An Unexpected Path

Alexandra Hanlon - December 2, 2016

How did we come to live down here? Kevin and I were never spontaneous. We discussed every choice impacting our family and any choices we made as individuals impacting each other. We researched situations that might arise, both short—and long-term. Since we became involved with each other, our experiences have developed into a process we continue to follow when making decisions. The outcome of our process needed to be a complete agreement on a decision and, if necessary, its course of action. We were a family and treasured our relationship as much as we treasured each other.

We didn't follow our standard process when deciding to move miles underground, but we weren't exactly spontaneous either. We had no idea where our decision would ultimately take us. How could we? But we did have something to guide us, so our leap wasn't as mindlessly taken as it might have been. From the first step to our final decision, we chose to trust my abilities, my gut instincts as I thought of them, or my witchy sense, as Kevin used to call it. Since our decision affected every part of our lives, the fact we trusted my abilities to the extent we did was extraordinary for us.

Everyone's reasons for choosing differed, but my abilities aside, our introductory experience was the same as anyone else in our time. We all went through the same sequential steps. We were invited to learn about the Habitats and Foundation and then taken on a visit. Whatever information we were exposed to could never be enough. We were all the Fool in Tarot, leaping without knowing, beginning a new journey without knowing where it may lead.

I have always been extremely empathic, much more than most people, with a strong intuitive sense. I spiral down, and I focus forward. I'm also analytical and organized. Few exhibit this specific set of traits, even now. But to understand how we made our decision in a way so unlike our usual process, you have to know how I understood those aspects of myself.

Back then, my empathic abilities felt as if I were tasting the emotions of those surrounding me. It's not something I ever needed to actively seek; even the most subtle of emotions permeate beyond a person's physical body. Most are unaware of these emanations, but it's not uncommon, especially for those who are empathetic or have been abused or traumatized, to be able to pick up on someone's strong emotions. Anger is a common emotion detected by someone sensitive to energies in general or if they are highly attuned to a particular flavor of anger or a person from whom it commonly exudes. But I could sense all the emotions around me, subtle and strong; I could taste them all. Almost everyone will actively try to conceal or mask specific emotions; we stifle tears, force a smile onto our faces, or square our shoulders. It's successful to a certain extent, but while some are better at it than others, those tricks conceal only the physical. I perceive the underlying emotions of others constantly swirling around me, pushing towards me, begging to be tasted. If I hadn't learned instinctively to shield myself from the emotions of others from an early age, I shudder to think of what I would have been like as an adult.

I've used the word "taste" a few times, and I'd like to explain what I mean by it. When we eat, our brain takes all the information from our physical senses and processes it into the totality we call taste. In fact, the definition of taste is the perception of flavor through the senses. ₍₁₎ Our brain integrates the information we receive from our tastebuds and layers on the aromas from our sense of smell. We eat with our eyes and notice the texture of the food and any sounds from our first bite until we swallow. Our brain can retrieve and associate memories with a taste, which, when triggered, integrates specific emotions and feelings into our experience. ₍₂₎ Our experience is strongest in our first few bites, creating a synergy, a totality we call taste.

When I reach out to taste the energies of emotions through my empathic gift, I experience those energies as complex flavors, for lack of a better word, all of which trigger connections and understanding within me. My ability to understand what I am experiencing has grown since we toured the habitat. But even then, I knew enough to understand the fundamental aspects of what I was tasting. My intuitive sense was also more than most envision when they hear the word. Oh, I have many classic, intuitive moments, a sense, sometimes manifesting as a feeling somewhere in my body telling me if something is right or wrong, pulling me towards something, or even pushing me away from a situation. Many have this type of intuitive sense; not everyone chooses to follow it or even recognize it exists within them. But, like my empathic abilities, there was more to my intuition. I always knew when my intuition came out to play, and it did so frequently. At times, I could also perceive information beyond my usual experiences. I can't describe what happens in those moments, certainly not with words; none I know could ever come close. I call it the shimmer, overlaying my usual intuitive abilities, shining on facets I should carefully consider.

As a young child, I instinctively learned to shield myself from others' emotions; it took me longer to learn to ignore my intuition. Growing up, the situations when my intuition came out made those around me uncomfortable. My earliest memories include being told I made up stories and fantasies. As I grew older, when something I predicted did occur and I reminded the adults around me, I was told I never said what I knew I had. It was bewildering as a child to be told those lies. With every voice around me insisting I was lying or misremembering, I couldn't fight back. I hid within myself, shrinking and becoming quiet and reserved, rarely trusting myself or what I should have known to be correct.

The society I grew up in was just beginning to move from conformity to inclusivity. ₍₃₎ Although the steps were slow and small, almost everyone I was in contact with was unhappy with the changes. Every family I knew seemed to have one of two aspirations; the first was to be just like everyone living around you. The other was to be the person your neighbors aspired to become or envied. At least around me, it led to rampant consumerism, who could have the biggest and the best. We became hardwired to believe the amount of expensive objects someone owned reflected their worth as a human.

My parents embraced conformity, regardless of the changes in the world around us and their desire manifested as requirements. Wearing dresses or skirts to school instead of pants, even if it was cold because they were the only acceptable clothing for a young lady, not expressing my opinions if they differed from the adults around me, not making wild predictions ever, but especially when strangers were present, washing up without argument after every meal even as my brother was excused. The more I conformed to what she considered proper behavior based on societal norms, the happier my mother was with me. I ended up pushing my natural gifts deep within myself. Even when my gifts rose, and I recognized them as such, I still regularly rejected their information, much to my detriment.

While childhood trauma springs from various situations and plays out in different ways, it invariably damages the child and influences our behavior as adults. Wherever we go, we bring ourselves, along with all the conditioning we absorbed, the issues we have faced and the lessons we take away from our interactions with others, no matter how small. For myself, it presented as a desperate need for acceptance and love. I was willing to ignore my feelings and take on what others wanted from me ahead of my own needs to feel as if I mattered to someone, anyone.

This resulted in many relationships, platonic, familial and intimate, where knowingly or unknowingly, mental and emotional damage was inflicted upon me against which I had no defenses. In the time I came of age, a prevalent attitude in society declared any damage inflicted by a male onto a female was caused by her own actions or lack thereof. ₍₄₎ And so, conditioned by those societal norms, I went through several intimate relationships which damaged me emotionally. I was actually grateful the damage inflicted upon me was not physical, so thoroughly had I been conditioned.

Looking for a semblance of love and acceptance and ignoring all the signals my intuition was screaming at me, I kept making the same mistakes, requiring me to absorb even more emotional damage. Giving myself some credit, each situation was different enough to explain why I didn't pay attention to any warning signals I received. And I did get better at recognizing and enforcing my boundaries as time went on.

I think the first time I consciously allowed my intuition to the forefront was when I began dating Kevin, and I'm so glad I did. He didn't match any traits I thought I wanted in a partner, but the mental list I followed before had been dictated by society and never done me any good. Following society's requirement for a partner had just resulted in trauma and abuse, so I decided to trust my intuition when I met Kevin. Even though I followed my heart, it took me a decade more to agree to bind our lives together officially. Luckily for me, he understood my reluctance based on my past traumas and let me set the timing of the decision. I'm grateful he did.

When I first began exploring Wicca, I decided to learn to work with, instead of against, my natural abilities. I experimented until I could replace the automatic and unyielding empathic block I had raised as a child with a more flexible energetic shield. I could now choose to taste the emotional state of those I was around and lower my shield when I wanted to interact more fully with those I trusted.

I began to pay attention to my feelings, to listen to what my body was telling me, and to give the information I received credibility as an adjunct to conscious and subconscious thought. To recognize the difference between the information I experienced and garnered from my physical senses of the world around me: sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing, and my emotional response to those experiences. I learned to trust my empathic abilities and then incorporate the information it provided into the data already gathered. Finally, I managed to recognize when my intuition was at play and to identify the "shimmer", always acting in concert with all the other data points I had gathered with or without conscious thought.

