“Okay. Well, as you drive in, you’re going to see roadblocks. One or two, depending on time of day. They’re not real. You don’t have to stop. Just turn off your autopilot and drive slowly through them and ignore the bros with guns waving their arms.” The woman recited all of this in the intelligent, matter-of-fact tones of a park ranger explaining what to do if you saw a bear. “They’ll get out of your way and they won’t actually fire on you or anything like that. If there’s any trouble, here’s how to communicate.” And the woman licked her finger and pulled a sheet of paper from the top of a stack of printouts, then used a pair of scissors to cut off a strip about two inches high. She slid it across the counter to Sophia. It listed strings of codes and characters. Other than that and the book in the woman’s hands—a recent translation of Beowulf—there was no other paper in the place. The walls were equipped with literature racks, and a couple of spinning racks stood like broken columns in the middle of the floor, but all were empty.

Seeming to read Sophia’s mind, the woman said, “If you put your glasses back down over your eyes you’ll see the equivalent of brochures for tourists.”

“Got it,” Sophia said. “We’re just going to drop off a passenger though.”

“Well, welcome to Moab,” the woman said, “and have a safe drive.”

“Is there any reason we wouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just a polite expression.”

It came to pass just as the woman said: five miles farther along, at the end of a long straightaway, a few dusty pickups and old-school SUVs were parked almost-but-not-quite blocking the road. To either side, roughly parallel courses of yellow plastic tape connected makeshift fence posts, extending for some little distance into the desert until the fence makers had lost their savor for the job. Someone had erected a rude arch of lumber over the road and, at its apex, nailed up a sheet of plywood painted highway-sign green and blazoned in hand-painted white letters:

DANGER

RADIATON

NO ADMITANCE

About the time they got close enough to read those words and to begin remarking upon the misspellings, the car’s autopilot became concerned about the clutter on the roadway ahead, emitted a warning tone, and slowed down. Sophia shut it off and assumed manual control, then, for good measure, stifled any additional warning beeps that might be forthcoming.