The woman was talking, but even more odd, one of the men, who wore his long hair in a ponytail, was talking back to her. Thinking he had stumbled into a showing of a very private nature, Jenkins was about to back out, but the other man, who sported a hairdo like a wheat plant gone to seed, saw him and grinned.

“At last, our pastrami sandwiches,” he said.

“Pardon me?”

Reed saw that Jenkins was carrying a briefcase instead of f a white paper bag, studied Jenkins's weathered and tanned face and then took in the workshirt and cap.

“Guess you're not from the cafeteria,” he said sadly.

“My name is Leroy Jenkins. I'm sorry to bother you. I got off at the wrong floor and sort of wandered in here.” He looked around. “What is this place?”

“NUMA's computer center,” said the ponytailed man. He was boyish, clean-shaven face with a narrow nose and gray eyes. “Max can answer just about any question you throw her way.”

“Max?”

Yaeger gestured to the screen. “I'm Hiram Yaeger. This is Hank Reed. That lovely lady up there is a holographic illusion. Her voice is a feminine version of my own. I used my own face originally, but I got tired of looking at myself and dreamed up a pretty woman, my own wife.”

Max smiled. “Thank you for the compliment, Hiram.”

“You're welcome. Max is smart as well as beautiful. Ask her any question you'd like. Max, this is Mr. Jenkins.”

The image smiled and said, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jenkins.”

I've been in the wilds of Maine for too long, Jenkins thought. “Actually, it's Dr. Jenkins. I'm an oceanologist.” He drew a breath in. “I'm afraid my questions are rather complicated. They've got to do with methane hydrates.”

Yaeger and Reed looked at each other, then at Jenkins.

Max said, with a sigh that was more than human, “Is it really necessary to repeat myself?”

“Nothing personal, Dr. Jenkins. Max has been working on the same subject for the last hour or so,” Yaeger said. He punched out the cafeteria number on the phone and turned to Jenkins. “We'd like you to join us for lunch.”

Reed leaned forward. “I recommend the pastrami. It's an existential experience.”

THE SANDWICH WAS as tasty as promised. Jenkins realized that with the exception of the bag of peanuts he'd had on the plane, his stomach was empty. He took a swig of root beer to wash his lunch down and looked at the other men, who were waiting expectantly.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he said.

“Crazy is our middle name,” Yaeger said. Reed nodded his head in agreement. Although the two men looked like an overaged hippie and a munchkin with a Don King hairdo, they appeared very bright. More important, they were interested in hearing his story.