objects standing around here and there in the room,
but Forrester couldn't quite tell what they were. Even their sizes were
difficult to judge, because of the shifting light and shape of the room
itself. There was only one thing that seemed reasonably certain.

He was alone in the room.

Set in one wall was a square of light that didn't change color quite as
much as everything else. Forrester judged it to be a window and headed
for it. With his first step, he discovered something else about the
place.

The carpeting was completely unique. Instead of fiber, the floor seemed
to have been covered a foot deep with foam rubber. Forrester didn't
exactly walk to the window; he bounced there. The sensation was almost
enjoyable, he thought, when you got used to it. He wondered just how
long it took to get used to it and settled on eighty years as a good
first guess.

He stood in front of the window. He looked out.

He saw nothing but clouds and sky.

It took a long while for him to decide what to do next, and when he
finally did come to a decision, it was the wrong one.

He looked down.

Below him there were tumbled rocks, ledges of ice and snow, clouds
and--far, far below--the flat land of the Earth. He wanted to shut his
eyes, but he couldn't. The whole vast stomach-churning panorama spread
out beneath him endlessly. The people below, if there were any, weren't
even big enough to be ants. They were completely invisible. Forrester
took a deep breath and gripped the side ledges of the window.

And a voice behind him said: "Welcome, Mortal."

Forrester almost went through the window. But he managed to regain his
balance and turn around, saying angrily: "Don't _do_ that!" As the last
of the words left his lips, he became aware of the smiling figure facing
him.

She was standing in a spotlight, Forrester thought at first. Then he saw
that the light was coming from the woman herself--or from her clothing.
The dress she wore was a satinlike sheath that glowed with an aura even
brighter than the room. Her blonde hair picked up the radiance and
glowed, too, illuminating a face that was at once regal, inviting and
passionate. It was, Forrester thought, a hell of a disturbing
combination.

The cloth of the dress clung to her figure as if it wanted to. Forrester
didn't blame it a bit; the dress showed off a figure that was not only
beyond his wildest dreams, but a long way beyond what he had hitherto
regarded as the bounds