[55--Reception-Mo]

It turns out that down is any direction when you're on the inside wall of a spinning cylinder in outer space

The mezzanine was set back into the wall, under curved sectors of metal gridwork.  Each of the six projections spaced evenly along the grille work was a tower with a ladder leading toward the very center of the dock, and down a flight of stairs into the mezzanine proper. 

I waited for the Judge and we took the stairs down.  We were noticeably heavier at the bottom, but not more than a small fraction of what I was used to.

We found ourselves in an endless gallery, with rows of windows on one wall.  Notices of every description were tacked to the opposite wall with magnets.  There were six stairways that led up to the dock and six hexagonal elevator shafts between them. 

There were benches and green plants, but little else.  Nowhere was there anything like a waste basket or a butt-can. 

We went up to one of the windows and turned over our papers. 

The Indian woman behind the glass was pleasant but I could tell she was tired.  She had to enter my data twice before she came back with about a dozen new papers and a key on a long bead-chain.

"Here you go, Miss Heywood," she said passing the papers to me.  She'd put them in a stout cardstock envelope, to make them easier to carry.

"Non-essential personnel are restricted to the elevators and the rim.  Please proceed to the elevator E, for Easy and take it down to Level 95.  Go counter-spinwise until you find Room 219; it'll be on the right.  That's yours."

She handed me the key.

"Your cafeteria is E93, one floor above your elevator bay.  Meals are served every three hours around the clock.  You have a meal card in your package.

"You have a phone in your room.  The exchange for Level 95 is 95 and then your sector number.  The extension is your room number.  Calls on-station are local, but be advised calls back to Earth are very long distance and must be paid in full before you can leave the station.  The area code is A30, if you need to receive a call.

"Welcome to Ophiuchus Station.  Enjoy your stay."

I took out my fountain pen, intending to write my new phone number down, but found it was a sticky mess.  I hadn't thought about the effects the lower pressure would have on it.  The ink had bubbled out and stained the pocket of my borrowed flight suit.

It was not a new problem.  Even ball-points had to have a modicum of gravity to work.  Back in the Fifties and Sixties, the Space Force had spent millions developing a space-pen that would write in zero pressure, zero gravity. 

In keeping with their make-do philosophy, the Russians simply used pencils.

***

The elevator shafts were imbedded in hexagonal pillars, with doorways set into opposite faces, oval in shape like the Mickey Mouse.  The door itself was a shiny silver cylinder.

I found the elevator marked E, and pushed the down button.  The LED panel above the chamfered doorway changed from '99' to '98' and then sped up.  It stopped at '23'.  It occurred to me it wasn't measuring floors, but meters.

The cylinder rotated, bringing another pill-shaped door inline with the doorway.  There was another smaller cylinder inside it and it started spinning the opposite way.

It in turn opened onto yet another cylinder turning the direction of the first; when they all lined up, the elevator was open.

It had room enough for only one person.  The back wall was flat, and there was a panel and screen set about half-way up it.

There were buttons for levels in the 20's, but these were surrounded by a box labeled 'Access Restricted'.  There was a keylock in the box as well.

The buttons for the other four floors were lined up like in a normal elevator. 

Next to that was a bright LED screen with three rows of six characters.  It said "23 M" on the top row and then "197 CM" and "SEC SQ."

I pushed the 'L95' button and the doors slid closed with an audible swish.  It reminded me very much of the bridge of the Enterprise, except I could feel I was in microgravity.

There was a ding and I started moving.  The second row dropped to "181 CM" and the number on the top row started increasing. 

Both numbers started climbing and I could feel myself getting lighter.  By the time the top reached 60, the middle one had climbed to 550.  By 90 the other read 880 and I could feel myself getting steadily heavier.

They came to a stop at 95 and 938.  The doors swished open again, and I stepped out into a cozy lounge opening onto a hallway.  I followed it, passing rows of doors on either side.  About forty yards down I found a ladies room, and 219 two doors down.

I unlocked it and went inside.

It was small, maybe ten by twelve feet, possibly a smidge bigger.  There was a single bed, a chair, a desk, a sink, and a wardrobe, all of molded gray plastic and built in to the room.  There was a lamp on the wall above the desk and a panel that I first took to be a thermostat. 

There was a light fixture in the ceiling. 

That was it.

There was no trashcan, no ashtrays, no rugs, nor, come to think of it, had I seen a telephone.

But there was a welcome package on the bed.  There was shrinkwrapped bedding, a bathrobe, rags, and a towel, and a little kit of toiletries.

On top of it all was a booklet, welcoming me to the station.  It had a map, a directory, and endless advertisements for commercial businesses on Level 90.  I saw several decent looking restaurant fliers, and they all delivered. 

I was eternally grateful to whomever had supplied the toiletries.  They let me bring nothing except my clothes, and now I was afraid I'd ruined them.

Besides, I hadn't had a shower since earlier the previous morning.  I don't smell like a man or a woman, not really, but not all stink is sex-hormone related.

I took my pen and wiped it down as much as I could, and I stripped off my clothes.  The jumpsuit, my new issue blouse, and undershirt were all stained through.  I folded them carefully and set them aside.

I put on the bathrobe and dug into the kit.  There was soap, and shampoo, a toothbrush and paste, and even dental floss. 

In the bottom of the kit was a laundry bag and  pair of flip-flops in  a plastic envelope with a note advising me that shoes or flip-flops must be worn while walking anywhere in the station, including the shower.

I hung my key around my neck, realizing now why it was on such a long chain, and headed out the door.

As soon as I reached for the knob, I heard a noise behind me, kinda like my alarm.

Di-di-di-di-di-dit.

I turned back to search for the noise.

Di-di-di-di-di-dit.

It sounded like it was coming from the desk.

Di-di-di-di-di-dit.

It was coming from the panel, the one I'd thought was a thermostat.

A green light was flashing on the screen and the middle and last lines changed to "29C-" and "50A0".

And then it stopped. There was a pad and a stubby pencil, the kind you get playing miniature golf, so I jotted the number down.  I briefly considered calling it back, but I figured whatever it was, it could wait till after I'd had a shower.