She now appears to be thinking hard and taking this seriously, which I’m guessing is a move in the right direction as far as my little quest is concerned.

“I. Don’t. Know.” she says, and scrunches an eye as she looks up at me, making a decision, “But maybe. I’ve got an idea to start with anyway. Come with me.”

She leads me a ways down the hall, knocks open a door, and leads me into what looks like a very nice, furnished, efficiency apartment.

“No one’s using these quarters right now, so you should be good. Just make yourself comfortable and hang out here, ok? I’ve gotta go talk to some people.” She stops on the way out and eyes me critically, “What would you think about a change of clothes?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but as I look down at my slightly raggedy duds, scrunch my toes and feel my socks squish slightly. How long has it been anyway? I haven’t noticed any clocks here. Is moon time the same as earth time? Does it matter? It’s been a pretty good while anyway, and these were yesterday’s work clothes.

“You know?” I say, “That totally wouldn’t suck.”

“That’s what I was thinking. What’s your size?”

“48 chest, 38 waist, size thirteen shoe, if it comes up.”

“Ok,” she says looking thoughtful, “I think I can put something together for you.”

“Thanks,” I say, sitting down on the bed, “Oh, and my name’s Aaron.”

“Bethany,” she says, “Nice to meet you, I think. You certainly make an impression.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot today.”

“I bet,” she smiles, “Just hang tight, ok? I’ll be back in a while and we’ll see what we can figure out.”

I give her a thumbs up and she turns and walks out, the door closing silently behind her.

I sit here and take in my surroundings. They continue the theme of being mostly, but not all, white. There is the bed I’m sitting on in the center of the wall across from the door. From my position sitting here, there is what appears to be a closet, and a small bathroom with a glass shower stall to my left. Directly across from me against the opposite wall is a large dresser, the same length as the bed, which looks as if it might also double as a desk if I can figure out how it works, there is also a large glass pane above it, like a giant picture window to nowhere. I’m sure it does something mysterious. To my right near the end wall is sort of a dinette area. There is a round table on a central pedestal and four chairs which are, not exactly egg chairs, but if you took a small egg chair and whittled it down into something that was actually useful and reasonably comfortable to sit in it would probably look something like these. Behind this, against the wall, is a countertop that runs the length of the short, end wall, and wraps around the corner for a few feet towards the dresser. It appears to be some kind of magical kitchenette with all the cabinetry and appliances built in. I can recognize a sink, but the rest I’ll have to explore later. For now, now that I’ve noticed how funky my socks feel I can ignore it no longer. I take off my boots and peel them off, laying them across the tops of my shoes to dry. The bed feels nice and it’s been a long day. I’ll just stretch out for a minute until Bethany comes back, I’m too wired up with all this weirdness to sleep. So by the time my shoulders hit the mattress I’m out cold.

Deep in my dreams there is a gentle knock on the door. Voices speak softly.

“So, this is him?” asks a man.

“Yes,” answers a woman.

“He doesn’t appear to be a threat,” it is half statement, half question.

“No sir. He seemed, a little confused, maybe, exasperated… but quite friendly and humorous. Not aggressive or frightened at all.”

“Really?”

“No sir. In fact, he did his best to calm me when I was startled by his presence. As a matter of fact, I thought he was playing a joke on me. You know, someone I didn’t really know, put up to it by some of the others. You know how it gets in here, being a closed system and all. But you never really know everybody.”

“Yes, I see. But you changed your mind. The clothes?”

“Those could have been fabricated easily enough, there are plenty with the skills. But when he opened the door, well, that was something else. If I hadn’t seen it, well, I’m still not sure I believe it. It seems like something I made up.”

“No, no. I believe you. Let’s let him rest, it looks like he needs it. Go ahead and get him some clothes, he’ll probably be wanting something to eat, too, when he wakes up. But first, show me where this door is that only he can open.”

There is another soft knock, and flannel footsteps moving away. I roll over and continue to snore down the house.