It took time, practice, and, most of all, learning to trust myself. Eventually, I was comfortable enough to incorporate everything within me, seen and unseen, physical and energetic, and use all of it to make decisions and plans. I learned to trust those internal senses most of humankind rejected as absurd.

By the time we married, I had worked on recognizing and trusting my intuition for about a decade, though I never could explain it in a way Kevin could fully comprehend. After a few years, we both learned to accept that the information I received empathetically and through my intuition was beneficial and should be weighed when making big decisions. I hope my explanation, poor as it is, sets the stage.

A few weeks before our first wedding anniversary, Kevin and I received a large envelope from a group we had never heard of. Inside the envelope were two identical folders, each printed with one of our names and a physical transfer of funds made out to both of us. There was also a letter from the same group, asking us to take the personality tests in each folder and return them in another enclosed envelope. The letter was vague, but the cashier's check was substantial enough to cover a week's income for both of us. Let me be clear; no one knew about the Foundation back then, at least no one I was aware of. I felt a strong pull to take the test. Kevin was suspicious; it was part of his nature. In his mind, the letter and check were suspect and probably part of some scam, and he thought we should just shred it all, toss it in the trash and forget it. I could understand his reasoning in the abstract. Back then, scams to separate people from their money were common, and one of the methods was attempting to access someone's bank account to take their funds. A cashier's check was different, though, as far as I knew, there was no way for it to be used in a fraud once deposited.

It took a few weeks, but I finally persuaded Kevin to open a new account in a bank neither of us used. I usually didn't push against him in situations such as this; I hated arguing over small things, but in this case, I stubbornly held out, and since there was a transaction implied with the money we had deposited, I knew it would be easier to persuade him to take the test. Once the funds cleared, we sent the completed tests back, and after a while, I forgot about it; the money remained in our bank account, and life continued.

Nearly a year after we received the first letter, we received a second, accompanied again by a generous cashier's check, asking to meet in a small community about four hundred miles from where we lived and to plan on spending a week with them. The letter requested we meet on the first Friday of December. We discussed it exhaustively; our research indicated our travel time would be between six and seven hours. We also couldn't find much of anything in the community we would be visiting to justify our visit. But Kevin didn't stand a chance of persuading me to his point of view, not when every fiber of my being was pushing me to go. So he finally agreed, and early on the appointed morning, we found ourselves driving along quiet roads on a mild and cloudy day, making our way to the town of Shively, West Virginia, just a few weeks before our second anniversary.

By the time we received the second letter, the political landscape of our country had been overturned. To my mind, the worst person had won our country's highest office just weeks before. In my opinion, Donald Trump was a pathological narcissist exhibiting psychopathic and sociopathic tendencies, and I was deeply concerned with what was going to happen. ₍₅₎ His election unleashed the worst parts of society, those who emulated his disdain and hatred for others. ₍₆₎ He set his followers on those who did not conform to the values he chose to elevate, which were primarily self-serving: hatred for those of a different skin color or hair texture, who loved or behaved differently from the conformity demanded in the time of my childhood, or who had a different spiritual path. My intuition and empathy had me curled up in a fetal position for hours the day after the election was called. I knew it would be bad for at least the next four years and probably many more. I was dreading the day he took control of our government.

Once we passed the town of Chapmanville, we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Our car wound and shook its way along unmaintained and uneven roads. We bounced through the hollows of West Virginia, a topography of small valleys and streams following the mountainous ridges of the region. When we finally arrived in Shively, it wasn't any different from what we had been driving through for the past hour; the town, such as it was, nestled into the lower confines of the winding canyons, with houses, some little more than wood cabins, scattered along the narrow basins, sitting between the road and the hills. The houses were older and dingy but still livable, ranging from small cabins to modular homes and a few community-oriented buildings. We saw no other cars on the road and no one outside. Shively felt out of step with the world we had left just a few hours earlier.

Neither of us was comfortable. It wasn't sinister, but it wasn't normal either, which made our destination slightly jarring. We pulled left into an empty but well-maintained parking lot surrounding two identical three-story cinder block buildings, separated by a ramp descending underground, each sporting a sign. Shively Inn was on the left, with the Shively Business Center to the right. Kevin pulled into a spot near the hotel door. As we entered, I was thrown back into the decades of my childhood. I noticed the hotel's interior was clean and bright, with a light fieldstone fireplace centered on the wall to our right, containing a small fire burning for ambiance rather than warmth. A lime green carpet underneath orange seating and white laminate tables were set between the fireplace and the hotel registration desk on the left wall. Behind the registration desk was a young man who looked up from the textbook he was reading.

He introduced himself as Ted Nguyen and showed us to a room, asking us to return to the lobby when we were ready to learn more. Both of us were confused; why were we in a small hotel in the middle of nowhere, with so few people around? Much to my surprise, Kevin quickly agreed we should stay. He was as curious as I was, so we decided to keep going. Once we were back in the lobby, another person was at the desk talking to Ted. He introduced her as Cynthia Walid, saying she would explain why we were there.

Cynthia was in her early 30s and striking, with long blond hair, olive skin and deep brown eyes. She smiled at Ted's introduction and politely informed us her ability to tell us why we were here was contingent on us signing a non-disclosure agreement, a relic from a time when trust and honesty were not always present. Still, in those days, it was a common contract allowing the person signing to receive information not to be shared outside the confines of the disclosure. In simple terms, if we shared any of the information we learned, the contract meant we would have to pay a sizable monetary fine. After more discussion, we signed, and she led us to the office building next to the hotel.

While the hotel's 70s aesthetic could be described as vintage chic, the office was generic and plainer, with fake wood paneling on every wall. She led us through the reception area and into a small room with uncomfortable folding metal chairs facing a projection screen mounted on the wall. We sat down, she dimmed the lights, and a movie began to play. The film reminded me of those I had watched in elementary school as much as the pulled-down screen did. But what the movie lacked in production value, it made up for in content. The opening scene was familiar to anyone of my time and place: the depiction of a cloud in the shape of a mushroom, a visual representation of a nuclear bomb blast. At first, the documentary was dystopic, with images of burnt fields, children fleeing the bombs dropping around them and then images of Hiroshima, both the nuclear bomb blast and its effects.

Then, it took an unusual turn. The narrator began explaining how something called the Habitat came into being, as images of a large cylindrical structure appeared on the screen. They spoke about an organization called the Foundation, which supposedly began building all of these habitats in the 1960s to store genetic material and knowledge before a catastrophic situation could happen on Earth's surface. I was reminded of several science fiction stories I had read, which all had tried to save humanity after an apocalyptic event. The organization's name kept bringing to mind a book series I had read by Isaac Asimov. ₍₇₎ His series followed the narrative of a group trying to stave off and salvage humanity's knowledge following the fall of a galactic empire. It fit somewhat, even if not entirely.

I was having a hard time believing what we were seeing on the screen was real. The movie abruptly changed to a travel documentary, with what was claimed to be interior shots of actual spaces in the habitat. We saw scenes of small neighborhood streets, complete with people. As the camera moved to one side, I saw yards with all sorts of flowers and vegetables. But everything growing in the yard obscured any real view of the houses behind them. The scenes moved to recreation fields, with people playing, running and laughing, and then images flashed of fields full of vegetables, orchards heavy with fruit, and even cows, goats and chickens feeding on grassy fields. I couldn't wrap my head around the concept of these outside spaces being underground. Honestly, everything we were now seeing could have been filmed anywhere. All the shots were from a straight perspective, and I saw no other viewpoints, nothing to bring it to scale. It looked like an advertisement for a resort, enticing us to spend our vacation with them.

While we were taking in the travelogue, the narrator also spoke about something they called the Charter and assured us we were seeing this film because, based on the personality tests we had taken, we fit the contours of the people they wanted to live in this habitat. After the movie ended, we had questions. Kevin's questions were technical: how large the habitats were (5 miles in both height and diameter), how many could they each hold (315,000 maximum) and how many there were (20 scattered around the planet). My question was more philosophical: "Why us?"

