A Discordant Note

Arthur Mills - 'September 7, 2024

Arthur Mills woke up in his usual temper. It flared even higher once he realized Stacey was already in the shower; he fumed at how inconsiderate she was. Now, he'd have to go into a steamed-up bathroom and hope there was enough hot water for the long shower he wanted for himself. He needed to keep his emotions in check today; making a good first impression was crucial. They'd been in this dung hole for a month, and it was finally time for him to reap the benefits he so richly deserved.

He hadn't liked Plattsburg, the university or the town, but for them to decline to renew his contract? For what? Flirting? Big deal. It's not like they were his students, exchanging favors for grades. It was so utterly ridiculous; he hadn't even bothered revealing it when the recruiters came calling.

Today was the day they actually arrived on campus; he'd been assured the dean would be there to meet them, and he just hoped Stacey wouldn't embarrass him. He knew she wasn't tenured material when he met her, but he couldn't resist smoking hot and slightly stupid, even if she was older than he usually went for. How come he hadn't realized how shrewish she could be until this last month?

Living in a cramped hotel room had brought out a different side of her, a side he wasn't going to stand for much longer. Instead of being awed that he, a respected physicist, was interested in a hair stylist, she'd started complaining about him. What did she have to complain about? It wasn't his fault they wouldn't let them onto the university campus right away simply because he wouldn't get vaccinated. His immune system was perfectly healthy, thank you very much, and certainly didn't need to be degraded with a foreign substance. ₍₁₎

All this fuss over a coronavirus, a simple variation of the common cold. Even if it had been the deadly disease the mainstream media hyped it into, it had been gone for years. He couldn't remember seeing anyone wearing a mask in a long time, for Chrissake! Then they had put him in this cramped hotel room, with no company except his stupid, blowsy wife! He wouldn't have put up with it except for all the sweet, sweet money pouring into his account the day after they'd arrived.

Seven-plus million, all his, and all he had to do was teach at a graduate level for ten years. They even guaranteed he'd only have to teach twenty hours a week, leaving plenty of time for his research. He reached over for his laptop, wanting to take one more look at that beautiful balance, only to remember it had gone with the luggage last night.

He shrugged off his mild irritation and tried to relax against the pillows and think pleasant thoughts. Graduate teaching was better than undergrad by a long shot. Teaching introductory quantum physics was a bore, and he hadn't yet found a worthy student. Even better, he'd been a master negotiator; he wasn't going to have to spend any of his own money where they were going. They agreed to provide a house comparable to that of the university's provost and dining hall access for all meals, at no extra cost to him.

One niggling thought tried to poke its way up and grab his attention; if he broke the contract, he'd have to give back most of the money and only keep a small portion for the time he'd worked. Arthur dismissed the notion out of hand; why would he want to leave such a cushy landing place? He'd made sure he and Stacey signed everything put in front of them when they'd arrived at this hotel in the middle of nowhere.

The door opened, and Stacey finally came out of the bathroom. He hurried in and was immediately enveloped in a misty, steamy sauna. The mirror was clouded over, and he seethed. Dammit, why did Stacey have to be such a slob? He needed to shave and look his best; there would be people to impress when they arrived. She knows what an important day this is for me, but no, all she thinks about is herself.

Done with his silent beratement, Arthur wiped off the mirror and looked at himself. Not bad for seventy-three, he thought. His hair hadn't turned gray yet, and the crewcut helped cover up the receding hairline. He ignored the barrel chest and the rosy cheeks; he'd always been stocky, even as a kid, and had rosacea most of his life, so those were easy areas to gloss over.

Out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, Arthur ignored Stacey as he marched over to the clothes he had laid out —a light blue striped shirt, light gray slacks paired with a navy sports coat— and began dressing. He didn't have to go full suit; he was an academic. He felt his neck and face growing hot as he noticed his pants were tight and his belt was straining even on the last notch. A whole month wasted with no way to run or work out except for the stupid fold-out treadmill. When he was finally dressed to his satisfaction, he looked up and saw what Stacey was wearing.

The dress was dark blue, and the length was good, barely showing her knees. But he hadn't realized it was so form-fitting and sleeveless, letting her flabby arms hang down as well as out. Well, it was too late to change, but maybe...

"Do you have a sweater you can wear?" he inquired politely.

She laughed sharply, "No, I don't have a sweater; I never packed one; it's early September, for Pete's sake! And even if I had, all our luggage went out last night."

Arthur flushed and was saved from replying by a knock on the door. "Breakfast, finally!" he said. Striding over to the door, he opened it to the sight of a masked Cynthia Walid, dressed in a white jumpsuit, relieved only by a stripe of black around her waist and the same black stripes running along the outside of the sleeves and legs; her brown eyes were implacable as always.

"Temperature check." He groaned silently; he hated Cynthia. At first, he'd tried to acquire her; she was stunning, all that long, luscious blonde hair against her olive skin and those deep brown eyes. She also had some authority in the hotel and could have been a valuable asset. She pissed him off by ignoring all his attempts to flatter and flirt. He told himself it didn't matter; he'd never see her again once they were on campus.

"Cynthia, where's our breakfast?"

Raising her arm, she pointed to two trays sitting on a small counter next to the door as she said. "It's been there for the last two hours, exactly when we said it would be delivered in the notice about putting your luggage out."

Arthur's flush returned as he tried to suppress the justifiable rage flowing through him. Careful, he thought. She could still make his life miserable for the next few hours. He brought himself under control and flashed a warning look at Stacey as he replied, "I'm sorry, I didn't know since I wasn't the one to read the notice; my wife did."

Stacey flushed, but kept quiet, and Arthur knew Cynthia understood he was innocent. It was all that mattered in the long run: what you could make people believe. She held out the swab, and he submitted to the indignity of a covid test for what he hoped would be the last time. It had been a condition he hadn't been able to negotiate out of. When he had balked, the university lawyer negotiating with him informed him that everyone had to go through quarantine and daily testing before entering the city.

The lawyer had been very clear during their discussion; once they were in the city, they'd have to remain there for the duration; it was the only way to ensure the population stayed healthy. If he left, he'd never be able to come back, and he would have broken the contract. But once they were out of this hellhole of quarantine, once he was on campus, he'd be able to live the way they did before the whole crazy conspiracy theory swept the world.

So what if he couldn't leave? He didn't care; one college town was pretty much like another. He just needed a place where he could continue his research. He hadn't mentioned the requirement to Stacey, but so what? What was she going to do, take off? And if she did, well, he'd never had a problem finding someone to take care of him.

Once the test results showed they were both negative, he reluctantly put on the mask he was required to wear while walking through the hotel. Cynthia led them down the hall to the elevator and through the gaudy and dated lobby. It was a blur of white, bright green, and orange along the periphery of his vision as they went down another elevator to the garage.

Once there, he looked for the car they'd rented in Cincinnati. Even though he'd been assured it had been returned and received an email from the company, he hadn't been convinced. After all, what did it take to fake an email? Typing it on a computer? He only trusted what he could verify, and anything digital was just too easy to manipulate.

