"Yeah," Jim agreed. "But if anybody else I know sees me, I'll be ribbed for life. Say, that's the funniest stuff. Soft as velvet, but thick. Oh well—"
They got into everything but the helmets. "Now what," Jim wondered, handling the headpiece. "Lighter'n aluminum. And it's got earphones, or something. See."
"Put them on," a voice suggested behind them. Turning, they saw Vasper as he stepped casually through the screen. He was a six footer, built like a halfback, with ruddy hair and blue eyes. "We must all wear them in Taval."
"Why?" Jim demanded bluntly.
"Why? For instructions from The Three, of course. They are our leaders and no man may be out of their reach."
At a nod from Bob, Jim slipped on the featherweight headgear. Bob found it didn't interfere with ordinary conversation. Vasper regarded them, smiling. "I know how you feel," he said. "My special task covers your century. That's why I speak your language so well. All Taval speaks English, with variations, for we are descendants of North American peoples. But first, you are to go with me to the Twentieth Century dining-room." He led the way to the screen. By now Bob wasn't surprised at entering a room with a familiar look. It was a restaurant, with a white coated waiter, and the smell of steaming foods. "Boy," Jim cried. "I could eat a four-inch steak smothered with onions. And coffee—smell it Bob. Just smell."
Bob felt like an animal, was conscious of a hunger he had never possessed before. Obviously Jim was in the same mood, for he fairly yanked a bowl of soup from the waiter's grasp. And there was steak, juicy and appetizing. There was bread, coffee, vegetables and even pie. And as they ate, Vasper sat there, smiling as if very much pleased. At last both men knew they were filled. Jim sighed, reached dreamily for a cigarette. "Anyway," he reflected, "it's worth this namby pamby business—a feed like that. Okay, Vasper—let's hear details."
Vasper got up. "I've warned you sufficiently," he said. "I think perhaps I had better take you outside. To see Taval."
"That the name of your city?" Jim inquired, winking at Bob. "How far is it from our home?"
"A few hundred miles," Vasper answered. "And more than a thousand years, this way—"