When I awaken the next morning I am slightly disoriented. Then I remember I’ve moved to Door 42. Ok, that’s good. Then I realize I’m in the middle of a three way spoon in a king size bed and someone’s hand is between my legs. On the one hand, this is a new experience for me and it’s pretty fuckin’ awesome. On the other hand, my left arm is asleep and I can’t roll over to let it breath because I’m trapped between two pretty girls. Oh well, pimpin’ ain’t easy.

I just lie there for a while, trying to enjoy this and wondering how the hell it happened and how the fuck I’m going to handle this situation when the girls wake up. Then the girls wake up with their own ideas and handle the situation for me, twice. I’m not enjoying this nearly as much as I should be, because firmly implanted in my mind is the certain knowledge that I need these girls to help me run the bar and now this situation can go real sideways, real fast. But I manage to muster enough enthusiasm to make a good showing, because if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that you never argue with two, good looking, lifelong girlfriends when they are in agreement. Especially when they’ve got you by the angle. At least the feeling in my arm has come back now.

After we’re done in the shower, which is a whole ‘nother experience, really fun in a slippery, soapy, giggly, fleshy, crowded kind of way, we’re all fairly clear headed and fishing around for our clothes. Out of curiosity I open up the dresser and find some regular clothes. They even mostly fit! I pull out a plain white t-shirt and some brown slacks. The pants are a little big, but there’s a belt so it works out ok. The shoes are way too small though, so I have to stick with the slippers.

“Ooo, don’t you look sharp this morning!” teases Trina, slapping me on the ass.

Oh God, I’ll never win again with either of these two. My life is now over and all I can do is smile and endure. It’s not like I can leave town. Well, not yet anyway. But maybe it won’t be so bad.

“You would know!” I say with a wink and a smile.

“So what now?” asks Bethany.

“Well,” I consider, “First order of business, as I see it, is to search the nearby rooms and see if we can find the machine those crates were loaded in with. They’re on pallets, so they weren’t put there by hand, and we need them out of the way before we can do anything else.”

“Ok, so what does it look like?”

“I don’t know what this one is going to look like exactly, but it’ll probably be pretty compact, and it’ll have forks on the end like this,” I demonstrate using my fingers, “that will slide into the pallet and pick it up like so.”

“Alright, Mr. Smartypants,” says Trina, “I think we can find that. Let’s go.”

We start with the rooms going towards the tramway. There is a lot of cool shit, and hundreds, if not thousands of crates on pallets which I would love to investigate, but we have to stay focused on the immediate goal. After several hours we have checked them all and had no luck, but at least I have an idea where some stuff is. After a short breather for a drink and a cigarette back in Door 42, we start checking the rooms further down, and hit a home run on the first pitch.

“Hey,” yells Trina, “Is this it?”

I follow her voice through the maze of crates and make my way out into an open area, and there it is! It’s a really interesting little machine. It looks like a small bulldozer with the operator’s station turned around backwards. It has thick rubber pads on the tracks and forks on the front. It doesn’t have a mast like a forklift though, it has lift arms like a… Well hell! It’s a prehistoric skid steer! I take a closer look and the controls are levers and pedals pretty similar to what I’m used to. There’s no kind of cab or protective structure over the seat though, so I’ll have to pay fucking attention. If I drop something on my head in this thing it’s gonna hurt! Further examination reveals a small, four cylinder engine, and something like an LPG tank bubbling out of the hood, marked with a big H. My guess is they were running their engines on hydrogen to keep from polluting the atmosphere in here. It’s how I’d do it. I check the oil (it’s full and looks clean), radiator (full of coolant), and the gauge on the gas tank says almost full. I’m sure we’re gonna need a battery, or at least a charger, but I hop up into the seat, locate the key and give it a twist just because I’m here. Nothing happens. Then I notice the button marked ‘START’. I push it and the damn thing cranks over and fires right up! There does not appear to be a muffler, and this son of a bitch is LOUD inside this concrete echo chamber! I grin like a cheshire cat. The girls jump and cover their ears with their hands. I motion for them to back off and try the controls and everything works just fine. It’s a little clunky feeling, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s just stiff from lack of use and smoothes out after I get it limbered up a bit. Then I start looking for the way to the door. It takes a little doing, and I have to shift a few crates, but after about twenty minutes I’m roaring out into the hall. I wonder if the grown ups are gonna hear me upstairs? Ten minutes later the crates from Door 42 are lined up neatly against the wall outside and I park the machine and shut it off. The exhaust is still ringing in my ears and my whole body is kinda shaking from the vibration. As I climb off I notice an hour meter on the machine and have a look. It reads 00012. No wonder it’s stiff, its a goddamned brand new time capsule tractor! I check the gauge on the fuel tank and it’s down to less than half. Ok, this is going to be an issue. It makes sense though. Hydrogen is an exceptionally clean fuel, but it’s not the most efficient stuff to run through a relatively low compression engine like this one. Add in the fact that you’re running the engine at a constant high RPM all the time because the whole machine runs on hydraulics, and that equals sucking down the go juice. That might help explain the remarkably low hours on the machine, too. Regardless, there has to be a stash of fuel around here somewhere, and we’re going to have to find it, because we’re going to need this thing.