Luckily for Cynthia, the garage was empty except for three long vans parked well away from each other. He spotted two delectable tidbits, just around eighteen or nineteen, with long, straight hair, tight and taut in all the right places, walking toward the furthest one. He quickened his pace, determined to share their ride, then stopped abruptly as two other couples stepped from behind the van and greeted the girls. Just as well, he thought, he'd catch them when they were alone on campus. He studied the older women; they looked like older versions of their daughters, well-groomed and dressed in the way he preferred for any woman he wasn't attracted to. Knee-length dresses with a full skirt and proper low heels.

Cynthia led them to the middle van and stopped before the closed door. "I'll be riding in another, but I want to assure you I'll be there to introduce you when we arrive." She handed each of them a cloth bag. "I packed your breakfasts for you, along with earplugs and eye masks if you care to nap."

Arthur snatched the offered bag without a word and entered the vehicle. Once inside, he found a choice between six chairs and took one in the back. He ripped off the face mask and tossed it on the floor before opening the cloth bag. He took an angry bite of a small apple he found and pocketed the eye mask and plugs before opening the paper bag. It was his usual breakfast sandwich and hash browns, but what had been fine when hot and crispy was now cold and greasy. It was disgusting; Cynthia had simply packaged up the food sitting outside their door. He couldn't possibly eat this! The least she could have done was pack a fresh breakfast for them!

Stacey made her way in, and the door closed behind her. He finished the apple, feeling sorry for himself. No breakfast, no tidbits to entice, just the one person he couldn't stand the sight of for the three-hour drive. He discovered his chair reclined, inserted the earplugs, put the mask over his eyes, and settled down for a nap.

He was startled awake by Stacey shaking him. "Artie, we're here. Wake up." He took his time, smoothing his shirt and slicking back his hair and eyebrows. Once he felt presentable, he let Stacey open the door and stepped out of the van, ignoring Cynthia standing in front of him as he looked around. At first, he thought they were in a parking garage, but it wasn't like any garage he'd ever been in. He couldn't see the ceiling because the lights above him were blinding, but the walls he could make out seemed to be made of stone. It was huge; he could see construction equipment and wheelless trucks sitting on supports parked along the wall and then in concentric circles within as crews bustled all around. He became absorbed by the scene all around him, and everything else faded.

Cynthia's nattering had been an annoying buzz in his ear, but a strange voice finally pierced through his consciousness, and he pulled his attention toward the speaker. The woman standing next to Cynthia was probably around Stacey's age, with thick, bushy, brown hair caught up in a ponytail tied back with a scarf. She was dressed casually in a pair of loose pants and a plain blue scoop-neck t-shirt.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mills, welcome to the North American Habitat East, or NAHE as we call it. As Cynthia mentioned, my name is Alexandra Hanlon, and I'll be taking you to your residence and giving you a brief tour on the way."

Arthur dismissed her—just a tour guide, no one important. But then Stacey spoke out, and he couldn't stop her. "Hi, Alexandra. I'm Stacey, and he's Art-er Arthur."

Arthur wasn't happy when Stacey didn't introduce him by his preferred nomenclature; he preferred being addressed as Professor Mills. But he had more important things on his mind than getting the upper hand. What had the guide just said?

"What's with this NAHE crap? What happened to Virginia Tech?" He caught a look of confusion on the sow's face and felt a twinge of satisfaction.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. You signed a ten-year contract with the Foundation, correct?"

Arthur dimly remembered the name on the contract; most universities maintained foundations, so he hadn't thought about it too much. "Yeah, yeah, I did."

She continued, "We're one of the habitats maintained by the Foundation. Our habitat is located in the eastern portion of the United States, and we recruit from the Bahamas, into Florida and up the east coast, extending north into New England. I understand you were given access to our library of orientation videos after signing the Charter and other documents. Surely you watched some in the month you were quarantined?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it. He'd watched two minutes of the first one before turning it off. He'd thought the videos were about those asinine stories by Asimov. What an idiot! Who does all the work to earn a PhD in chemistry and then throws it all away by writing stupid stories about impossible situations? Fall of a Galactic Empire, his ass!

Besides, Virginia Tech had obviously been where they were heading. It was the only place with a decent physics program within a three-hour drive of the hotel. This had to be a joke; it wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to make him the butt of something before. He hadn't let them get away with it before and wouldn't let it happen this time. He could feel himself getting angry and remembered what his dad had told him: never show weakness.

He snorted. "I have more important things to do than watch trashy television." Stacey was silent beside him.

The guide, Alexandra, he remembered, asked, "Will you excuse me for a moment?" She didn't even have the courtesy to wait for an answer; she just turned and walked away. How rude!

Arthur was stunned; he couldn't think for a moment, then his mind began churning. What kind of scam was this, and what did it mean for the money in his account? Stacey tugged at his arm, and he jerked away as he pulled out his phone to check his account, only to realize he couldn't find a signal, no matter how he waved it around.

Once Alexandra returned, he couldn't restrain his frustration as he growled, "Why doesn't my god-damned phone work? And where the hell are we? "

Alexandra stayed calm, which pissed him off even more.

"Your phone doesn't work because cell phones have no access to a tower while underneath a mountain. Once in your new home, you will have access to surface communication networks. As to where we are? We are at the top of what we call a habitat. One of twenty underground cities scattered throughout the world, each with the ability to become a self-sustaining biosphere large enough to sustain a population of up to three hundred thousand for generations."

She continued, "I stepped aside to make some arrangements to facilitate your time here. I've arranged for a series of orientations beginning tomorrow, which should provide the information you'll need to live comfortably. Someone will also be waiting for us at your new home to show you its unique functions. In the meantime, I'll do my best to answer any questions you have."

She had to be lying; there was no way anything she said was true. Underground cities? What kind of crap joke was this? Was any of this even real?

He knew the money was real. Two days after it dropped, the account still showed as pending, and he called the bank. He insisted on speaking to a supervisor, who explained that the money was being held in an escrow account, with monthly transfers scheduled to his regular account. The supervisor assured him the money was safe and the only way the escrow could be terminated was if the contract was broken or rescinded.

Before he could say anything, Stacey interrupted, "Artie, where the hell did you bring me?"

"Shut up, Stacey." He was starting to feel sick. What kind of situation had he gotten himself into? Three hundred thousand dirty, smelly bodies crammed in a cave? What the hell?

Alexandra sighed and said, "I understand this is a shock to you, but please, before you pass judgment on us, let me take you around. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." She led them through a massively thick doorway into a dimly lit and quiet area. There were rows and rows of crates of all sizes stacked as far as he could see. It was quiet and eerie.

"What are those things?" Stacey asked.

Arthur felt conflicted; he didn't like Stacey asking stupid questions, but he had been wondering the same thing.

"Those are statuary and paintings which many museums consider irreplaceable and are stored here for safety. We contract with various institutions to keep their valuables safe in the event of a nuclear war."

Arthur couldn't help himself; he began to laugh, "Lady, how stupid do you think I am? Nuclear war, my ass. It won't happen."

She turned a piercing gaze on him, and he was annoyed. First, Cynthia, and now this bitch? "We certainly hope it won't, but we prepare in case it does. As to stupid, I hardly think the word describes you as a physicist."