I wake up, and as I sit up in bed the lights come on automatically. Not a blinding flash all at once, but gently, with a dim, orange glow, like the first crack of dawn. Holy shit, it wasn’t a dream. It’s all real. Here I am waking up in the Hal 9000 wing of the Moon Mall. Still, it beats the hell out of Moon Valley High. At this thought I flash back to grade school, buying different colored paper tickets to be carried around in my pocket and exchanged for meals of questionable quality at the school cafeteria. Glad those days are over. As I stand up, I notice a neat stack of folded clothes on top of the dresser next to a small tray with an apple, some mandarin oranges, a bowl of mixed nuts, and another bowl of space granola. I can handle that. What I really want right now, though, is a shower. I walk over to the door, knock it open, and stick my head out for a look around. There is no one about. I don’t really want anyone walking in on me in the shower though, so when I’ve stepped back into the room and the door has closed, I press my open palm against it in the way you’d hold your hand up to signal ’Stop’. The door doesn’t open when I do this, and seeing as there is no visible method of locking it (how do you bolt a melting door?) I figure it’s as good as I’m going to get and strip off and head into the bathroom, which is a whole new set of intuitive puzzles.

The toilet, at least, is reasonably self explanatory. It’s not one of those Japanese technical marvels that offers more options than a drive through car wash. The sink is mostly just a sink, but there is nothing as self explanatory as knobs marked H and C. Turning it on and setting the water temperature is sort of like playing a theremin. It takes a little practice. At least there is a toothbrush, a roll of floss, and what appears to be some form of electric razor. I think I can figure out how to work at least two of the three. The mirror over the sink is a bit confounding. It appears to be just a pane of clear glass, but I know it can’t be that simple. I touch it with a fingertip and it comes to life like a smartphone screen. Yes, it’s a mirror, sort of, but I can zoom in and out with my fingers and who knows what else that I haven’t discovered yet? For now, I’ll take what I can get, but I feel like I’m brushing my teeth in front of a giant i-pad. At least the floss is just regular dental floss, unless there’s some secret nanotech going on there that I don’t know about yet. The shaving device is another bit of technological witchcraft altogether. It’s ok, but like the sink, it takes some getting used to. Devoid of anything so droll as an on-off switch, it is controlled by the pressure of my grip. While the widely pivoting head makes it easy to get all around my face without changing my grip on the handle, the pressure sensitivity makes it try to bite my face off if I squeeze just a little too hard. It’s not painful really, just annoying, and I end up with a few spots of razor rash. At least I don’t have to stick little bits of toilet paper on anything.

Now, with some amount of trepidation, I head for the shower, and whatever fresh flavor of hell awaits within. Amazingly enough, because of my earlier practice with the sink, it’s not that bad. At least not until I get fairly well lathered up, and the glass walls come alive and Bethany is staring at me in all my soapy glory. Oh God, what started out as 2001:A Space Odyssey is now, suddenly, Spaceballs:The Movie.

“Are you ok in there? We can’t get the door open.”

“I locked it, I think. I guess it worked. I didn’t want anyone walking in while I’m in the shower. Are you enjoying the show? Shall I waggle my willie for your viewing pleasure?” I smile at her face on the screen.

“Sorry, you’re not aware. Shower protocol. You can see me but I can’t see you. No willie waggling will be necessary.”

“Oh. Actually, that’s a little disappointing.”

She smiles and blushes, “Sorry your efforts have gone unnoticed, valiant though I’m sure they are,” she giggles, “But how did you manage to lock the door?”

“Look, just come back in an hour or so and I’ll show show you what I did. Ok? I’ve got some serious willie waggling to do right now and you’re breaking my rhythm.”

“I’ve no desire to see you —.”

“I mean with the door. And, I see that smile on your face, I bet you do…”

“Stop it! I’ll see you in a little while. Carry on.” and her whole face smiles a great big smile before the glass goes back to being just glass again.

