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!