There was no doggy door in the air lock. Whatever was going on, the bulldogs weren’t being allowed out either.

Mahir and Becks piled in behind me while I was still staring at the air lock in dismay. As soon as Mahir was past the door frame, the door slammed itself shut. He twisted to try the knob, eyes widening. “The bloody thing’s gone and locked on us,” he said.

“Somehow, not surprised.”

“Greetings,” said the air lock.

We all jumped.

It was Becks who collected herself first, clearing her throat before she said, “Hello, house. What do you need us to do?”

“Please remove all exterior layers of clothing and place them in the chute for sterilization.” A panel slid open at the base of the air lock, displaying a metal box.

“You want us to strip?” The words burst out before I could stop them.

“Please remove all exterior layers of clothing,” repeated the house, with the infinite patience of the mechanical. “Once all potentially contaminated materials have been placed in the chute for sterilization, blood testing can begin.”

Mahir cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but—”

“Failure to comply will result in sterilization.”

Okay, maybe not infinite patience. “What about our equipment?” I asked. “Our laptops can’t survive a full sterilization.”

A second panel slid open next to the first. “Please place your equipment inside,” said the house. “Anything that is not contaminated will be returned to you. All fabrics will be isolated and sterilized. Any materials that test positive for contamination will be destroyed. You have five minutes remaining in which to comply.”

“Let’s stop arguing with the creepy house and just do what it says, okay?” I slung my bag into the equipment chute before hauling my shirt off over my head and stuffing it into the clothing chute. “I don’t really feel like getting sterilized today.”

“The things I do for journalism,” muttered Mahir, and took off his shirt.

In under a minute, the three of us were standing there barefoot in our underwear, trying to look at anything but each other. Since we were crammed in like sardines, that wa’t easy. The panel in the air lock door didn’t close until the last of our clothing had been shoved through. “Please place your hands on the test panels,” said the house, voice still mechanically calm. “Your testing will commence as soon as everyone is in compliance.”

“I fucking hate talking machines,” I muttered, and slapped my palm down on the nearest panel.

Getting Mahir and Becks access to their respective panels practically required us to play a game of standing Twister in the hall. I’d never noticed how narrow the damn thing was until I was penned in it. Finally, all three of us were in skin contact with the house security system. Three sets of lights clicked on, beginning to cycle rapidly between red and green.

“We haven’t encountered any contagions between here and the gate,” said Mahir. He sounded uncertain. I didn’t blame him. I wasn’t feeling all that certain myself.