An Introduction by Peregrine Tripp:
"Nothing we can dream up in our wildest flights of imagination can match the bizarre qualities of a multi-reality universe; but however strange and unpredictable the cosmos may be, it is not random but has logic and structure.
The problem is that every time we discover a new aspect of its power that we can put to use, the innovation loses its wonder and becomes absorbed in the routine of everyday life.
"This was the case with inter-dimensional travel in my home world of Earth Minor, a satellite of the original Earth. Portal journeys are long established, and most people consider it normal to contact a travel agent and book a voyage on an inter-dimensional portal.
"But, rather like luxury sea cruises on Earth, it is very expensive and has become the exclusive preserve of the rich.
"I had developed a hankering to travel in my gap year before I went up to university, and I decided to take a chance and see if I could talk an agent into selling me a portal trip at a low price.
"To tell the story, I will revert, as far as I am able, to the voice, thoughts, and opinions of my seventeen-year-old self. As the narrative progresses, my changing attitudes and those of my contemporaries will reflect our growing maturity.
"Episode One starts below. I hope you enjoy the journey."
Chapter One.
"Interdimensional travel, please."
The reception clerk ignored me and continued running his grubby index finger down a long column of neatly annotated figures in an open ledger. His lips moved silently as he laboriously tried to keep a running total in his head, allowing me to take a closer look at him.
Following the grand nineteenth-century style of his employers at 'Menschen's Portal Emporium,' he dressed (badly) in the fashion of that era: a black dress coat with shiny elbows, a faded white shirt with a heavily starched upright collar, badly frayed, and around it a drooping black tie, surprisingly finished off in a fashionable bow. Did this awkward-looking character have social aspirations?
Eventually, he admitted defeat in his task and, with a pained sigh, removed his finger from its place on the column of figures and closed the ledger. An eyebrow twitched in grudging recognition of my presence, and he bowed respectfully.
"With pleasure, sir, I will make the necessary arrangements. If you would care to wait."
His thin voice was an unpleasant nasal whine with a fake upper-class accent that was unintentionally comic, and I tried not to laugh at his strangulated pronunciation.
Earth Minor, my home world, has a population of immigrants from different historical periods in the parent world, and we take pride in our cosmopolitan way of life. All accents are socially acceptable here, but any attempt to conceal your heritage by mimicking a different accent to impress, especially British, goes against the grain.
Our planet is an artificial satellite built to house refugees from an overcrowded Earth, but we are fiercely independent. Most people dressed according to the historical era of the country of their ancestors, in the same way that the clerk had adopted the dress code of his employers. Still, for the receptionist of a high-class travel portal emporium, his appearance fell far below the expected standard. For a start, he looked in need of a wash. His shirt was more grey than white, and his bow tie was crooked, but I was not in the position to criticise and carefully folded my arms to conceal the rip in my T-shirt.
After his automatic greeting, he now gave me the full once-over, and by the way his lip curled, I guessed he did not like what he saw. Assuming that I was an easy target and unable to fight back, he smirkingly made what he imagined to be a witty riposte.
"I assume, sir, that you have a client account with us. You are a gold cardholder, perhaps."
Heavy sarcasm was no substitute for wit, but it was not in my interest to point this out.
"Well, no," I said. "That is, not now. You see…"
He didn't let me finish.
"In that case, sir, you need to make an appointment. You can contact General Enquiries here with most acoustic devices. If you don't own one yourself, then perhaps a neighbour will oblige. Please close the door as you leave."
As he was picking up his ledger, he glanced at my hand and breathed in sharply. His manner instantly changed, and he became pathetically servile, wringing his hands together and bowing low.
"My dear sir, do forgive me. My lapse in manners was quite deplorable."
He coughed deferentially.
"I believe that the signet ring you are wearing bears the crest of Lord Foxberry. A most noble family. His Lordship is an esteemed client of ours. Would you give the honour of allowing me to inspect the ring more closely?
I shrugged and handed him the ring. It made no difference to me, but I had no idea why. He instantly produced a magnifying glass and looked at the seal.
"Magnificent! You are the younger son, perhaps?
"Oh, dear, manners, Mr. Cheap, manners," he said before I could reply. "It is not my place to ask personal questions of Your Grace. Please excuse my impertinence. Do you wish to open an account as a new customer?"