Her answer seemed honest but evasive; we matched the personality types they sought, and our skill sets were needed. It didn't matter; none of the questions we asked or she answered mattered to me. The shimmer I knew as part of my intuition was overlaying everything. I could feel a physical pull to see this place and a need to experience it. She told us we could visit if we were interested, and a van would leave in a few hours. Kevin asked for time to discuss it, so we returned to our room

As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to discuss; I could feel the pull and sense the shimmer. But he needed to work things out in his head, and it was our process. I also knew he would agree if I said I wanted to go, so it wasn't fair to state my preference first. Kevin was true to his nature, telling me we should just leave and go home. But he was willing to hear me and we discussed it from as many conceivable angles as possible in the time we had. I made sure he knew I had tasted the emotions of both Ted and Cynthia, and they were sincere. We finally decided to go, grabbed everything we had brought up, and went to the lobby, prepared for the three-hour ride.

We moved our car to the underground garage and watched as our luggage was placed in the back of a large cargo van. Cynthia entered the van first, and I went next; I had questions and hoped she would have answers. Kevin entered after me, with Ted shutting the door behind him. I was relieved when I realized they were coming with us. Even though I trusted my empathic ability, I knew I only received a small part of a much greater whole. I had already judged Ted and Cynthia to be sincere about their beliefs, and I hadn't noticed anything unusual about either of them. Having them with us was comforting and increased the possibility this crazy journey would end up being at least neutral.

Vans transporting passengers typically had bench seats and windows wrapping all around; this one had neither. The interior paneling resembled what we had seen in the office, but the color was a deeper, richer reddish brown, reminding me of mahogany. Four deeply cushioned chairs facing each other were staggered inside, each positioned toward a corner of the interior space. As Cynthia and I seated ourselves, I realized a heavy curtain was drawn between us and the front of the van. I also noticed I wasn't feeling anxious about being unable to see outside during our trip.

Ted sat last, raised a footrest, and swiveled to face the paneling. Then he leaned the chair back into a more reclined position. Kevin smiled at me and emulated Ted; he could nap anywhere. I didn't blame him; he had driven most of the way during what had already been a long day. I adjusted my chair to face Cynthia as I heard the driver's door open behind me and felt the van shift as they settled in. We began to move, and I tried to identify our route.

The van seemed to vibrate and shake even on the smoothness of concrete as we went up the ramp, but the shaking became worse once we were on the asphalt of the parking lot_. I heard the protest of cold tires as I felt the van turn left onto the road outside the hotel further into the mountains of West Virginia. I felt the van continue to shake and vibrate, and I could hear the wheels rattling which made the twisty road seem even worse than those we had driven on earlier. I was resigned to a long drive, since I knew I could never sleep with so much noise and motion.

Fifteen minutes after starting the vibrating journey through hell, the van stopped. All the noises I had been hearing stopped, and then I heard the sound of hydraulics whirring around us. And then I heard nothing. When I say nothing, I mean nothing. I felt no vibrations or motions at all. I heard no sounds apart from the breathing and rustling of the people in the van with me. I looked at Cynthia, who assured me we were still moving and on track to get to the habitat in three hours. She asked if I had any questions for her. I did, of course, so I chose to shelf my disquiet and concentrate on gaining knowledge. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around all of this. I'd like to know about the personality tests, whats the reason for them?" I had a slight hope I could figure out why we had been asked if I understood what this mysterious Foundation was looking for.

She answered, "The ultimate task of saving the human race requires some of us to live underground, for an unknown amount of time. The Foundation wanted to find those who not only could thrive living in an enclosed community, but were also capable of fostering the ideas of commonalities and inclusion. Our goal is to encourage a society willing to live by the requirements of the Charter. The tests are crucial tools to help us build a society where everyone truly values each other. We want to create a society where everyone treats each other respectfully, works toward common goals, and propels humanity forward."

I remembered the video mentioning the Charter and was interested in learning about it, but I continued to work toward more elaboration of my first question. "Okay, but I still don't understand what you are trying to do with the personality tests."

She was patient; I'll give her that. "As we look back through human history, most societies were run on the philosophy of might makes right. The idea behind the phrase is that strength of arms, whether military or mobs, should be used to impose upon and rule those conquered. Inevitably, the times we see the most damage throughout human history, those leading exhibited the tendencies we wish to limit to create a just and classless society."

"And those tendencies you want to limit are?" I found myself becoming more interested in this conversation.

"Mostly high-conflict-oriented personalities, as well as anyone exhibiting psycho- or socio-pathic issues. We also won't accept anyone who seeks out or responds favorably to one identified as a strong leader who they believe has a personal right to establish and enforce the rules. In other words, we identify and reject authoritarian personalities as wells as those with self-aggrandizing or demagogic tendencies." ₍₈₎

I didn't hesitate with my next question; I felt it necessary based on her previous response. "Do you screen for physical disabilities or neurodivergences, such as autism or ADD? ₍₉₎ What about mental and physical health?"

She seemed slightly surprised by my question. "Except for the personality tests and some further psychiatric screening if necessary, we don't screen for anything other than infectious diseases not controllable by a medical regimen. We have no idea whether the personality types we screen for are an instance of nature or nurter. ₍₁₀₎ If personality types are passed through our genetic makeup, then by not inviting those traits in, we minimize their effect on the overall gene pool; if it's nurture, then we have the basic social experiment we're attempting to rely on. We need a community where everyone can live amicably in a large but still confined space now, no matter what happens in the future, and we want our society to be as diverse as possible."

I felt my muscles loosen; her answer met my personal ethos. Tolerance for all but the intolerant and those who would seek to harm for their own benefit or follow those who would. ₍₁₁₎ "Thank you for your explanation. Given what you've already said, I'm interested in learning more. You mentioned a social experiment and the Charter I saw in the video. Could you tell me more?"

She took a drink from her bottle, and I did as well. After a moment, she began speaking. "I guess you could say the Charter is our Constitution. We aren't a country, more like a global NGO, a non-governmental organization, and unless and until the inconceivable happens, everyone living in the habitats is still a citizen of their own country. ₍₁₂₎ The Charter gives us our rights and responsibilities for living in the habitat but doesn't break ties with the surface or our past.

"The Charter has five clauses, but for the most part, when we refer to it, we're referring to the first three. The other two deal with someone who breaks their oath to the Charter or those who haven't signed it yet, like you and Kevin." She must have seen a change in my face because she hurried to say, "When dealing with those who haven't signed the Charter, we have to treat them fairly; no one can attack those who haven't signed but may defend themselves. So you should be good if you don't start a fight." She chuckled at her little joke and went on, "Coming back to the first three clauses, the first clause states anyone of the Charter, that's how we tend to refer to someone who has either signed it as an adult or is the minor child of a signer, it states all of us are of equal value and worth and shall be treated equitably. Those concepts are the basis of our social experiment.

"The second clause says we are individuals and have specific rights, including the rights of life, liberty, and the ability for each of us to pursue happiness. It talks about our physical security and the security we receive from health, rest and leisure. It guarantees the right to a general education and appropriate training for everyone; it guarantees our rights to privacy and states we can make choices best for each of us individually, without government coercion.

"The third clause was put in because of a book written a few years after World War II. Are you familiar with 1984?" ₍₁₃₎ At my nod, she continued, "Orwell wrote powerfully of the issues of disinformation, and while he took the concept of the victors re-writing history to an absurd level as is appropriate with a satirical work, there was enough there for the Foundation to add a clause addressing disinformation and lying. The clause states any public official, journalist, or those holding sensitive positions are not allowed to lie to the public. While diverse opinions are welcome, they must be based on facts, not lies. "The Charter isn't very long, and it's pretty easy to understand. It wants us to treat each other well and not look down on anyone. Since everyone living in the habitats can only do so once they sign the Charter, the habitats are a social experiment in creating a society that considers everyone as being of equal worth and value."

I wasn't convinced the Charter was as easy to understand as Cynthia made it out to be. Words can be slippery, especially when translated into many languages and concepts are viewed through the lens of differing cultures. Was Cynthia interpreting through her own filter, or was she quoting a common consensus? I wouldn't know until I read it, "Is there a copy I can read?"

