of footsteps, trying desperately in the haze of half-sleep to identify the location of the steps. As before, they came from the apartment directly above him. Footsteps in the hall, his upstairs neighbor walking in his apartment—events that had surely occurred in the past, but which he had not noticed.
Puskis followed the officer down a long, well-lit hallway and through a set of double doors into an auditorium. A wooden stage ran along the far wall, and before it several men in suits congregated, talking to the Chief. A curtain was drawn across the stage, and Puskis detected the odors of steel and oil—the smell of machinery.
His entrance broke up whatever conversation the men were having and the Chief strode over, grinning.
“Welcome, Mr. Puskis,” he said, extending his hand.
“I trust that I am not too late.”
“Not at all, not at all. Very punctual.”
Puskis was relieved to hear this as he was truly concerned that he might be late, what with the men waiting on him. Tardiness was an affront to order.
The Chief walked him over to the group of men and introduced each. Puskis, dazed by the blur of activity, shook hands solemnly with each man and in doing so missed their names. The last man introduced seemed the key member of the group, and Puskis did remember his name—Ricks. Ricks, like the others, was dressed in a dark, expensive suit. He was short and slight, almost like a child. His face was pinched, left eye pointed sightlessly up and to the left.
“Mr. Ricks has come up with something that is going to make your life much, much easier,” the Chief said with a bit too much enthusiasm. “We know how you love the new technologies.” He was looking sharp, Puskis noted, his normally disheveled uniform nicely pressed and his shoes recently polished.
“We are very excited about the potential.” Ricks spoke quickly in a high-pitched lisp. “We are, and the mayor is as well. Very excited.”
Puskis looked at Ricks in confusion. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ricks, I’m afraid I don’t know what you are, what you are speaking of.”
“No. No, of course not. It’s been kept under wraps you see. Until now. Now it is being unveiled, so to speak, to you, Mr. Puskis—the inspiration and greatest beneficiary, if that is the word, of this new machine. I have admired your work, Mr. Puskis, from afar. Yes, I have admired it greatly.”
Puskis simply stared at the little man, processing certain words that seemed to have greater importance—unveiled, inspiration, machine, admired. None of it made the slightest bit of sense, and Puskis became anxious to see what lay behind the curtain not out of curiosity, but out of a desire to bring to an end this sense of disorientation.
The Chief looked at Ricks, who gave a little nod. The Chief yelled, “Okay,” over his shoulder, and the curtain parted with surprising speed. Now revealed was a large machine that Puskis had not previously seen. Two huge spools of what appeared to be paper had numbers printed at various intervals. Each spool contained roughly half the paper, and a portion spanned the six or so feet in between the two spools. By the spool on the right was a box with a grid of buttons, not unlike a typewriter, but with close to ten times as many keys. The spools were about six feet high and the paper about the height of four sheets of regular paper laid from end to end.
Puskis was aware that people were looking at him, gauging his reaction. He looked helplessly at the Chief, who in turn looked toward Ricks.
Ricks cleared his throat and said, “It’s called a Retrievorator,” as if that explained anything.
“I see,” replied Puskis, who unaccountably felt his spirits sinking.
“Well, I don’t think you do quite yet, actually. Not yet. Please, come on up to the stage with me and we’ll take a closer look so you can see for yourself exactly what this thing can do. Up close.”
Ricks walked to the side of the stage where there were stairs, and Puskis followed him with the Chief bringing up the rear. The other men stayed below the stage and talked in hushed voices while watching the action above.
Ricks led Puskis to the box by the right-hand spool. Up close, Puskis could see that what had at first appeared to be paper was actually something much stronger, something thin and, he thought, composed of some sort of metal. The numbers he had seen from below were