All right. Listen, Roby. Do you know where you began?

“That is not a thing known by me,” Roby said, “but I would like to learn it, if you please.”

Yeah, okay. If you don't know, how am I supposed to tell you?

Roby laughed, like it was all a big joke. She didn't understand—doesn't understand. She doesn't understand anything. She's been out of place her whole life. She doesn't have a place. For that matter, she doesn't have a life.

There's this part, there's that part, there's all these parts, and we've got to cover everything, and I don't have much time with you. I'm sick of spending time with you. Let's start, I don't know, at the far end, I guess. Work our way backwards. So, there's a desk in this room, but it doesn't matter, except for the time there were no walls—that's not for you, so never mind. Past the bird-doors—I explained those already—is the tall wall, white, bepiped, where they—where they did what? I don't even remember, it wasn't a popular place. Forgettable, and unimportant, but you need to take everything. Roby, are you listening?

“I can hear,” said Roby, “do not fear!”

Then, repeat it back to me. I want to make sure you're getting all this.

“The wall was tall where something was done and nothing was fun,” recited Roby.

Close enough. Keep that with you forever, okay?

“I do not know how to keep a memory,” said Roby. “Such a thing seems so trying to me!”

All right, well, will you remember that in a year?

She shook her head.

Okay. In a day?

She shook her head.

In one second?

She shook her head.

Great.

Let's move on. I hate to rush, but this is the last chapter, and we have a lot to get through. I should've planned this out better, but, well, here we are. So, over there were the belts and the desks. It's another forgettable place, but it's part of the thing. Well, it's mostly forgettable. That's where I made an unwise promise—it seemed amiable enough at the time, but there was paperwork involved. I don't have to explain how unwelcome that is, I hope?

“I know the unpleasantness of working!” said Roby. “Even now, you may note that I am shirking!”

Yeah. No regrets, though. I wasn't wrong. And, over there—oh.

Over there the doors opened out to a great forest, and all at once we ran into it and got lost. We walked, we ran, we laughed and played, swinging sticks. It was so bright, so warm, and we were swallowed by the woods, and the city went far away. There were only woods, and a great lake in the middle, and we went there to see the birds and the bees, and we were there so long that nature won, and the world ended, and when we looked back, the woods had grown over everything, and all was covered in greenery, flat, nothing but sky in every direction. We were there every day for a year, every year for a century, and there was nothing to wait for. I saw dark black cables.

On the first day, we perceived it as a maze. We went somewhere far away, far into the furthest corner, lost in the darkness and silence, and forgot about everything else. We looked into our hands, and everything was there—numberless, unfortunately. Knowledge was bought with endless time. When we looked up into a smile we didn't understand, the world began to end at the beginning. Was this the first day? It must have been. There were no other days. How much did they change behind our backs?

“Excuse me,” said Roby.

Roby, I was trying to— What?

“Hunger is of me,” said Roby.

Why do you think I'm trying to feed you? Wait—you mean literally. Well, fine—check the calendar. We can't go get a dog cleaned yet. We can still feast—but, not yet. Not right now. We can eat anything you want later, if there's still later left. First, we have to—we have to take in the shows! It might not seem like much now, but... well. There were always shows, at first sporadic, and then constant, ordered, fixed more properly, as the brooding stew congealed. It was ostensibly a performance, demonstration—but really, I just wanted to watch, myself. I don't think you could see something so old. A man laughed. “How'm I supposed to beat that?” That'll do.

Okay, so, next—

“After all of this seeing,” said Roby plaintively, “shall I have a time of thinking?”

You have to see everything first. So, eat up, or, whatever—I don't know what I'm doing with this metaphor. Now, listen—lemme think. Okay—while we're here, you can pretend we're in the sound of a library. There, you can see the fishbowl. After that—well, first, actually—prove your helplessness and conduct a séance. You can milk a cow, if you brought your own. Ah! How's your teeth?

“I think it best,” said Roby, “that I take a short rest.”

No. Here—I can show you how I used to do surgery. Or, you want to see the machine that makes the tape? It's pretty neat. Messy, though. Oh! And, when we were done with the tape—not really done, but—there was the happy machine that killed us all. ...oh, yeah. Okay, I know—

We flew away to see the fire and light, and...

...I don't remember what happened. Nothing, really.

Roby had a cup of coffee.

Where did you get that?

“Look,” said Roby, “at what I have took!”

Nice. Idiot. Did you wash it?

Roby laughed.

I'm going to smack that mug out of your fucking hands.

Roby stopped laughing.