Claudia smiled. "When we get to the guest house, I'll show you how to access it and other public information."

"Okay, thank you. Could you please explain more about the social experiment?" "While planning on how to save the genetic material of the world and our knowledge in the case of a disaster, those who were part of the Foundation began wondering how many of society's ills were caused by poverty, malnutrition, and inequality. Building on the concepts of equality and equitable treatment, they looked to the ideas of Maslow and his heirarchy of needs." She looked at me and asked, "Are you familiar?"

I was and said so. Maslow's base theory was that to advance in behavioral motivations, the basic needs of an individual within society must be met to move up to more self-actuating behavioral motivations. The first two levels in this theory represent the most basic needs: those needs dealing with our physiological requirements, such as clean air, water, and food, the essential elements we need to stay alive, and safety needs, such as those involving health, and physical, emotional, and financial security.

"Good, so I won't need to go into it in detail. We're working within a socio-economic model providing the first two levels of Maslow's hierarchy to everyone living in the habitats. We also hope our model helps facilitate the higher levels enabling all of us to have our needs of belonging, self-esteem and self-actualization met. Our model is based on the same principles countries like Denmark, Sweden, Finland and Iceland use today."

I interrupted her, "The Nordic Model? I've heard of it, but how much private enterprise is allowed? Can anyone own a company and employ people? What about taxes? How does it work?"

"I said we follow the principles, not necessarily the implementation; as I mentioned earlier, we are closer to the idea of an NGO than anything else. The Foundation owns every material item in the habitat, except for what our residents have brought down with them. While there is ostensibly private ownership of personal materials, we can't follow the same path as those countries have. So, we've shaped our socio-economic model to best reflect and align with our values.

"The Foundation strongly encourages a sense of community. Our community values come from the Charter, meaning everyone must be treated as equals in how we live. Everyone has the same access to clean air and water, food, housing, clothing, basic hygiene and contraceptive products. Everyone has an individual profession they've trained for and typically work for twenty hours a week. Everyone knows we are equal and to that end, an additional ten hours a week are devoted to Community Tasks, those duties essential to our survival. The same essential work on the surface tends to be done by those most looked down upon by the ones who benefit the most. Within the habitats, everyone participates in keeping their community and the entire habitat livable. Our monthly income is tied to participation in Community Tasks, not our profession.

"Everyone gets free medical care, focusing on maintenance and prevention, ensuring issues are caught early and emphasizing quality of life. Housing is set up to give everyone a private home to live independently or cohabit with others, usually partners and offspring. Houses are assigned based on family size. While a single person lives in a house with one private room, couples would live in a home with three private rooms, and a family of four would live in a house with five. Larger combinations usually share a duplex or cluster close to one another.

I thought about what she was saying, "So if we lived there, we would live in a three-bedroom house?"

"Yes, in fact, your guest house has three private rooms. When you agree to live here, you'll be assigned to the section you'll work in and one of its residential floors. After you've been here for a while, you can choose where you prefer to live. You can live in any open section and on any residential floor."

She continued with her lecture. "Besides housing, subsidies are provided, mostly for food, hygiene, household goods, and clothing. The food subsidy, for instance, allows everyone to eat out three times daily or acquire standard groceries to cook at home. Same with basic clothing, everyone gets the same subsidy. We provide the supplemental monthly income we call the recompense, as a set amount of our electronic currency, known as units, which may be used at different restaurants to pay the difference over the meal subsidy, buy goods, including clothing created or enhanced and otherwise support the creative-capitalistic society we have down here."

I got confused; the term she used certainly didn't fit what she had just described. "Wait, I've heard the term before. Isn't it something about corporations choosing to fund philanthropic programs to create more customers for themselves?"

She smiled broadly, and I could see how even and bright her teeth were. "It's a term we created in the early 90s; I can't speak for how it's used on the surface, but here, it means we want to promote as much participation in our community as possible and encourage creativity and talents of all kinds. Those with a creative bent can create, sell, or license their work to others to enjoy. They can run classes and teach their expertise to those who want to learn. Others can band together and create cooperative endeavors, commonly called co-ops. There are co-ops running restaurants specializing in a particular food or cuisine, selling made objects or running a recreational or entertainment facility. No one is required to run or produce anything to participate in this economy we've created; they have their basic recompense to use toward any of those co-ops. Rules limit any individual's unit holdings to $50,000 yearly. Since housing types are assigned and there's only so much room, there are no costly toys to acquire anyway, even if there were egos requiring them."

This was beyond anything I could have imagined. It sounded too good to be true. Then Cynthia went even further.

"Suppose something is wildly popular or for the common good. When this happens, the person who created or discovered it usually gives their creation to the Foundation for everyone's use. In return, their holdings are always set to $50,000 at the beginning of our fiscal year. We call it the Renumeration. It's common for those who receive it to freely release anything else they create to the public and teach others their craft. With this support, we hope true creativity finds its way more easily to the public sphere."

It was a lot to take in, but it made some sense; everyone did the work they were suited for. I had no clue how they chose their work, and I wasn't ready to ask either, preferring to reveal nothing indicating my interest. I was curious about the difference between what she called professions and those tasks. It sounded like the tasks were all the menial jobs necessary for society to function but were sneered at by those who were above the poverty line and usually only done by those willing to do whatever it took to survive. Looked at objectively, their economic model seemed like a pretty good equalizer, giving everyone less reason to look down on someone else. I wondered how many of the current issues we were dealing with as a country were caused simply by looking down on others who were poor or different in some way and treating them as something less. Could those attitudes really be eliminated down here? I could perceive the shimmer around all this information, and I found it appealing because the philosophies Cynthia was describing meshed with my own.

I was willing to ask questions as long as she was willing to answer, so I kept on. "Can you tell me more about the Habitat? What's it like to live there?"

Cynthia paused momentarily before replying, "Let me give you an overall picture. All twenty habitats were designed and built to the same specifications. Each habitat holds fourteen sections, each of which can be self-contained in and of itself should it become necessary. The habitats are populated from the first section up; currently, each habitat has populated the first five sections. We'll build up and open new sections as it becomes necessary with population growth. Sections are reachable only by vertical lifts, which stop only a few times in a section. The central platform also runs vertically through the entire structure, allowing us to transfer goods between sections. Each section consists of 33 floors, ranging from the livable floors, where most of us spend our time, to those with industrial or storage uses. Most residents live and work in the same section, but we travel to other sections for various reasons. We typically label the floors by their use: agriculture, residential, office or academic, medical, recreational, entertainment and crafts, and of course, our floors for eating and purchasing items."

She took a breath, smiled and said, "At this point, I think I'll let you discover what it's like when we get there. I wouldn't want to spoil it for you." She winked at me and then turned her attention to her phone.

I swiveled my chair to give her privacy, but my brain churned. I still didn't know what this was or where we were going, but at this point, it had to be an elaborate joke, didn't it? It couldn't be real. Things like this only happen in science fiction novels.

After a while, I heard the sound of someone speaking. It seemed Ted had woken up. He was still facing the panels, but I could hear him, and I shamelessly eavesdropped. "Sorry for not calling sooner; I fell asleep before we left the road. We're about an hour away now, and I wanted to know if anything was happening tonight?" He paused, and then I heard him say, "How about we go to the pierogie place in Section 3? What's it called? Marta's? That's the one. We can decide after if we just want to hang out or catch something on one of the Ents. Okay, sounds good; I'll ping you when we're at the entrance."

I wondered about what I had just heard. Could the people here really go someplace specializing in pierogies? It sounded like those cooperatives Cynthia had talked about. I might never be able to eat pierogies, but I loved that someone was making them. His whole conversation had been filled with choices. If his call was real and not part of an elaborate hoax. …

I yawned and realized I might as well nap while I could, so I snuggled in for the last hour.

I was shaken out of my dozing state by the sound of hydraulics and the van vibrating around us. I could feel the wheels bouncing again; it felt as if we were moving down a road. But where were we?

The van's lighting went dark, and the paneling covering the walls and ceiling vanished; only the floor remained. "We’re almost there," Cynthia said. "Video cameras give a perfect 360-degree view around us. While we keep the location a secret, you are allowed to see this."

