Joe Gibson

“ Bowen stepped out the door and stared at Joe's yellow convertible. Then he jerked back, startled.
There was a swirling blue glow from the bright globe, a faint click. And then—
Crack!
Bowen grabbed at the door, his eyes bulging as he stared out at the driveway. Air currents swirled and eddied across the front lawn. The convertible had vanished.
"This globe is a robot mechanism," Joe said hastily. "It transmuted the metal atoms of that car into molecules of air. It can change any matter into any shape, form, or object desired! Watch!" ”

“ A round airlock door stood open, waiting.
Joe raised the strange robot globe and depressed the keys. Out on the plain a space ship came into being.
"A—A rocket ship!" Bowen gasped.
"More than that!" Joe was grinning as he moved out toward the open airlock. "She's equipped with water and air purifying devices and food synthesis tanks that'll supply one man as long as ten years! She has antigravity equipment that can lift her right off the Earth—and a rocket drive that'll accelerate to a velocity of two hundred and seventy-eight miles per second! That's roughly a million miles an hour! ”

“ Barbara stammered.
"Do?" Joe leaped into the airlock, his robot clutched under his arm, and faced them with a laugh. "I'm going to the only place I'll be safe, Barbara! And I'll find out who built the canals on Mars! And what mysteries lie below the cloud-blanket of Venus! And whether any of the moons of Jupiter are inhabitable—"
"Y-you mean," Bowen sputtered, "you're going into space?"
Barbara shook her head. "But—not alone!"
A shadow flicked across Joe's young features. Then he grinned easily. "Why not? I'm no longer safe among men—"
"But you can't go alone!" she stormed. "You—Father! ”

“ Anything he wanted was his, merely by typing its name on this keyboard! Even objects he only imagined, which didn't even exist—spaceships, antigravity devices, anything....
His thoughts were confused. What did he want? Money? But what good was money when he wouldn't have to buy anything? ”

“ Bowen stared into space, nodded, and grunted a few times. Finally, he cleared his throat and began speaking.
"Mr. Linger, the bills that robot made are perfect. You couldn't spot one of 'em for a counterfeit in a million years! And we've just discovered that not only will the robot make weapons, but anyone can work it—not just you! That puts a pretty serious light on the business. I'm thoroughly convinced, young man, that with that robot of yours, any man could become the ruler of the world!"
Joe gasped faintly. ”

“ Joe Linger raised up on one elbow and stared at the door, frowning. "Who is it?" he called out.
A muffled voice answered from beyond the cracked, peeling wood. "Package for Mr. Joseph Linger!"
"Just a minute!" Joe laid his magazine aside, rolled to the edge of the bed, and pulled on his trousers. Rising, he poked his feet into frayed slippers and, walking to the door, swung it open.
"Sign here, please!" A little, old man stood in the doorway. He held a large square package under one arm and extended the other, holding out a clipboard and pencil to Joe. ”

“ Beyond the clearing was the sandy shore and the lake.
"There's our cabin," Barbara acknowledged, as Joe headed the car toward it. He parked under the trees and they got out. He carried the bright globe under his arm.
"Well," Bowen said, facing him, "We're here, now. What is it you plan to do, Joe?"
Joe nodded toward the clearing. "I think I'd better do it out there," he said.
"It's wonderful up here on weekends," Barbara remarked, matching stride with them as they started toward the clearing. ”

“ It will fashion any object you desire from surrounding matter—solid objects, air molecules, anything within a thousand yards of it—if you but type out the name and description of the desired object on its keyboard. Thus, if you wish an automobile, take the robot to a deserted road and type on its keyboard the word, "automobile." By influencing the sub-atomic forces of the dirt in the road, the empty air over the road, perhaps the grass along the side of the road, the robot will make you an automobile. ”

“ Enclosed is a product of our civilization. You would probably call it a robot. It should never have existed in your time; therefore, it will induce considerable stress upon probability. A branch in time should result, if not when the robot arrives, certainly when you make use of it. That, of course, is where you come in.
We have sent this robot because it will repay you many times over for your assistance in our project. We have scanners focused on your time, ready to record the branching and probability stress when it occurs. We ask only your cooperation. You may keep the robot, of course. ”

“ She was wearing brief shorts and a sweater, with a bright kerchief tied around her head. "There's swimming and fishing and no one to bother us. Father's always wished he could build a home up here—"
Joe stopped, turning to her father. "Have you?"
Bowen nodded, frowning. "Always wanted a quiet, little place for the day I retire—"
"Just a minute, then!" Joe faced back toward the cabin and steadied the robot. Deftly, he began typing: SMALL HOUSE FROM CABIN FOR MR. BOWEN, ALL CONVENIENCES, FURNISHED.
There was the blue glow and faint click from the globe—then, a thunderous crash from the trees! ”

“ Only a few have succeeded in returning—by recording the complete facts of history as they went into the past, then stopping and checking those facts every few years on their return. When the facts didn't check, they knew they were off on another branch leading to another universe ”

“ No sharp crack, no smell of ozone. The robot had failed!
Joe sighed dismally. Resignedly, he steadied the robot in his lap and reached his thumb for the "clear" button. Then he saw it.
The tiny, glowing letters beneath the lens were different! The words he'd typed out were no longer there!
In their stead, he read:
DELAWARE 6-2717,
ASK FOR BARBARA!
He dialed the number.
"Hello?" a soft, feminine voice answered.
"Is this Barbara?" he asked.
"Yes. Who're you?"
"Joe Linger," he said. "Are you beautiful?"
"Why—I suppose so," came the modest answer. "What—"
"Can I trust you?" Joe persisted. ”

“ We have chosen you to assist us in an important research project, because our investigation has found you to be a science fiction enthusiast. We believe you have a better chance of comprehending the scope of our research than would most people of your time. ”