"How long did the process last?" Bob asked.
"It was exactly thirty days since you reached Taval."
Jim whistled. "No wonder I was hungry. Thirty days."
"We injected fluids," Vasper told him. "You see, Kenley, we assimilate food here now chiefly in liquid form. Now the screen—we have reduced a margin of absolute zero between the walls of the screen, to a width that your obsolete measuring system cannot cover. The screen itself is not a physical wall. It is—well, unspatial. That is too advanced for either of you to grasp now. It is sufficient to explain that you touch the absolute zero wall, and are revived, all so instantaneously, that you are not conscious of the change. And in that transition, you reach any destination you head for."
"Simple," Jim groaned. "So very, very simple. Okay, and I thought Aladdin—or whoever he was, just happened to be a myth." Jim studied Vasper thoughtfully. "And now, my good friend, why are we here?"
"You," Vasper announced, "are here because of your friend Winslow. We are few, and we need brains, and fit bodies. Winslow has both. We search the back centuries constantly for men—and women. Men with brains to keep our race, and our world existing. We placed the skydome over all our cities because the sun will cool for a thousand years. We have learned that and must start now, to keep our plant and animal life from perishing, till the cycle ends and the earth grows hot again. You, Jim Kenley, were brought along because you are Winslow's friend, and your company will be of advantage while he adjusts himself to what must be an amazing change in his career."
"A master work of understatement," Bob observed. "Maybe I was serving my time to better purpose. It was all I wanted to do. Do you think I'm ever to be happy here?"
"What sort of ball clubs do you have?" Jim fired at Vasper. "I'll bet there's not even a golf club."
Vasper laughed. "You're due for some surprises, Kenley."