What a way to start the day! But once I’m out of the shower I’m definitely awake, and in reasonably good spirits. I never would have thought that coming to a super secret moon base would be this ridiculous. But then again, I never would have thought I would be coming to a super secret moon base, so might as well get a laugh out of it while I’m here. I dry off with an especially fluffy white towel, which I hang carefully on the towel rod so I know where my towel is, and go check out the clothes that some magical space elves left for me in the night. The pants and shoes are black. The shoes are kind of like heavy duty house slippers with crepe soles, or maybe boat shoes — whatever. They look like something Charlie would wear while trying to sneak up on G.I.s in the jungles of Vietnam. Good enough? Unlike Charlie’s slippers, these come with a fresh pair of socks, which I do appreciate. The pants are loose and slightly baggy, which is ok. They fit good at the waist but are several inches too long. Rather than trip over the extra length all day and look like an idiot (I can do that without any help from my clothing, thank you very much) I fold the hems over so they are snug around my ankles, and then roll them up a couple of turns like I used to do back when I was a skater punk to keep from getting tangled up in the ends of my own pant legs. When I stand up the extra length bags out over my shoes some and gives a kind of funky, ninja paratrooper effect. I can work with that. Now on to the lab coat/bathrobe thing. It is gleaming white, fits alright, comes down to just above my knees, overlaps several inches to the right hand side (it’s more the evil genius style than the straight laced, button up the center, upstanding citizen style) and has three buttons on the right breast to hold the top closed, if for some reason you wanted to do that. The main body of the garment is held closed by a belt just above the waist. It has some kind of funky buckle on it that I can’t quite figure out. It’s sort of like a sliding cam-lock but not quite, and I eventually pull it off and throw it across the room in frustration. Then I tie the belt with a standard bow knot, off center towards my left hip, where it is less likely to tangle me up and get in the way than if it were directly in front. I am now more or less dressed.

On to the next order of business. I rummage the kitchen cabinets, such as they are, and find one door is a mini fridge containing several bottles of what appear to be beverages, a couple of which appear to be not entirely unlike cold coffees. I crack one open and take and exploratory sip, and find it to be exactly not entirely unlike a cold coffee. Good enough. I then begin transferring the contents of my jeans pockets to the various pockets of my new outfit and find, miracle of miracles, the somewhat crushed pack of antique Lucky Strikes. I rummage out a small bowl from one of the cabinets for an ashtray, set it on the table, sit down in one of the actually quite comfortable egg-like chairs, take a slug of not-quite-entirely-unlike-coffee, and spark up a bent-but-not-broken Lucky. Life has been worse. I can deal with this. I think…

About halfway through the coffee and cigarette there is a knock at the door. I step over and intuitively run a finger down the edge of where I expect the jamb would be and magically the door is now a window. A closed window. Bethany is outside, and seeing the door appear to open walks smack into it, bouncing off like a very confused bird.

“What the hell?” she starts.

“Sorry, I just wanted to see who was there before I opened up,” I rap the win-door with a backhanded knuckle to open it up, “Come on in.”

“How the hell did you do that?” followed quickly by, “Wait, are you on fire?”

“I don’t know, it just seemed like the way it should work. And this is an ancient Earth custom, coffee and cigarettes for breakfast.”

“But — Don’t you eat food?”

“Baby, where I come from, coffee and cigarettes IS food. Not as satisfying as beer or liquor and cigarettes, but I’ll make do with what I got.”

“What strange customs you have.”

“Think of it as a cultural exchange program. You learn about me, I learn about you, it’s all very forward thinking and educational,” as I return to my seat at the table and ash into the bowl.

“You wear your clothes very… differently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we all have pretty similar outfits here, designed for comfort and efficiency, and yours is made up from different pieces that are about the right size, but no one has ever looked like that in them.”

“If it offends you in some way, you’re welcome to undress me and show me how to wear them properly,” I smile and do a Groucho Marx eyebrow waggle.

“No, I don’t think that would be appropriate. Besides, I kind of enjoy your — technique?”

“You like my style?”

