With a rigid brow, she fixes on his satisfied face, “Then I hope this puts an end to your relentless questions about me, about my true nature, what I look like, what I…”

“Look,” stabbing his right index finger at her, “it’ll go a long way when I finally get to see the real you,” he slows his breath. “Of course, who can say if even that’ll be enough. Can’t make promises.” Folding his arms, he grins. “But I do have one more question on the topic.”

The chair rocks back and forth with her unsettled energy, “Yes?”

“How will you know?”

“Know what?”

“If you’re hungry.”

The rocking stops, “If I’m hungry?”

“You even sure you will? Do you even know you can?”

“Can? Can what?”

“Well, maybe it’s like how bees can see infrared light– light humans can’t see.” He sits up and disturbs the stack of magazine on the dark-stained, rustic, wood table, “Maybe hunger is a light you can’t see.” He pulls one out and tosses it on the desk. The cover photo is a bumblebee landing on the glowing center of a yellow rose in full bloom with the title, ‘Pollen-Vision: the humble bee’s amazing ability to see ultraviolet light.’ “And if that’s true, I’ll be honest, life without hunger sounds boring.”

Knocking the magazine off, her feet drop to the floor, “Why’s that?”

“It’s like hunting.” Rising, “The moment you satisfy hunger is by far the greatest, physical, spiritual, human experience possible,” Mason struts to pick it up, “no matter what it is: food, sex, entertainment, love… romance,” but decides the reach isn’t worth the effort. Instead, he plants both fists on the desktop and leans forward with stiff arms, “I mean without it, how does one even know they’re alive!”

For a moment, his hands mesmerize her mind and slow her words, “You know Mason, it’s ironic you ask. One of our analysts imagines hunger is fundamentally beyond our species, that we’re incapable of it.” Breaking the hold, she looks up and exhales, “However, there are reports of symptoms attributed to hunger but nothing definitive. Until one of us actually feels hungry, eats, and is satisfied, we may never know. Some believe I’ll starve before I recognize the warning signs.

“Thousands of generations have passed since our species has experienced anything resembling hunger. Our minds may not be equipped to register such sensations.” Turning in the chair away from him, she starts to get out when she notices the buttons on the armrest– controls for the massage settings, “Such base impulses may simply elude us. I only hope I won’t wait too long.” Again, Janet finds Mason’s eyes, “I mean, the whole thing makes me a bit anxious, nauseous. It’s why I…

“Well, no one has ever been human this long, as long as I have, well, up to this point. But don’t worry, I’m fine. For now, I’m fine. We figure I’ll be just fine for at least a few more days; at least, we think; I hope; well, we all hope.” Tucking a golden lock behind her ear, “Ha, ha, ha… ahhh, I mean we’re sure,” she sits back, rotates in her chair towards him, and stares at her hands as they land on the desk, “I’m sure. It’s what the data unequivocally states. Of course, until the experiment concludes…”

His right fist unfurls to reach her left hand as it tries to find rest without success, “Does hunger scare you?”

“Ha, ha…” A deep breath. She squeezes his hand hard and holds a moment before she lets go, “Yes, a little.” Her eyes turn up as a child who realizes they’ve dug a hole they can’t get out of and must be rescued.

“Oh. Okay. I get it. When a human body isn’t hungry, it’s full. So, I guess we won’t be eating, or at least, anytime soon because you’re still full, or,” he steps closer and sees her fingers run across the buttons, “whatever. And hey, that’s fine. No worries, right?”

“I…”

“Hey listen.” Mason knows how to calm her nerves.

“Yes?”

He sets her hand in her lap, slides behind the chair to the other side, and fingers the armrest, “Sit back.”

“Okay…”

Tapping the short sequence of buttons, he finishes, leans against the desk, “Feel that?” and watches the tight ripples invade her body.

“Uh…”

“Feels good, right?” He presses the arrow, increasing the power, “It’s a massage chair. It literally… wait.” He engages the rolling cylinders, “It’s like a tiny masseuse lives inside…”

“Whoa!” She launches from the chair.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Mason grabs her wrist before her escape evades his reach, “It’s okay! Janet, it’s fine.”

“Mason…” she separates from him to rub her back where the first cylinder began its work.

Flattening his voice, he waves towards the humming chair, “Come on back. Sit down. Try it. It’s fine. It feels really good.”

Staring at the padded throne with a furrowed brow, “No. I’m okay right here.”