He was slightly mollified; she did know who he was. But everyone had said he would be met by someone important, and she sure wasn't. Looking back, he could see their van moving into place alongside the other parked vehicles. He couldn't think of a way to leave where his bank account wouldn't suffer, so he followed Alexandra as she led them along the walls and pressed a button for an elevator.

"These are the lifts; they move us between sections. We'll be taking it all the way to Section One, the first section populated beginning in the 1990s. One of our colleges of physical science is located there. Almost everyone prefers living and working in the same section, but if you choose to move and commute through the lifts, you are free to do so after living here for a year."

The doors opened, revealing a small, dimly lit room. An opening along the far wall revealed the bright interior of a small vehicle, straight out of an amusement park. He could see seats and restraints arranged along the three enclosed sides of the car. Alexandra led them in and demonstrated how to use the security restraints. She pressed a button, and as the doors closed, he heard her say, "The lifts do take some getting used to."

Arthur could feel the car move back slightly before coming to a stop. After a moment, the car began moving slowly sideways before stopping a few seconds later.

Alexandra continued, "The system holds us until it can slot us into the vertical flow. Once it does, we'll start moving into what we commonly call the toss. As we join the flow, the toss can be disorienting."

The car began to move and quickly picked up speed. Suddenly, Arthur felt his stomach try to rise into his throat and then, just as quickly, felt like it was dropping past his knees before leveling out. He almost shrieked, but managed to stuff the sound back down.

"You weren't kidding," Stacey said. Arthur fought his stomach while she kept blathering. "It felt like one of those drop tower rides, but more intense. How long does this take?"

Alexandra briefly smiled at Stacey before replying, "Total time from the caverns to Section One is about 10 minutes. There are three lift stops in each section, and we'll be exiting at the second. From there, we can take the elevators. We could go to the culinary floor if you'd like to eat before we continue."

Arthur's stomach rumbled at the thought of food, even as he still felt nauseous. Judging by her smile, the bitch must have heard, which made it worse. He refused to acknowledge his traitorous stomach or Alexandra's reaction, and then Stacey spoke up. "We didn't get much to eat today, with the traveling and all. I'd appreciate a meal. Is that okay with you, Artie?" She looked at him worriedly.

"We should eat first if you're hungry, Stacey." He glanced over to see if Alexandra was impressed by how well he cared for Stacey. "

She just kept blathering. "It's decided then; we'll take the elevator up to the Culinary Floor. After lunch, we can tour another floor, or I can take you straight to your house."

He didn't know what to think about anything, but as his stomach settled, and knowing food wasn't too far in the future, he became curious. "This, lift as you call it, what is it? It doesn't feel entirely like an elevator."

Alexandra paused before replying, "It is an elevator; however, it's a variation of a vertical magnetic elevator." ₍₂₎

A variation of a maglev? It wasn't impossible, but didn't she say these places had been occupied since the 90s? Maglev trains hadn't been around before this century. There was no way she was telling the truth; the technology wasn't available at that time. Where the hell were they? Stacey wouldn't shut her yap, though, asking the bitch more questions.

He tuned them out as he began thinking furiously; there had to be a way to break the escrow account and take control of his money. He'd have to read the entire contract and look for any loopholes he could. Dammit, he'd assumed it was a standard university employment contract. He read everything carefully except the boilerplate; no one, he told himself, would have done anything differently.

They couldn't hold him for ten years of his life, making him work in a dirty, windowless warren of underground cubicles, could they? It would mimic every futuristic dystopian movie he'd ever seen, where everyone was trapped, living with no fresh air and no way out. He could just picture the long, dreary corridor they would step into with pipes overhead and along the walls, hearing the drip drip and avoiding water puddles before entering a dismal cafeteria with seated rows of silent, drab, unhappy prisoners all eating the same slop. How was he going to survive it?

How could he not, with all his money on the line?

He became aware of Stacey's last question, asking about where she could find a job, of all things! And the bitch actually answered!

"Since hair care is subsidized, we have facilities on several floors. Residential, of course, and there are also salons on Mercantile. Some spas on Recreation offer hair services, and it's provided to those with health issues on Medical. The person running your orientation tomorrow can assist you with placement. Don't worry; you'll have time to acclimate; we give everyone two weeks before they start working or tasking."

"Tasking? What's that?" Stacey looked as puzzled as he was.

"It's short for Community Tasks. Besides working jobs they've trained for, everyone spends ten hours a week participating in all the work necessary to keep our city and society running. Tasks vary according to age and abilities, but they all give back to the community. And out of every forty hours of tasking, ten of those hours are spent in mandatory tasks, those considered essential to our survival, which most would rather avoid."

It sounded repugnant; why should he, a respected professor, have to do chores better suited for those who didn't have the brains to get by?

He interjected, "And if I choose not to participate in these tasks?"

Did that infernal woman just shrug her shoulders?

"Well, your housing and basic needs are provided by the Foundation, the same as everyone who lives here. We won't kick you out of your home or cut off your food or other necessities if you choose not to task."

Arthur started to smile.

She continued, "But we don't use surface currency down here; we use our own digital version we call units, which are distributed through a stipend we call the recompense. Every adult who completes all their task hours or has them waived receives the same amount, 1,000 units, monthly."

"Units are used to purchase upgrades from our basic inventory and participate in our economy. You can reward creators with your units by licensing media, attending entertainment and recreational activities, taking classes, and purchasing food at cooperative restaurants or other items at cooperative stores. You can even find someone willing to clean your house for an agreed-upon exchange."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing; there had to be a way out of this; there was no way he'd do the job of some lowlife. He'd find a way; maybe his department head would know how to get around it. Most universities treated their most prestigious professors like demigods; it had to be the case here.

Then, he had a brilliant idea.

"Married couples have joint accounts, right?" he relaxed back into the seat, relieved he had discovered a loophole. Stacey could do the dirty chores for both of them; what else would she have to do while he was conducting research anyway? After all, all's fair in love and war.

Arthur couldn't help but catch the smile on Stacey's face when they heard her answer.

"We don’t recognize financial ties between adults. Partnered obligations are structured to protect children arising from the partnership and address the responsibilities parents owe to their offspring. Individual accounts aren't mingled, and every adult has complete control over their recompense. While it's common to pool donations for a joint event, each donation requires a conscious action."

Dammit, there went that idea.

Arthur's stomach surged again, down and then up this time, before finally settling back into place. It was as bad as the first time. He decided then and there he hated the lifts; the only reason he hadn't given up his breakfast was because he'd had no breakfast. He had the safety restraints off and was out of the car as soon as it opened.

Nothing on the other side of the lift doors was even remotely close to anything he'd imagined. The hallway was tall and wide, with lights shining brightly on the light cream-colored walls, creating a welcoming backdrop for everyone who bustled around him. There was nothing drab or dreary about them; everyone wore colorful clothing, and many had hair sporting unnatural colors and patterns!

As they stepped into the hallway, he could see doors on either side of the one he had exited, each spaced regularly as far as his eye could see. The wall across had doors arranged closer together. In between were moving walkways, similar to those he'd ridden in airports. Instead of running straight, they followed the shallow curvature of the walls. He wondered what the circle's diameter was to create such a superficial circumference.

