The path Hank followed became the floor of a portico, its columns spaced apart by planters housed in brick, holding perennials of all kind. The gentle curve now zig-zagged in a herringbone fashion, forcing those who walked it to make one turn after another. It seemed like a maze at first, but then Hank realized that the turns allowed a person to view more of the garden's plants and trees.

It also kept what was at the end a secret from those not on the path. When Hank rounded the final corner, the portico gave way to a lobby of some kind. Perhaps it was the break room of a swank corporation, but whatever it was, it had only two full walls. One was to Hank's left, lined with a great many cupboards. Centering them was a white countertop, set atop six pull-out drawers, with more cupboards underneath. At one end of the counter was a double sink, and Hank noticed a dishwasher there, built into an abutting alcove.

The other wall, on his right, was lined with five long rectangular tables set flush against the wall. Decorative glass windows revealed waist-high hedges growing outside. Hank was unsure of the need for windows, as the path behind him was open to all the great outdoors. The two full walls met two partial walls on the far end of the room, one of which held the dishwasher. The space between the partial walls was attached to a transverse hallway, where recessed ceiling lights led the way to places beyond.

The little cartoon dog was nowhere to be seen.

Everything in the room was a pure and spotless white. The countertop was finely grained white granite. The double sink was white, with a white faucet between them. Above that were two paper product dispensers, one of which held white cups. With curiosity driving him, Hank worked the paper towel dispenser to see what color towels came out.

They were white. "Imagine that," he said quietly.

Hank further surveyed the room. He peeked into some cupboards and drawers, finding them stocked with utensils and foodstuffs, mostly suitable for warming in a microwave set upon the countertop, opposite the double sink. A little two-burner stove was built into the countertop next to the microwave and, as Hank examined this, he became aware of what could only be described as the white elephant in the room.

A gentle hum told him the motor of what appeared to be a full-size refrigerator by the microwave had kicked in. Only he now realized it wasn't a refrigerator, but a vending machine, the kind that dispensed cold drinks. It was, as most things in the room, a stark and blazing white. It had no coin slot on it, but what made it most curious was the fact that its faceplate and six wide buttons had no words or markings whatsoever.

No names. No pictures. Nothing. Just six large plain white buttons.

Hank brushed his fingers across its surface before he heard a familiar slurping sound come from behind. He turned to look for the dog he'd lost track of earlier. Along each of the rectangular tables sat six finely crafted white wood chairs, three on each long side. Each window lined up perfectly with one of the five tables.

Right atop of the center table sat the silly dog. It stared at Hank with its mouth open and its tongue hanging out. As it panted, drool formed a puddle by its paws.

Hank looked over his shoulder at the sink, so as to not turn his back on the mutt.

It slurped its lips. "Are you thirsty, Boy?" Hank asked.

The dog slurped again. It also wiggled its butt while remaining seated. Hank went to the sink and pulled two cups from the dispenser, filling them with water. He offered one to the dog while bringing the other to his own lips.

"Here you go," Hank said around his cup as the dog sniffed the one in front of it.

The near constant malaise Hank had been suffering from since his second PEP Scan had subsided somewhat, especially now that he'd found this odd dog again. As it stuck its tongue into its cup, Hank began to drink. Instantly, the sickness returned. He remembered having seen a room much like this one, in the distant garden of his dream. Also in his dream, the water people drown in was foul and disgusting.

He took a tiny sip, and his vision was confirmed. The water didn't taste good. The dog lapped up a small drink of its own before it jumped off the table and ran into the transverse hallway.

Again, Hank was alone. He poured the water down the drain. There was no garbage can to be seen, so he put the cups in the sink. He then approached the vending machine. Its six buttons were arranged in two rows of three. Centered by Hank's knees was a spring door where, presumably, whatever was inside would come out. If it weren't for the dog, this machine would be the weirdest thing Hank had seen all day.

And today was turning out to be an especially weird day.

He pressed the flat of his hand upon the front panel, feeling the hum's vibration. He waited for the malaise to well up again, but mercifully nothing happened. There was no time left, however, for dream analysis. He didn't even have time to see what would happen if he pressed one of the buttons. Instead he slowly turned, and lowered his hands to his side. The dog had returned to its spot on the table, dripping drool into the same puddle. But that wasn't what held Hank frozen to the floor.

Hank was frozen because he was no longer the only person in the room.

A well-dressed man, about fifty years of age and six-foot-four in height, stood across from Hank, where the hallway met the room. He wore a tailored dark blue suit, and patent leather shoes. He easily tipped the scale at three hundred pounds, his great stomach protruding beneath a barrel chest. He gave a signal to the the dog and, with athletic strength, caught it at full stride as it bounded over and leapt into his arms.

