You pick up The Ace of Space by the spine. When you flip it over, it falls open to a picture of some shiny metallic man-made object floating against a field of stars. Before you can read the text on the facing page, or even the caption of the picture, the air near you starts to glow white, and turn about you.

Startled, you drop the book. You can clearly hear it hit the floor, even over the rising whine that is now suddenly in the air, but you can no longer see the book, as you are surrounded by an opaque bubble of glowing white fog.

The whine is higher in pitch now, but softer in volume, and the vibrations under your feet suggest somehow that you are no longer supported by the library floor. Even though you cannot see anything, you still have a sensation of motion, and when you reach out into the swirling whiteness your hand almost immediately encounters a smooth barrier.

After a few moments more the whining stops, and the vibrations cease. In fact, you realize that you cannot feel anything under your feet at all, and your head feels strangely stuffy. Your stomach complains to itself as the white fog dissipates, and you find yourself . . .