“Hello,” she said, as she approached the front desk. “My name is Dr. Nora Lindstrom. My driver just dropped me off here. I’m not sure if I have an appointment to see someone, or…”

The receptionist held up a hand as the index finger of her free hand trailed down a list.

There must be a hundred names on that list.

“Here you are. Okay, hang on a second.” She picked up the phone, spoke a few words, and hung up. “If you’ll wait over there,” she indicated some chairs in the vestibule, “someone will be right with you.”

Right with you turned out to be the better part of an hour, during which time Nora fidgeted with her watch, ran through ten science experiments in her head, and did her best not to rue the day she said yes to this mysterious job.

“Dr. Lindstrom? Sorry to keep you waiting. My name is Barbara, I’m Colonel James C. Marshall’s assistant.”

She said it as though Nora was supposed to know who this Marshall fellow was.

Barbara walked away and turned back only to beckon Nora to follow her.

They arrived at an office bustling with clerks and administrative personnel. “We’ll get you an ID badge and a Townsite Resident’s Pass. You can’t go anywhere on the Reservation without them.”

“The Reservation?”

“Clinton Engineer Works. CEW. This place.” The woman waved her arms as if to encompass the entirety of this nameless town.

“Is this place a city? A military base? What is it?”

“It’s the Clinton Engineer Works,” she said pointedly, with a look that told Nora she’d better not ask any more questions.

Nora nodded as if those three words elucidated everything.

“Sit here. They’ll take your picture for your ID badge. As I said, you’ll need to wear that everywhere, and carry your resident’s pass, also. You were pre-cleared, so that will make things go more quickly for you.”

Nora had no idea what that meant, but whatever it was, if it cut red tape, she was all for it. Her escort whispered something to the clerk taking fingerprints and pictures, and then she was gone.

Another half hour later, Nora was equipped with an ID badge and resident’s pass, and then she was shuffled off to another administrative cubbyhole for housing processing.

This clerk examined her badge, ran a finger down a list, and tapped an entry. “Hang on a second.” She got up and conferred with a colleague. Their whispers were loud enough for Nora to hear.

“…I know, but her badge indicates that she should be eligible for a Cemesto. They’ve got her in a dorm room. That ain’t right.”

“It’s on the list. We have to follow the list. It’s not ours to ask questions.”

Nora had no idea what a Cemesto was, but she already knew she wanted one. A dorm room? She shuddered.