“Is it safe? Can we come out now?” I look down the hall and Trina and Bethany are poking their heads out of the door we got the skid steer out of.

“Yep. All clear. Nothing to fear.” I holler down to them.

“Thank goodness!” exclaims Trina as they walk back towards me, “That thing is so loud! I never heard anything like it before!”

“I know, isn’t it great!”

She looks at me like I’m from a different planet, which I kind of am, “No! It’s horrible!”

“I kinda like it,” says Bethany, with a sparkle in her eyes, “Even with my hands over my ears, I could feel it in my chest. It felt, powerful. And watching you operate it, it really looked like fun.”

“It kinda is,” I smile, “Tell you what, I’ll show you how to run it.”

“Really?”

“Sure, but first we gotta find where they keep the gas for it. It’s almost empty.”

“What should I look for?” she asks, chomping at the bit.

“Well, I imagine it’ll be in a big blue tank marked with a white H. Kinda like the one poking out of the hood there,” I point at the tank on the loader, “Shouldn’t be too hard to find. There’ll probably be a bunch of ‘em.”

“Ok, I’ll be back!” and she takes off down the hall.

Trina frowns at me, “What did you do to that girl?”

“Nothing I didn’t do to you too.”

She smiles and chuckles, “I guess you got me there, pretty boy.”

“Mmhm, I’ll probably get you again later, too.”

“You just might. But in the meantime, what do we do while Bethy’s off looking for those tanks?”

“I think you mean ‘finding’ those tanks. You saw the look in her eyes, she will definitely succeed. Meanwhile, we need to get some damn groceries down here. In all the excitement, I forgot to even think about food, but now that I do…”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point there.”

“Would you mind going? You know what Bethy likes, and you know your way around, and I don’t. I’d go with you, but I’m pretty sure when Bethy comes back all excited about her discovery and I’m not here, she’ll be supremely pissed.”

“Oh, ok,” she rolls her eyes in mock exasperation, “You’re right about that. Now tell me something, have you called her Bethy yet? To her face I mean?”

“Once. We were alone and she asked me not to do it in front of other people, so I haven’t. But I figured since it’s you and all it would be ok.”

“Really? And she didn’t punch you in the mouth or anything?”

“Nooo…”

“Wow! She really likes you then. I mean, people call me a bitch, but that one gets downright mean!”

“Ok… good to know,” and the hits just keep on comin’, “Oh, and see if you can find Michael. If you tell him I sent you, he’ll hook us up.”

“Michael, the sushi guy? Don’t you think he’s a little, weird?”

“No. I think he’s very intelligent and skilled and passionate, and kinda misunderstood. You know, just like the rest of us. I like him and I think he might be a good fit for Door 42. See if he wants to come down and check it out.”

“Ok. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Oh hell no! Haven’t a clue. But I know people I think I can get along with, and that’s what makes a good bar work. We all have to like each other enough to put up a united front against the patrons.”

“Sounds like you know what you’re doing, to me. But whatever. I’ll be back in a while, you better not be takin’ a nap while I’m gone. No willie wagglin’ either,” she says with a mock stern look.

“Ah. Of course Bethy told you about that.”

“First thing! It was pretty funny,” she smiles, “See ya.”

