"All right, Raymond." She gestured to the light-loop's glowing, door-like frame. "Go through." "Go _through_--?" "Yes. Ahead of me. I'll follow." "No." Horning put flat finality into his voice. "You don't understand what that frame is for, Myrtle--what lies on the other side--" "Don't tell me what I don't understand!" For an instant the old stridency rang in Myrtle's words. "I've read those things you wrote--remember? Your notes, too. I know what I'm doing!" She thrust the pistol forward. "Go on! Go through!" Once again, Horning studied his wife's face, to no avail. He made a wry mouth. Then, turning, he walked up the ramp, and stepped through the light-loop's pulsating, tube-laden frame. The silver plain stretched endlessly before him ... infinitely vast, infinitely lonely. Horning shivered a little and swung about. A bulky figure loomed close at hand, framed in the light-loop's glow. A moment later, Myrtle was beside him, staring across the shimmering wastes wide-eyed. She cringed before the immensity and desolation of it, knuckles white, face slack and waxy grey. Horning could almost taste her fear. He prodded her: "What now?" She shook as with a chill, not answering. Then, peering down into the scanner screen, she fumbled with the calibrated knobs that shifted the scene from plane to plane. Horning began, "If you'd only tell me what you want--" "Shut up." The seconds ticked into minutes. The minutes marched stolidly on. A half hour dragged by. An hour. And still Myrtle spun the registration dials. Horning shifted, closed his eyes. A haze seemed to rise about him. He was so tired he could hardly stand. Myrtle said, "Raymond...." Horning shook away the haze. * * * * * His wife's expression was more unfathomable than ever. She stepped closer, and now he saw that she was holding out the pistol, butt-foremost, as if to hand it to him. He reached up to take the weapon. But instead of releasing it, she brushed his hand aside and brought the gun-butt down sharply on the screen of Horning's scanning scope. The scanner smashed to splinters. Horning went rigid. But before he could move, his wife had jerked back the gun, reversed it, and leveled it at him. Horning cursed aloud. For the first time, Myrtle smiled. It reminded Horning of the grin on a bleaching skull. She said: "Set your dials at 830-X-974." For a moment Horning hesitated. But the gun was very steady. Seething, he did as he was told. "Now turn your projector drive to high." Horning gripped the corner of his unit's bulky case. "Where are you sending me? Why did you smash the scanner so I couldn't see?" "We're both going. Turn it to high." Her eyes mocked him. The pistol menaced. Horning threw the switch. "Now, reintegrate...." A wave of utter helplessness, utter hopelessness, engulfed Horning. He pressed the button.