“I like your style,” she says, trying the phrase on for size, “Yes. It is unique. I think it will be welcome here.”

“So, I’m getting the feeling that you don’t get many outside visitors here.”

“You’d be correct. In fact, other than you there is exactly one other. Like you she is… unique, among us. But she is respected and well liked. I think she will enjoy meeting you.”

“So,” I pause, uncertain how to couch this question, “Once someone has come in here, does anyone ever leave?”

“Hmm… that’s an interesting question. As far as I know no one ever has, but I don’t think there’s any strict prohibition against it. As far as I know, no one has ever wanted to. Maybe Dr. Havis can answer you better, he’s a senior on the council and knows a lot more about these things than I do. He’s far more experienced.”

“So, is he a medical doctor?”

“Well, in this case, yes. But most of us here are doctors of some sort or another, it’s just kind of par for the course really. Except for some of the technical specialists don’t like the term being applied to them, feel it downplays their expertise in a specific field. They’re an odd clique, I don’t really understand them.”

A realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Oh shit! I’ve graduated from Moon Valley High, and now I’m in Moon Valley U. Fuck me runnin’. I hope there’s at least some wild frat and sorority parties I can get myself invited to. Hell, if not, maybe I can instigate some. Can’t hurt to try, right? And there’s something else niggling at me. Granted, I’ve only met this one girl here so far, but she seems to be from an offshoot, western culture. Most of what’s said and done make sense to me, coming from an American background, but there are differences. The language, words, contractions, cursing (which is the most important and defining part of any language, and don’t let anyone tell you different, how a culture curses will tell you more about them in a shorter amount of time than almost anything else, except maybe having a war with them, but that’s often a lot of hard work and very messy) are all pretty much what I’m used to. But some of the phrases that are common to me seem unfamiliar to her. It’s as if our cultures split off from a common ancestor years ago and then evolved along mostly parallel paths, but in isolation from each other. If this place started in the nineteen thirties or forties… yeah, I could see it.

As I am contemplating these things, there is a knock and a tall, slim man enters. He looks a lot like an older Leonard Nimoy from Star Trek. Greying around the temples, dark rimmed glasses, no points on the ears. His outfit is similar, but a light grey with white trim and belt. Pretty sharp though, not a hint of used car salesman about this guy.

“You are Aaron, I presume?”

“And you must be Dr. Havis. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really?” he looks to Bethany.

“No,” I interject, “Very little as a matter of fact. I just always wanted to say that,” I smile, “It’s right up there with ‘Dr. Livingston, I presume.’“

At this reference he smiles, “Very good. Please, call me Al.”

“Ok, Al. Please, have a seat. I imagine we’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”

“That, we do. I very much want to hear the story of how you came to us from beginning to end, in as much detail as you can muster. But before we begin, would you be willing to show me the door you came in through? No one else seems to be able to get it open.”

“I find that to be a perfectly reasonable request, and I certainly don’t see any reason not to honor it,” as we stand up and head out into the hall I pause, “Just, please, don’t ask me to perform this like a parlor trick every few minutes for every new jerk that comes along. Ok?”

“I certainly understand, and you have nothing to worry about in that regard. I’ll only ask you to perform your parlor trick for the most eminent and respected jerks among our number, and I’ll try to get them all together at once so you don’t have to put on too many repeat performances,” he says flatly with a dry smile but laughing eyes.

“Ok, I can live with that,” I like this guy.

So we walk down the hall to the spot where the door is, which has been marked with a cross of extra special super top secret moon base masking tape, and without any pomp or ceremony I knock open the door and the cross of tape flutters to the floor and we are looking out into Moon Valley High at a suddenly very startled and confused fellow in a yellow jumpsuit who was just about to turn the corner and head down the other hall. Poor guy, no one’s ever going to believe him.

The door shuts itself, and Al reaches out and knocks on it and it’s just a wall. He looks from the door, to me, to the masking tape on the floor, then back to the door and says:

“Fascinating.”