I go through the desk in the office and find a cartridge pen and a spiral notebook and go down to the bar to take inventory. Once I have a clear picture of what’s on the shelves, which is pretty good but won’t last too long once we’re drawing a crowd, I start opening doors I haven’t looked through yet. There’s a Ladies’ and Gent’s of course, a room with two poker tables and a blackjack table, wasn’t expecting that, and a room with two, tournament size pool tables. Good to know. These are along the wall next to the entrance, and a couple of them were blocked by the crates. Along the shady little passageway behind the bandstand and the stairs at the far end of the bar, basically under the office, is a very nice green room for the band, and a pretty swank private party room, probably set aside for the higher ranking upper crust, whoever the hell that would be on the moon. There is also a large broom closet and a huge, well appointed kitchen. I mean, I’m not surprised that this place has a kitchen, but the sheer size of it! You could park a truck in here, and I don’t mean a pickup either. Then I consider the era in which this place was most likely built. So this was probably the real nerve center of the whole operation, not where work was performed, but where shit got done. And everybody who wasn’t cooking for themselves probably ate here.

This brings to mind another idea. Somewhere down here there must be barracks, or quarters of some kind. Probably a more ho-hum version of the apartment here, although, judging from the swanky private room, a few of them might be pretty nice. If I can find them, I might want to stake a claim on one as a private, vacation home, for when this joint gets jumpin’ and I want a quiet place to escape. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

I am lost in this thought when Bethy comes pelting up to me, beads of sweat breaking on her brow.

“Found it!” she bursts, with a big smile, “Teach me the machine now?”

“How far?”

“Not real far,” but she kinda scrunches her face when she says it, “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

I do some rough estimations in my head. There’s probably enough gas left to make it there, and unless Trina was pulling my leg, I don’t think I want to disappoint Bethy here.

“Ok,” I decide, “We’ll probably make it. Let’s go.”

Her eyes light up and she’s waiting by the loader in anticipation before I get there. I climb up into the driver’s seat, which is a fairly wide bench but not enough for two adults to sit side by side, and she jumps up into my lap. I show her the controls, place her hands on the directional levers, and press the start button. Then I place my hands over hers, maneuver us out into the center of the hall, and push them full forward so we are moving at the loader’s maximum speed, which is something like a brisk walk. Then I pull my hands away and wrap my arms around her waist to keep her from sliding off my lap with the vibration of the thing. It’s not what you’d call a smooth ride, but it’s nice. I’m giving her her first driving lesson, and it warms my heart. With the noise and the vibration and the tracks kind of clomping along on their rubber pads she’s gently bouncing in my lap. There is a… stirring. I know she feels it too, because she wiggles back into me a bit. Never takes her eyes off the road though. This girl’s gonna be a good driver.

After about ten minutes we come to a T intersection where she takes us right. Then, about a quarter mile farther down she stops us in front of a door, also on the right, also the ONLY door on the right, which she has left open and the lights on for us.

“What should I do now?” she asks, shouting over the engine.

“Shut it off for a second! I wanna have a look!” then I reach down and switch off the key.

As we dismount and walk through the door, the sight before me is hard to fathom. It’s absolutely massive! A square mile? Filled with row upon row of massive, upright hydrogen tanks with aisles between wide enough to drive a vehicle down. I walk over to the nearest one. It must be twenty feet wide and three stories tall. And there’s hundreds of them! There must be enough hydrogen in here to fuel a post apocalyptic, breakaway civilization for a couple hundred years! Which, now that I think of it, was probably the idea.

“Is this it? Did I find it?” she bubbles hopefully.

“Oh yeah,” I grab her in a sideways hug, looking out at the forest of blue tanks, “You found it. Good work!” I then lean over to give her a little peck which she turns into something else entirely. She appears to be excited.

As we turn back around, I notice, parked along the wall next to the door, a small fleet of adult sized tricycles. The kind with two wheels in the front, like an ice cream cart. Between the front wheels is mounted a pretty good sized transfer tank. Aha! I knew there had to be a way! One of these will probably keep the loader full for the better part of a day. I wheel one over to a tank and fill it up. After figuring out the valve and hose situation it goes smoothly. Then I gingerly maneuver the loader in and do the same. Once back outside, I put Bethy on the loader and tell her to head back to Door 42.

“Aren’t you coming with me? I wanted to sit on your lap again,” she smiles.

“I’m bringing this,” I pat the tricycle, “so we don’t have to keep running the loader back here every fifteen minutes to fill it up.”

“Ok. Race ya!” and she roars off.

I wheel the trike out into the hall and close up the room. This is a good score.

Bethy has a solid head start, but the trike, while agonizingly slow off the line, is quite a bit faster than the loader once it gets rolling. The brakes kinda suck though, as I discover when I blow right past my turn and off down the opposite hall. Lesson learned. I get turned back around and still easily coast past Bethy to Door 42.

