The Cosmic Snare

Sub-space was a vast nothingness used for instantaneous travel between stellar worlds. It was uncharted, and—Liddell knew—a death trap!
Liddell stared expectantly at the blank screen of the transfer unit. It had been blank ever since he had arrived with his wife at the doorway, enigmatically, mysteriously, sometimes frighteningly blank.
See anything? Linda asked. Liddell's wife of one month was a tall but trimly built girl in the uniform of the Transfer Service. She leaned anxiously over Liddell's shoulder now as he peered at the dazzling white screen.
Not yet, he said, licking his lips. It was just a hunch, anyway.
What was just a hunch, darling?
That we'd see anything now.
But you said—
I know what I said, Linda. That we'd had enough time to get used to this transfer station. That we'd read all the instructions and advice left by our predecessor. That we'd—
Then where's our first customer? Linda demanded with a pout.
Liddell grinned and craned his neck to peck a kiss at his young wife's cheek. Don't tell me you're lonely already! he gasped, feigning amazement.
No, but—
Suddenly, the lines of Liddell's gaunt face went serious. The lighthouse keepers of last century had nothing on us, he said.