“It’s just that you said if I happened to find myself in the neighborhood, I should stop by. And, well, I was in the neighborhood,” I lied. It took her a few more moments to open the door. “God, I can’t believe it,” she said, staring at me. Without a giggle to alleviate the tension, without an apology. I stood there, about to die of embarrassment.

“Okay,” she finally said. “If you were stupid enough to come all this way, at least have something to drink before you hit the road again.”

She waved me in, gesturing at a chair in her small kitchen, and started to fumble through her messy cabinets for glasses. The kitchen was open to the living room, or more accurately, a large couch by a hallway leading to the bedroom. The walls were made of blue rock and the living room ceiling was riddled with small holes, allowing the sun to filter through and light up the entire house. The bedroom was crammed with books and had only one hole in the ceiling. She explained reading was the only thing left to do on a planet with no signal. A large basket stood by the front door, filled to the rim with dozens of sunglasses and ski masks in different colors.

“Sorry,” she said, handing me a glass of tepid water filled less than halfway. “The homeowner association is very strict around here about water usage.”

I assumed that by homeowner association she meant herself, but I was afraid asking would bring on another insult. I downed the water in one gulp.

“Wouldn’t you rather drink something cold in this heat?” I asked.

“I would,” she said. “That’s why I keep the water in the fridge for myself.”

The rest of the conversation was nothing to write home about. Long stretches of silence and pointless questions that didn’t interest either of us. After half an hour and a stingy water refill, I picked up my bag and headed toward the door. A brief goodbye was accompanied by an official, rather ridiculous handshake.

“Where did you park?” she asked as we stood in the doorway. I told her I had come by public transport. “You’re joking, right?” She groaned, slapping her forehead. “Public space shuttles stop here twice a year.”

I smiled and told her not to worry. That I’d been traveling for so long, I was used to waiting a few hours in the sun. She looked at me and sighed again. “I wasn’t being funny. The next space shuttle will arrive in four months. And that’s best-case scenario.”

I hesitated and told her it wasn’t a problem, I’d just make a holographic call to one of my buddies to come pick me up.

She sat down on the chair, biting her hand nervously. “There’s no signal on this planet.”