I could see a rectangle of light behind the van, receding as we moved further away. I felt the wheels turning slightly, and the light vanished, leaving us in the dark. I felt utterly exposed to the nothingness I saw around me. Looking up, the darkness was so deep it seemed limitless and I felt small and insignificant. I forced myself to look to the sides and saw no difference, only the vastness of a fathomless and impenetrable darkness. It was only when I swiveled my chair to face forward that I realized the curtain separating us from the driver had been pulled back. The van's lights exposed a road curving slightly ahead of us. I felt the van shift with the road, and a dim glow appeared ahead of us, growing brighter with our approach. Slowly, I could make out more details as we rode through a massive, three—or four-foot-thick doorway, high enough to bring in almost anything transportable.

The scene past the entrance was set in a large cavern filled with bright light. As our van slowly continued toward another doorway, I focused on the activity around us. Small forklifts darted around, moving pallets of items from a line of cargo trucks through the same doorway we were approaching. Suddenly, everything around us disappeared, replaced by the paneling, and I realized we had stopped. Ted opened the door, and through the frame, the performance continued.

"We’re here. Would you like to step outside?" Cynthia's voice cut through my bemusement, "Welcome to North American Habitat East, or as we call it, NAHE."

Ted and Kevin were out of the van first, and Kevin supported me as I stepped out. I was grateful because I couldn’t take my eyes off what was before us. As we waited for Cynthia, I grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go. I saw trucks and other construction equipment parked against every wall along the cavern. I could make out dark voids between some vehicles and wondered where they led. Workers were everywhere, and while not everyone wore hard hats, plenty did. Take away the setting and the scene before me could be any trucking or construction yard. It all seemed ordinary by almost every measure I had to work with. Except, of course, my natural skepticism.

I began analyzing everything we had experienced as well as what was before me, wondering if it could all be an elaborate hoax. I remembered the lack of vibration and sound for most of the trip and how what I thought was some sort of interior paneling had suddenly turned into a full-surround three-dimensional video screen. Neither experience was typical, and for all I knew, the van could have returned to the parking garage and been lowered under the hotel. I had been on amusement park rides that seemed as realistic as our tunnel trip, and I realized I couldn't even guarantee we had moved through the tunnel.

I couldn't remember ever hearing about any technology capable of removing all sound, vibration and movement from a moving object. I knew I wasn't as up-to-date with current technology as I had been when I was younger, but surely something so groundbreaking would have made the news. I could reasonably assert everything we had experienced so far could be a hoax, but if it was, to what end? And most importantly, from my point of view, why us? We weren't influential or consequential; there was no reason to spend the time and money this had cost on fooling us. And if it wasn't a hoax?

Cynthia began leading us toward the open doors, "We'll take the lift down to Section 4, where you'll be staying, and I'll show you to the guest house. I'm sure you're hungry; we can order food for you once we arrive."

Kevin immediately asked if we could get Pho, and silently, I agreed with him; a big bowl of Vietnamese beef soup with lots of rice noodles sounded perfect to me; it was one of the meals we used to eat after coming home from traveling. I stopped myself for a moment. Kevin was acting as if this was a usual occurrence, and so was I. Well, I thought, as long as we've come this far. Once Cynthia said she knew of places serving it and some offered delivery, I decided to take some control.

"Pho is a perfect meal for today," I said, "but if it’s not a problem, I’d prefer to go there and eat; I'd like to experience these co-ops you were talking about."

To her credit, she didn't hesitate as she nodded and said, "Pho sounds good to me, too. I hope you won’t mind my eating with you. I'll take you to the guest house afterward and show you the basics."

We began walking toward the open doorway, and as we passed through, I noticed it seemed as high and deep as the one we had passed through earlier. The open doors to either side of the doorway were as thick as the doorway itself and covered in a dull, light gray, metallic-looking substance.

Once through the doors, we stood at the edge of a large space. The walls nearest us were dimly lit, fading away into darkness, and I could not see or feel anything above us. The lights of the forklifts following us through the doors pierced the darkness enough for me to make out rows of crates stacked high. Cynthia began leading us along the wall toward a line of sliding doors when Kevin spoke to her.

 "I heard what you were telling Ally back in the van," he winked at me. "I didn’t want to interrupt, but you should know you don't have to explain everything again." I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

"Thanks for letting me know, Kevin," Cynthia gave him a quick smile as she stopped at one of the wide doors along the wall, pushing a call button to one side.

"As I mentioned earlier, the lift is how we travel between sections. The system will hold us until it can slot us into the flow. Once we start descending, it will take approximately six minutes before we reach Section 4. You should also know the initial launch and vertical toss can be somewhat disorienting, and safety restraints are mandatory."

When the doors slid apart, I saw an opaque car in front of us, with doors open and was once again reminded of an amusement park ride. The car was about five feet high and was longer and wider than most elevators, with four seats arranged along the back wall between two seats along each side, all fully equipped with safety belts and shoulder restraints. Kevin and I sat facing the door at the back of the car, and Cynthia made sure we were both strapped in. As the doors closed, I reached for Kevin's hand again.

I felt the car pull away from the door and move a few feet before stopping again. We sat for a moment or two before I felt more movement. Sideways at first and then backward again, gaining speed quickly and suddenly, we dropped. I felt a momentary jolt, and for a second, I felt as if gravity was fighting with itself. I didn’t know someone could feel weightless and heavier simultaneously, yet I had no other way to describe what I was experiencing. Normal equilibrium soon re-established, and I finally relaxed my death grip on Kevin’s poor hand. Despite some unique aspects, the ride felt similar to those I had experienced in some theme parks. Once again, I couldn't see outside the vehicle, and I had no way of knowing we were even moving. What next?

Cynthia resumed her tour guide duties. "There are three lift exits in each section. We'll stop at the middle exit and take an elevator to the Culinary Floor. There’s a co-op specializing in Pho in this quadrant. But before we leave the lift, I want to clarify our directions.

We've adapted our phrasing to match our circular environment. We use compass points to indicate directions, with the main corridor openings in the north, south, east and west. Areas between two compass points are termed quadrants, identified by both the compass points they are between. We also have directions for whether we are in the center of a floor or along the outer edge. We call the area we are in now, where the lifts and elevators are, the travel corridor. Separating it from the rest of the habitat is the outer wall. We call the area around the center of each floor the inner circle. We also talk about heading centerwards when moving toward the inner circle and heading wallwards when leaving it.

"We're near the southeastern quadrant, and the guest house is in the northeast. I thought we would eat closer to where we are now, and then I'll give you a quick tour on our way to the guesthouse."

I didn’t say anything; whatever this was, it was out of my experience, and all I could do was take it in. I felt another distortion once we reached our destination. The lift doors opened onto a new scene: a well-lit, gently curving corridor. I saw what I assumed to be elevator doors arranged along the wall across from us, and in between was a moving walkway, curved to match the corridor. Each walkway seemed to be of a consistent length with enough space between to allow for easy access. I could see a few people on the other side of the walkway, near the elevators. While some wore what I could almost call regular clothing, many seemed dressed for various outdoor sports.

We followed Cynthia across an opening between the walkways and soon faced the doors on the other side. She pressed a button, and we waited as she continued explaining, "This lift exit is on one of our recreational floors. It's an outdoor floor, with areas suitable for larger gatherings, including various team sports." When the elevator doors opened, the interior almost matched what I expected. Instead of steel or a mirrored interior, it was covered with a design of pale green leaves against a deep gold background. Once inside, I saw screens on either side of the door, each showing the same columns of icons. As the doors closed, Cynthia touched an icon depicting two concentric circles, which I thought probably represented a plate. I felt the elevator rise, and the doors opened soon after.

