course not," I lied, —one of those white lies that allow people to live together without strangling one another. "I was going to call, just as soon as I'd checked in with transportation here," nodding my head at Scotty.

Pauline's obvious charms were overflowing across the screen and having a predictable effect on Scotty. "You know Scotty here don't you, Miss? He's the chief engineer for the embassy. He's been dying to meet you."

Her eyes flicked over him, —then Pauline really looked at Scotty, who was quite a hunk of man—one hundred and eighty-five centimeters and pectorals that could only be described as massive. Light blonde hair, and deep green eyes. Scotty was dressed in dress shorts—shirt flipped casually over his shoulder, his chest matted with golden hair. She looked intently at him with appraising eyes, "No—I haven't had the pleasure," Pauline said, with a calculating gleam in her eyes, then she cut communications.

Scotty gave wolf whistle, then said, "Boy I wish I had your problems."

"I think you do now," I said.

". . . What?"

"Didn't you see that look in her eye?"

"My eyes never got that high" He replied.

I laughed, and he joined in. "I'm going to miss you, Larry," he said, sadly, "stop back here if you can."

"I'll try," I promised, and stepped into the Port.