Gemini Jones showed surprise at his ignorance. Whyte said, "Backup a bit, Barry. What's the most dangerous garbage ever?"

"Give me a hint."

"Radioactive wastes from nuclear power plants. Most dangerous per pound, anyway. They send those wastes here, and we send them to a drop-ship. You've got to know what a drop-ship is."

"Of course I-"

"A drop-ship is a moving teleport receiver with one end open. Generally it's attached to a space probe. The payload flicks in with a velocity different from that of the drop-ship. Of course it's supposed to come tearing out the open end, which means somebody has to keep it turned right. And of course the drop-ship only operates in vacuum."

"Package," Gem Jones said softly. Something had appeared in the metal chamber below. It was gone before Jerryberry could quite see what it was.

"Just where is your drop-ship?"

"Circling Venus," said Whyte. "Originally it was part of the second Venus expedition. You can send anything through a drop-ship: fuel, oxygen, food, water, even small vehicles. There are drop-ships circling every planet in the solar system, except Neptune.

"When the Venus expedition came home, they left the drop-ship in orbit. We thought at first that we might send another expedition through it, but-face it, Venus just isn't worth it. We're using the planet as a garbage dump, which is about all it's good for.

"Now, there's no theoretical reason we can't send unlimited garbage through the Venus drop-ship, as long as we keep the drop-ship oriented right. Many transmitters, one receiver. The payload doesn't stay in the receiver more than a fraction of a second. If it did get overloaded, why, some of the garbage would be reflected back to the transmitter, and we'd send it again. No problem."

"What about cost?"

"Stupendous. Horrible. Too high for any kind of garbage less dangerous than this radioactive stuff. But maybe we can bring it down someday." Whyte stopped; he looked puzzled. "Mind if I sit down?"

There were fold-up chairs around a card table with empty pop bulbs on it. Whyte sat down rather disturbingly hard, even with Gem Jones trying to support his weight. She asked, "Can I get Doctor Janesko?"

"No, Gem, just tired. Is there a pop machine?"

Jerryberry found the pop machine. He paid a chocolate dollar for a clear plastic bulb of cola. He turned and almost bumped into Gemini Jones.

She spoke low, but there was harsh intensity in her voice. "You're running him ragged. Will you lay off of him?"

"He's been running me!" Jerryberry whispered.

"I believe it. Well, don't let him run you so fast. Remember, he's an old man."

Whyte pulled the cola bulb open and drank. "Better." He sighed. . and was back in high gear. "Now, you see? We're cleaning up the world. We aren't polluters."

"Right."

"Thank you."

"I never should have raised the subject. What have you got for the mall riot?"

Whyte looked confused.

"The mall riot is still going on, and they're still blaming me."

"And you still blame JumpShift."

"It's a matter of access," Jerryberry said patiently. "Even if only ten men in a million, say, would loot a store, given the opportunity, that's still about four thousand people in the United States. And all four thousand can get to the Santa Monica Mall in the time it takes to dial twenty-one digits."

When Whyte spoke again, he sounded bitter. "What are we supposed to do, stop inventing things?"

"No, of course not." Jerryberry pulled open another bulb of cola.

"What, then?"

"I don't know. Just. . keep working things out." He drank. "There's always another problem behind the one you just solved. Does that mean you should stop solving problems?"

"Well, let's solve this one."

They sat sipping cola. It was good to sit down. The old man's running me ragged, thought Jerryberry.

"Crowds," he said.

"Right."

"You can make one receiver for many transmitters. In fact. . every booth in a city receives from any other booth. Can you make a booth that transmits only?"

Whyte looked up. "Sure. Give it an unlisted number. Potentially it would still be a receiver, of course."

"Because you have to flick the air back to the transmitter."

"How's this sound? You can put an E on the booth number. The only dials with E's in them are at police stations and fire stations. E for Emergency."

"All right. Now, you put a lot of these escape booths wherever a crowd might gather-"

"That could be anywhere. You said so yourself."

'Yali.

"We'd have to double the number of booths in the country.. or cut the number of incoming booths in half. You'd have to walk twice as far to get where you're going from any given booth. Would it be worth it?"

"I don't think this is the last riot," said Jerryberry. "It's growing. Like tourism. Your short-hop booths cut tourism way dQwn. The long-distance booths are bringing it back, but slowly. Would you believe a permanent floating riot? A mob that travels from crowd to crowd, carrying coin purses, looting where they can."

"I hate that idea."

Jerryberry put his hand on the old man's shoulder. "Don't wony about it. You're a hero. You made a miracle. What people do with it isn't your fault. Maybe you even saved the world. The pollution was getting very rough before JumpShift came along."

"By God, it was."

"I've got to be going. There are things I want to see before I run out of time."

Tahiti. Jerusalem. Mecca. Easter Island. Stonehenge. The famous places of the world. Places a man might dial almost on impulse. Names that came unbidden to the mind.

Mecca. Vast numbers of Muslims (a number he could look up later) bowed toward Mecca five times a day. The Koran called for every Muslim to make a pilgrimage to Mecca at least once in a lifetime. The city's only industry was the making of religious articles. And you could get there just by dialing….

Jerusalem. Sacred to three major religions. Jews still toasted each other at Passover: "Next year in Jerusalem." Still a forming ground of history after thousands of years. And you could get there just by dialing….

Stonehenge. An ancient mystery. What race erected those stones, and when and why? These would never be known with certainty. From the avenue at the northeast entrance a path forked and ran up a hill between burial mounds. . and there was a long-distance displacement booth on the hill.

It would be eleven at night in Stonehenge. One in the morning in Mecca and Jerusalem. No action there. Jerryberry crossed them out.

Eiffel Tower, the pyramids, the Sphinx, the Vatican. . dammit, the most memorable places on Earth were all in the same general area. What could he see at midnight?

Well- Tahiti. Say "tropical paradise," and every stranger in earshot will murmur, "Tahiti." Once Hawaii had had the same reputation, but Hawaii was too close to civilization. Hawaii had been civilized. Tahiti, isolated in the southern hemisphere, might have escaped that fate.

Everything lurched as he finished dialing. Jerryberry stumbled against the booth wall. Briefly he was terrified. But he'd be dead if the velocity transfer had failed. It must be a little out of synch.

He knew too much, that was all.

There were six booths of different makes this side of customs. The single official had a hopeless look. He waved through a constant stream of passengers without seeming to see them.

Jerryberry moved with the stream.

They were mostly men. Many had cameras; few had luggage. English, American, French, German, some Spanish and U.S.S.R. Most were dressed lightly-and poorly, in cheap clothes ready to come apart. They swarmed toward the outgoing booths, the rectangular Common Market booths with one glass side. Jerryberry saw unease and dismay on many faces. Perhaps it was the new, clean, modem building that bothered them. This was an island paradise? Air conditioning. Fluorescent lighting.