He and Stacey followed her ridiculously patterned scarf as Alexandra led them alongside the walkway and then across an opening between walkways to the other side. "We're currently on Recreation Floor 1, and the Culinary Floor is three floors above us. We'll call an elevator to take us there." She pressed a call button, and the doors slid apart to reveal an ordinary elevator car. It was a quick and thankfully easy ride, setting them into a hallway almost like the one they had just left, except for the concave wall where bright and colorful images replaced the lift doors. Alexandra led them along the interior wall until they came to an opening, and they stepped onto a straight walkway leading them into the unknown.

As the walkway left the confines of the corridor, Arthur looked up in confusion; it wasn't possible; they were outside. They moved under fully leafed trees, all heavy with nuts. He could see glimpses of a blue sky studded with wispy clouds, and he almost choked when he realized the air was fresh. As they rode the walkway, the trees changed to pines and cedars, and suddenly, civilization was before him.

He couldn't see much; there were two large gray buildings to either side. Coming up, he could see a path on their right leading to an open doorway. Alexandra led them off the first exit point and into the building.

The room they entered was large, filled with the comfortable buzz of diners talking and eating. Someone noticed them and must have said something because the entire table went quiet. He plastered a smile on his face; someone must have recognized him from the interview he had given on YouTube. Then, a small child ran straight toward him.

"Alexandra, Alexandra! Hi! My name is Jemmie, and I'm a girl! I watch you!"

Arthur was forced to stand there, silently, keeping his smile glued on his face, as Alexandra knelt in front of the child. He couldn't wipe it off, not after her embarrassed parents approached and began apologizing. He watched as Alexandra's hand began playing with the stupid scarf tied around her frizzy hair.

"Jemmie did nothing wrong. I am wearing my work scarf, and I'm very glad to meet her and all of you."

He was forced to watch as Jemmie lifted her arms to Alexandra, who accepted the offer. She stood up, Jemmie in her arms, and turned to him and Stacey, saying, "Why don't you two head into the buffet? I'll be right behind you."

They left her in the middle of a group and walked into the buffet area. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he was too hungry to deal with it. Looking around, he saw a lot of vegetables, soups and salads. What kind of crap was this? He finally found a cheesesteak and fries and decided he needed something to drink.

He turned to the guy next to him at the counter and asked, "Where's the Coke machine?"

"Drinks are over on the drinks counter," the guy pointed to a countertop holding pitchers, drink dispensers, and glasses.

Why did he have such a funny look on his face? Arthur snorted and walked to the counter without acknowledging the answer. He studied the offerings, a variety of what looked like teas, water and milk, and some colored sodas, but nothing like Coke or even Pepsi. He gave up and poured himself a fizzy red drink, hoping it would at least be palatable. Once he found an empty table, he attacked his food, ignoring Stacey when she sat down.

After a few bites, he began looking around and noticed Alexandra was still holding Jemmie and talking to the group gathered around her. Finally, everyone began returning to their tables, and she disappeared into the buffet room. One of the women passed right by Arthur, and he stopped her, asking, "Why is everyone making such a fuss?" What was it with these people and their incredulous looks? He waited impatiently, and eventually, she answered.

"Well, she told us she was giving you a tour and introducing you to NAHE, so I guess you're too new to really know." She looked at Arthur and Stacey, "You two must be pretty special to rate her as a guide. Alexandra Hanlon is probably the most famous person in all of the habitats. Everyone knows who she is. She's part of the Foundation Board, and she's on the newscasts reporting on anything we need to know." She jerked her head at the little girl being led back to the table by her parents. "It's how Jemmie recognized her. She's also the director of the entire Liaison organization, which operates in every habitat. I've never seen her in person before; I guess she pretty much sticks to her own section."

Stacey gave him an "I told you so" look, and Arthur was stunned. Important? That bitch? He turned back to the table as the woman returned to her own, grunting to hide his confusion. How could he have missed it? He couldn't decide whether he was angrier at Stacey or Cynthia; they should have made sure he knew who Alexandra was before he started treating her like someone beneath him. He knew for a fact everyone in power wanted to be treated like their shit didn't stink, and he'd always made sure to try and cozy up when he knew someone held authority over him. And he had treated her the exact opposite way. He'd never be able to make up that first impression.

He retreated into anger, the emotion he was most comfortable with when he was embarrassed. Cynthia had probably done it on purpose, waiting until he wasn't paying attention to perform the introduction. She probably got a good laugh out of it! And Alexandra hadn't made a point of making sure he knew either; she just let him humiliate himself by not acknowledging her position. What kind of person didn't rub their status in your face from moment one? He added her to his enemies list. If he could find a way to take her down a notch or two, he'd do it.

Any retribution would have to wait; right now, he had to rectify the situation and turn on the charm. He couldn't do it all at once; it would be too obvious. Maybe act like he was interested in her work? Someone at her level loved to talk about what they did, no matter how boring. He took a swig from his drink and was pleasantly surprised to find it tasted like strawberries.

Once Alexandra joined them at the table, he wasted no time. "Director of Liaisons, huh? What do you do?"

He was annoyed at how evenly she answered, not even acknowledging the change in his voice. “I manage the heads of the Liaisons in all the habitats; we provide services to the residents through our community service centers on each residential floor. We help residents navigate issues that our neighborhood councils are unable to address, primarily through Habitat Administration and finding ways to navigate the inevitable bureaucracy when necessary. We provide the orientations to new residents and help them find their community task opportunities."

Arthur took another bite of his sandwich as Stacey stopped shoving food in her face to ask, "Councils? What are those?"

"Councils are part of habitat governance; we began transitioning to an elected government about five years ago, beginning with elections for neighborhood councils and slowly expanding elections to the larger floor and section councils. We'll be adding habitat council elections next year. We expect a fully functioning electoral process by 2031."

Arthur couldn't resist; he waited until she was just about to lift her filled fork when he asked, "Why so slow? Why not hold all the elections now?" Just like he hoped, the bitch lowered her fork and kept lecturing. It was just too easy.

"We wanted to make sure the issues we've seen in representative democracies don't happen here. So, our overall process is slower and aims to serve constituents rather than gain power. "

Arthur thought it was all a load of bullshit. Gaining power was the only worthwhile outcome in politics. But he chomped his fries and let the bitch keep talking. Too bad she had a salad, he thought; it would have been fun to watch her food get cold.

"While elections are by a majority vote, councils are run by consensus, requiring a ninety percent approval basis."

Arthur saw a lot of merit in an impossible-to-reach approval process; it was a great way to gum up the works, accomplish nothing, and raise lots of money in the process. It was the filibuster on steroids; Mitch McConnell would be proud. ₍₃₎

He let her talk as he munched on his fries.

"Political parties aren't allowed, and everyone is up for a vote every two years. Campaigns have to be truthful, and their positions must be based on facts. Each person running for election is given equal access to media spots and feeds. Campaigns may not start earlier than two months before elections and are prohibited from soliciting or accepting donations. They are permitted to accept volunteer time and endorsements, but that's all. Members of our councils are permitted to use all but their mandatory task hours for their work of governing, and everyone continues to work their regular job.