We found ourselves in a corridor similar to the one we had just left, except for one dramatic difference. Digital images wrapped around the curving wall, replacing the lift doors on the floor we had just left. I wanted to stop and look, but Cynthia was walking briskly ahead of me, and I had to catch up. We boarded the moving walkway, and as we traveled along the corridor, we passed elevators interspersed with doors along the inner curve. I turned to study the images on the other side. Photos and artistic renderings were interspersed with announcement boards and advertisements. As we traveled past, I saw ads for books, music, videos, restaurants, and an art festival. I kept looking even as we stepped off and onto different walkway sections. We stepped off once we approached a large opening in the interior wall. Cynthia then led us to yet another walkway moving through the opening. We stepped onto it, traveling into the unknown as I wondered what was ahead of us: fantasy or reality.

At first, we moved through what seemed to be a small forest, the ground littered with brown leaves and branches extending above and over the walkways, showing glimpses of what could only be the sky. As the walkway moved us further along, the sweet smells of pine and cedar, odors of an evergreen forest, found me. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't this.

It looked real; it felt natural, except for the walkway we were on. As we left the evergreens behind a few seconds later, I had my first unobstructed view. We were outside. I had no other way of thinking about it or describing it. The sky above us looked real; the sun was even in its appropriate position given the time, just over an hour before sunset, but it was warmer than I remembered from the day before, certainly warmer than it should be in early December. My eyes traveled down, across a horizon and further down to what I could see in front of me. It was surreal, familiar, yet unfamiliar.

The walkway moved us between identical large buildings, high enough to obscure any view beyond them. Looking ahead, I could see regularly spaced exit areas. As we pulled away and our view widened, I noticed small paved roads leading from those exits to clusters of small buildings.

Cynthia continued lecturing us, "Each culinary floor has a similar layout to this one. Similar dining experiences are grouped and laid out in repeating rings. The outermost rings, wallward and centerward, are the Eateries, the basic food service in the habitats and the largest. They're located in those large buildings we just passed."

I remember Kevin frowning, and I knew what he was thinking. Back then, the word "basic" had a slang meaning of being bland, boring, or unoriginal. The buildings seemed to reflect the same and looked institutional with a bland white stone exterior. The dark gray checkered pattern painted over it might have contained some windows, but it was impossible to tell.

Cynthia must have seen his face and possibly mine because she hurried to say, "I mean basic, as in the Eateries are where food subsidies are honored without the need for extra units. Since everyone uses them, they're the most convenient places to get to from the elevators. Each Eatery always includes a buffet and a place to buy food to prepare yourself."

We saw a park-like setting past the Eateries with tables and benches scattered around. Surrounding the green were paths leading to the small, colorfully lit buildings with countertops in the front. I could see scattered groups at the tables and a few others standing in line in front of some countertops. "This ring holds the counters, which serve what most cultures would call street food and child-friendly items."

We exited at the next ring, and our path was empty and quiet. I thought the sparseness could be explained by the time of day; but I continued to doubt. Like the walls we had just left, the path curved, separating single-story buildings, each set off by mostly dormant trees and bushes. The buildings were larger than the counters, with bright exteriors framing windows, some lit and showing diners within, much like I was familiar with on the surface. Each had vibrantly colored signs declaring the restaurant's name and the types of food served. It was a paradise of foods from almost every continent. During our brief walk, I saw places from South America and the American South; restaurants offered Chinese dumplings, kebabs from Australia and paella from Spain. I even saw advertising the availability of Ethiopian dishes. Finally, we stopped in front of a sign advertising a Pho restaurant. As Cynthia opened the door, the delicious aroma of a well-made bone broth wafted past me.

My skepticism took a hit; I wanted to believe this was all real.

The interior felt familiar, with touches of similar restaurants we had dined in before. A small shrine rested on the floor near the door, complete with an orange placed as an offering. I saw tables seating two or four arranged in three columns along the front of the building. A counter was positioned toward the back, with a door to the kitchen close by.

We sat at an empty table, and immediately, someone came by to bring us water and, upon Cynthia’s request, a few electronic tablets holding the menu. We made our choices and waited. I looked around. This could have been any Pho restaurant I had ever been in, only lacking the screens some had mounted on the walls flashing a news cast or a sporting event. I saw a few tables filled with other diners, including a family of four. Both children were young and acted normally, asking questions and bouncing around. A group of young adults had pulled two tables together and were busy eating and talking, with occasional bursts of laughter. Our bowls arrived shortly, and I have to admit, the soup was excellent. Kevin and I were silent while we ate; I assumed he was as hungry as I was. After finding Kevin unresponsive and only receiving a few monosyllabic answers from me, Cynthia refrained and let us eat quietly.

I was grateful for the quiet; I needed to absorb what was around me. For everything we heard earlier, nothing around me screamed bomb shelter. I didn't feel the pressure of the earth around me or excess heat, something physics said would happen the further down we were. This meant there had to be some pretty significant technology in place, assuming all of it was real.

Whenever I have attended a theatrical production, whether on the surface or in the habitat, I have always had to keep my shields up. Whatever an actor portrays on stage rarely correlates to their internal emotions, and without my shields, I can't suspend disbelief enough to enjoy myself. Because of this, I know it's almost impossible to keep one's emotions separate from one's real-life motivations. In my experience, this dichotomy is mainly present in one of two groups: actors in a play or liars.

My intuition was quiet, so I let my shields drop just long enough to taste the emotions of those around me. Everything around me felt consistently ordinary. No roles were being played, and everyone's emotions were consistent with their actions. They were exactly who they seemed to be, yet something was different. Whenever I sampled emotions on the surface, stress, sadness and frustration were consistently present; not so in this moment. I tasted contentment and happiness, and while I could still sense some underlying stress, the intensity was much less than I was used to. It was more data to add to the knowledge I was compiling.

After we finished, all I wanted was to get to this guest house, wherever it was, and be alone with Kevin. I was overwhelmed and tired and knew we needed time alone to discuss what was happening.

Cynthia paid for our meal by scanning her mobile and two small plastic cards covered in the same gray-on-white checkered pattern I had seen on the Eatery building, which she then handed us. As I took it, I could feel it was covered with tiny, smooth bumps. "These will function as your identity cards while you're here. You can use them at the Eatery and all the restaurants except for fine dining. Open recreational and entertainment facilities are also available with this card, and it's programmed to unlock the guest house for you."

I was full and slightly more alert as we left the restaurant. Cynthia continued our tour as we returned to the walkway, still heading centerwards. "The next ring holds restaurants catering to entertaining and finer dining options. Once past that, you'll see the seated restaurants, similar to where we just ate. The next ring holds the counters and finally the centerwards Eateries. We'll take an elevator to the guest house on Residential Floor 3."

As we rode the walkway, my gaze kept trying to see the upper reaches ahead of us, still some distance away. I kept blinking, trying to move out whatever was in my eyes causing me to see it as slightly off-sync. As we moved closer, I could see what was causing the issue; the slightly out-of-time area became more prominent, resolving itself into the bare outlines of a massive cylinder rising from the center of the floor and continuing upwards until it disappeared into the center of the sky. Once again, Cynthia began explaining what we were seeing.

"The outline of the cylinder you see conceals the central platform lift. It was one of the first installations when the habitat was built, but it only stops at certain floors now. The cylinder was constructed to hide the lift on every floor it bypasses. Cameras are embedded, which live stream their view to the opposite side, effectively vanishing the cylinder from our sight. However, there's a slight issue with delays closer to the ceiling, especially when viewed within a specific range. ₍₁₄₎ By delaying the stream at the top, which mainly reflects the sky, we can maintain a sense of reality for most of us. The illusion fails on the walkway as it gets close to the Inner Circle because of its unobstructed view. But if you look straight ahead instead of up, I promise it looks like it should, and in a few days, you'll ignore it like everyone else does."

She was right; it mattered less if I looked ahead and ignored what was above me. The walkway ended just past the two Eatery buildings. As we walked, I saw a ring of dormant trees separating us from a curved silver wall. Cynthia led us through an opening in the wall, and we were in another small corridor, albeit one open to the sky above us. The wall and the cylinder were also silver, reflecting our images. Cynthia headed for an elevator against the wall, which quickly responded to her call. We remained silent as we followed her, and she selected our destination.

