The Universe Between

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They cut the current the instant the trouble began, switched off the main pumps and broke into the vault. Half-dragging the man from the chamber, they tried to slap him into silence as he screamed, cowering and shrieking and covering his face with both hands. Finally a sedative shot quelled the original attack; the man just sat blubbering in a chair, staring at nothing, his whole body shaking violently. Then, like the others, he took a sudden breath and sagged forward. The doctor from the Hoffman Center caught him and eased him down to the floor. They had the resuscitator and heart-stimulator at hand, of course, but it was no good. Five minutes later the man’s pulse and blood pressure were gone. He was dead.

Dr. John McEvoy twisted the small round object from his clenched fist and examined it under the arc light: an eight-centimeter ball of rubber, slick and smooth on the outside. With a pocket knife McEvoy sliced through the outer covering of the ball to reveal the fuzzy down that lined the hollow interior. Angrily, he tossed the ball to the technician. “There’s your tennis ball,” he said.

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