Queue, Sir?

Dogs queueing patiently, waiting for the tree to become available

I’ll say one thing about the Brits: they sure know how to queue, and this was no exception. A long, orderly queue wound its way patiently down the stairs of the Institute. Many had camped overnight and now stood wearily, waiting to enter the tall glass building.

At the front of the queue, a pair of elevator-like doors opened and closed regularly, accepting one person at a time; that is, until a Spanish family, who had been gradually sneaking forward along the queue — a fact not unnoticed by the grumbling majority — suddenly rushed forwards in unison and squeezed into the little room, joining a very startled Brit.

The nearby attendant shouted in alarm, and tried to stop the automated doors from closing, but was too late. The green light of the teleportation device flashed orange, and then red, and its contents where disassembled into a cloud of atoms.

A billion lightyears way, a similar device buzzed, and opened its doors to reveal a single form: a monstrous creature that caused the receiving attendant to faint, but which spoke excellent Spanish … albeit with a heavy Yorkshire accent.