The elevator rose smoothly, and in a short time, the doors opened to a view similar to the one we had just left. We followed a path around the cylinder, and Cynthia took us through another opening. If I hadn't known we were on another floor before, I certainly did now; rather than trees surrounding the wall, a long building with unevenly spaced doors curved around it. Given the caduceus I saw on one of the doors, I assumed it opened into a medical facility. A pathway surrounded the building, and on the other side, I saw small children playing on slides and swings scattered on a sturdy ground cover. Benches and tables were set up, too, and I saw adults sitting or standing around them, chatting with one another while keeping an eye on the little ones.

A small paved path led us over the greenway to yet another walkway. This floor was similar to the one we had just left in many ways. The lower portion of the wall we were heading toward was mostly hidden from view by buildings and trees, and we could see the sky seamlessly descending into a canopy of trees all around the outer perimeter. But as we passed out of the park, things were different.

Like the culinary floor, pathways bisected the exits. As we strolled between walkways, my eyes followed a path leading to a lane lined with houses, each with a small front yard. The houses were set relatively close, and I noticed each house had a fully fenced and private backyard. "We’re in what we call the first slice," Cynthia informed us, "Houses are still the same number of square feet but closer together for those who prefer. There are three slices to a quadrant, and each larger slice holds about double the population than the one before it."

It was easy to tell where the slices changed; each was separated from the other by another walkway echoing the curves of the quadrants it moved past. Alongside was a walking path leading through green parkland and playgrounds between the two neighborhoods on either side. I could also see differences when we passed through the second slice; houses were spaced out a bit more, each with slightly more yard in all directions. The houses glowed with soft colors, which became more pronounced as the sun fell lower on the western side of the wall. Each house had its unique palette; some harmonized with those surrounding it, while others clashed. We exited the walkway between the last two slices and walked further until we took a path entering the third slice.

As we moved toward the outer wall, I was amazed at the diversity of those we passed along the path, each acknowledging us in some way. There were people of all ages, a spectrum of skin color, facial features, and body types. Everyone was strolling; some were walking quietly, while others were chatting. Once again, I lowered my energetic shields and tasted the emotions coming at me. Happy, content, and rested, their emotions matched their physical interactions. And just like earlier, I found this odd. In my experience, many people showing a facade of calm and happiness were still struggling internally, even more by trying to hide their distress. To feel an entire group whose quiet emotions matched their body language was unique in my experience.

We walked further into the slice, finally finding ourselves on a path surrounded by tall privacy fences, intersecting with others parallel to the walls. Choosing the last path before the trees surrounded the wall, I could now see the yards were slightly larger than those in the second slice.

The path we walked glowed slightly as it curved around dormant bushes set in front of low-gated fences, all decorated in a festive manner. It helped turn what could be a typical suburban neighborhood into something out of a fairytale. The low fences in front formed a lattice of support for neatly pruned vines or were empty, ready, I thought, for the fruits of summer and then rose gradually along the sides and back, each surrounding gardens of various configurations. There wasn’t much to see at this time of the year, but small trees and neat beds were in every yard, waiting for spring when everything begins.

Everything felt soft; the houses were lit mainly in shades of blues, purples and greens, and I could see subtle patterns and designs weaving slowly across their facades as we passed; I felt as if I were underwater. The houses were various sizes; a few we passed looked high enough to contain two floors, but most were single-story. One even looked like a duplex, with a yard large enough to accommodate both, their front doors set apart. All the houses seemed slightly curved, with walls uninterrupted by windows bulging gently under the roof. I didn't see a straight line anywhere except for the doorway.

We soon followed Cynthia through a gate and walked through the yard toward the entrance. She opened the door and led us inside. Given what I had seen of the exterior, I didn't know what to expect, but I hadn't thought it would be so typical. The space was open, with hallways on either side of us and an eating area further back. A doorway behind the dining area revealed glimpses of what I assumed to be a kitchen.

The furniture and other decorative elements were impersonal, but not in the same way I expected from a hotel room; the colors were too bold. First, a couch surrounded by tables caught my eye. The couch was dark red, with feathery light gray leaves scattered sparsely over its cushions. The tables in front and to each side perfectly complemented the couch, reflecting the same pattern in opposite colors. The walls were painted in an even lighter gray than the tables. While the interior walls were straight and the ceiling above us was flat, I was stunned by the walls framing the exterior. They were curved along the edges, as I had expected, framing the side of the room. But I hadn't anticipated the large expanse of windows framing the front yard.

Judging by her next words, Cynthia must have seen similar reactions from other people. "Cameras on the outside allow for an expected view while still providing privacy inside."

The low table in front of the couch was arranged with various electronics; Cynthia took up a remote and began demonstrating its uses. "Our screens are part of the wall and can be arranged anywhere and to any size. We can display art images where we choose or set up a screen interface to access the computer system. You can use voice commands on the remote or the keyboards to control the screen placement. After positioning, keyboards, trackers, or voice control are available. We also have tablet interfaces for comfort since reading on a screen without a proper setup can be uncomfortable."

Kevin took a tablet and asked, "What can we get to?"

"Pretty much everything you can get from the surface, as well as information available to everyone in the habitat," Cynthia replied. "Since neither of you has been set up with a habitat profile, you won’t be able to get into anything requiring one. She placed the remote back onto the table, gestured for Kevin to do the same and began walking toward the kitchen. "There’s snacks in the pantry and breakfast items in the refrigerator." She gestured toward a counter where I saw a faucet over a small stainless strainer. "We recycle everything, including water. While the recycled water is sanitized and safe for skin and dishes, it has an unpleasant taste and isn't recommended for direct ingestion. We use potable water stations for cooking, drinking, and oral hygiene."

She led us back into the main room and showed us how to access the computer system and find entertainment if we wanted to relax. We asked a few technical questions to make sure we understood enough, and finally, it was time for her to leave. She did have a few words for us before she left.

"We have interview times set up for you on Sunday regarding the jobs we propose for you should you join us. After the interviews, I'll continue to be your escort over the next few days and help you answer any questions you might have to help you decide whether to accept our offer. After making your decision, we'll take you back to the surface, where you can continue your regular life or make any necessary arrangements before returning here. I'll meet you here tomorrow around 10 in the morning. Have a good night."

She closed the door behind her, leaving us on our own. I looked at Kevin, and he gave me a quirky grin as he sat on one side of the couch, grabbing a tablet and everything he needed for a computer. To say I was astonished would be putting it mildly.

"Kevin, what are you doing? Aren't we even going to talk about everything we've seen?"

"What's there to discuss, Ally?" He looked at me as I gathered up the same equipment he did and sat down. "This place exists; it's real, and I want to know more about it right now." He began playing with the remote, and a screen appeared on the wall between us. "You asking to go and eat at a restaurant was a genius move. I figured if I asked for pho, not having it or not getting it for us would for sure expose this as a lie. When she took us to a real pho place, right down to the orange next to the little house on the floor, I knew it was all real. There's no way it could be a setup."

Was it a certainty there was no setup? I hadn't seen Cynthia use her mobile or talk to anyone until we were in the restaurant. But we did eat at Pho restaurants fairly regularly at home; a deep government background check would surface those charges. Could anyone else? Again, to what end? I didn't say anything to Kevin; he was right; it was time for us to do some digging.

We spent our first hour playing with the system. While the user interface was intuitive and had a well-documented help system, we each wanted to control our own screen and share what we learned. We finally realized we could pair one interface to duplicate on two screens, so we each set up our version of a perfect screen down to the dimensions, placement and magnification preferences. Then, we learned how to share information from the tablet to the screens.

Finally, we were able to begin. I recognized the shimmer as we found the Charter Cynthia had talked about. Kevin sent it to the shared screens so we could read it together.

The Foundation Charter

Preamble

We, the undersigned, concur that every individual who signs onto the Charter is henceforth covered by it. Individuals eligible to sign are those of an age to be considered adults within the parameters of their species. A list of those groups eligible to sign are shown in Appendix A.

By signing this document, you agree that the provisions of the Charter apply to you and any offspring who are too young to be signatories.