A woman of Japanese descent stood at the man's right side. She also wore a suit, hers charcoal gray and with a skirt. She was over one foot shorter, about half his age, and weighed two-thirds less. She held a metallic clipboard with a pen attached to it on a silver chain. More intimidating than the man, she stared at Hank with unflinching dark eyes, magnified by bright red round eyeglasses perched upon her slightly too-big nose.

"I'm sorry about the water," the man said, his voice booming, yet pleasant. "The land here is low, and too close to the bay."

He paused, expecting Hank to speak, or perhaps just for effect. The dog squirmed in his arms during the silence, while the woman adjusted her posture.

"Perhaps you'd like to get a drink from our vending machine," he said.

Hank wanted to ask questions about the machine and its design, but something about the man made him hold his tongue. Although huge, the man wasn't intimidating, yet his voice held the authority of someone who expected obedience. Since he'd been wanting to do so anyway, Hank pressed a random button on the machine. Something solid clunked in the area behind the spring door.

Hank bent to retrieve the item with his eyes on the woman. She stared back in a way to let him know she was someone to reckon with. Dangerous perhaps. Deadly, even.

Just before Hank reached in, the man spoke loud. "You didn't say what you wanted."

"A Misty Dew," Hank replied. Twenty ounce wide mouth, he thought.

A plastic bottle lay behind the machine's spring door, feeling cold to the touch. Hank didn't look at it after pulling it out, but instead kept his eyes on the couple. The man smiled kindly, as did his goofy dog. The woman didn't exactly smile, but at least she no longer looked like she was going to kill Hank by shooting laser beams at him from her eyes.

Hank turned his attention to the bottle. He was surprised he didn't drop it. It was indeed, a twenty ounce wide mouth Misty Dew. The room would have been silent, except the dog slurped at the sight of the bottle.

"Uh, okay," Hank mumbled to no one in particular. "That was a neat trick."

"I assure you," the man said, "what you did was not a trick. This is very real." He placed the wriggling mutt on the floor before it drooled on his suit. "Rio? Will you please take Bumbles into the next room for a moment? I need to speak with our guest."

Hank turned his head the scant bit it took to focus on the woman the big man had called Rio. She made a notation on her clipboard before securing it in the crook of her arm. She then stood stock-still for a moment, focusing her laser beam stare on Hank. He felt his temperature rise, while she pushed her glasses up her cute, too-big nose. Hank had felt anything but normal since his nightmarish PEP Scan, but what he felt now seemed as natural as anything he'd ever felt in his life.

She's perfect.

Her business jacket was cut long, allowing only a few short inches of the skirt beneath to show. She looked powerful—shapely legs with narrow hips and strong, yet feminine shoulders. She was well-proportioned for her height, but when she bent to pick up the dog, the panels of her suit gave way as her breasts shifted.

Hank thought it might be difficult for a woman so short and busty to pick up a slobbery dog while holding a clipboard under her arm, but that was not the case. Rio righted herself with grace, the dog in place beneath her free arm. After a shake of her head to get her wavy hair out of her eyes, she turned to exit the room. With mighty effort, the dog broke free, skittering across the floor to pant at Hank one more adorable time.

Rio didn't stop walking as she called to the dog. "Come on, Bumbles. Let's go."

Even her voice is perfect.

With a good-bye yip, the dog caromed off some nearby chairs and ran after Rio. Hank realized he was slobbering over her almost as much as Bumbles slobbered over everything. He swallowed hard while staring at the spot where she had last been in his view.

"That's not a real dog," he said to the spot.

The big man laughed. "No, I suppose he's not. He certainly looks funny!"

Hank felt a bit funny himself.

"I'd like to get to know you," the man said. "So sit, please, and let's have a soda pop together. Then maybe we could talk."

Heaving on the effort, the big man lowered his frame into one of the sturdy wood chairs at the table nearest him. Again, Hank felt compelled to do as he'd been told. It was as if the man had hypnotized him, but even so, he couldn't think of a reason to disobey. He'd followed Bumbles onto the man's property after all. So he went for a chair at the fourth table in the room, one away from the man.

"Wait," the man said. "Before you sit, get a soda pop for me, if you wouldn't mind."

Hank looked at the featureless vending machine. He was hesitant to touch it again, yet curiosity drove him to do it. He wanted to see what came out next. As he reached for a button, the man interrupted.

"Oh, but make mine a Diet Poppsy, please. I'm not a fan of Misty Dew."

"What?" Hank asked, unsure of what the man wanted.

"Don't worry. Just do it."

Just do it.

Hank chose a random button and pressed it. A clunk sounded and out came a twenty-ounce Diet Poppsy. He stared at it simply.

"Come, Hank. Sit and talk," the big man said.

Hank complied. "Okay, explain how I did that." He then realized something. "And how do you know my name? What's yours?"