He pulls her hand. She pulls away. With a deep breath, he silences the donning motor, “Oh. Okay. But just so you know, it feels really good. I promise: it doesn’t hurt.” His voice pitches as his palm indicates the recliner, “Are you sure you don’t want to…”

She takes his hand, “Yes. Sure. Mason my dear friend, we have important things to do today and entertaining the tiny masseuse that lives inside your chair isn’t one.”

“Ha, ha, ha. You know there’s not actually a tiny masseuse inside that…”

“Yes. I know: it’s a robot.”

“Robot? Huh. Never thought of it like that before.” Placing his other hand atop hers, he finds her staring at their moving fingers, “Then what should we do?”

Her eyes return him, “Help me understand what it means to be human.”

“Huh?”

Between the bookshelves behind his desk and entryway, the big, black, walkin gun safe pierces the load-bearing wall. A twelve-key, digital pad dutifully waits next to a decorated, steel door with a five-spoke, vault handle. The matte coating soaks up the sunlight and pairs nicely with the black bear’s fur, the massage chair’s leather, and the coffee table’s stain. The armrests of couch, the square edges of mantle, and the cut of the desk’s thick top sing in concert with the safe’s sharp corners. This room inside a room echoes throughout a space physically and metaphorically constructed around it.

“Teach me. For instance, show me what it means to be hungry, what it means to want something so intensely that you simply must have it, that you will do whatever it takes to get it.” She glides towards the safe, “We do not have such feelings, such hunger. But you can teach me. With your help, I will not fear hunger– the inevitable signal of starvation’s impending doom.” She places a hand on a chrome spoke, “With your help, I’ll learn to recognize it and deal with it like any real human; embrace it for what it truly is: a call to action, a call to fill one’s belly with wonderment and joy– at least that’s how I’ve heard it described. It sounds awesome. Is it?”

“When it’s done right.”

Her eyes shoot from the door to his, “But to be honest, it also sounds complicated, messy, frankly difficult.”

“It’s not that complicated. A body knows. Plus, if anything happens, I know the Heimlich maneuver.”

“I know you do and I trust you’ll perform it well, should I need the assistance.” Two quick steps and she grabs his shoulders, “I’ve never known what the concept ‘full’ or ‘hungry’ means. But you can teach me. I will never feel the depths of human emotion the way you do– the way a true human is capable of, but I can feel. Through our connection I will sample every experience you have to offer.” Her finger stabs at the chair, “Just not that thing. That thing’s unholy.” Her giggle carries the soft breeze of a quick wisp through tops of an alpine forest.

“Ha, ha, ha,” he shoves the chair closer to the desk, “Okay I get it. No more massage chairs for you.”

“Thanks.”

He’s lost in the beauty of her smile. The snap of a synapse, the turn of his body, and the retreat of his mind allows him the distance to dig deeper, “Then you can feel human emotions?”

“This body produces human sensation with the potential for emotion. I am able to categorize and theorize over the quality of the qualia– the potential value of the signal’s meaning through our connection.” She approaches the bookshelves a few feet from him, “You clarify the noise.”

“Huh?”

“Your thoughts and emotions are like the sounds produced by a musical instrument.” Pulling a book from the shelf, she reads its title, ‘Hammer Time: the loves, losses, and life of Mason Drake.’ “Because I have that same instrument– a human body, I am able to map that sound onto this body and reproduce the abstract concepts and emotions behind the perception of your feelings.” Onto the desk, she faceplants the book cover– a wing-spreading, beak-screeching, talon-grasping bald eagle about to land on a sparkling-new football helmet with a neon-glowing American flag as its team logo, “It’s how I hear your thoughts, see your intentions, feel what you feel. In a real sense, I know what you know.”

“Okay wait.” He fits the book back in place, “You can feel human emotions because you have a human body, but does that mean you have feelings of your own, you know, when you’re not human?”

“Ha, ha, ha,” she walks to the safe, “of course I do.” Grabbing the spoke again, she attempts to turn it, “But my limited exposure to human emotion has me perplexed. I cannot fathom much of it.” Like a bored teenager, she punches the buttons on the pad, “Our emotions and experiences are quite different. Ego, power, and pleasure are concepts we do not fully understand. We know honor, justice, and righteousness.”

‘Click.’ She grabs the handle, “We understand fair play and novelty but we cannot stomach consumerism and jingoism. My limited history leaves me with limited exposure. I have no lexicon.” She spins the handle, “President Rosslyn was my first, extensive, human contact,” and the door inches open, “but you will be my first, human guide– my librarian.” Stepping back as Mason quickly covers the distance between them, she makes room for him. ‘Bang!’ The door slams shut.