Clause One

All individuals who are signatories to this Charter are held to have equal value and worth within their communities and the rules they live under, as well as in their regard for each other. Under this Charter, each person shall be treated equitably by the board, their government, communities and other individuals.

Clause Two

All individuals who are signatories to this Charter have the same rights and responsibilities as any other individual doing the same. Under this Charter, each individual is entitled to the rights of life, liberty, health, and the pursuit of happiness. To that end, the Charter stresses that each individual is entitled to the benefits of physical security, as well as the security of health, rest and leisure. Further, the Charter guarantees the right to both general education and appropriate training for all. The Charter guarantees a right to privacy and the ability to make choices that are best for the individual with no coercion from the government.

All signatory individuals are responsible for treating others with respect, both as individuals and in their official functions. All signatory individuals shall be provided a forum to air and address their grievances.

Clause Three

All individuals who are signatories to this Charter, once a determinable population is achieved, shall elect representatives who will administer their local governments as well as interface with the Foundation Board regarding the Board’s imperative to preserve humanity. Any elected representative who is found to have violated the charter under their oath of office shall be removed and deemed an oath-breaker. Government officials, journalists and other individuals who hold sensitive posts are required to be truthful with their speech and words when communicating with the public. Anyone found to have lied to the public deliberately shall be deemed an oath breaker.

Clause Four

Any individual who is a signatory and who violates the Charter shall be considered an oath-breaker. An oath-breaker is removed from the protections of this Charter, and any punishment meted out to an oath-breaker need not be humane.

Clause Five

Any individuals or groups who are not signatories to the Charter for any reason will not be subject to the Charter or its protections but must be treated fairly. No one who is a signatory to the Charter shall be able to attack those not under the Charter for any purpose but may defend themselves. Charter Signatories may not start a war or battle with anyone, but if attacked first, may plan and carry out that which renders those outside of the Charter harmless. Those who carry out an attack against the Charter may be punished and need not be offered Charter status in the future.

I was fascinated with its language; no wonder Cynthia had been so adamant she could understand it. But was it really that simple? How universal was the understanding? A moment later, Kevin proved my point.

"I don't get it. The whole first clause doesn't make sense. Value and worth are the same thing, aren't they? Why use both words? Equal and equitable mean the same thing, too."

"Do they?" I looked at the words before me and began thinking out loud. "Words can be slippery. Value and worth don't have the same meaning, even with some overlapping interpretations. Even if we were only talking about money, there could be more to it. Value can also have meanings of esteem or appreciation. Worth also means having merit or being valuable or deserving. Being deserving doesn't necessarily translate into esteem or appreciation, does it?"

He sighed. I knew he didn't want a long conversation on this tonight, but I couldn't stop myself.

"Equal and equitable aren't the same thing either. Treating everyone equally doesn't always translate to an equitable outcome."

"What do you mean?" He looked puzzled, which I found adorable. It put me in a silly mood, so I answered him with my version of a folktale.

"Once upon a time, there were three brothers who all wanted to watch a sports game being played in a field. But they found a wooden fence blocking their view of the game when they got there." His mouth opened, and I knew he wanted to interrupt with an inane comment about how the kids could just walk around the fence until they found the opening, but I wasn't in the mood for this to be a long conversation either. We both liked to be silly occasionally and while neither of us had much energy for it tonight, I knew we needed the levity. So I held up a finger to stop him and continued.

"The brothers were different ages and thus of differing heights, which was understandable since the tallest was seven years older than his youngest brother. As they approached the fence, only the oldest and tallest of the brothers could see over it. All of the brothers were disappointed. The two who couldn't see wept, and the oldest brother felt badly because his two brothers, whom he loved very much, could not watch the game with him."

Kevin smiled, "So, they were all in the same place, standing together. They were treated equally by standing together, but they couldn't all see the game. Maybe the older brother watches the game and describes it?"

I put aside the electronics and snuggled against him. "None of them are blind, so do you really think it would be fair? It means only one brother gets to see everything and then he has to describe it for his brothers who can't see anything for themselves." I challenged him, "What's better, hearing a game through an audio stream or seeing it yourself?"

He wrapped his arms around me. "I guess you're right. What happened next?"

"Well, the oldest brother saw some wooden boxes over to one side which were all the same height. There were three, one for each of them. He gave one to his smallest brother and one to his middle brother and kept one for himself. Standing on his box, he found he was even higher than he had been before, and he could see even more of the field where the game was being played. He looked over, and while his middle brother could see over the fence, his youngest brother was still too short."

"So now, even with an equal distribution, it still leaves some people out. It's not fair; the kid can't help how tall he is."

"Equal, but not situations happen to many of us daily, regardless of how fair it is." I continued the story. "The oldest brother realized he didn't need his box to see the baseball game, so he gave it to his smallest brother. When both boxes were stacked together, the youngest and shortest brother could stand upon them and finally see over the fence. By making sure each brother had what they needed, the oldest brother treated his brothers equitably. They all had the same outcome: the ability to enjoy watching a game together." I finally stopped, and we sat in silence for a while.

Kevin was thoughtful when he said, "This is about accessibility, isn't it?"

I laughed lightly and raised my hands to gently hold his arms, savoring his feel, warmth, and solidity. I felt more and more comfortable because Kevin meant home to me. "Well, the story I told is from the accessibility community, and equitable outcomes are what I try to achieve, but I have no idea if my interpretation is right either in terms of this Charter."

He began to fidget and frown, so I disentangled myself, returned to my original seat and waited for him to order his thoughts. Once he was ready, he asked, "Didn't Cynthia say earlier the Charter just wants us to treat each other well and not look down on anyone?"

"She did, but remember, I just went over a bunch of differences I could identify. I'm one person reading one part of this in one language, and my interpretation is based on my cultural and lived experiences. You and I had different interpretations. Didn't the film tell us there were twenty of these all over the world? That's a lot of different languages and cultures to filter the meanings through. The problem is that when everyone assumes their understanding is correct and universal, they make no effort to harmonize their understanding."

We turned back to our devices and continued researching. I went back to studying the Charter. The first two clauses interested me the most since they would apply to us. I could appreciate all that Cynthia had told us in the van and how the Nordic Model could be applied to these clauses. I could also appreciate their providing essential human needs for everyone. I thought about the pho we had earlier. Based on my understanding, as a co-op, everyone there had another job and chose to also run this restaurant. I didn't fully grasp how everything worked together, but it sounded like adding this creative capitalistic economy on top of Maslow's hierarchy was something I could get to like. I wasn't an economic theorist, but I don't think I had ever heard of something of this scale ever being attempted.

I ignored most of the other three clauses; they had little to do with me, only with public or government officials and their duty to tell the truth to the public, which I heartily approved of—the last few years had been eye-opening as I saw just how easy it was for those in power around the world to choose to lie to their populations and each other. ₍₁₅₎

Clause Three did speak to elections and elected representatives, and I searched for more information. I was interested in seeing exactly what form their elected representative government took, especially given what was happening in the real world. I couldn’t find it; there was nothing about a government structure. I resolved to bring it up at some point with Cynthia.

I found information about the Habitat Administration and the Foundation Board, which pretty much oversaw everything happening in every habitat. We couldn’t access internal social media sites or learn much about the other habitats; almost everything we found was NAHE-specific. Schedules of events, classes and activities were all available to peruse, even without the ability to register. Kevin and I kept searching and sharing for hours.

We finally stopped when Kevin said, "We’ve both absorbed a lot of information. I don’t know what to think yet, and I’d like to process what I’ve learned. Can we sleep on it and discuss everything in the morning?" I agreed quickly; there was a lot to take in from our day, and I’d always found my subconscious did its best work while I was sleeping. It had always amazed me how the solution to a seemingly unsolvable problem resolved itself elegantly the following day.

I had a hard time falling asleep, and given the movement on the other side of the bed, Kevin was the same. The room was set to a cool enough temperature, and the bed was comfortable, but I just couldn’t turn my thoughts off. I kept wondering what tomorrow would bring. Finally, I stopped fighting myself and just allowed my subconscious to assemble my recollections of today's experience and all the information we had learned. I let myself drift, and everything finally faded away.