"To Heine, please!" The woman spoke the words so effortlessly, as if she weren't about to go to the most restricted area. Timothy, the teleportation guard, gaped at the short woman with tiny freckles on her nose. He gasped for air, unsure if he was breathless because of her beauty or because he had to quickly recall what permits and paperwork were needed to cross into the forbidden area.

"What did you say? Where do you want to go?" he stammered as if trying to buy time or hoping she might change her mind or that he misheard. After all, one can't just teleport to Heine. It requires the highest level of authorization.

He felt the other people in line glaring at him as he waited. Everyone was in a hurry. Somewhere. Only he stood in front of the round-shaped metal gate in his uniform, which hung on him as if it weren't his. He was tall and skinny, with long arms sticking out of his sleeves; his feet were huge, and it was a miracle they found the right size for him at the workwear department, having to write twice to the authorities to confirm the size. His white socks showed at the ankles, and the pant legs flapped in the strong wind as if he were wearing a skirt. His head was small, but his vast ears compensated for it, with large green eyes and a long nose, making him look like a weather vane—an apt comparison, as he always turned into the wind with the papers he had to check to keep them from crumbling.

"To Heine, please," the woman said again, extending her papers with her tiny hand. She smiled charmingly, and Tim felt a bead of sweat start to form on his temple. Women didn't usually smile at him like that; they barely looked at him, just hurriedly handed over their papers, some not bothering to greet him. He had to muster all his strength to keep his hand from trembling as he studied the documents.

"Name?" he asked, trying to stay calm.

"Mara," she replied with quiet strength. "Mara Matthews."

To Tim's surprise, she had all the necessary permits, but he found a discrepancy, secretly pleased because it meant he could keep talking to the attractive woman. "I'm sorry, Mara, but something is missing. You have the permits for the northern sector, but you're missing the EPRS number. Did you apply for it?"

The woman pouted in confusion as if she didn't understand. "What number? I don't understand."

"If you want to teleport, you need to enter the data into the system and get an EPRS number, which you must present here. It is an abbreviation for electronic permit pre-registration system. Can be printed or electronic, but your data must be in the system," Tim recited the oft-repeated rules.

"Since when is this required? Is this another new rule that was suddenly introduced?" Mara tried to smile, but her voice betrayed her annoyance.

"Not very long, indeed; it's been like this for two months since the authorities noticed that one permit was being used for multiple trips because they started forging the permits." Tim was amused that the other passengers in line were increasingly restless, so he continued. "Ah yes, the good old days when everyone could travel at will, using their bank card for the trip. However, as expected, there were hacks, the system was breached, and people entered prohibited areas. That's why there are gatekeepers now; if it weren't so, I wouldn't have a job..."

"I didn't mean it that way; I didn't want to offend you or question the legitimacy of your job. I think it's perfect that crossings are monitored like this to prevent unauthorized people from jumping wherever they please. I just didn't know about this number..."

"I'm sorry, but you can't pass without it!" Tim said more seriously. "Apply for the number and come back!"

Mara's expression didn't change, but her eyes became more intense. "Please, you don't understand. I need to get there now. It's urgent!"

Tim hesitated, surprised by the sudden change in her tone, feeling a pang of sympathy. "I wish I could help, but can't break the rules. I can't let you through if you don't have the number."

Mara leaned in closer, her voice soft and urgent. "There are things in the northern sector that people need to know about. The government is hiding something. Please, I must get through."

To his surprise, the woman grabbed his hand and slipped something paper-like into it unnoticed. Tim looked down and saw that it was money. His resolve wavered, but he forced himself to stay firm. "I'm sorry," he said again, pressing the money back into Mara's hand and her papers. "I can't let you through; it would break the rules."

Mara's shoulders slumped, but she didn't argue further. "I understand," she said quietly, taking back her documents and the money. "Thank you for your time."

As she walked away, the lights in front of the teleporter glowed yellow, and the image of the woman stood out sharply against the background. Tim's heart pounded wildly. Love at first sight? As she disappeared, he calmed down and turned to the next traveler, who had been trying to get his attention for several minutes. He focused on entering the correct codes and felt that something had changed within him. Usually, he despised this behavior; he didn't like being bribed and didn't think it was right. He considered himself too law-abiding, but the woman's image and expression kept coming back to him. He couldn't get her out of his head.

After closing, he went home, and on the way, he looked down at the valley, the walnut grove. He remembered arriving here one year ago to take over as gatekeeper from the bustling city. It was a massive change for him, a city-dweller. The town was in the valley, and you could see its lights at night. The sleepy little village would be even more desolate if it weren't for the teleporter here. A small stream flowed through the village, and there was always such silence that you could only hear the babbling of the stream, the occasional birdsong, or the woodpecker's tapping breaking this uniform tranquility. He listened to all of this now, but when the teleporter was running, it was loud; each crossing's buzzing sound disrupted this peace, and he understood why the locals were grumpy and had protested against the teleporter. That's why it was only operational in specific time slots; otherwise, it was shut down to maintain the village's tranquility as much as possible.

