We walk around a final corner and before us is a tram car. It is about the length of a large van and has rows of bench seats similar to a roller coaster carriage. It appears to be a monorail, as I only see one small track in the center of the path. I wonder if it’s fast?

“Your chariot awaits,” says Al. And we enter and are off on a new, grand adventure.

“Holy shit this thing is fast!” I yell over the wind noise as we whip around a banked corner doing about sixty.

“What did you say? I can’t hear you over the wind!” Al yells back, sitting next to me manning the controls and clearly enjoying playing engineer on this train.

“I said it’s fast!”

“You want to go fast? Ok!” Al pushes forward on a little pistol grip lever on the dash. I am pushed back into my seat and my eyeballs start to bounce around in my head.

“YeeeHaaa!” I yell in my best Dukes of Hazzard impersonation. Space Mountain can suck my dick, this shit’s for real!

If Al’s smile were any bigger the top of his head would flop back like a Pez dispenser.

After about another ten minutes of this high speed thrill ride, Al begins to gradually slow us down, bringing us to a gentle stop in an area that, while not dirty or in disrepair in any way, just feels old and unused. The air is not exactly stale or musty, just devoid of life. Maybe it’s a little more oxygen rich over here because nobody’s been breathing it. I can’t really nail it down, but it’s there.

“Here we are!” says Al, as we unstick ourselves from the seats, “The oldest part of the installation. You can feel it can’t you, the emptiness I mean?”

“Yeah, I was noticing that. Not really dirty or decrepit, just this overwhelming sense of vacancy. Why is that?”

“People stopped using this area before my time. Not sure why. I don’t think anyone remembers anymore. Now it’s pretty much just storage for forgotten things. Teenagers come down here sometimes to explore and mess around,” there are some quiet giggles behind us from Todd and Christi, so apparently they’re familiar with that part, ”Otherwise nobody bothers. I think it’s mostly because we don’t really need to. Plus, it’s kind of archaic down here. You’ll see.” and Al leads us down a lonely hall.

About twenty five yards down, I see what he means. The common panel construction that is found throughout the place stops (or, probably more accurately, starts) and beyond it the structure is built like a concrete bunker that you might find on earth. Thick concrete walls, floor, and ceiling, with heavy steel blast doors set into the walls. Easily big enough to drive a deuce and a half through without worrying about clearance, although turning around would be a bitch. The lighting is different, too. Here, it is more or less conventional, with bulbs set into the ceiling every fifteen feet or so. Probably some type of LED or something though, because none of them seem to have burned out over the years. And here I encounter something I haven’t seen since I arrived in this place. Shadows. If ever an ultra top secret section of a super top secret moon base had anything analogous to a dingy back alley, this is it. I suddenly feel much more at home.

“Ah, I think this is it,” says Al, as we approach a unique door to the left hand side. All the other doors so far have been big, rectangular garage type things that you would move equipment through. This one is a smaller, two piece double door, arched at the top. Still big enough to get a forklift or something through with both sides open, but you’d have to be paying attention. There is a single lamp on the wall directly above the door. Stenciled above that, reaching into the shadows, is a large number Forty Two. Al wrestles with the latch a bit, and half of the heavy steel door creaks and then swings relatively easily open on its hinges.

“Yes, here we are,” he says.

I peer in through the door, and in the light spilling in from the hallway I do, in fact, see several crates stacked on pallets stenciled ‘BRANDY’ and ‘CONGAC’. Which is quite promising, but the balance of the room is blanketed in darkness, and I really want to know what I’m dealing with here. So I step inside and feel around on the wall to the side of the door and locate a familiar feeling extrusion just about where I’d expected it to be. Then I flip the switch.

“How’d you do that?!” exclaims Al as the whole room is bathed in light.

“I just flipped the… oh wait, right,” I say as I remember where I am and who I’m dealing with. These people haven’t needed a light switch for something like four generations. So I calmly and patiently explain how it works.

