"Fellows!" I cried. "Someone's not playing fair! In the last few minutes, Miss Schoener has been in Siberia, in Hanford, Washington, U.S.A., in Munich, Germany, and in Paris. This—"
"She's back again!" Sosnowski cried from Hanford.
I swung to the Hanford screen. "Ted," I said, "stop switching the AGS off and on. It could be dangerous. The gauss level might even bring her to critical mass. You're playing with something we know little about."
Sosnowski rolled his eyes from the screen to Elaine. "Brother," he said, "this girl's always near critical mass! And I'm not playing. I'd be happy if she'd stay right here!"
But she wasn't there.
"Ona krasavitsa," a jubilant voice said.
The Siberia screen displayed a Russian doing the sabre dance before Elaine's eyes, and an interpreter somewhere in the vast UNACME network was helpfully murmuring, "She is beautiful."
At which point Monsieur DuBois said throatily to an abruptly materialized vision, "Tu es belle. Reste ici, ma chere!" And then swore with Gallic fluency as thin air alone vibrated to his impassioned words.
While Al Benson at Phoenix began a John Alden speech in my behalf.
I was silent, studying Elaine's lovely face as Al spoke to her. She was apparently enjoying every second of her fantastic flitting yet I could see perplexity deep in her dark eyes. I thought I could see a bewilderment, a lostness.