"Our process has evolved, but we've learned everyone living here wants a government that works for everyone, instead of just the rich or connected. We've had a master class on how damaging party politics have become worldwide over the last few decades. No one wants to replicate something so badly broken. The consensus process, along with direct accountability and without the cover of political parties, has required our council members to work together and allow minority viewpoints to be heard and acknowledged, rather than being overrun by a simple majority. It's a slower process, balanced out by being more deliberative, and so far, we've found it to be far more effective at delivering balanced reforms."

It wasn't a full-time position, okay, but it might be a way to get out of those tasks. Arthur loved loopholes. As to the campaign requirements, he dismissed them; who's to say what is or isn't a fact? What did that guy say a few decades ago? Something about creating our own reality? It's been working everywhere else; why not here? ₍₄₎

And the dummy kept going, asking even more questions between bites of her syrup-drenched fried chicken slices on top of waffles. Arthur thought it looked disgusting; he wouldn't be seen eating something like that if his life depended on it.

"How does it work?"

"We have four neighborhood councils to a residential floor, each serving a quadrant. Our quadrants are divided into three concentric circles, which we call slices. The inner slice is the smallest, since it's closest to the center of the habitats. The outer slice is closest to the outer walls, where we are now, with the largest number of houses, and the middle slice sits between.

"Each neighborhood council has seven members, three from the outer slice, two representing the middle, and one representing the inner, with one council member elected by the entire quadrant. Council members spend most of their time meeting with and working individually with the residents of their neighborhood. The council meets to address any issues that a councilperson cannot mediate on their own.

"Our governance system is built upon the concept of a ladder. Anyone who aspires to move up the ladder must first have won an election and served in the lower-rung office twice. The first rung of the ladder is the neighborhood councils, which mediate between people; the next rung is the floor councils, which deal with issues relating to the common areas of a residential floor. A candidate running for election to the floor council must have served for two cycles in the neighborhood council and been elected by the entire quadrant at least once. The same scenario applies for the section and then the habitat councils."

Dammit, Arthur ate the last bite from his plate as he contemplated what he had just heard. For a moment, he had toyed with the idea of running for the highest council and getting enough power to make Alexandra's life hell. Who wanted to spend over a decade running from one squabble to the next before having any real power? He noticed Alexandra still had most of her salad on her plate, and Stacey's plate was still half full, so he stood up abruptly, taking pleasure in the fact that at least he could make them go hungry.

"I'm ready to go on that tour you promised."

Stacey looked wistfully at her plate but dutifully began to rise from the table; Alexandra followed suit, taking up her plate as she spoke.

"Since we're charged a second full subsidy for leaving food on our plates, it's a common practice in the buffets to place what's leftover into a takeaway container and even go back through the buffet so there's enough for a second meal. Arthur, if you choose, you could also take a container and choose another meal to bring home. It's something my husband and I do in these circumstances."

Arthur decided absolutely not; he'd always despised the practice of bringing home uneaten food. It had always felt like an admission of poverty, something he had no intention of experiencing. He tried to be diplomatic. "Well, I've always preferred hot food, so while Stacey has a second go at her lunch, I can just grab an elevator back to where we are now. It's not a problem, I assure you."

He waited by the table while Alexandra led Stacey to a station stacked with sturdy containers and bags. Why couldn't they hurry it up? It was embarrassing to wait at this dirty table. He hadn't noticed this mess on any table when they walked in; what was keeping the busboy?

Finally, Arthur saw Stacey carrying two bags, walking toward him as Alexandra followed her with a small cart.

"Where's the cleaning staff?" Arthur just couldn't make himself believe he was expected to clean up after himself; it was unheard of!

Alexandra began lecturing them again while clearing off her eating area, placing everything into a basket sitting on the cart. "It’s important to make sure we all clean up after ourselves. It helps in creating a caring community. There's no one else, after all. If someone leaves a dirty table, there will be complaints, and the neighborhood council will be notified."

Dammit!

Stacey cleared her own dishes but pointedly ignored his. Arthur was acutely aware that he needed to be on his best behavior, but his antipathy toward Alexandra was rising. How dare she not tell him who she was before and let him treat her like dirt, not even caring what he thought of her! Reluctantly, he picked up his plate and began to place it on the tray when she had the audacity to interrupt.

"While this plate is clean enough, you'll usually need to scrape the leavings over by the takeaway section."

He wanted to glare at her; he ached to put her in her place, but instead, he meekly took the cleaning spray and towel she handed him, and she watched as he cleaned the table. He kept his head down, convinced she and Stacey were smirking at him. Once he was done, Stacey pushed the cart back, and they unloaded the basket onto a moving belt. Then they had to wait while Alexandra dealt with a teenager sitting behind a counter, eventually waving her phone under a scanner before they were allowed to leave.

She explained, "We scan for everything. Our mobiles are connected to our profile, which tracks subsidies and unit transfers. Your new devices are waiting for you at your new house. If you dislike carrying a device everywhere, you can purchase devices you can wear on your wrist or as an adornment piece."

The bitch finally led them out and back to the elevators, continuing to talk the entire way. "I can, of course, take you straight to your house, or we can stop on another floor to give you a look at the amenities. Each section has five floors dedicated to entertainment and recreation, as well as a shopping floor. Is there anything you'd like to see?"

He spoke up before Stacey could. "I want to see my office and the university as soon as possible. I've got important research to start, and I've already lost a month in that stupid quarantine."

Alexandra was silent for a moment before smiling as she replied, "I'm unable to give you a tour of your professional space, but I'll pass on your request to the physical sciences staff. They'll be able to answer questions regarding your interests far better than I can."

The bitch actually smiled at him as she brushed him off! He couldn't believe it.

"In the meantime, is there anything more general you'd like to see?"

Arthur was very aware of his tight pants after finishing the sandwich. "Are there places to run around here?"

"We have plenty of space for running. There are small paths for runners between slices on the residential floors, longer trails on some recreation floors, and treadmills with video displays in our indoor gym facilities.

Treadmills? Arthur dismissed those out of hand; he hated treadmills; no matter what, you knew you were walking in one place, and even watching a video in front of you didn't change that. "I want to see the longest path."

"I know just where to take you; recreation floor two has long-distance running paths."

Alexandra led them back to the hallway she called the travel corridor, where she called another elevator. It was becoming almost routine to get into one and find himself exiting into a hallway similar to the last. However, when they left the corridor, they had to walk through the trees since there were no walkways. As they came out from under the canopy, Arthur was almost speechless. There, spread out before them, was something like Central Park. He knew it wasn't, but it was hard to tell the sky wasn't real unless he squinted, and he could swear he was outside. It was so different from what he had imagined, all grass and trees and open spaces. To one side, he saw a group running around, tossing a frisbee; other small groups were scattered around on blankets, talking, reading, and spending time in the sunshine.

He couldn't help himself. "Where are the running paths? How long?"

He flushed as she gestured to a track right before him, which followed the trees lining the circumference. "The longest running circuit is just over sixteen miles, which I'm told makes for a decent length run."

