A series of high musical notes sounded, one after the other, rapidly. And then, in the center of the room, about two feet above the floor this time, the purple lines reappeared—still hazy, still transparent and still with the outline of a man inside.

Morniel swung his feet off the bed and stared up at it. “What the—” he began.

Once more, the outfit disappeared.

“W-what—” Morniel stuttered. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I told him. “But whatever it is, I’d say they’re slowly zeroing in.”

Again those high musical notes. And the purple box came into view with its bottom resting on the floor. It got darker, darker and more substantial. The notes kept climbing up the scale and getting fainter and fainter until, when the box was no longer transparent, they faded away altogether.

A door slid back in the box. A man stepped out, wearing clothing that seemed to end everywhere in curlicues. He looked first at me, then at Morniel.

“Morniel Mathaway?” he inquired.

“Ye-es,” Morniel said, backing away toward his refrigerator.

“Morniel Mathaway,” the man from the box said, “my name is Glescu. I bring you greetings from 2487 A.D.”

Neither of us could think of a topper for that one, so we let it lie there. I got up and stood beside Morniel, feeling obscurely that I wanted to get as close as possible to something I was familiar with.

And we all held that position for a while. Tableau.

I thought to myself, 2487 A.D. I’d never seen anyone dressed like that. Even more, I’d never imagined anyone dressed like that and my imagination can run pretty wild. The clothing was not exactly transparent and yet not quite opaque. Prismatic is the word for it, different colors that constantly chased themselves in and out and around the curlicues. There seemed to be a pattern to it, but nothing that my eyes could hold down and identify.