“Through your love and passion for human life, I will learn what it means to be a loving, passionate human.” Face-to-face, she stares at him, “After your announcement, I will inform the Betas that you are the Federation’s first, official Ambassador of Earth.” He turns from her to the door. “As the Ambassador, you will work closely with me.” She watches him focus on his fingers, dancing along the keypad, “We are destined to be one. We will share everything. You will be my guide as I will be yours. You will show me what it means to feel, to think, to love, and to be loved– loved like a real woman.” Touching his chin, she inspires eye contact, “And I will show you all the secrets of the universe. We will save your world, together. Join me.”

Spinning the handle, Mason opens the door, looks inside, and gently shuts it, “Sounds great. Can’t wait. Now how’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

From over his shoulder, he slows his voice, “Open my safe.”

“Luck. But what’s not luck is my ability to see that you have a deeper question for me.”

“Huh?” He stands straight, “Oh yeah. That’s right, you can see inside me, inside my…”

“Mason it’s not magic. I hear the sound of your mind like a song. The longer I listen, the longer you sing, the easier it is to decipher the meaning. It’s not magic, just perception. Like your bees.”

“Oh. Okay.” With his shoulder on the door, he rests his hand on the top spoke, “Why won’t you simply tell me where you’re from?”

She walks away, “I thought we talked about…”

“No,” he follows her past the entryway to the entertainment center, facing the love seat, “we didn’t. We didn’t talk about this. I just want to know why you won’t tell me where you’re from? What are you hiding? Where are you from?”

She turns, “Oh Mason. I hide nothing.” Sliding open the huge cabinet door, she finds the dark glimmer of a massive screen, “I understand this point means a great deal to you but understand it means nothing to me.” Closing it, she strolls to the safe, “I was hatched on a ship, a ship very similar to the one you visited. I… my parents– my entire lineage, we all began our lives aboard spaceships. For generations,” she grabs the spoke, “my people have traveled the stars.”

Mason hurries behind, “Hatched?”

“A crude term that most closely reflects our reproductive style.”

Pushing her aside, he protects his keypad from further meddling with aggressive body positioning, “Like a bird?”

“In a way.” She traces her finger along the door’s rim, “What is this?”

“A… well, a safe.”

“Safe? I’m confused. To my knowledge, safe is state of being, not a thing.”

“A safe is a place to keep your stuff… well, safe.”

“Ha, ha...” covering her mouth, the tips of her fingers cut short further laughter, “Sorry, but that’s a rhetorical loop.”

“I guess it is.”

Scanning up and down the safe’s structure, Janet strides to its left corner and drags a palm as if to check for defects, “So what are you keeping your stuff safe from?”

“Theft, fire, you know, generally bad shit.”

She continues along the side wall until she reaches the other corner where the bookshelves lie flush against the towering safe, “And what stuff are you keeping safe?”

He leaves the door to stretch his neck around the corner, “Important stuff.”

“Mason,” she marches back, “I can see you want to show me what’s inside. You are proud of safe. Why won’t you show me safe?”

“The safe.”

“Sorry. The safe. You are proud of the safe. So, show me the safe.”

Stepping back to the five-spoke handle, he grabs it, “Fine. But first, tell me where you’re from… where’s your real home?”

“Mason, my planet of origin no longer exists.”

“God, I’m sorry. What happened?” He turns to punch in his passcode.

“Thousands of years ago, the sun went supernova.”

‘Click.’ He looks up and reaches between her and the door, “Your sun went supernova? When? Where? The Milky Way?”

Responding to his nudge, she steps back, “No.”

Spinning the spokes, he pulls, “Andromeda?”

She grabs the approaching edge, “No, and Mason, I don’t know for sure. But what I do know for sure is how your connection to Earth defines what it means to be human. Where you’re from says something about who you are. I get it. I know why you feel so strongly about knowing where I come from; you believe it will somehow inform you as to my true nature– whether or not you can trust me.” She follows him into the box, double the size of a freight elevator, “The planet of my origin doesn’t represent who we are today. We’ve evolved. The Federation is who I am, my nature, my home. Understand Mason, it isn’t where we started or where we’ve been but where we’re going that matters. You will learn to trust me because you know me, not some place I have neither been to nor do I remember a single detail about.

