Stephen Marlowe

“ Liddell went on, "you'd be gambling and gambling badly with the unpredictability factor. One sub-space transfer out of two, according to statistics, is not routine. Oh, not essentially dangerous as long as there's someone at the transfer unit station to correct any inconsistencies in transfer as they arise. But if there's no one, you'll float in sub-space forever, not going hungry, not going thirsty, not growing older, but slowly going crazy with changelessness...." ”

“ Liddell shrugged and offered an expansive gesture which was meant to take in the round globe of their living quarters and the transfer unit. "We're nowhere," he said. "Or we're everywhere. It depends on what sub-space school you belong to. You see, sub-space is either utterly nowhere, existing below the normal endless but finite, self-contained space-time continuity or else it is potentially everywhere, existing just below the warp and woof of space-time on a thousand thousand worlds...." ”

“ Liddell nodded. "Well, they had the shimmering part right, anyway. But it wouldn't have been a space ship."
"It wouldn't have been a space ship," Linda agreed.
"Because there's no necessity to breathe or to carry out any of the normal biological functions in sub-space. There isn't any heat in sub-space and there isn't any cold. There is only nothingness and nothingness can have absolutely no effect on an organism. ”

“ But it doesn't even do that."
"Sub-space," Liddell offered. "Absolute nothingness. It's funny, you always picture nothingness as being black. But it's not. It's gray. Plain, featureless, changeless gray."
"Brother!" Linda said. "Can I ever see why they only take husband-wife teams in the Transfer Service."
"I'll bite. Why?"
"Because a man alone could go off his rocker thinking the things you think. He needs a girl around."
"Does he?" Liddell asked, then waited until Linda had begun to pout before he whirled around and took her in his arms, his back to the blank transfer screen. ”

“ It isn't hot enough yet to put a good crust on—"
"A fine time to talk about cooking," Liddell shouted, hoping his voice would carry back into the galley over the click-clacking racket of the sub-space communicator. "Hey here's more from the Luna outbound station," he added as the transfer screen pulsed and flashed again. ”

“ At the last census it had a population of over a hundred million, but it's more than six hundred light years from Earth, the twelfth planet of a system in which seven, nine, ten, eleven, twelve and fourteen are inhabited or habitable...."
"All right, all right. Cut all the details. How do I know you're telling the truth about Deneb Twelve?" ”

“ This is Liddell at sub-space B-11. Received your message and your John Smith. Trouble. Station suspended until further notice. Send no one through as there will be no one to receive them.
The message sent, Liddell replotted the transfer unit, double-checking his previous findings. He then set the controls on automatic and climbed the steps to the screen. He did not bother going to the arsenal for a weapon. Where he was going weapons would be useless, he thought. Where he was going, no man had ever gone before. ”

“ Linda's voice came to him. It was followed at once by a scream and Short's shout:
"Shut your trap if you know what's good for you."
Liddell swam. The motion came to him unbidden but he felt himself moving through the gray nothingness. He could see nothing except his own arms as he made the swimming motions and moved. Swimming through nothingness? But there was no medium to push against. Another physical law, a law of our universe, Liddell knew which went by the boards in sub-pace.
"I'm coming, Linda."
"He's got your blaster. He's ... ”