Page 11 of Whoops-A-Mate From Outer Space
One of my eyebrows went up, but I decided not to push.
Silence mostly fell inside the office, the man in front of me typing as he cross-referenced my paperwork with files on his computer, and the occasional rustle as the man going through my bags moved clothing aside.
The man with my stuff finished first. “Ok if I take him down to tech to unlock his devices for them?”
The one at the desk waved his hand. “Go ahead.”
I stood, turned, and saw him pick up the Faraday bag.
“This way,” he declared.
I followed him out into the hallway. Our footsteps echoed off the austere walls as we passed closed doors and empty offices.
“Is it always so quiet?” I asked. “Where is everybody?”
He chuckled. “Quietest post I’ve ever worked. I’ve been told there will be more people, but they haven’t told us when.”
He turned into a room where several soldiers sat at computers.
“I need a personal electronics check,” he said.
One of the soldiers stood, walked over, and explained their process. I needed to give them access to my devices so they could run a full security check and ensure all location services were disabled. Then he explained that my devices would be secured and could only be used in a designated location.
It was annoying, but not completely unexpected. I provided my passwords, then followed the first soldier back to the pass office.
My paperwork had apparently checked out as things progressed quickly. Form after form was given to me to sign: non-disclosure agreements, the agreement about my trial term and extending my time, compensation—including a card I could use at the commissary, vending, and other areas on base that needed money— and so many more I lost track. I was photographed and given an ID card. Then another soldier was called to escort me to the visitor quarters. I was asked to remain there until Floyd arrived, then I was left alone.
The quiet was disconcerting. I’d never been on a military base, but the movies always portrayed them as places of constant activity. However, I’d only seen a relative handful of soldiers.
The pallets filling the plane started to make more sense.
I unpacked—a task that took only a few minutes to complete—then decided to see what was around.
My room was small, but functional. There was the bed, a small seating slash entertainment area, a kitchenette, and a private bathroom. The color palette was warmer than other areas I’d seen, relying on reds and browns to give it a homey feel. The artwork on the walls was generic, but it was clear they’d meant the place to be welcoming to those not in the service.
The rest of the building was equally decorated to feel inviting. There was a small gym in a brightly-lit room painted with white and sky blue paint, as well as a small common area decorated in lighter earth-tones. I found the laundry room tucked in a corner, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted a vending machine with my favorite soda.
I was about halfway back to my room when I spotted Floyd walking down the hall.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was early afternoon, then I realized I had no idea what time it actually was. How many time zones had I changed?
“No problem,” I replied, then. “But… what time is it?”
He blinked, then smiled. “Half past two.”
My face heated slightly. “Thanks. I didn’t think about it earlier.”
“Not a problem,” he laughed as I fell in beside him. “Time moves differently here anyway.”
“Huh? How so?”
“Not actually different,” he clarified. “Just that isolation changes your perception of time.”
“I see.” I paused. “So where are we headed?”
“The medical complex.”
