"You said the Stone wasn't from the future," Patricia commented.

"From our future," Lanier corrected. "It may not be from our universe."

Her skin felt warm. She blinked rapidly, not sure whether she was going to cry or laugh. "Damn."

"My sentiments exactly."

They stood on a broad platform, near a wall ornamented with large, flat, rose-colored crystals arranged in irregular tesselations. Direction signs hung from the ceiling, letters scabbed and peeling: "Nexus Central, Line 5" "This side for Alexandria" "San Juan Ortega, Line 6, 20 minutes." More of the ebony-black flat display screens hung near the signs, all blank.

Patricia felt a small tremor of dizziness. Was she really where she was, or suffering through a work-induced dream?

"You're getting Stoned," Lanier said. "Watch yourself."

"I am. Yeah. Watching myself getting Stoned."

"Depression is usually the next step. Disorientation, fantasies, depression. That's what I went through."

"Oh?" She looked down at the white tiles beneath her feet.

"Should be a train coming in the next five, ten minutes," Lanier said. He put his hands in his pockets and joined her in regarding the floor.

"I'm doing fine," Patricia said. She didn't believe herself, but on the other hand, she had felt worse before exams than she did now. She'd hold up. She had to. "I'm just wondering if there are better ways to indoctrinate newcomers. This seems pretty haphazard."

"We tried other ways."

"Didn't work?"

"No better, some worse."

A puff of air advanced out of the train tunnel. Patricia thought to peer over the edge of the platform to see what kind of mechanism the subway cars rode on. The floor of the channel was featureless, no rails or guides of any sort.

Out of the tunnel hissed a giant aluminum millipede, its nose windowless and crossed by a radiance of green lines. It stopped with neck-jarring suddenness and hummed softly as its doors slid open. A marine guard stood in the lead car, holstered pistol and laser rifle prominent.

"Mr. Lanier," he greeted, saluting smartly.

"Charlie, this is Patricia Vasquez. Another green badge. Patricia, this is Corporal Charles Wurtz. You'll probably be seeing a lot of each other. Charlie is our main man on the zero train line."

"Keep all the boojums from bumming a lift," Charlie said, grinning and shaking Patricia's hand.

Lanier beckoned for her to enter first. The interior, examined for basics, was like any reasonably new rapid transit system vehicle. The plastic seats and metal fixtures were in good repair. The cars had obviously not been designed for crowding—no handstraps or rails for standing passengers—and the arrangements were spacious, with lots of leg room. And no advertising. Indeed, within the car there were no signs at all.

"Like an old BART in San Francisco," Patricia said. She hadn't ridden on the BART or the LA Metro in years.

They settled back in their seats. There was no sensation of motion until she looked out the large round windows spaced at irregular intervals along the sides of the car. The station was a passing blur. Then there was only darkness relieved by flashing white vertical bars.