Sixteen miles. "How large is this place?"

"The habitat's livable space is five miles both in height and diameter," she answered.

Arthur snorted, "That's a load of bull crap, and you know it. There's no way to live that deep under the Earth's surface. The pressure and the heat at that level make it impossible. Now I know this is a fake; just where the hell are we?"

Alexandra didn't rise to the bait. "I wondered as well, but the technologies we have down here well exceed what's known on the surface. I'm not a scientist, so I can't explain it, but rest assured, we are indeed far underground, and the issues you've alluded to have been mitigated."

He let her lead them further in, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice how many players and picnickers acknowledged them as they went past. He started nodding back, pleased they were greeting him, but soon, he realized the acknowledgment was all for Alexandra. Once again, he flushed angrily, embarrassed he had been seen nodding to people who couldn’t care less about him. Luckily, Stacey was looking at everything but him, and Alexandra only looked ahead, never checking to see if they were still following.

As they walked, he saw a soccer field at the bottom of a low-sloping bowl; small groups were sitting on the slopes, snacking and watching a game being played in front of them. They stopped at the top of the slope.

"There are a variety of individual and team sports with regular leagues and games," said Alexandra. "Anyone who wants to play can join; no one is turned away. Players are assigned to leagues based on ability, without regard to gender. The emphasis is on enjoying the game, rather than focusing on who wins or loses. In the habitats, sports are about having fun with others who enjoy the same activity, not toxic competitiveness or adulation based on physical ability."

"What about playgrounds for kids?" Stacey looked around. "I don’t see anything like that."

"Those are on the residential floors; children need to play and socialize a lot, and it's easier for them and their parents to have those experiences closer to their homes. Once children are older, they come here for various activities."

Arthur was abrupt. "I want to see a gym." At least Stacey didn't object; he wasn't about to put up with anything from her right now.

"Certainly." Alexandra led them back to the elevators, and a different scene unfolded as they entered the next floor. The walkways were back, and small paths extended from the exits, winding between two- or three-story buildings. It was hard to tell because there were no windows, but each building was colorful in a way Arthur hadn't been prepared for. They weren't on the walkway long before Alexandra led them into a gold-colored building overlaid with strong black lines haphazardly placed, and suddenly, they were in a familiar environment.

Arthur was delighted; he could see equipment of all kinds. There were machines for cardio, strength training machines, and a lot of free weights. Further in was a room filled with boxing bags. He forgot about his grievances and began peppering Alexandra with questions she couldn't answer. Dumb bitch he thought; she doesn't know anything important.

She fiddled with her mobile phone, and soon a man wearing a gold shirt with stripes that mimicked the outside of the building walked over, introducing himself.

"I'm Jorge, he/him, and I'll be happy to answer your questions."

After introductions, Alexandra spoke up, "While you and Jorge tour the gym, I'll take Stacey to an area she might be more interested in. We'll be back in fifteen minutes, and then I'll take you to your house."

Good riddance, Arthur thought, and he began quizzing Jorge about everything gym-related he could think of.

Just as he ran out of questions, Stacey and Alexandra returned. He was still upset, but not as much as he had been. He wanted to go for a run as soon as he could. It helped him de-stress, and the faster he could fit more comfortably into his clothes, the better. He was tired of trailing Alexandra around, especially seeing how many people knew who she was and how they fawned over her. It bothered him even more that she didn't seem to care that she was important. By the time she led them to the southwest quadrant elevators, he was ready for the tour to end.

Once they were finally off the last elevator, leaving the trees behind them on the walkway, he was again amazed. The ceilings were much higher than the other places they'd seen, and on either side of him were real houses with yards. The houses shimmered in the afternoon light, each displaying different colors and patterns; he wasn't sure if he approved of the non-conformity, but he was having trouble concentrating on anything else. He stared at his feet as he forced himself to listen as Alexandra began speaking.

"As I mentioned, many of our living floors, including residential floors, are laid out in concentric circles overlaying the quadrants. We call these slices. The residential floor has three equidistant slices. We are currently in the largest and most populous third slice. The second slice is further in, and while the houses are sized similarly, the yards are slightly smaller. Houses in the first slice have even smaller yards. They are the closest to the inner circle, with more elevators and small shops and offices around them. It's where you'll find an emergency medical unit and an office for Liaison Community Services, or LCS as it's more commonly known."

In just a few minutes, they were off the walkway and onto a small path, houses on either side, each a different color. He could see trees, some loaded with apples and pears, nestled amid colorful gardens.

Alexandra stopped in front of a bland, white house, the ground covered by some low gray-green plants and the one tree in the yard empty of fruit. A dark-haired woman stood beside the open door, which showed the number 488 on the wall. Arthur was peeved by what he saw. The house was a boring white, and the yard was just ground cover. Where were all the flowers like every other house?

"Arthur, Stacey, I'll leave you in Maria's capable hands. She's another liaison who will give you a quick orientation on your house."

Ugh, no, not more of this crap, Arthur thought. All he wanted to do was check his money on a computer. He chose to ignore Alexandra's leaving and focused on Maria. Was she worth his attention? He decided pretty quickly she wasn't; he wasn't attracted to her, and she was Hispanic—just another drudge.

"Hey, Maria, show me to a computer," he grunted, shoving past her and through the open door straight into what he assumed was the living room. There was a light beige couch with a low table in front of it, arranged with two boxes, a few keyboards, and what appeared to be remote controls for something. He could see the boxes they had shipped and the luggage from their quarantine room piled against a wall.

Maria smiled and waited politely for Stacey to enter before following, shutting the door behind her. Arthur looked back at her and stared as he took in the full-length windows making up the front part of the house. He didn't remember seeing any windows when they walked up, but he could see Alexandra letting herself out of the yard and walking back the way they had come.

"Arthur, I can set you up in one of the smaller rooms and then start walking Stacey through the rest of the house until you're ready to join us." Maria gathered the boxes and some other equipment from the table and led the way to a small hall on the right. There were three open doors, each set in a different wall. Maria entered the room to the right, and he followed, watching as she walked to a table and chair set up in a corner, setting the equipment down. Stacey came in, too, jostling him, and he scowled at her.

Maria handed each of them one of the small boxes. "These hold your personal interfaces, which will work in the habitats. Your devices will unlock your house and work doors and automatically identify you when you are engaged in a transaction. Once you activate it, it will receive all communication sent to your surface number. Your temporary password is your current mobile number.

"While you can use these to call outside the habitats, you must understand you may not disclose where you are under any circumstances. Doing so will result in your communication being dropped immediately, along with a request for human review. We use analytical-linguistic algorithms to monitor outside calls and electronic messages only for phrasing indicating where, who or what we are."

Arthur was indignant, "Now see here, young lady, you can't infringe on my First Amendment or privacy rights!"

Maria smiled, "Your privacy is protected. The algorithms only trigger on wording flagged for human review, and anyone reviewing a possible breach cannot access any other information, including the identity of the person who spoke the words. However, any constraint is set on your personal identification record once it has been reviewed, and access to outside communication may then be limited. The Foundation is well within its rights to protect itself. I will also remind you that you continue to be under the NDA you signed before you came here."

