He indicated one corner of the room where an old table stood; a beat-up conference table about which chairs were cocked at crazy angles. Then he smiled again and sat down as if I were a patient of whom he was particularly fond. His whole manner indicated that this was his office or its equivalent. He wore his own clothes rather than any hospital-like garb, and he treated the table as if it were his desk, ignoring the piles of torn magazines which he shoved aside.

I was taken aback, yet willing enough to go along with the pretense, considering Ram-Ram’s condition, when he gestured to a woman who came up beside us, and said, “Dear Queen Alice, do sit down with us. You’ll be interested in Jeffy-boy, here.”

As Ram-Ram spoke, the other patients began to mill about, make noises, cough, sneeze—or in other ways seem to indicate that they were involved in their own concerns and wouldn’t eavesdrop. At the same time, their motions also seemed sly and aimless. I had no idea how to react to them, being more used to dealing with laboratory rats than people.

I pulled myself together, smiled jovially, and said, “Well, now, how are we feeling?”

“Fine, fine,” Ram-Ram answered, with no indication that anything at all was wrong. “I’m continuing our research at this end, and Queen Alice, here, has become my assistant.”

“I’m very glad to meet you,” I replied nervously, and I had to turn to look at the woman as Ram-Ram’s attitude so clearly demanded. I didn’t want to ruffle him, but I didn’t particularly want to deal with anyone else either. Queen Alice’s white hair made a wiry bush about her face. She was wearing dungarees and a shirt, and for some reason her attire upset my sense of propriety—an attitude that even then I understood was unfair and ridiculous. “Queen Alice?” I said gently, with just a hint of a smile, I suppose.

“Another nickname of sorts, or rather, a title of deference,” Ram-Ram said. “It really denotes the fact that she’s out of her time. She’s living in the wrong century.”

“A dreadful inconvenience,” Queen Alice added. “And so few understand. Oh, some do, I’m not saying that. But no, I’m not a queen. I have no pretensions of earthly royalty … I presume you’re a gentleman of your century?”

“Oh yes, he is that, indeed,” Ram-Ram said with obvious relish and an almost sarcastic chuckle. And the entire affair was just too much for me. I was about to make some excuse and leave when Ram-Ram leaned forward with a sudden, almost gay attitude of conspiracy and said quickly, “We haven’t all the time in the world, you know, so I want to fill you in on what I’ve learned so far.”