t the wall, that reminded one of the waiting room in an old railroad depot. In the grill was a little window, with a lazy, brown-eyed youth leaning on the shelf behind it. Beyond him was a great, glittering piece of mechanism, half hidden by the brass. A little door gave access to the machine from the space before the grill.
The thin man in black, whom Eric now recognized as a prominent French heart-specialist, was dancing before the window, waving his bag frantically, raving at the sleepy boy.
"Queek! I have tell you zee truth! I have zee most urgent necessity to go queekly. A patient I have in Paree, zat ees in zee most creetical condition!"
"Hold your horses just a minute, Mister. We got a client in the machine now. Russian diplomat from Moscow to Rio de Janeiro.... Two hundred seventy dollars and eighty cents, please.... Your turn next. Remember this is just an experimental service. Regular installations all over the world in a year.... Ready now. Come on in."
The youth took th
An early, unsophisticated story by Williamson. A married couple, he an adventure writer, she a poet, bemoan the comforts of (future) modern civilization. They sleep in twin beds and he uses a (presumably atomic) typewriter. They decide to have themselves teleported to the primeval planet, Venus.
There's no character development, descriptions are tepid, and the plotting is predictable to a 7 year old.