While Arthur fumed, Maria showed them how to use the remote to set up a screen on the wall in front of the chair. She connected Arthur to the surface internet and left with Stacey. Turning to the keyboard, he entered his bank's address and logged into his account. There it was, all those beautiful zeros, right in front of him.

He started looking for a way to transfer the money. He couldn't find a button, and there was no link on the account. He found a transfer link at the top and started from there. But while his personal checking and savings accounts were listed, the escrow account wasn't. He finally brought up a service chat.

Arthur heard the door shut and decided to leave the computer. He'd insisted on talking to a supervisor who'd been no-nonsense, insisting the money didn't belong to Arthur yet. A transfer schedule was set up for equal monthly increments of $15,000, with the first transfer occurring at the end of each month. There was also what Arthur thought of as a suicide clause on the account; only if he stayed for the entire ten years would the remaining money be transferred to him. There was no way he'd leave without his money. He was stuck here.

Coming into the main living area, he found Stacey dragging her suitcase into the large bedroom on the other side of the house. Once she returned, she ignored him and put some of the electronics on top of a box labeled with her name. Only when he cleared his throat did she look up.

"I'm so mad; you're not who I thought you were. I don't care how much money they shoved at you; you should've read the contract, asked questions and talked to me about it. I'm your wife, and I deserve to have a say. I need a break from you, Artie. I don't want to see, hear or touch you right now. You can have the two bedrooms and the bathroom on the other side. Don't you come into my side, and I won't come into yours."

She was taking the master bedroom, how dare she! It was called master for a reason, and he was the master in his own home!

She interrupted his thoughts.

"You lied to me, Artie; you knew we weren't going to a major university."

It was too much, he whined. "Stacey, I didn't know; they must have slipped it into the contract boilerplate. I mean, who reads the boilerplate?"

"People signing contracts for lots of money, Artie, or their lawyers, that's who."

He sputtered, "I know just as much about contracts as most lawyers; why would I pay someone just to read something I'm perfectly capable of understanding?"

Stacey smiled; he didn't like it; her smile was no longer adoring. "Because a lawyer would have read the entire contract and could have told us what we needed to know. You were so blinded by the money they offered you didn't want to know, and that's the truth."

She dragged the box and electronics back into the largest bedroom, leaving him standing and waiting for her to return so he could reply. Once she did, she didn't give him a chance.

"I've got a lot of thinking to do. I'm not under your contract, so I can leave if I want. But Maria told me some really interesting stuff. She told me that if I want, I can have my own house here, a one-bedroom, and if I leave, you'll have to move into a one-bedroom too.

"There's no such thing as community property down here, but there is on the surface, and I'm sure any divorce court in the country would give me a reasonable amount from all this money you're making. So be careful how you treat me; I can leave you like that," and she snapped her fingers to prove the point.

Arthur was shocked; she actually thought she had the upper hand? He needed to tread carefully until he could figure something out.

"Stacey," he said her name softly, cajolingly. "I'm sorry if you think I lied to you; I truly thought we would be on a lovely campus, and I'd be able to show off my beautiful wife to all the other professors. The place is different, but our lives should still be the same. I'm still the same Artie you married. Let's give it some time, okay?"

She usually softened up when he sounded like he cared. Maybe she'd calm down if he took an interest in the tour. "Is there anything Maria told you I should know?"

There was that smile again! He wouldn't mind wiping it from her face, but today was not the day.

"Nothing that can't wait til morning. Right now, I just want some time to myself. Good night." She picked up one more box and brought it into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Arthur shrugged; he'd leave Stacey to sulk tonight. Hopefully, some sleep would calm her down. He looked around. The house seemed to be arranged in columns, with bedrooms on either side of the shared living space in the middle and the kitchen in the back. He'd lived in worse, but why was everything so boring? Where were the colors he had seen everywhere else in this strange place? It was all white, plain walls, with no windows in any of the rooms except where he stood now. Bare, stark windows, with nothing to shield him from outside view. He felt as if he were inside a prison cell inside an equally strange prison. If he wanted any privacy, he'd have to hide in the small room he'd just been in.

He thought of something: if Stacey was in the room with a bed, where was he going to sleep? Turning around, he went into the other room on what he was starting to think of as his side and groaned as he found a small single bed neatly made up and waiting for him. It was like someone had known this was going to happen.

He realized he was thirsty and walked to the back of the kitchen, angling for the sink. He began searching for a glass or cup, something he could use to drink from. Finally, on the other side of the room and as far away from the sink as it was from the refrigerator, he saw white cups sitting on an open white shelf above another counter.

Way to hide the cups, whoever the idiot was who arranged the kitchen, he thought. And who would even think it was a good idea to place the cups away from the water source? He resolved to make sure Stacey moved them to a more logical place.

After waiting in vain for the water in the sink to rise above lukewarm, he finally filled the cup and raised it to his lips, gulping thirstily, before abruptly spitting it out. First, this bland house, now horrible bland, tepid water; what the hell was going on?

He opened the refrigerator, hoping to find something to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth. Maybe there'd be a pitcher of something. No such luck; except for Stacey's leftovers, the refrigerator was empty. He grabbed the container and took it to the counter, where he opened it, looking at the contents with disgust. The chicken and waffles were just as disgusting as they had been earlier, but the syrup she'd drenched them with would probably wipe away the awful taste of the water. Stacey would probably understand, and if she didn't, who cared? Especially given the way she was treating him.

He ate the entire meal.

Waking up after another uncomfortable night on the small single bed, Arthur decided he needed something larger. He was used to thrashing around, and even in their old king, he usually squeezed Stacey to the edge. He repositioned the pillows and considered what to do.

At least he had some useful information from all the orientations he'd been forced to attend in the last few days. He could order furniture at a place called Stores, on what they called the mercantile floor. He needed to take a look and figure out how things were priced; how far would the measly thousand in his account go?

He'd learned more than how to shop for furniture, though. He'd paid attention to almost all of it. After all, you had to know the system in order to game it, and he needed whatever advantages he could figure out to survive an entire decade in this hellhole. And he had to figure it out; he had to win. He always wanted to be seen as the winner in everything he did. He hated the idea of anyone besting him in his continual battle of supremacy, especially when they were too oblivious to know there was even a contest.

So far, this system seemed like a hippie commune/kibbutz scenario. All the crap about building a community where everyone is equal was bullshit; how could anyone believe it, he wondered? Obviously, those like him, who were smarter or richer, were more successful for a reason, and they should be the ones who led. He'd have to tread carefully while he figured it all out. The dynamics were wonkier than he was used to, and he knew he'd have to expend considerable charm to place himself in a decent position. He'd have to use it with Stacey, too; she was another one he needed to smooth things over with. Her threat to his money had rocked him.

He lay in bed looking around. A chair in the corner and an empty set of drawers were the only other items in the room. He'd been forced to hang his suit over the chair and spread his shirt over an open drawer since there were no hangers in the closet. Open suitcases and jumbles of clothes were everywhere. He sighed; there was no way Stacey was going to unpack him, or do his laundry, or take on any of her other wifely duties while she was mad at him. Yeah, he needed to keep her sweet—especially after yesterday.

