Fantastic Stories Presents the Imagination (Stories of Science and Fantasy) Super Pack. Edmond Hamilton

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      “No.”

      “That’s funny . . . .”

       Hello. Where are you?

      “I’m right here beside you,” she said.

      “What are you talking about?” the young man said.

       What planet are you on?

      William’s lips hadn’t moved that time. She’d been watching. She thought the young man was somehow trying to make fun of her.

      “Excuse me,” she said coldly. She picked up her apple and her pen knife and her handbag and brushed past him into the aisle. She looked around, saw a seat three rows back on the opposite side of the bus. She went to it and settled down, moving over against the window.

      William was staring around at her with a puzzled expression on his face.

       Hello.

      She jerked her head away from him angrily and stared out the window at the cold, barren plain. He’s not at all nice, she thought.

       Hello.

      Grimly she refused to listen. He must be doing it with a sort of radio set, she thought. It’s probably some sort of thing they advertize in magazines for $2.98. She blinked her eyes. I wish he’d stop. I don’t think it’s a bit funny.

       Hello.

      After a few more miles, the voice stopped.

      Morosely Julia finished peeling her apple.

      *

      It was cold in the Hollywood bus depot; chill rain drizzled down from a leaden sky.

      She stood in the protection of the building, bag in hand, shivering miserably. Twice she waved futilely for a cab. On the third attempt, she got one.

      The driver opened the door for her, and she bolted through the rain to its inviting back seat.

      “Take me to some nice hotel,” she said.

      The driver flipped up the flag and gunned the motor.

      Five minutes later she was paying him ninety cents; leaving the extra dime out of the dollar for a tip, she ran for the hotel steps.

      After she registered, she asked the fatherly old gentleman at the desk, “Where does a person go to meet people?” Water trickled down from her hair and across her face.

      He bent forward and narrowed his eyes. “Meet people?” he asked; his tone had grown cold and suspicious.

      She bit her lip in embarrassment. Did I say something wrong? she thought. “Never mind,” she said, wanting to cry. “I’m not going to stay in this horrible town a minute more than I have to!”

      “She,” the bellboy said when he came down stairs, “is crazy.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You should have seen her walk through the door.” He pronounced the last word emphatically.

      “You mean doorway.”

      “I mean door,” the bell boy said. “It was closed when she done it.”

      “I’m going to have to keep an eye on her,” the clerk said, clucking his tongue in dry disapproval.

      *

      Now how did I do that? Julia asked herself. She walked to the door and put her hand through it. She wiggled her fingers. She half-opened the door and put her hand through it again. It came out on the other side. She moved her arm back and forth. It felt prickly.

      She crossed to the bed and sat down. This isn’t so good, she thought. I’ve got to figure out how I did that.

      She closed her eyes tightly. Other people can’t put their hands through doors, she thought. Other people can’t heal cuts by looking at them, either . . . . I never could before; I don’t feel any different from other people.

      And then a little chill of fear ran up and down her spine. Suppose the bed, the floor, the earth below were suddenly to become as unsubstantial as the door. I might drop clear through to China, to, to . . . .

      Her fingernails were making red creases in her palms.

      She stood up and stamped on the floor. Her knees trembled. The floor was solid.

      She went to the door. It is solid, she thought. She let her fingers explore the surface. She sighed, feeling the rough texture of the wood.

      Now, she thought. I can reach through it.

      Her hand passed through it easily.

      She went back to the bed and sat down.

      I did it with my mind, she thought. I wanted to put my hand through the door, and I did. In front of the bell hop, I suddenly felt so sure that I could walk through the door that . . . I did.

      I’m going to figure out how I did that, she thought, her mouth tightening into a thin little line of resolution. Because if I learned to do it, anyone else could learn . . . .

       Hello.

      Her hands clenched into annoyed little fists. She went to the window and looked out. She opened the door and looked up and down the corridor. No William.

       Hello.

      “He . . . hello.”

       Good, you can hear me. What planet are you on?

      “The same planet everyone else is.”

       . . . the third one from the sun?

      She tried to remember her high school science survey course; and she found that she could remember it very clearly. Of course, it is.

       That’s funny.

      *

      She realized that she had thought her last statement, and that he (she was sure that the voice belonged to a he) had answered it nevertheless. She was exchanging thoughts with someone!

      Hello, she thought weakly. She gulped. What do you look like? How many arms and legs do you have?

       Two of each.

      Her mind was very alert and active. She could think with great clarity. Describe yourself. She received a mental impression of him.

      She let out her breath. He was human, after all; as human as anybody. And handsome.

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