As we walk back to my quarters, Bethany speaks up.

“Show us the trick you did with the door.”

“I thought I just did?”

“No, the door to your quarters. When I couldn’t open it, and then it looked open but wasn’t.”

“Oh, ok, sure. Do you want to come inside with me, or watch from out here, or what?”

Al gives a curious look from Bethany to me, “You two go in, I’ll observe from outside.”

Bethany and I go into the room. Once the door closes I place my palm against it like I did before, “See, like this,” I say to her, then louder, “Ok, Al, it should be locked. Try opening it.”

There is a knock on the door but nothing happens.

“Now, like this,” I say to Bethany as I stroke the jamb with a fingertip and the door becomes a window.

“Ah,” says Al on the other side, as he reaches his hand forward and it then comes in contact with the transparent, but still quite solid door, “Hmm — highly unusual.”

“Now,” I rap the door with my knuckle, “Voila, it’s open! Like magic!”

Al stands outside and gingerly sticks his hand through the door and withdraws it, then stands there looking mildly perplexed.

Bethany says, “How did you know how to do that?”

“I don’t know, it just kinda seemed like the way it should work.”

“But I’ve lived here my whole life, and I can’t do that.”

“Did you ever try?”

“Well, no. Not like that. It never occurred to me.”

“Then how do you know you can’t?”

“Ok,” she says with a serious look, “Let me try. You go outside.”

I step out into the hall with Al and wait for the door to close. A moment later we hear:

“Ok, try opening it,” from inside.

I knock on the door and it opens immediately.

“Shit!” says Bethany.

“Wait,” I say, “I’ve got an idea. Let’s try this again.”

“Ok,” Bethany gives me a suspicious look.

Al and I wait for the door to close.

“Ok,” says Bethany.

“Alright, you try,” I say to Al.

Al knocks, and the door stays closed. He tries again, still nothing. He gives me a look.

“Alright,” I say through the door, “Now try the transparency, like I showed you.”

A moment later the door is transparent.

“Try again,” I say to Al.

He knocks again and the door stays closed. I reach out and knock and it’s instantly open. The two of them look from me, to each other, and back to me with questioning eyes.

“Hey,” I say, “I didn’t make these rules, I’m just figuring them out.”

“I think we should have that talk now,” says Al.

So we sit down around the table in my quarters and I tell them both the whole story, from being picked up at my house to the current moment, giving as much detail as I can manage. At certain moments either or both of them are in danger of rolling out of their chairs in laughter, saying things like…

“I don’t believe that!”

“Did you really say that?”

“Why would you do such a thing!”

All in good humor of course. I’m glad it’s a good story. In a certain sense, that’s all any of our lives boil down to isn’t it? A collection of stories that are either interesting or not? But I digress.

Anyway, by the time we’re done chewing the fat, it’s been a long day and we’re all pretty worn out. The tray of food that was on the dresser has been devoured among us and all the beverages in the little fridge have been sipped into oblivion. Despite all the strangeness, for all of us, it’s been a good day. Al stands up and stretches out after hours in the chair.

“Well, it’s been a long day for all of us, and I know it must be a bit of a strain having to take this all in at once.”

“Ah,” I wave him off, “It’s no more of a strain than you having to take me in. Although you do have a lot more backup,” I smile.

“Exactly, we are in familiar surroundings among people we know. Despite the fact that your sudden appearance and inexplicable mastery of our doors is rather unsettling, you have been so friendly and accommodating as to make me feel somewhat like a welcome guest in my own home, and already you have shared with us knowledge of our own surroundings which we did not possess. After talking with you today, I truly believe that you are genuine in your desire for knowledge of yourself, and I will do what I can to aid you in that regard.”

“Oh,” as a lightbulb dimly flickers above my head, “You’re THAT kind of doctor.”