“So that’s been here my whole life and I never knew!” he says, astonished.

“Don’t feel bad. You didn’t know what to look for and there was no one around to tell you what to do with it if you did. Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to see what I’m dealing with here.”

I squeeze around the stacks of crates, which are kind of packed in just next to the door and, Jesus! This place is huge! It’s all beautiful wood paneling, dark and rich, and there’s tables and chairs and a bandstand in the corner and… Holy shit! It’s a bar! And not some chintzy hole in the wall dive either. Everything is real wood, solid, with lots of brass and copper fittings and escutcheons everywhere. It’s like Rick’s Cafe Americain was remodeled by Jules Vern and plopped down on the moon. I’m in love! Or at least lust… the chandelier is amazing! I bet that’s real crystal! Then I notice, the ceiling in here is at least twice as high as in the hall. Maybe higher. I scan the room and, there! Behind the end of the bar across from the bandstand, is the staircase leading up to the modest balcony above. I run across the room, stumbling and kicking chairs in my excitement, and scramble up the stairs to see what’s behind the two doors up there. Behind the first is a large, well appointed office straight out of the nineteen thirties, complete with walls lined with bookshelves filled with actual books! Behind the second is, Holy of Holies! An apartment to match. And not just an apartment, a large, opulent apartment! With a living room and bedroom with a king sized four poster bed and kitchen with actual appliances manufactured by American automobile companies back when they did that sort of thing and a bathroom with a big clawfoot tub and a sink and a mirror that won’t try to talk to me and actual knobs marked H and C! Wow!

I hear Al call out my name from below. Apparently they have made it past the wall of crates and are wondering where I’ve gotten off to. I try to calm my racing heart. I walk to the sideboard in the living room and pour a generous portion of whatever is in the cut crystal decanter into one of the cut crystal glasses next to it and suck it down as gently as I can manage. It is an excellent highland malt scotch. I gather my nerves and step out onto the balcony and calmly down the stairs.

“There he is!” pipes up Christi when I’m about halfway down the stairs.

“Oh, good,” says Al, turning around from examining the bandstand, “We heard some scuffling and thought maybe something had happened to you.”

“No, no, everything’s fine,” I say putting on my best nonchalant face, “So, you say no one’s used this place for like a hundred years, huh?”

“Oh, maybe not quite that long,” he chuckles, “But give or take, yes.”

“Do you think anyone would mind if I moved in here for the duration of my stay? I mean, it may be quite a while, and this is so much more like what I’m used to back home.” It’s not really a lie, I just leave out the part about how it’s what I really WISH I was used to back home.

“Well, I’m certain no one would object. No one else has any interest whatsoever in this old wing. But, are you sure you really want to? I mean, it’s rather isolated out here.”

“It’s pretty isolated where I am now too, Doc. And this feels a lot more like home. Plus, lots more room for friendly gatherings, so when people do want to seek out the new guy, there’s room to be comfortable. They’re not all just trying to crowd into my little bedroom and blocking the hallway to Todd’s lab over there.”

“He makes a good point, Uncle Al,” Todd speaks up. After today’s little performance, I think he likes the idea of me being far enough away that me opening a window into his lab for a large crowd of random gawkers is an unlikely occurrence.

“Very well,” says Al, “It’s all yours if you want it. I just hope you won’t get too lonely out here.”

“Oh,” I clap him on the shoulder and smile, “Gimmie a few weeks. I have a feeling it’ll be a real popular place,” then, before he has a chance to think about it too much, “Now, shall we continue our tour?”

“Yes, yes!” he brightens right up, “Let’s get you out into the public eye before the rumors get too rampant!” and begins to head for the door.

“Excellent! Oh, just a second,” everyone pauses while I slip behind the bar and grab a random bottle for the road. It’s a white rum. That will do. While I’m glancing around I happen to notice a break action, side by side shotgun beneath the bar. Good! My kind of place! I pick it up and give it a quick once over. It's in good shape, clean, and loaded.

