as a radiant beam and
focus the beam to convert it back into atoms at the destination."

"But the amount of energy must be terrific--"

"It is. You know short waves carry more energy than long ones. The
Express Ray is an electromagnetic vibration of frequency far higher than
that of even the Cosmic Ray, and correspondingly more powerful and more
penetrating."

The girl frowned, running slim fingers through golden-brown hair. "But I
don't see how they get any recognizable object, not even how they get
the radiation turned back into matter."

"The beam is focused, just like the light that passes through a camera
lens. The photographic lens, using light rays, picks up a picture and
reproduces it again on the plate--just the same as the Express Ray picks
up an object and sets it down on the other side of the world.

"An analogy from television might help. You know that by means of the
scanning disc, the picture is transformed into mere rapid fluctuations
in the brightness of a beam of light. In a parallel manner, the focal
plane of the Express Ray moves slowly through the object, progressively,
dissolving layers of the thickness of a single atom, which are
accurately reproduced at the other focus of the instrument--which might
be in Venus!

"But the analogy of the lens is the better of the two. For no receiving
instrument is required, as in television. The object is built up of an
infinite series of plane layers, at the focus of the ray, no matter
where that may be. Such a thing would be impossible with radio apparatus
because even with the best beam transmission, all but a tiny fraction of
the power is lost, and power is required to rebuild the atoms. Do you
understand, dear?"

"Not altogether. But I should worry! Here comes breakfast. Let me butter
your toast."

A bell had rung at the shaft. She ran to it, and returned with a great
silver tray, laden with dainty dishes, which she set on a little side
table. They sat down opposite each other, and ate, getting as much
satisfaction from contemplation of each other's faces as from the
excellent food. When they had finished, she carried the tray to the
shaft, slid it in a slot, and touched a button--thus disposing of the
culinary cares of the morning.

She ran back to Eric, who was once more staring distastefully at his
typewriter.

"Oh, darling! I'm thrilled to death about the Cosmic Express! If we
could go to Venus, to a new life on a new world, and get away fr