Come on. I'll show you the coffins of silver—they could scalp you there. They were the most important, had to be handled so carefully, but they were so rough with them. Or the stretched-out sheets—those are... not very interesting, they're just some other stuff that's around. Then there's the machine that removes your hands. You're not supposed to be using it, but I think if you did, it'd be a bigger deal than I thought it was. Perhaps I should've said something else. Oh! There's one spot—there it was dark, and ladders grew to endless heights, their heads lost to shadow, an unreachable realm, and there, in a piece of light—

Roby stood obstinately, and did not follow. Just staring and refusing to see.

Roby. You need to take all of this. Do you understand?

Roby smiled and shook her head.

Fine. I'll explain it to you. Now listen—

“I do not want to know,” said Roby. “I think I would like to go.”

No. No, you can't go.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her away, and we went to the place in the center, though it was empty now, and from there you could see, up that way, the skylights, so it was never dark. ...were there skylights? ...there weren't skylights, but there was so much light and air, and places I forgot to venture into. For only a moment a woman passed through, and then everything collapsed. Yeah. Empty now, but sometimes you'd meet people here, but no, not anymore. No one would be here ever again—

Roby was standing there.

What now? What do you want?

“Nothing,” said Roby.

Well, that's funny. I thought you wanted to go.

Roby said nothing.

Fine. Look. Over there you could make numbers change. There were jokes and spelling and all manner of questions—all forgotten, all lost. And, over there was the cold room. Going in there meant trouble. In there, they made little sparklets of light in the deep darkness. There's a lot of darkness, you know. That's just how things were. The style at the time. We got by, though—well, I mean, we didn't, obviously, but—

...you know, I think this is getting too personal. How can I mix the old and the new, now? It's getting more difficult. I thought this would be easier, with you here. Or, rather, without you.

You know what?

Roby shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak and—

A storm came in, and tore at Roby's coats, at the tails of her coats and her sleeves, and the winds raged and Roby had no power to resist them, and they tore all of her coats and hoods and hats off, and shorn of this personality trait she had no other option but to dress fully beautifully, and astonished everyone completely. Perhaps Roby could be reborn.

...well, this is a just a thought.

Roby sat, a long time ago, looking at a picture of a box. She had drawn it herself—had she drawn it herself? It was—woefully inadequate, actually. Bald men and evil men surrounded her, asking her questions about time. Roby didn't know anything about time, and didn't know anything about the box.

“One week,” said Roby. “One, weak.”

I should describe a room first. All right. It was perfectly normal. Beige up top and blue below. The table was painfully typical. Roby sat down in a chair at the table that was too high, so she wasn't comfortable. She leaned forward and peered at a sheet of dark fabric, on which were, nearly invisible, tiny numbers engraved. She didn't think about the numbers, of course. Obviously. No one would ever see them, no one would ever see her, over there, by herself. She looked this way and that—more this than that. She was hungry, again, but you know how it is—the adults surround the grown-ups' table, with their wine and their politics, while you're stuck at the kids' table with nothing but the gluttony of pleasure. Roby was alone. ...y'know, if we drag this out, she'll wind up wearing all crowns. That's a poor destiny for her. For anyone, really. No one deserves to suffer like that. And they can't, as long as I still have the throne.

It was the first day, so Roby went to count everything. Everything. This was holy work. She went alone, for she could see no one else, and there, scored by green lines, were fields of brown, warm and dark, and they brought comfort. She found a space around seventy-three and seventy-four, and there crouched down, curled up, and became invisible.

“This is a spot of me,” she whispered, “and so here I shall be.”

She stayed there. She stayed there until everyone had left.

The entire world called out her name. This was a dreadful moment she'd never be able to forget, more unbearable horrors without any way out—but I'm getting ahead of myself here. The world called—the world sang with the sound of her name. The lines had come for her, red. She had little choice but to obey the call.

In the corner, by the back wall—actually, not near the corner, but, whatever—was a desk I'd forgotten about. I think they may have moved it later, or perhaps there was simply no need to go there again. Roby went there now, all by herself, and answered the phone.

“Oh no,” she said, and then, “hello?”

Through the phone a man spoke, chanting a spell unknowable, truly cursed, deep and dark and heavy, with the words of elders, the words of ancients, sins and lies, a hope here and a wish there, the myriad choices of his life laid bare. He spoke of armor. He spoke of weather. He spoke of the color of a perfect sky. He spoke for a minute, then an hour, and then a hundred years and then a hundred years more. He spoke until he was silent, until he was polite, until he was gone.

Roby hung up the phone. She would never be the same.

