Back in the service department basement once more, Rick seated himself at the work bench, picked up Dr Sands' 'scuttler-turret and began to reassemble it. Presently, he had expertly restored it to its place and had hooked it back into the circuit.

Now, he said to himself as he switched on the power field. Let's see where it gets us. He entered the big gleaming circular hoop which was the entrance of the 'scuttler, found himself - as usual -

within a gray, formless tube which stretched in both directions. Framed in the opening behind him lay his work bench, And in front of him ?

New York City. An unstable view of an industriously-active street corner which bordered Dr

Sands' office. And a wedge, beyond it, of the vast building itself, the high rise skyscraper of plastic - rexeroid compounds from Jupiter -with its infinitude of floors, endless windows .,.. and, past that, monojets rising and descending from the ramps, along which the footers scurried in swarms so dense as to seem self-destructive. The largest city in the world, four-fifths of which lay subsurface; what he saw was only a meager fraction, a trace of its visible projections. No one in his lifetime, even a jerry, could view it all; the city was simply too extensive.

See ? Erickson grumbled to himself. Your 'scuttler's working okay; this isn't Portland, Oregon -

it's exactly what it's supposed to be.

Crouching down, Erickson ran an expert hand over tide surface of the tube. Seeking - what ? He didn't know. But something which would justify the doctor's insistence on retaining this particular 'scuttler.

He took his time. He was not in a hurry. And he intended to find what he was searching for.