SF Drabble #352 “We’ll Come To You”

The apparatus rotated ever faster, and the assembled lab coats and uniforms watched it with gleeful anticipation and serious intent.

“Five thousand RPM.” The public address system shouldered its way past the furious whine filling the room. “All systems nominal.”

The rate of spin increased, the apparatus became a blur, and then the blur became a hole. A lab coat, escorted by rifles, hurried up and placed the bait plate on the platform.

The whine had become a distant, otherworldly hum. The public address system whispered, “Contact inbound.”

A shadowy shape formed itself from within the blur. “Contact. Ready nets.”

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