"What's that?" asks Al, peering over my shoulder.

"This," I hold up the shotgun, "is my boomstick! Please avoid any physical contact with it. It is potentially quite dangerous."

"Very well then," Al says, giving me a quizzical look.

"Alright, let's go!" I say, placing the shotgun safely back behind the bar.

We pile back into the tram and it’s just a hop, skip, and a Wheee! down the line to our next stop that leads us into the main mall. I take this opportunity to crack the bottle, take a slug, and introduce Todd and Christi to booze. I use the reasoning that this was one of the first things that the alchemists they have been studying were successful at, and it works. They both cough and sputter after taking a gulp, but keep it down. Al declines after seeing their reactions, though.

After a short walk, we come out into the main mall, and it’s a whole ‘nother kind of amazing. It’s a massive, round atrium, at least a football field’s length across, that cuts it’s way up through six more stories, each with a wide promenade around the edge, before being capped with a huge, clear dome, beyond which I can see the stars doing their whole ‘twinkle, twinkle’ bit out in space. The whole center down here at floor level is a legitimate park. There is grass and flowers and trees and shrubs and a small stream with ornamental fish and some little bridges like in a Japanese garden, complete with children playing and various people lounging about enjoying the afternoon imitation sun. It’s a really cool scene.

We walk onto the grass and I kneel down to touch it. It’s real grass, sure enough, but it’s not growing in soil. When I press down it’s spongey and damp, kind of like astroturf after a rain.

“What do you think?” asks Todd, popping a squat beside me.

“It’s pretty cool. I’ve never seen an aquaponics system on this scale, or anything like this really, for that matter. I mean, this isn’t soil, it’s obviously some type of highly porous growing medium. All the fish in the stream help to add nutrients to the water for the plants and the plants filter the water to keep it clean enough for the fish, and provide food for the fish. It’s a finely tuned and elegant little ecosystem. So this is how you produce your food here, huh? Must be a bitch to keep in balance.”

“Yeah, it’s a little touchy, but we’ve been doing it forever, and the growers have it down to a high art. This is just kinda showing off though, it’s the biggest one but it doesn’t really produce. The real production happens in the big grow rooms on the lower levels. Most of the trays are only about an acre, but there’s hundreds of ‘em.”

“Nothing like this where I’m from, that’s for sure.”

“Where are you from anyway?”

“Texas.”

“You mean like with the hats and the boots and the guns and horses?”

“Kinda, and don’t forget the whiskey!” I say, taking a sip from the bottle.

“Oh!” a lightbulb comes on over Todd’s head, “So that’s why that place makes you feel so at home! Now I get it! Hey, can I try some more of that? I’m startin’ to feel pretty good now.”

“Sure,” I hand him the bottle, “Kinda’ grows on ya’ doesn’t it? But be careful. If you over do it your first time it’ll be really bad. I speak from experience.”

“Ok,” he takes a measured sip and hands the bottle to Christy, who is looking extra rosy cheeked and cheerful now. She takes a noticeably larger gulp and hands the bottle back to me, then weaves slightly straightening up. She probably only weighs a hundred and twenty pounds, it ain’t gonna take much.

“Better keep an eye on ‘er, buddy,” I say to Todd.

“Duly noted,” he replies.

We get up and walk around. Al and Todd start introducing me around to different folks they know that happen to be out today, and I glad-hand and answer questions and joke around and offer sips of rum (couching it as part of my cultural heritage to have a drink with a new friend, it works pretty good and isn’t far off the mark) and generally make friendly with as many people as possible for as long as we all can stand it. After a few more hours I tell Todd he needs to take Christi home, which he tries to do gracefully but she want’s more rum, which I deflect by telling her that I need it for all the other people I’m going to meet on my way back to my quarters, where I have to go to pick up a few things before moving to Door 42 in the morning. At which she pouts.