“Yes,” he smiles, “Quite an astute observation. I was wondering if you’d catch on. And allow me to say that I’m quite impressed. Most people in your position would be clawing the walls and pulling their hair out by now and you are remarkably calm. I can’t begin to imagine what this must be like for you, separated from all you know, everyone you are familiar with — it must be quite a strain. And yet, you have armored yourself with humor and innuendo rather than fear, anger, or aggression. Though I must say, you don’t strike me as a gregarious personality, I would generally peg you as more of an introspective, introverted type. If I may ask, how do you manage?”

“Point taken, and I’d say you’re not far off the mark. I’ve lived a largely solitary life full of disappointment and problems at every turn, with very few plans ever turning out like I have hoped. In a life like that, you find humor in it or you die. Don’t get me wrong, I’m almost constantly frustrated, and capable of extreme rage and violence, but experience has taught me that those feelings and actions are very rarely a benefit to my situation. You learn to go with the flow, at least to a point. As far as being gregarious, you’re right, but it’s easier to be less like you usually are when you’re in a completely ridiculous situation among people you don’t know at all. Also, I’ve always had a certain talent for taking on leadership roles when the people who generally handle them are at a complete loss. Especially when it’s important.”

“I appreciate your candor, it shows unusual bravery.”

“Hey man, I know who I am and I understand my flaws inside and out. I mean, that’s what being self aware is. You don’t hide from yourself, and you don’t lie to yourself. You look yourself in the face, know who you are, and fucking deal with it. You know? That’s the only way you get to be the best possible version of yourself.”

“Wow. That’s — I was not expecting that from you. Where did you study?”

“Oh, I’m a high school drop out. But, that didn’t stop me from going on to drop out of college.”

Al opens his mouth, but is briefly speechless. Then closes his mouth with an odd inflection. It communicates something like ‘I can’t believe I just got schooled in my own field by a high school drop out using himself as an example.’

“Yeah, I know,” I say to him, “One must always remember that education is not intelligence, and knowledge is not wisdom. One must possess both, and be centered enough to do something with it.”

“That’s profound. Who said that?”

“I did, just now, and don’t you forget it.”

“No sir, I won’t,” he says softly.

“Oh! while I’m thinking about it, can you hook me up with like, a clock, and a calendar?” I swiftly change the subject before shit gets too weird.

“What? But it’s already — Oh! But I had just assumed that you knew because of — But of course. Here, let me show you.” and walks over to the giant window to nowhere above the dresser, “This is a smartglass,” he says, gesturing at the pane. He then picks up a small rectangle of black glass about the size of a small notepad from the top of the dresser that I had been ignoring as some type of decoration. “This is the controller,” he taps the center of the black rectangle and the whole wall comes to life. “You navigate through the menus like so,” and he begins to use the black glass like a touchpad mouse.

I get up and go stand next to him. The menu system is very complex. He demonstrates how to get to time, scroll through various time zones, how they relate to our current celestial position, a standard Julian calendar, moon phase calendar, earth phase calendar, celestial calendar, sidereal time and date and calendar — it’s a lot to take in.

“Wow,” I say, “That’s impressive.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he says, “In a week or so you’ll know your way around it pretty well. There’s media as well, but our database is somewhat limited.”

“Limited how?”

“It only contains things that have been broadcast, for the most part. There is a fair library of books, but those all have to be entered manually. Anything broadcasted is automatically picked up by the system and entered into the database, but a lot of it is…”

“Crap, yeah. I’m familiar with television. But seriously, everything?”

“Well, we’ve set it up to filter out duplicates, but, pretty much, yeah. It’s not that impressive, really. It’s all just out there, floating around in space. It’s just a system to bottle it up and pipe it in to us.”

“You know, when you put it like that, it’s a lot less amazing.”

“Yes,” he smiles, “It really is. So, now you’ve got a handle on this, what else do you need?” he says almost as much to himself as to me, “I’ll send someone around to replenish your drinks supply, anything in particular you’d like?”

“Whiskey and cigarettes?” I ask with a hopeful smile.