She strode across the way. There were desks and tables, and things green and brown and blue. You would know them instinctively. Roby, however, had no idea what they were. She strolled past, and didn't even notice them. She peered into a low and dark place where paint lived, and into a bright and high place where paint died. Everywhere she looked, there was more to find. And the walls, and the rooms, and the boxes stacked on boxes—I could go on. This wasn't even the usual spot—I'm going too fast. We have too much to give to Roby—but she'll swallow anything.

Yes, yes, that wall—tall and pale and lined with tables and desks. There were so many, more than—more than Roby expected or remembered. Upon the tables were left little things and big things. The magic straps. And, for some reason, whenever a man came there, he wanted to see the one turned to an angle. So many nice squares, but he always wanted the angle.

Roby did not know about the sin.

She went past the big, new machine, because it was not interesting, past more bird-doors that were either opened or closed, and walked to the warm room, behind its pipes, and basked in the light and heat. This was a place pleasant enough—and, for once, free of desks. Only the chain was here. It was silent now. And, over there, there were the great baths which still sat full, because it'd be torture to refill those every day—not to mention the cost. They sat full of their poisons, and Roby stayed far from them. It's too bad. She might have been able to go back.

She made her way where she was supposed to be after all, just coming from the other side, which could be nice, once in a while, if it wasn't winter. How many were there, anyway? Here were famous desks and joyish memories. There were certainly worse places in the world. Roby went over to the calendar, too colorful amongst the grime of the station, and stared at it. The wrong month. A novel sight, but now she might aspire to it—or something akin to it. She stared until she had memorized every detail—until she thought she had. It would disappear as soon as she took her eyes off it.

“I will keep your secret this time,” Roby said. To the calendar, yes. “I know that yours is the same as mine.”

To the left was an open door, inviting her to further exploration. No one was around to surprise her, so she went into the next room—the greatest room—which was small and quiet and dirty. All the noise of space disappeared and was stuffed with the oppressive silence of comfort. Small windows let in lots of light. And the room was full of things—so full. Tables covered. Shelves filled. Work half-finished left in place. She couldn't comprehend what most of these things were even for. Everything was heavy and oily. The smell. Certainly, no one was around using anything. It was a room dressed in someone else's years, but she was happy there. I'm sorry to force that on her, but I can't have it anymore, and I want someone to. She wasn't actually happy, of course—that's impossible, anyway—she had been told to be happy by the— ...she had been told she was happy. She slowly circled the big table in the middle of the room, looking at each thing on it in turn, pondering it, imagining its use, wondering at its name. Behind her, along the walls, the benches and shelves were also full of things, and she turned around and circled back and looked at each of those things, too. She gave her time to every thing in the room—all of them; all of it.

“I do not know what these things are,” she whispered. It was okay, and she'd never know what those things were, and she'd never have a chance to find out. The room was the last bullet in the cylinder, and there'd never be another place like it, and this was her only chance to bask in it—but, instead of that, her circuit complete, she moved on. There was another room, a very dark room, and she decided to save that for next time—but there would be no next time. Pretty soon there'd be no more time at all.

There were two more sacred places here, the most sacred of all. Roby, whether she liked it or not, would have to see them: the old office, and the upstairs. One was a place of light and dust, and the other was a place of gloom and damp. Everyone remembered those places—everyone except Roby, of course. She passed through the old office only briefly—a pity, since there's so much of interest in there. A forest of filing cabinets and openless windows, defiant lights still burning themselves out, and the secret bathroom. But there's someplace even better. Roby went to the worst stairs, narrow, steep, twisting, and dancing. She cherished each step, climbing so slowly, trembling upon each riser, until she disappeared above.

Everything had been left in place—we might have been here yesterday, were it not for the dust to tell the centuries. The chalkboard still bore the last calculation demanded of it. On the table was taped the final drawing, still unfinished. The chart on the wall bore everyone's names and times. Cabinets clutched the once-vital files that had seen daily reference until the day when days stopped. A coat hung on a chair's back. And there was Roby, in the light and the dust, gazing at it all.

The sanctity of the room was effusive. Roby could barely stand to look at anything. There were words written on things, on papers, on the chalkboard—she averted her eyes like a prude in a museum. Each step she took was ponderous, slow, replete with timidity. She was compelled forward despite the obscene violation. She felt utterly unwatched—there was no longer a world. She didn't know if she was breathing, or if she should try to. Arms outstretched, feeling her way through the silent light that came through a solid window. The floor creaked with every step. She slowed.

She slowed.

She stopped.

Over there was a jar—

—no. No, I've given her too much. This was a mistake. Forget it, I changed my mind.

Roby woke up.

This is the end of the first part of NEWDIE STEADSLAW, “A Diverse and Open-mindless Place.”