The woman moved from her husband's arms and faced the vehicle with distaste. "I hate to go," she said.
"You must," he told her. "And quickly, or there will not be enough power to penetrate the 'Real World' back to the 'fissioned-time'. I'd send someone else, but no one but you and I can go through 'time' to the dual worlds."
She nodded unhappily, and started the machine. It disappeared instantly, leaping the "time" between now and the "time" of fissioned probability, where such a machine could easily function. It was back immediately, and she hurled herself tearfully into her husband's arms.
"I've muffed it terribly," she sobbed.
He stroked her head, and then seated her on the ground beside the machine. He got in, disappeared, and also returned instantly.
"There," he told her. "And that is that."
He lifted her from the ground, put his arm about her lissome waist, and walked her to the house, leaving the machine.
Tomorrow he would dismantle it. It was the only one of its kind, and its usefulness was over. Finished, washed-up, obsolete. After a total Real Operating Time of less than ten milliseconds.
But during which time it had really been around!
THE END