barney couldn't have said exactly what he expected to be shown. his imaginings had run in the direction of a camouflaged vault beneath mcallen's house—some massively-walled place with machinery that powered the matter transmitter purring along the walls ... and perhaps something in the style of a plastic diving bell as the specific instrument of transportation.

the actual experience was quite different. mcallen returned shortly, having changed into the familiar outdoor clothing—apparently he had been literal about going on a fishing trip. barney accompanied the old physicist into the living room, and watched him open a small but very sturdy wall safe. immediately behind the safe door, an instrument panel had been built in the opening.

peering over the spectacles, mcallen made careful adjustments on two sets of small dials, and closed and locked the safe again.

"now, if you'll follow me, mr. chard—" he crossed the room to a door, opened it, and went out. barney followed him into a small room with rustic furnishings and painted wooden walls. there was a single, heavily curtained window; the room was rather dim.

"well," mcallen announced, "here we are."

it took a moment for that to sink in. then, his scalp prickling eerily, barney realized he was standing farther from the wall than he had thought. he looked around, and discovered there was no door behind him now, either open or closed.

he managed a shaky grin. "so that's how your matter transmitter works!"

"well," mcallen said thoughtfully, "of course it isn't really a matter transmitter. i call it the mcallen tube. even an educated layman must realize that one can't simply disassemble a living body at one point, reassemble it at another, and expect life to resume. and there are other considerations—"

"where are we?" barney asked. "on mallorca?"

"no. we haven't left the continent—just the state. look out the window and see for yourself."

mcallen turned to a built-in closet, and barney drew back the window hangings. outside was a grassy slope, uncut and yellowed by the summer sun. the slope dropped sharply to a quiet lakefront framed by dark pines. there was no one in sight, but a small wooden dock ran out into the lake. at the far end of the dock an old rowboat lay tethered. and—quite obviously—it was no longer the middle of a bright afternoon; the air was beginning to dim, to shift towards evening.

barney turned to find mcallen's mild, speculative eyes on him, and saw the old man had put a tackle box and fishing rod on the table.

"your disclosures disturbed me more than you may have realized," mcallen remarked by way of explanation. his lips twitched in the shadow of a smile. "at such times i find nothing quite so soothing as to drop a line into water for a while. i've got some thinking to do, too. so let's get down to the dock. there ought to be a little bait left in the minnow pail."