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I’m sure people will say, because a five-second ‘Beam me up, Scotty,’ is certainly more fantastic than the forty-five-minute process it actually is.”
    I’m astonished that he thinks I might have forgotten any of the details he has been hammering into me over the past few weeks.
    â€œDo you have any questions before we get started?” he asks me.
    I look around the room, wondering rhetorically just how I came to be in this situation, how I went from being a middle-class pencil pusher to a near-millionaire about to risk his life in the name of corporate science. And just as I am ready to tell him to get on with the test, I spot something on the ceiling that gives me pause.
    â€œWhat’s that camera doing up there?” I ask him. “Who’s watching us?”
    Batista’s nearly imperceptible pause is enough to tell me he’s about to lie.
    â€œNo one,” he answers. “It’s been standard procedure to record each transmission test.”
    This makes perfect sense, of course, but somehow I get the idea that others with vested interest in this test are watching remotely. The board of directors at our home office in Plano, for instance? Or maybe investors? But why wouldn’t they want to observe their precious invention in person?
    â€œYou sure? If anyone else wants to watch, why don’t they just come in here and—”
    â€œCameron,” Batista growls, “may I remind you that we are rewarding you handsomely for this test in part because of your sworn secrecy? I don’t think ridiculous questions about possible outside observers solidifies with me your ability to keep your mouth shut.”
    In seconds, Batista has reminded me of my place in this situation, of how I am no more than a pawn (albeit a soon-to-be-rich one) in his worldly chess game.
    â€œFine,” I tell him. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
    â€œVery well, then,” he says, and nods to Gates. The security director walks to the door marked LUGGAGE and opens it. From here I don’t really notice anything remarkable about the space inside. Looks sort of like a shiny, metal closet.
    â€œWe’ll send luggage and anything else inanimate through first,” Cheryl says to me. “If that’s okay with you.”
    I nod obediently. As if it would make a difference if I disagreed.
    â€œOnce inside the portal, you’ll have a few moments to remove the gown, undergarments, and any jewelry. There is a small trapdoor marked CLOTHING , and you’ll want to place these items inside it. They will be transmitted along with your luggage.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Silence creeps into the room now as I wait for more instructions. Beside me, Misty stands perfectly still, although inside she must be screaming. Like I am screaming. This is crazy.
    â€œIs there anything else, Cameron?” asks Batista. “Or are you—”
    â€œI’d like a moment alone with my wife, if that’s okay.”
    He clasps his hands together again. “Of course! Of course. Cheryl? Stephen?”
    The three of them smile politely and leave the terminal. Misty’s hand is on my arm even before they are gone.
    â€œCameron, I don’t like this.”
    â€œI know you don’t. I’m a little nervous myself.”
    â€œNo, I don’t like
this.
This whole operation. Something isn’t right.”
    â€œWhat? What’s not right about it?”
    â€œFor one thing, where the hell
is
everyone? You’d think they’d have the board of directors or investors or someone else important here to see you off. It’s not like they’ve got a hundred volunteers lined up outside the door.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s what the video camera is for,” I tell her. “You saw how sensitive he was when I asked him about it.”
    â€œStill, I don’t like this one bit. I know you think you don’t have any choice, but will