Smiling broadly, Donaldson walked back to the transmitter looking at his stopwatch.
It had taken five minutes to cross a distance he covered in four strides, but by his calculations it'd take five minutes no matter how far apart the base stations were placed.
The delay was packing and unpacking the Bekenbytes of data and the up-port time to the spintronic cloud server.
After the initial trial's success, an error, some memory loop in the poly-conductor perhaps, crept in.
Donaldson studied the receiver cam-stream from across the Atlantic intently for the first sign of his assistant's appearance.
But he saw himself step from the portal.
Without thinking he stepped into his machine.
Another Donaldson emerged, and another, a sputtering faucet, building a stochastic recursive loop, suddenly spraying forth a torrent.
Hell, as it turns out, is not other people.
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