“We don’t generally, but in your case, as it’s your custom, I think one of the old storage rooms is full of some dusty crates of brandy and cigars. Would that do? They’re quite old, here from the very beginning as far as we can tell, but the rooms are hermetically sealed and humidity controlled, so they might be ok. I believe there might also be some crates of wine in one of them. There were also some ale crates, but those were all empty that we’ve seen. First thing consumed by the original builders I suppose.”

I roll my eyes and sigh sarcastically, “Dusty old brandy and cigars will have to do then. I’m sure it will be sufficient.”

“Sorry I can’t offer you anything fresher,” he says with a genuine air of apology.

“You, my friend,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a sideways smile, “have got a lot to learn. But don’t worry, a thorough education in these matters shall be forthcoming.”

“Ok,” he says with a mildly suspicious look, “Thank you. Something to eat?”

“You know, I could really go for a big slab of salmon and a green salad.”

“Certainly, how would you like it prepared?”

“Wait, really? You have salmon?”

“Yes, somewhat a glut of it in fact. It’s one of the fish we raise as part of our aquaponics program and not everyone has a taste for it, although I quite like it myself. Quite a few of us don’t eat fish at all, find it immoral for some reason. Glad you’re not one of those,” at this point he glances at Bethany who stares daggers back at him.

Yep, definitely Moon Valley U.

“Ok. So,” I venture, “Do you have any wasabi?”

“The Nipponese horseradish? Oh! I see what you’re getting at, sushi! Yes! Oh, Michael will be delighted!” seeing my confused expression, he explains, “He’s one of our younger chefs. Absolutely fascinated with sushi as a culinary art form. Loves to prepare it above anything else. Quite passionate about it. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get many takers. I think it’s all the media, you see. Most people would rather have their fish seared or grilled or fried or pressed into a patty between buns and pretend it’s like what they’ve seen on the smartglass.”

“Philistines!” I exclaim, “Sorry, no offense meant.”

“Oh, none taken. I think Michael’s sushi is quite good. Although I have nothing else to compare it to. As I said, he’ll be thrilled to have another enthusiast around, especially one that can tell him how his work stacks up to the real thing. But please, don’t be too hard on him if it’s not quite right. He’s a good boy and it would crush him.”

“Point taken. Sushi it is then!”

“Very good. Well, if that’s all, I believe we’ll take our leave,” he glances over at Bethany and she rises from her seat and joins us by the door, “Thank you Aaron, I have very much enjoyed your company today. I think you’ll be accepted here very quickly.”

“Oh. One last thing before you go,” I say, “What about the overseer?”

“That’s a bit complicated,” says Al, slightly evasively. “Can you let me get the rest of the council comfortable with you being here before we get into that?”

“Fair enough. As far as I can tell you’ve been straight with me so far, so I’ll not doubt your judgement in your own home until you give me a good reason to.”

“I hope I never do so. We’ll speak again tomorrow.” and they walk out into the… you know, I would say night, but it’s goddamned hard to tell in here, you know?

I mean, now that I actually stop to think about it, where is the light coming from in this place anyway? I’ve just been taking it for granted, but now that I really look, there’s no lamps, no bulbs, no fixtures in the ceiling, none of what I would consider ‘conventional’ lighting at all. Then I realize, there are no shadows. The light is emanating from every surface in the room. I lift up the comforter on the bed a bit to have a look, no shadow. Even the sheets are giving off light. Ok, I thought the magic doors and the smartglass and all was pretty cool, but this — this little thing that probably no one else in here has ever noticed because they just take it for granted — is really, really impressive. This speaks to a level of technology that these people may not fully even understand that they possess. After all, according to Al, it was built a long time ago. At least long enough that nobody living here now was alive then, so that’s what? Three or four generations at least! I mean, if there’s only one other person in here that isn’t from here, then everyone else was born here, so people my age and younger would be at least third, probably fourth, fifth generation. If any of the second generation is left, they’ll be in their late eighties or early nineties at least. I’m going to have to talk to these folks if there’s any of them still around. They’re the ones who’d be able to tell me some things.