Very slowly, very wearily, Horning rose. Wordless, he crossed to the transdimensional registration unit and strapped it on.
"Go over in the corner," his wife ordered. "Stand with your face against the wall."
Horning obeyed. He wondered whether Myrtle intended to shoot him in the back.
Or maybe she'd just gone mad.
Whatever it was, he decided, he didn't much care.
Metal scraped on metal. Something thudded on the floor. The hoarse wheeze of Myrtle's breathing, the slap and shuffle of her mules, sounded loud in the stillness.
After another moment, Myrtle said, "Turn around."
Horning pivoted, then stared.
His wife now wore the other transit unit, the one by means of which Horning's counterpart had crossed the barrier between the parallel worlds.