"This globe is a robot mechanism," Joe said hastily. "It transmuted the metal atoms of that car into molecules of air. It can change any matter into any shape, form, or object desired! Watch!" Swiftly, he began typing again.
The swirling glow and sound effects were repeated.
And in the driveway, poised gracefully on its tricycle landing gear, was a small, gleaming light plane!
"I made that out of air molecules, too," Joe explained. "That is, the robot made it."
"Get—get that airplane off my driveway!" Bowen stammered hoarsely. "The neighbors will—"
Joe typed busily. The glow and noise repeated. The plane disappeared.
"Now you've seen it," Joe said quietly, gazing up at the tall, dazed man. "This is what I want to talk to you about. I—I need help, Mr. Bowen—"
"Come in," Bowen said weakly. "Come in—but turn that god-forsaken thing off!" He turned and walked back into the house. "Atomic bombs, hydrogen bombs—and now, this! And I'd always thought they'd have rocket ships first—"
Joe followed him in through a short foyer to a small, comfortable living room. Then, in the living room doorway, he stopped. He felt the breath go out of him in a long sigh, and an excited fluttering in his chest.
Barbara Bowen stood across the room, beside the front window. She had heard the noises, had seen what happened. She was pale and frightened. And she was beautiful. Soft, dark hair framed a peach oval of a face with large gray eyes, short nose, and perfect lips. A soft blue housecoat draped over a smoothly curved, long-limbed figure.