“I’d like a thousand dollars in small unmarked bills,” Collins said cautiously. When the hum grew louder, he pressed the button. In front of him appeared a large mound of soiled singles, five and ten dollar bills. They were not crisp, but they certainly were money. Collins threw a handful in the air and watched it settle beautifully to the floor. He lay on his bed and began making plans. First, he would get the machine out of New York — upstate, perhaps — some place where he wouldn’t be bothered by nosy neighbours. The income tax would be tricky on this sort of thing. Perhaps, after he got organised, he should go to Central America, or …

There was a suspicious noise in the room. Collins leaped to his feet. A hole was opening in the wall, and someone was forcing his way through.

“Hey, I didn’t ask you anything!” Collins told the machine.

The hole grew larger, and a large, red-faced man was half-way through, pushing angrily at the hole. At that moment, Collins remembered that machines usually have owners. Anyone who owned a wishing machine wouldn’t take kindly to having it gone. He would go to any lengths to recover it. Probably, he wouldn’t stop short of –

“Protect me!” Collins shouted at the Utilizer, and stabbed the red button.

A small, bald man in loud pyjamas appeared, yawning sleepily. “Sanisa Leek, Temporal Wall Protection Service,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m Leek. What can I do for you?”

“Get him out of here!” Collins screamed. The red-faced man, waving his arms wildly, was almost through the hole. Leek found a bit of bright metal in his pyjamas pocket. The red-faced man shouted, “Wait! You don’t understand! That man —” Leek pointed his piece of metal. The red-faced man screamed and vanished. In another moment the hole had vanished too.

“Did you kill him?” Collins asked.

“Of course not,” Leek said, putting away the bit of metal. “I just veered him back through his glommatch. He won’t try that way again.”

“You mean he’ll try some other way?” Collins asked.

“It’s possible,” Leek said. “He could attempt a micro-transfer, or even an animation.”

He looked sharply at Collins. “This is your Utilizer, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Collins said, starting to perspire.

“And you’re an A-rating?”

“Naturally,” Collins told him. “If I wasn’t, what would I be doing with a Utilizer?”

“No offence,” Leek said drowsily, “just being friendly.” He shook his head slowly. “How you A’s get around! I suppose you’ve come back here to do a history book?”

Collins just smiled enigmatically.

“I’ll be on my way,” Leek said, yawning copiously. “On the go, night and day. I’d be better off in a quarry.” And he vanished in the middle of a yawn.

Rain was still beating against the ceiling. Across the airshaft, the snoring continued, undisturbed. Collins was alone again, with the machine. And with a thousand dollars in small bills scattered around the floor. He patted the Utilizer affectionately. Those A-ratings had it pretty good. Want something? Just ask for it and press a button.

Undoubtedly, the real owner missed it.

Leek had said that the man might try to get in some other way. What way?

What did it matter? Collins gathered up the bills, whistling softly. As long as he had the wishing machine, he could take care of himself. The next few days marked a great change in Collins’s fortunes. With the aid of the Powha Minnile Movers he took the Utilizer to upstate New York. There, he bought a medium-sized mountain in a neglected corner of the Adirondacks. Once the papers were in his hands, he walked to the centre of his property, several miles from the highway. The two movers, sweating profusely, lugged the Utilizer behind him, cursing monotonously as they broke through the dense underbrush.

“Set it down here and scram,” Collins said. The last few days had done a lot for his confidence. The moving men sighed wearily and vanished. Collins looked around. On all sides, as far as he could see, was closely spaced forest of birch and pine. The air was sweet and damp. Birds were chirping merrily in the treetops, and an occasional squirrel darted by. Nature! He had always loved nature. This would be the perfect spot to build a large, impressive house with a swimming pool, tennis courts and, possibly, a small airport.

“I want a house,” Collins stated firmly, and pushed the red button. A man in a neat grey business suit and pince-nez appeared.

“Yes, sir,” he said, squinting at the trees, “but you really must be more specific. Do you want something classic, like a bungalow, ranch, split-level, mansion, castle or palace? Or primitive, like an igloo or hut? Since you are an A, you could have something up-to-the-minute, like a semi face, an Extended New or a Sunken Miniature.”

“Huh?” Collins said. “I don’t know. What would you suggest?”

“Small mansion,” the man said promptly. “They usually start with that.”

“They do?”

“Oh, yes. Later, they move to a warm climate and build a palace.”

Collins wanted to ask more questions, but he decided against it. Everything was going smoothly. These people thought he was an A, and the true owner of the Utilizer. There was no sense in disenchanting them.

“You take care of it all,” he told the man.

“Yes, sir,” the man said. “I usually do.”

The rest of the day, Collins reclined on a couch and drank iced beverages while the Maxima Olph Construction Company materialised equipment and put up his house.

It was a low-slung affair of some twenty rooms, which Collins considered quite modest under the circumstances. It was built only of the best materials, from a design of Mig of Degma, interior by Towige, a Mula swimming pool and formal gardens by Vierien. By evening, it was completed, and the small army of workmen packed up their equipment and vanished. Collins allowed his chef to prepare a light supper for him. Afterward, he sat in his large, cool living-room to think the whole thing over. In front of him, humming gently, sat the Utilizer.

Collins lighted a cheroot and sniffed the aroma. First of all, he rejected any supernatural explanations. There were no demons or devils involved in this. His house had been built by ordinary human beings, who swore and laughed and cursed like human beings. The Utilizer was simply a scientific gadget, which worked on principles he didn’t understand or care to understand. Could it have come from another planet? Not likely. They wouldn’t have learned English just for him. The Utilizer must have come from the Earth’s future. But how? Collins leaned back and puffed his cheroot. Accidents will happen, he reminded himself. Why couldn’t the Utilizer have just slipped into the past? After all, it could create something from nothing, and that was much more complicated. What a wonderful future it must be, he thought. Wishing machines! How marvellously civilised! All a person had to do was think of something. Presto! There it was. In time, perhaps, they’d eliminate the red button. Then there’d be no manual labour involved. Of course, he’d have to watch his step. There was still the owner — and the rest of the A’s. They would try to take the machine from him. Probably, they were a hereditary clique …

A movement caught the edge of his eye and he looked up. The Utilizer was quivering like a leaf in a gale. Collins walked up to it, frowning blackly. A faint mist of steam surrounded the trembling Utilizer. It seemed to be overheating. Could he have overworked it? Perhaps a bucket of water …

Then he noticed that the Utilizer was perceptibly smaller. It was no more than two feet square and shrinking before his eyes. The owner! Or perhaps the A’s! This must be the micro-transfer that Leek had talked about. If he didn’t do something quickly, Collins knew, his wishing machine would dwindle to nothingness and disappear.

“Leek Protection Services,” Collins snapped. He punched the button and withdrew his hand quickly. The machine was very hot. Leek appeared in a corner of the room, wearing slacks and a sports shirt, and carrying a golf club.