His tour of the physics department hadn't gone well. The head of the physics department had introduced themselves as Tehya Massy, but he was damned if he would call her by what she described as her Cherokee name. When he looked her up, he learned her real name was Mary, and that's what he was going to call her, damned if he'd succumb to all this egalitarian crap. Anyone with a brain could understand how inappropriate it was for a woman to head a department with as much complexity as physics, much less someone who proudly claimed such a debased ancestry. It was an absurd situation. He'd only asked about the particle accelerator to fluster her and flush out the real department head. It hadn't been as if he'd been wondering about the effects of the Higgs particle on excitations of energy and forgotten where he was. ₍₅₎

She had no sense of humor and didn't respond well when he told her it was just a joke. Her answer had been cheeky and sarcastic as she waved her arms around, "Hello! Underground city here!" It had been even more galling when she pointed out he had been contracted as a teaching professor of advanced particle theory and was not hired as a researcher. Oh, he could still conduct research in his free time, and she would be pleased, pleased, mind you, to grant him access to a lab and equipment. But his full-time hours, all twenty, would be spent on teaching duties.

He'd have to figure something out and fast.

There was no question; he was stuck and couldn't even take it out on Stacey. He hadn't believed her on their first night when she told him that if she moved out, he would have to as well, and if it ever happened, he'd be living in a one-bedroom apartment. He'd mentioned how ridiculous it sounded to Mary during the tour, reminding her that his contract required his housing to be in the same category as the house of a university provost. She had been extremely clear; it was the same way for everyone. A single person had a house with one private room; a couple lived in a house with three private rooms. If one moved out, so did the other.

He would obviously have to put some work in before he could turn his attention to his research. Mary had scheduled a department meeting at his request for later this afternoon; the sooner he could start figuring out and charming his new colleagues, the better.

Arthur was late. He had found Stores on Mercantile and poked around, and then a late lunch had taken longer than he had expected, but he just hadn't been able to resist another cup of what he had to admit was excellent coffee. He took a moment before he entered the room, smoothed his eyebrows, pasting on what he thought of as his affable look, before striding inside, ready to ingratiate himself with his new colleagues.

He needn't have bothered; no one even noticed him.

Everyone was facing the other way, watching a large video playing on the wall. He could see the MSNBC _{(MSDNC, as he preferred to call it) logo on the bottom right and a chevron to its left with the words "Congress members, militia in WV for unknown reasons."}

"Hello, everyone. I'm Professor Arthur Mills. I'm so glad to be here." Arthur stopped abruptly as the room turned toward him, every face screwed up with displeasure.

"Shh," someone said, "We're watching this."

Someone motioned him to a chair; he sat down and turned his attention to the screen. There was nothing else he could do.

A middle-aged woman with light brown hair cascading down her shoulders was speaking.

"It's 4:40 on the East Coast, 1:40 out west, and I've been joined by everyone slated to be on the air with us tonight. We have with us Lawrence O'Donnell, anchor of The Last Word, Joy Reid of the Reidout, Rachel Maddow of the Rachel Maddow Show, Chris Hayes of All In and Claire McCaskill, former Senator from Minnesota, still with us from Philadelphia, where we are waiting for the first, and possibly last presidential debate between Vice President Kamala Harris and Donald Trump, the disgraced twice impeached ex-president who has recently been convicted of thirty four felonies in the State of New York.

"What you are seeing on your left is a live shot from Woodville, West Virginia, a sparsely populated area in the southwest portion of the state. We currently believe, but cannot independently confirm two of the people in the shot to be Texas Senator Ted Cruz, who is equally disliked by his fellow senators on both sides of the aisle and Representative Paul Gosar of Arizona, who, along with Cruz, did everything he could on January 6th to steal the election from Joe Biden. They are accompanied by two unidentified men wearing the insignia of the Oath Keepers militia group, whose leader, Stewart Rhodes, was convicted of seditious conspiracy in late 2022 for his role in the failed coup attempt. The upper right portion of your screen displays a live overhead view of two other vehicles headed to the same spot. For now, let's watch." ₍₆₎

As Arthur watched, a fantastic sight began to unfold as the screen showed four separate scenes. A video of four people approaching a camera was visible at the top left, while below, it showed an overhead view of the same four figures approaching an entrance to a bomb shelter, much too small to be the actual entrance to this location. The top right screen showed an overhead view of another black SUV pulling onto a path surrounded by blasted tree stumps and their fallen remains. He tried to ignore the last since it was just a bunch of the MSDNC talking heads sitting around a long, curved desk.

What was going on? "Can someone please explain what is happening?"

"You're smart; just listen, you'll figure it out pretty quick." He flushed but couldn't identify the speaker, and no one seemed to care about the rudeness. Turning back to the screen, he saw Ted Cruz walk up the steps of the bomb shelter, pressing a button that appeared on the screen. Suddenly, he saw Alexandra Hanlon staring at him. She looked ludicrous, with her hair down and wearing brightly colored embroidered flowers on a dark blouse. He heard murmurs in the room.

"Her outfit is amazing; I wonder what message she's trying to send?"

"She isn't wearing her emblem; I wonder why not?"

"She looks so different with her hair down, softer."

His anger toward Alexandra grew with every comment. How was she the revered heroine and he the despised interrupter of the very meeting meant to introduce him to his colleagues? Even without being present, she pulled all the focus and comments. It was unbearable, unsupportable; how could anyone take that hag seriously, especially dressed up in something that looked like she'd just come out of a Mexican village?

He turned his attention to what was on the screen; it was a travesty bordering on farce. He watched some of his heroes, shown to be idiots, apparently easily lured by talk of luxury. Gaetz, Cruz, and Gosar, their reputations shot away just as quickly as the idiot bitches who fired at what seemed like nothing, and still managed to hit two of their security detail.

But were they hit? Wouldn't someone with military training have been wearing bulletproof clothing? For two of them to go down like that with none of the politicians or the guy with the camera being touched was strange, and Arthur didn't believe in coincidences. There was always something; he just hadn't figured it out.

Suddenly he knew! The entire farce was a deepfake video put out by these, these libs! There was no way anyone could believe what was on the video; it couldn't be real. It had to be artificial intelligence; he refused to believe Marjorie Taylor Greene would talk with such a gutter mouth!

Arthur watched as everyone else cheered on "that Hanlon woman," as he began to refer to her in his mind, brought up unreasonable and unverifiable accusations against each of the politicians.

Once the video of the Foundation began to play, he was pleased to note some criticism emerging.

"Why isn't she crushing them?" "Yeah, what's the deal? I want her to eviscerate those idiots."

He couldn't believe it; they were wondering why she wasn't meaner. What was wrong with these people?

He heard Mary answer. "Alexandra Hanlon is on national, no international television, introducing us and our existence to the entire world, and you wonder why she's not acting like a mean girl? Come on, everyone, have some sense. Think about what this means, not just here but worldwide."

Everyone shut up. But Arthur Mills made a vow then and there. He vowed that one day, he would bring this entire place down and have the pleasure of deciding what to do about this Alexandra Hanlon. He would devote himself entirely to that purpose.