jewels in the faint light. “Come live in the present. I have a room with a big bed, and I give a group rate.” He winked at Laramie. “Discount for the cutie.”
Denver could feel Laramie blushing. It would have been funny if he wasn’t so focused. “We’re here to see Gru Whittemore.”
All three of the young entrepreneurs groaned. “Gru has all the luck,” the girl on the right said with a sigh. “Look, don’t spend all your credits in one place, all right? Save some for us and we’ll make it worth your while. You want chocolate? I have chocolate, the good stuff, made on Mars—”
“Nothing good is ever made on Mars.”
The three kids stumbled to a halt at the sound of the rough but cultured voice over the intercom, and Denver had to stop as well to avoid running into them. “Are you little bounders keeping my guests from me?”
“Nah, Gru.”
“Sorry, Gru.”
“Won’t happen again.” They melted back into the shadows as fast as they’d arrived.
“Keep walking forward, friends,” the voice said. “Down the hall. I’ll meet you once you reach the atrium.”
The bit of light they’d enjoyed upon entering became dimmer as they progressed deeper into the room.
“What hall?” Marit muttered. “I can’t see a damn thing in here.” She pulled her cutter out and turned it on the lowest setting, just enough to cast some light. They walked several more meters, seeing nothing but the reflection of watching eyes from the makeshift doorways around them. Denver’s unease grew with every footstep, but they weren’t in a place to back out now. He wished he’d come alone, though.
Their alley ended at a wall, forming a T. “Right or left?” Denver asked.
“There.” Marit pointed at a spot on the wall just above their heads. “Is that an arrow?”
“I think so.” It was, in fact, a glowing arrow. It didn’t seem to be powered by nanotech, though; this looked like it had been painted on, except Denver had never seen a phosphorescent paint that looked so… organic before, clumpy and bumpy.
“Follow the arrow, friends. Through the double doors at the end.”
They followed his directions and eventually stepped into an actual hallway—part of the original architecture of the building.
“Not just you.” How, though? No environmental controls was one thing, but plants had to have light in order to grow, didn’t they? How could anything natural survive back here? Denver squinted into the darkness, trying to make his eyes focus. “Marit, turn off your cutter.”
“Are you crazy? It’s pitch-black in here!”
“I’m not sure it is. I think I see something up ahead.”
Marit grumbled something under her breath but switched off the cutter. Denver blinked in the sudden darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting, focusing on a faint glow at the end of the passage. “Do you see that, or am I going crazy?” Denver asked.
“No, I see it,” Marit said. “There’s something down there.”
The hallway seemed to go on forever, but the farther they went, the more pronounced the glow at the end became. Not only was it more humid here, the smell was different too. In the lobby, he’d smelled only garbage and unwashed bodies. Here, the air seemed cleaner. It smelled… green. Alive in a way Denver associated with the market run by the Grower’s Guild. The bit of light also illuminated closed doors every few meters, on each side of the hallway.
Finally, they stepped through a broad archway into a room that glowed with all the colors of the galaxy, brilliant pink and orange to their left, subtle greens and grays to their right, and vast swaths of blue the same shade as a star’s burning heart above and behind them. The walls and ceiling stretched away, out of sight, into darkness, hinting at a huge space—a marketplace maybe, originally. Ahead of them, the center of the room lay lost in shadow.
“Well done,” the rough voice called from the murky depths of the chamber. “You found your way. Welcome, friends! Welcome to New Selene!”
Laramie stiffened slightly.
“I know, I know,” Denver murmured. Denver hadn’t met a Luny yet who didn’t fit the “loony” stereotype. It was safe to assume this guy wasn’t playing with a full deck of cards. “Thanks for having us,” he said, peering into the gloom.
“Oh, it’s not every day I get a message from an old