Yery scoffed, making a "Phfft!" wet-raspberry sound. "Once we step into my handy teleporter, the vulture on a motorcycle outside the building won't know what hit him. We'll have disappeared and reappeared in a matter of seconds, leaving no trace of where we went. The teleporter is voice-activated, and being a machine, it has no memory. That means it can't break under 'disassembly', which in human terms is torture." She gave James one quick peck on the lips before they stepped into the booth. "Don't worry. No one ever dies in a teleporter these days. They're all safe.
"Theria," commanded Yery, and she wrapped her arms around the gambler before they both dissolved into vanishing molecules. When they rematerialized, they were shocked!
"Stang." Yery looked down. "We're in the restroom--of a fancy restaurant--on Theria--in nothing but our underwear." She looked at James. "Any suggestions, poker player?"