“Of course. How could I forget?” Everson smiled. Apron in hand, he passed into the third chamber.

Once in the room, the door slid shut. This time, Everson wasn’t surprised. This chamber was even smaller than the previous two and was devoid of any additional accoutrement, neither pedestal nor table. Its only feature was a large inscrutable black box the size of an armoire that sat against the far wall. Its façade was covered with many tiny lights that blinked drowsily. Various luminous displays undulated with indecipherable meaning. Everson was immediately reminded of the command centers he had toured upon entering the military. This most certainly was the brain behind the old Department for Military Research.

He approached the blinking box, positive that the apron would prompt some sort of response. He spread it neatly before the device and stepped back to wait. There was nothing at first, but Everson had learned that nothing in this perplexing place was an indication of things to come. His patience was rewarded, quite literally.

A slot opened in the black box, and the machine began to rapidly spit out gold coins in great number. They piled up in a gleaming heap at the base of the box. Even though he was not entirely conversant with the currency of Mano, Everson knew that this was a small fortune. He moved forward to collect the prize and stepped directly onto the apron.

The moment his boot made contact with the cloth, the neon blue grid shot upward. It collapsed onto him like a net, instantly encasing him. Everson’s eyes widened and his heart began to pound as the lights on the machine began to blink excitedly and the displays flashed an incomprehensible, dizzying array of data. The machine began to shudder and hum like a troop transport preparing for takeoff.

Two openings, like eyes, awakened on the surface of the box. Everson would have screamed if it were not for the blue grid mask that clamped his mouth shut. Before he could blink, twin red lasers shot from the openings in the machine and penetrated his mesmerized eyes.

Everything went white…

Then Everson’s vision cleared like steam dissipating quickly from a winter window. The sight that greeted him was both stunning and deeply confusing.

He had somehow been transported into an opulent throne room, albeit one in the throes of violent battle. Indiran soldiers and Manolith warmen clashed in close-quarter combat all around him. There were even large Leftists engaged in the fray, though Everson could not easily ascertain for whom they fought. Yet no one seemed to take notice of him.

He raised his hand against the onslaught and was immediately transfixed. His flesh shimmered with an ethereal blue glow that made him question if it were corporeal at all. The elaborate cuff adorning his wrist prompted him to inspect the rest of his body. He was clad in Manolithic couture of such finery that he suspected someone of taste and substance had lent him this livery. Of course, this could all be some laser-induced hallucination.