There was a set of buttons at the top of the stairs, with the same V and I icons as the key fob. At the other end of the vestibule was a door, vaguely reminiscent of the hatches found in submarines and military ships, but more delicate in design.

And beside the hatch was another set of buttons, with the same icons.

“Well, this seems pretty straightforward,” I said, pointing at the buttons. “I guess this is an airlock of sorts.”

“Very tasteful,” Nat added. “Chewbacca had good color sense.”

“Maybe he was wealthy, and this was his yacht.” Patrick bobbed his head back and forth. “I’m not sure if that would be better or worse than some of the alternatives.”

Natalie went to the buttons by the hatch and, before anyone could object, pressed the V.

Nothing happened.

“Interlock,” I muttered, and pressed the I button at the top of the ramp. There was a single chirp, and the ramp began to rise.

As the ramp locked into place, all outside sounds cut off, like a switch had been thrown. A few seconds later, the smells of outdoor Taft County disappeared from the air. Normally, I didn’t notice the ever-present odors of dust and dry grass and just a hint of manure, but the sudden absence of anything tweaked something in my mind.

The air also felt cooler, maybe sixty-five degrees. The speed with which the air had been conditioned and cleansed, particularly without anything like a fan coming on, was impressive.

Nat placed her finger over the V button again. “Last chance. We don’t know what’s on the other side of this door.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I chickened out now,” Patrick said. “Let’s do this.”

Natalie nodded and pushed the button. The hatch did a complicated twisting/folding thing and swung open.

I stepped through last and eyed the door mechanism as I went past. Interestingly, it appeared the design was intended to resist overpressure from either side. Any overpressure in either direction would simply seat the door more firmly. It was a brilliant design, and I made a mental note of it.

The corridor beyond the door led in a straight line for twenty or thirty feet, with several doors—doors, not hatches—on either side. They looked vaguely Star Trek-like in that they had no handles, just buttons to the right. On a whim, I pushed one. The door retracted with a faint hiss similar to an elevator door opening. “No whoosh, thank God,” I said, grinning at my friends.

The room was unoccupied and appeared to be an office or work area. Desks and chairs, their proportions all wrong in some undefinable way, sat in focus-group circles, each with a monitor and what might have been some alien variation of a keyboard.

I pressed the “close” button and the door slid shut.

“Are we going to do this at every door?” Nat asked, her arms crossed.