He handed the ring back, but I confess that Mr. Cheap baffled me.
'Lord Foxberry?'
Who was he talking about? My father worked for the city council, and my sister gave me the ring for my birthday, she made it herself. She is pretty expert at that kind of stuff and works as a designer in a factory where they manufacture imitation jewellery. The crest was a fake, but it was good enough to fool Mr Cheap. I had no idea that it was the crest of Lord Foxberry. She must have copied it from a magazine.
This deferential attitude from Mr. Cheap made me feel even more uncomfortable than I already was. Menschen Brothers, 'Specialists in Inter-Dimensional Travel,' was an exclusive establishment, and a scruffy, seventeen-year-old student like me was not their typical customer.
I had planned to overcome their prejudice by adopting what I imagined to be the appropriate style of speech for this era, based on the novels of Charles Dickens we were reading for my English class. Taking a deep breath, I plunged straight in.
"A potential new customer, if you wish to be precise, but I will not quibble with words. Time is too precious to insist on grammatical exactitude in matters of business. Do I have the pleasure, sir, of addressing the manager of this establishment?"
"Oh no, sir," he replied with an ingratiating smile. "But these are the early days of my career, sir, and the best is yet to come. I am Cluan Cheap by name and humble by nature. I serve my superiors as a mere clerk, sir, a simple employee, somebody of no great account. Yet for all my 'umbleness, so sorry, my humbleness, people often remark that I have a certain flair for business matters, especially those, how shall we say it, at the fringes of normal business practice, but profitable, sir, always profitable. In my modest way, I can be of valuable assistance to a young gentleman like yourself, a person of means and noble family, for whom the details of business and commerce are too sordid for any personal involvement."
Mr. Cheap gave me a conspiratorial wink and leaned over the counter as if about to impart a great secret, but first, he glanced theatrically over his shoulder to check that nobody else could hear. He edged closer, and I caught a whiff of his stale breath.
"No doubt, your portal travel will simply be a holiday jaunt with fellow nobles of your acquaintance; one finds society so quiet during the summer months. While you are away, I recommend that you engage my services as your financial advisor. You will find that my youthful verve, flair, and complete discretion will ensure that your business affairs flourish. Unlike older men in my line of business who insist on clinging to outdated conventions and codes of conduct, my approach is more flexible; rules and regulations have no place in the modern world of commerce."
I didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but he was way too close and personal, and I instinctively backed off. Mr. Cheap's emotional antennae, no doubt honed by many shady deals, instantly picked up on my reluctance to proceed.
"Pray, do not be deceived by my present modest circumstances, sir. I am an up-and-coming young man with bright prospects. 'One to watch,' as I overheard a leader in the business world describe me to a friend."
From an outside corridor came the sound of approaching footsteps, and Mr. Cheap cocked his head to one side, ears outstretched like a guard dog, but he must have recognised who it was, and he hurried to bring our interview to a close.
"Enough for the present," he said. "Address all correspondence for the personal attention of Mr. Cluan Cheap. I am always the first to see the mail, and I will reply by return mail. Now, sir, may I have the honour of shaking your hand and sealing our agreement? As gentlemen, we require no further assurance; our word is our bond. Quickly now, if you would, sir."
I had no intention of entering into any dealings with Mr. Cheap, but he clasped my hand in a limp grip, and his flesh had the queasy softness of a wet fish. His fingers eventually let go, and I rubbed my palm against the cloth of my jeans, trying to remove every trace of his touch.
"Good morning" said a severe looking, but strikingly handsome lady, in a black Victorian dress. She crossed the heavily carpeted floor, pushing an antique vacuum cleaner.
She glanced at the clerk behind the counter, and he cringed under her gaze.
"What are you doing front of house, Cheap?" She barked, "Your place is in the back office."
"I know my place well, ma'am. I just came out to ascertain some figures from the Daily Sales Ledger."
His words and tone were polite, but his body shook with indignation. It was clear that Mr. Cheap did not appreciate interference with his duties.
"Well, go and ascertain them somewhere else," said the lady brusquely.
Mr. Cheap scuttled off without another word.
"My apologies for this undignified reception, young man. Somebody of more importance will be here to deal with you shortly."