In conclusion, it might be wise to remember that illegal possession of wealth in your time is punishable by law. I trust, for your own sake, you will exercise the utmost discretion.
Sincerely,
Myytnor Skurle
Director, Historial Research
Galactic Renaissance, Sol III
Joe put the letter carefully on the bed beside him and reached into the box for the robot. He lifted it out. It was a shimmering, silver-gray globe, lighter than aluminum, with one side of it flattened to accommodate a keyboard. It was about the size of a bowling ball, he guessed. The keyboard had small push-buttons, lettered exactly like a typewriter, with a small glass lens above it. He struck the "J" key and a tiny, glowing "J" appeared in the center of the lens. He punched the tab marked "clear" at the top of the keyboard, and the "J" vanished.
His mind reeled at the implications of what he had read. Anything he wanted was his, merely by typing its name on this keyboard! Even objects he only imagined, which didn't even exist—spaceships, antigravity devices, anything....
His thoughts were confused. What did he want? Money? But what good was money when he wouldn't have to buy anything? What did he want?
He felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to confide in someone—to ask someone—
He rested the globe in his lap, clutching it with moist, slippery palms. His vision was blurred, his hands fumbling, as he pecked at the keyboard:
TELEPHONE
There was a swirling glow of blue radiance, a faintly audible click from within the globe—then a loud, sharp crack and the smell of ozone!