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anything more than just turn the basement into a kind of low-key nerd-styled disco.
    A bright flash of vaguely violet light strobed the room and he found himself blinking at the pretty colored dots that had suddenly chosen to do the two-step boogie on his retinas. “What the hell was that?”
    “Don’t know,” Boles called out to him. “Generated some intriguing readings, though.”
    Disneyland, Max decided silently. Or maybe Universal Studios. Boles was actually a clandestine consultant to the secret masters of contemporary consumer fantasy and he was working out the details of a new ride in his basement and Max was going to be the guinea pig for the first tryout. If so, his verdict was going to be unfavorable. As far as entertainment value went, the subterranean setup boasted plenty of color, but no action.
    As he contemplated an entirely new take on the story he was going to write, the ceiling lights began to flicker and the pervasive electronic hum to fade. The occasional second or two of total darkness that resulted bothered him more than he would have cared to admit.
    “Hey, what’s wrong?”
    “Nothing’s wrong.” The disappointment in Boles’s voice was unmistakable. “I’m shutting the system down. It didn’t work.”
    “Oh well. That’s physics for you. Maybe next time.”
    “You’re humoring me,” Boles said flatly.
    His host’s genial personality notwithstanding, Max had had about enough. He had a life outside the basement, and he was ready to get on with it. “Don’t you want to be humored? Or would you rather I went on and on about what a waste of time and money this is?”
    Boles came around from behind the console. Thougholder, he was a lot bigger and in much better shape than the reporter. He was also between his guest and the doorway. Max tensed slightly. It would not be the first time he’d had to dodge an irate interviewee. If it came to that, he calculated he was quicker on his feet than the tall inventor.
    But there was no animosity in Boles’s voice as he addressed his visitor. No overt animosity, anyway. “Is that what you’re going to write in your article?”
    Max hedged his reply; an occupational necessity in his line of work. “I don’t know what’s going to be in my articles until they’re finished. I mean, trying to contact parallel worlds with some homemade basement gizmo, Barry—what did you think I’d write?”
    His host sounded faintly wistful. “A respectful report detailing serious efforts to expand the scope of contemporary dimensional physics.”
    Max’s expression turned apologetic. “Sorry, Barry. Wrong paper.”
    “I know, I know. Just be as kind as you can, will you? Despite appearances and what you may think, I’m partially dependent on a couple of outside sources for funding, and ridicule still hurts.”
    “Okay, I promise. No ridicule.” A little laughter and some smug supercilious sniggering, maybe, but no ridicule. He liked Barrington Boles, in spite of the fact that the guy had inherited money. He was an okay bloke, as one of the reporters forthe competing British tabloids might say, even if mentally he did list strongly to one side.
    Wanting to end the interview on a more upbeat note, he switched to a subject devoid of controversy. “How’s the surfing these days?” He smiled in what he hoped was an ingratiating manner. “I can deal with the concept of parallel waves if they’re the watery kind.”
    “It’s fair.” Boles led him up the stairs and back through the eclectic but subdued den. The reporter breathed an inner sigh of relief when they reached the front door. Right up to the end, Boles had seemed stable enough—but you could never tell. Max had learned soon after starting out that it was important never to let your guard down in the presence of the truly wacky. “Although since I passed fifty, I tend to fall off the board a lot more.”
    Max allowed the other man to open the door for him. Heading out and not wishing to