There are trees everywhere in the universe, but mammals only show up on one planet in four, I thought, and made the conscious decision not to question myself. Answers were starting to bubble up from the topsoil of my heart, and I’d be happier if they came at their own pace. I was absolutely certain of that.

Graham and our driver were talking about the observatory now. She was chattering on about the architectural significance of the building, the fights that had been undertaken on a scientific and a civic level to make sure everything was constructed just so to maximize their efficiency and flexibility. There were little touches that would be invisible to the uninformed outsider: the planetarium off the cafeteria, too small for school groups but large enough to awe investors who were considering funding the study of the stars; the herb garden out back, which kept the kitchen smelling sweet and the astronomers and astrophysicists smiling. Most of them lived on-site during their shifts, preferring a small dorm and a thin mattress over the risk of missing something.

It sounded perfect. It sounded idyllic, even. Which probably meant there was something she wasn’t telling us—and why shouldn’t there be? I sat up straighter, looking narrow-eyed at the back of our driver’s head. She was an independent cabbie, the sort of person who could be hired via app from a smartphone. Why did she know so much about the observatory, when it wasn’t a major tourist destination and didn’t hold that much appeal to anyone who wasn’t like Graham, hardwired to see science as the answer to every question the world had to offer?

I frowned. Something about this wasn’t right.

The road wound up the side of a sloping hill, until we broke out of the trees and into a wide, clear area. A vast concrete-and-chrome building dominated the clearing, topped with several retractable domes. About half the parking spots were filled. Our driver pulled up in front of the doors.

“Here you are, safe and sound,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Graham. He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen, transmitting the fare and tip—a fairly healthy one, probably inspired by their conversation.

I got out of the car. I walked to the curb. And I waited.

Graham got out a moment later, stepping onto the curb next to me. He followed my gaze to the car, which was idling, presumably while our driver prepared for her next call. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Go on inside. I’ll be there in a second.”

“I’ll go let them know we’re here to talk to Dr. Vornholt,” he said, and kissed my cheek before heading for the doors.