Holy shit! was the first thought that ran through Daniel's mind. He tried to take deep breaths.
His hand trembling slightly, he opened the cover of the case on the device. The screen showed a word-processing app, with the on-screen keyboard available, and the text read, "Woman who just stepped on my foot has an ass that balances out her tits."
He slammed the cover shut.
He didn't even consider trying to use the device. For all he knew about the Scribe, he didn't really know that much about the Scribe. What if there was some magic protection on the thing, like if he tried to use it, he would be transformed into someone else? Or something else? Or what if the Scribe had a heretofore-unknown backup device of some sort that he could use in an emergency? Or what if -- what if the Scribe had done what a non-powered person might do, and find a cop to report a theft?
And what if the reward for returning the device actually was three wishes?
Maybe the Scribe wouldn't do anything yet about the loss of the device. Maybe he'd be upset, or scared, and would just stay put on the platform. Maybe Daniel could get it back to him quickly. Maybe he'd be willing to talk for Daniel's thesis -- for Daniel's book.
Daniel resolved to go back. He'd have to get a train going in the other direction. The train slowed and stopped at the 50th Street station, and he led the charge out onto the platform.
Shit. This was a local stop, and he couldn't easily get over to the uptown platform. One brief thought of jumping back onto the train to go to Times Square, but instead he broke into a run -- okay, more of a fast walk -- and went through an exit turnstile, up the stairs and into a sunken courtyard, up more stairs, onto the sidewalk, weaving his way past the usual crowd of gaping tourists and locals lined up at a falafel truck, getting some luck in that he had a walk light to cross Broadway, weaving through some more slow pedestrians, down another set of stairs, sliding his MetroCard through the reader, "SWIPE AGAIN AT THIS TURNSTILE," another try and it worked, finally onto the uptown platform...
...where the hanging electronic sign told him that the next northbound train would arrive in 6 minutes.
He paced a bit, panting slightly from the exertion of his quick trip above-ground. The Scribe could get the train here ASAP, he thought. Heck, the Scribe could probably have called into existence a passageway from the one platform to the other.
The Number 1 did finally arrive, and Daniel lunged on and took a position standing right by the door, staring out into the blackness punctuated by lights as the train ground through the tunnel.
At 59th Street, he was off the train even before the doors had fully parted. Here he could get to the downtown platform without exiting the station, but he had to go down two levels and across a disused platform between the A/B/C/D train tracks, then up two levels again.
He did so at a brisk pace, starting to take the stairs up two at a time but then thinking better of it -- didn't want to drop the device or injure himself.
At last, he was back where the Scribe had exited the train. He looked along this platform...