“Nothing I can do,” Leek said. “Temporal wall is all I’m licensed for. You want the microcontrol people.” He hefted his golf club and was gone.
“Microcontrol,” Collins said, and reached for the button. He withdrew his hand hastily. The Utilizer was only about four inches on a side now and glowing a hot cherry red. He could barely see the button, which was the size of a pin.
Collins whirled around, grabbed a cushion and punched down.
A girl with horn-rimmed glasses appeared, note-book in hand, pencil poised. “With whom did you wish to make an appointment?” she asked sedately.
“Get me help fast!” Collins roared, watching his precious Utilizer grow smaller and smaller.
“Mr. Vergon is out to lunch,” the girl said, biting her pencil thoughtfully. “He’s de-zoned himself. I can’t reach him.”
“Who can you reach?”
She consulted her note-book. “Mr. Vis is in the Dieg Continuum and Mr. Elgis is doing field work in Paleolithic Europe. If you’re really in a rush, maybe you’d better call Transferpoint Control. They’re a smaller outfit, but—”
“Transferpoint Control. Okay—scram.” He turned his full attention to the Utilizer and stabbed down on it with the scorched pillow. Nothing happened. The Utilizer was barely half an inch square, and Collins realised that the cushion hadn’t been able to depress the almost invisible button.
For a moment Collins considered letting the Utilizer go. Maybe this was the time. He could sell the house, the furnishings, and still be pretty well off …