“Hey! You beat me!” she pouts, bouncing down off the loader, “And you didn’t even have an engine!” she says, proudly using a new word, “I like driving! I wanna go faster!” she is positively glowing.

“On this,” I pat the trike, “I am the engine. Come to think of it, there’s probably some regular bikes in here somewhere. Those’d be handy to have.”

“What’s a bike?”

“Bicycle. This is a trike, or tricycle,” I gesture at the trike, “because it has three wheels.”

“So a bike is like that but with just one wheel in the front?”

“Yeah.”

She pelts off down the hall like a little kid, “C’mon! I saw some down here!”

Oh Lord, what have I started? But I’m enjoying her enthusiasm and the bikes will be useful, so I follow along at a brisk walk. We get the bikes out, and after a few low speed faceplants Bethy gets the hang of it and is zooming up and down the hall like a demon on wheels.

“Yeah! Wooo!” she exclaims exuberantly as she races past me while I pedal relatively leisurely back to Door 42.

“Oh!” I hear from up ahead, and look up in time to see her slide to a sideways stop and just narrowly avoid plowing into Trina and Michael, coming back with a huge trolley of food.

“What the hell is going on here?” says Trina, loudly, as I pull up. She looks at me and appears genuinely irate, “Who the hell are you and what have you done to my friend?”

Ok, now this looks like the Trina I’ve been warned about.

“Oh, Trina!” gushes Bethy, running over with a huge smile and slamming her friend in a big hug, “It’s been great! He showed me how to run the loader. And then he taught me how to ride a bike! I love it!”

“See,” I hold up my hands, “Per your instructions I have not been taking a nap nor waggling my willie,” I say with my most hopeful smile.

“I want to though,” says Bethy with a grin, then cocks an eyebrow up at Trina, “You can play too, if you want!”

At this, Trina’s resolve breaks and she cracks a smile with her friend. I seize the opportunity to step over to a very confused looking Michael and say, ”Hey man, let me give you a hand with this,” to which he just nods numbly and we move the trolley through the door and back towards the main kitchen. The trolley is about the size of a large chest freezer (which it turns out is pretty much what it is, well, refrigerated anyway) but it doesn’t take any effort to move. It just glides effortlessly along, only needing us to keep it from running into things.

“I,” starts Michael, “What I just heard. Was that what I think it was?”

“Very probably, I’m afraid.”

“So you… With both of ‘em?”

“Apparently so, yes.”

“How the hell did you manage that? Especially with those two?”

“I… didn’t really have much say in the matter. It was all their idea.”

“Now THAT, I believe! Man, you are so fucked!”

“Tell me about it.”

Out in the hallway Bethy is trying to get Trina to try out the bike, “C’mon! It’s fun!” filters in from the distance.

“So fucked,” laughs Michael.

“Here man, lemme show you the kitchen,” as I bump open the double doors under the stairs and try to change the subject.

He is reasonably impressed.

“Man, it’s so big. I was not expecting this at all. This is nice!” he says, running his hands over the stainless countertops and the big prep table in the middle, “I mean, everything is really old, but it looks great. If it still works and I could figure it out, I could really do some work in here. Lots of elbow room, not bumpin’ into stuff all the time…”

“So, you want it?”

“What?”

“You seem like you like the kitchen. Do you want it? We’re gettin’ this place goin’ again and we’re gonna need somebody to run the kitchen.”

“You serious?”

“Yep.”

“Can I do sushi?”

“You better! I love that shit! I mean, you’ll have to do some other stuff too, because, you know. People. But you can pretty much do what you want. I know it’ll be good. I mean, I might request a few things, if that’s ok.”

“You’re saying I can run this kitchen. And do sushi… Pick my own staff?”

“Gonna have too. Who the fuck do I know in this place?”

“Ok. You’re gonna have to promise me one thing though.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t let them crazy bitches mess with me! I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I have never seen ANYTHING like that before. Nobody can handle either one of them! You’re scary, man. But this is just too good to pass up. Now how is this gonna work?”

“Let’s go out to the bar and talk about it.”

As we walk out of the kitchen we hear, “Oh! Oh!” and then a crash from the hallway, followed by a bunch of giggles. Sounds like Todd and Christi showed up and the girls got Todd on the bike.

“What the hell was that?” asks Michael.

“It’s a bar man, get used to it.”