Tim needed to understand why the teleporter here was outdoors. It would be less noisy inside a building, like in the city. But no one knew the answer to this. The villagers had quietly accepted it as a necessary evil because, let's face it, the many people who came here just to teleport and maybe booked a room or spent their money at the only tavern, which also functioned as a store where the locals could sell their goods, somewhat enlivened the monotony of the place. And, of course, boosted the local economy.

If Tim had ever longed for seclusion, a quiet place, he would have imagined something like this for his retirement. However, he was still too young for such quiet tranquility, and no matter how he thought about it, he couldn't understand how being sent here was a step forward for him, as his boss had explained. Judith had told him that he was entrusted with a critical task that only a wonderful and talented young man like him could accomplish. He had been proud of himself until he arrived and saw that there was nothing great here—just a few travelers who wandered in, and it only seemed like there were many because of the two-hour time slot. So, he was very bored.

When Tim arrived, he was convinced that the place was named Walnut Grove because walnut trees were everywhere, and there was a walnut grove in front of the village. But then he saw that these walnut trees were newly planted, about 10-20 years old. So, the origin of the place's name was shrouded in mystery, and when he inquired about it, some said that when the teleporter was built in its initial form, the final working unit was tested here. This could explain why a teleporter stood here in isolation. When they experimented with it, all the plants died, meaning there could have been walnut trees here long ago, but so long ago that no one remembered. The locals preferred to remember something other than Hendrick Walnut, who developed and patented the teleportation system and experimented with it here since he was from this area. So, when Tim suggested that perhaps the place was named after this inventor, they protested and started cursing him, saying what a good-for-nothing he was and how much they had to endure because of the buzzing machine. Of course, Tim knew this was the case because he had looked into it. He also finds out that when the authorities renamed the place in honor of the teleportation inventor, they quickly planted walnut trees so that no one would think of Hendrick and his invention, which only caused them annoyance.

The locals were afraid of the teleporter. The older folks mainly thought it was the work of the devil. If something terrible happened in the village, they quickly crossed themselves and cursed Hendrick's name, shaking their fists toward the teleporter.

Some locals were proud of the invention and that the teleporter was first tested here. Tim shared this pride, although he had never used it. This teleporter was unique because it transported people to distant continents and was unsuitable for local travel. That kind of travel was characteristic of the newer prototypes. And why wasn't this monstrosity permanently shut down? Although old, with original constructions, it operated surprisingly reliably and was connected to teleporters that were no longer connected to the new ones, for example, because those destinations were no longer accessible or only accepted a minimal number of travelers. Only a few such old teleporters remained, which made this one valuable.

Tim walked home indifferently, recalling these peculiar things. His house was a low building consisting of one large room, built of rough logs with windows all around, which made it extremely bright. It was completely different from his small windowless apartment in the city, on the 17th floor of a tall building. It stood alone on the edge of the village but pleasantly close to the forest, near the small stream that flowed through the entire town. A huge walnut tree grew in his yard; what else? And its rustling and the stream's babbling had a calming effect on his nerves—sometimes too calming, as he didn't know what to do with himself. The only thing he didn't like was that he didn't have a key to the house. There was no lock on it; he propped it up with a stake at night to keep anyone uninvited from coming in, and during the day was unlocked, and to enter wouldn't have been a problem for a thief. At first, this worried him, but then he learned that no one locked anything here; somehow, there was no need. Besides, what could they take from him? He had nothing except his spare uniform and a few books he brought.

As part of his daily routine, after getting rid of his uniform and shoes at home, Tim would go over to Noir, the former gatekeeper who had already retired but had yet to return to the city. The village had welcomed him, and he felt much better here. They would have lunch together, which Sara, an aging local housewife who cooked very well, brought them daily. A free daily lunch was included in the gatekeepers' compensation.

"Anything interesting today?" asked Noir when he saw Tim coming in. He was sitting on the bench in front of his house. This was how he always waited for the young man and their lunch.

"Actually, yes," Tim began, sitting next to the old man and slipping his bare feet out of his slippers. "A woman came, trying to bribe me."

"You should just follow the rules, and there will be no trouble," Noir shook his head. "And remember, no exceptions. You didn't accept it, did you?"

"Of course not!"

"Where did she want to go?"

"Heine. The northern sector. And it's strange because she had all the permits, even from the military unit. Just not the number. The simplest thing was missing." Tim leaned comfortably against the house wall and looked up at the hilltop where the circular metal structure of the teleporter stood. In the village, they felt less of the wind's force, but from here, he could see the sign with the opening hours flapping in the wind.

"Well. I don't even remember anyone wanting to go there." The old man started tapping his pipe against the bench, preparing to light it, which was a lengthy process. It began with Tim needing to remove the tobacco and matches from the table. Tim stood up without being asked and entered the room, which was like his, with fewer windows and yellower walls because the old man smoked his pipe inside, too.

Tim wondered whether he should tell the old man what Mara had said about the authorities, but then he decided not to unnecessarily worry him. He quietly pondered whether he would ever see the woman again. Would she return with the number or find another place with a teleporter who would accept the bribe and let her through? He regretted not examining the papers more thoroughly; something must have been off if she hadn't requested the number from the system. Or did she really need to learn about the new rule?