[sentences from prefaces to 14 science books]

Alex stepped out of the dimly lit airlock and back into the even light of
the lab buildings. It was never actually that bright, but after hours of
night and an artificial dawn, the normal lighting felt harsh.

Ashanta had left him unsettled, again. First showing him the climate science
lab, with its indoor cornfields and almost perfect mimicry of the air at
home, the very smells dragging out old memories, then bursting the bubble of
calm with one word.

_Subterfuge. That's what she's here for._ 

He went back to his study in the microbiology lab. It didn't really feel
like his, and after the memories of home, it felt even more barren. It was
just the same plastic and metal workbenches that every scientist got.
Impersonal, and nobody had brought enough nicknacks from home to give their
space any personal touches.  A postcard here, a reusable printout sheet with
a picture of someone's kid or partner, but the posters and whimsical gizmos
that stayed on the desk of every science nerd with their own desk or office
on earth, in every culture, were all conspicuously absent. 

He sat at the computer. Even that was standard-issue, it didn't have the
clunky keyboard he'd carried from workspace to workspace and had become
quite attached to. 

He called up what information he could. He keyed in "Ashanta Jackson".

The same bio sheet he'd had in his hands when he greeted the new arrivals
showed up.  She looked just as enigmatic in her photo. A handful of links to
articles she'd published or been mentioned in, but they all came up wanting
some subscription service to read. He supposed it wasn't needed by anyone
for their work, so the government hadn't bought access. Typical.

He sent an email to a colleague in Leiden who worked for one of those fancy
biotech firms who prided themselves on being generous to their employees to
see if she had access to the journals.

He glanced at his watch and did the math. 9:15 there. Maybe there'd be a
reply in a few hours.

He started another search.

"Pacific States University".  Just an encyclopaedia page, almost all about
the university when it had been Portland State. It really was like the
entire northwest had disappeared from the collective consciousness.

Even the maps didn't show much. He could see where the university is, and
the rivers, but most of the roads had no labels, and so much of the city was
just blank. "No data at this zoom level", it said. _I bet there's no data at
any level_. He backed up until the map just read "Portland" with no detail
and shut the computer in frustration. He'd become used to instant access to
information and wasn't used to finding nothing at all.

Time for a walk.

He strode down the main path through the station until his head hurt from
the constant change in perspective. He took off his glasses to shut out the
endless curving road and kept trudging. He wondered if it was possible to
trudge if you were indoors, in a place that's perfectly clean.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking and put back on his glasses to see
where he was. Section 8. Huh. They must have finished it a little ahead of
schedule. This section of the station was empty, just the wide hallway, now
infinitely long, an unending loop through the inside of the wheel,
punctuated only by the columns where the wheel met the spokes.