“But y’all can come see me down at Door 42 any time, and I’ll always be glad to have ya’,” I say, which mollifies her enough to allow Todd to half lead, half carry her away. Ah, to be young again… oh, wait, that part of life kinda sucked for me, glad that shit’s over with.

Then Al and I walk back to the tram and he whips me back around to the other side of the complex at exhilarating speed.

“You know you’re gonna have to give me one of these things, right?” I say when he drops me off at my exit.

“Yeah, we may have to drag one out of the roundhouse and clean it up for you eventually. But for now, just let me enjoy runnin’ you around for a while, ok? Old man like me doesn’t get to have that much fun anymore.”

“I bet when you were Todd’s age you never figured you’d end up as the upstanding pillar of the community you are today.”

“I cannot be forced to answer any question that may cause me to incriminate myself,” he smiles.

“I accept that. Besides, it wasn’t a question, it was an observation. See ya later.”

“Yes, you will. And thanks, I’ve honestly been enjoying this very much.”

“You’re welcome. So have I, at least, mostly,” and I wave as he zooms off and I begin the walk back to my room, which isn’t nearly as convoluted as I remember. Then I remember that we came here the first time from the lab, so that makes more sense.

I get back to my room thinking I’ve done pretty good for today. I was Oz the great and powerful, turned lead into gold, went for a high speed ride with a mad doctor on a monorail, unearthed the most amazing back alley bar on the moon (or possibly anywhere, for that matter), got it given to me, gave two kids their first drink (well, they’re probably in their early twenties, but from where I’m sitting… and I hope that’s working out for Todd tonight, he seems like a pretty good kid), did a whole mess of glad-hand public relations work, I still have not quite half a bottle of rum, and there’s still four or five antique Lucky Strikes waiting in there for me. Life is good.

I enter my room and the lights come up very dim, which strikes me as odd. Then I see the reason why. Someone’s been sleeping in my bed… and she’s still there. Oh, Trina, you came here to ambush me but I stayed out too late and you fell asleep waiting. What am I gonna do with you? Then I realize, I’m gonna need a bartender, and she has all the makings of a really good one. Hmm. Have I got an angle for you, miss trouble.

I turn the room blue to keep it mellow, and the light comes up a bit because, hey, it’s blue. Then I sit down at the table and drink rum and spark a Lucky and think it over. Yeah, it could work. In fact, it could be ideal. She’s smokin’ hot, kinda gruff, takes no shit, sticks by her friends and will go against anybody for ‘em, has an innate talent for keeping score, and maybe most importantly, nobody she works with is going to complain if I whisk her off to Door 42 and give her something else to do. From what I’ve heard they’ll probably give me a fucking medal! She’ll be happy ‘cause she’s workin’ an angle, one that’ll actually work this time, and even though it’s my angle, not hers, she’ll be all in once it gets rolling. If I’m going to be here for a while, Door 42 is definitely what I want, and this is my play to make it happen. Ok.

I take a last sip, cork the bottle, crush out the butt, and go over to the bed where Trina is crashed out on top of the sheets, fully clothed (but with the buttons of her top undone, for effect I imagine). I gently slide the comforter out from underneath her, slip off her shoes, and tuck her up under the covers. While doing this, I consider that she really is very good looking, while I’m straightening out the sheets over her and… the whole room goes transparent, including her clothes. This is surprising, and very impressive for a number of reasons. Also… Whoops! I turn it blue again, slip off my shoes, and slide into bed on the other side, turning my back to hers and trying to behave myself. Although I’m not sure why really, now that I think about it. She was asleep in my bed when I got back, so she signed up for this shit. I’m the one being nice by not kicking her ass out into the hall.

“Thanks Bethy,” she sleep mumbles, scrunching the soles of her feet up against the backs of my calves, “Love you.”

“Mmmhmm,” I reply, allowing the warmth of the rum to flow through me and whisk me off to dreamland.