"That," I said, "is the question. With a capital Q. How could you possibly—"
I stopped in shock. Those dark eyes had been looking directly at me—and the image of them was planted on my retinal patterns like a commercial symbol lingering on a stereo tube—but she, eyes and all—and I do mean all—was gone.
Just like that. Blinko. Not over and out. Just out.
I know I acted irrationally then. I scurried around the quickly warming room, searching behind the proton beam accelerator, the control and monitor consoles, the relay racks and equipment cabinets, feeling that she just had to be somewhere!
The door opened. I whirled around expectantly. It wasn't she; it was George Herrmann, my assistant.
George regarded me searchingly, his lean face lugubrious.
"What gives, Bob?" he asked. "You look as if you'd lost the world!"
"Maybe I have," I said, leaping to the visifone.
George watched me button Miami Exchange and said, "You realize what Jack Hagen thinks about long distance calls!"