“Now, if you’d like to know the details of my people’s past, you’ll need a Historian.” She walks to a wall covered in handguns, “We have one on the ship. Would you like to return?” She struggles to retrieve a revolver from its hooks, “He’d love to share all the facts with you. Now, I must warn you… oomph,” the weapon bobbles in her hands; with a crouch and a smirk, she manages to keep it from the ground, “Historians are a lonely breed who prey upon the curious. But if you really want to talk to him, be prepared to hear answers to questions you never wanted to ask.” Her palms caress the cylinder and trigger before they grab it by the grip, “However, I will admit: President Rosslyn loves the old guy and visits often.” She looks down the barrel.

He snatches the weapon, opens the cylinder, and verifies each empty chamber, “No. That’s okay.” The thought of returning to that ship turns his insides. ‘Click.’ He closes the cylinder, “And be careful. It might not be loaded, but you never know.”

“I’m sorry. How does it work?”

He indicates the trigger, “Point and pull.”

Again, she aims the barrel at her face and places her thumb on the trigger guard. Her hand squeezes as his hand slips over the sight and secures it.

“Like this.” He positions the weapon. ‘Click, click.’ He pulls the trigger and looks at her. She’s already stepped away from the wall of handguns to the locked cabinet of assault rifles. Returning the snub-nose .38 to its place, he moves to unlock the cabinet’s steel-framed door, “Those are my babies. I named each one based on movies I’ve starred in. And to be honest, everyone of them has…”

Grabbing a mounted shotgun, she pulls. The stock fails to budge. Her hand slips. She spins around, “These are all used to hunt deer?”

“Some of them. Some are for protection.”

“Protection? How are you going to protect yourself when they’re lock inside this metal closet?”

“That’s what the security system’s for.”

She stands next to a slanted table with a myriad of objects, “Huh?”

His eyes focus on her fingers as they touch the various hunting knives, canisters of pepper spray, and police-grade stun guns mounted to the surface in an orderly manner, “The security system warns me when someone’s on the property. Then I come here for backup. Plus, this doubles as a panic room.”

Opening a cabinet door under the table, she looks inside at stacks of ammunition, “A what?” and closes the door.

“The ultimate refuge of last resort.” He steps next to her and repositions one of the canisters she moved out of place, “If worse comes to worse, I can live here for weeks. Come flood, fire, or full-out assault on the residence, we’ll be safe here. It’s totally connected. You got your microwave, your satellite. There’s WiFi, Bluetooth… everything. And that’s just the communications hub. The atmosphere’s a whole ‘nother story. That runs on a bank of oxygen tanks for a positive pressure seal in case of a gas attack. In fact, there’s a whole, secret, second floor and this whole thing’s cemented into the basement’s footing. As long as we’re not in the hypocenter, it’s rated to survive the full blast of a nuclear detonation. Wanna see?”

She glides to the safe’s door, “What are you planning for?” and turns with both hands on either side of the frame, “Do you really believe you’re going to defend yourself from a military invasion or something?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Could be anything. Better be safe than sorry, I always say.”

“Huh.” She exists.

“What about the bunker? It’s just down this secret hatch.” Inserting the key, “Hey, I bet you’d love to see the unidirectional, pressure-sealed, military-grade portal to my escape tunnel; it exits near the river …ha, ha, ha,” he glances over his shoulder, “Hell, I’ve even got a handful of those self-inflating rafts waiting to carry us off to safety, you know, should it ever come down to that.” He swings open the shotgun rack to expose the hidden passage and turns around to look for her, “Don’t you want to see my extensive collection of grenades? There’s all kinds… Janet? Hey, there’s even a huge food pantry down there. Enough for five. You could try an energy bar; they’re amazing. I’ve got pretty much anything a…” As she’s long moved out of sight, he shuts the secret access, switches off the light, and follows her out.

Positioned as she was before entering the room, Janet smiles, “Mason?”

“Yes?”

She approaches, “Let’s pivot.”

“Pivot?”

Taking his hands, she stares at them, “For a little while, let it be my turn.”

“Your turn?”

She meets his eyes, “Yes.”

“Oh. Okay. Then what do you want to do?”

“Let’s be human!”

He musters a half-smile, “How?”

“You mentioned the mall, how much they’re changing, evolving. You said people are going to the malls again. Well, let’s go there. Let’s visit this center of consumerism and I’ll adorn myself with the apparel you suggested.”

“Apparel… you mean clothes?”

“I believe you called it, ‘lingerie.’ Is this correct?”

“Boy I must’ve had more to drink than I thought.”

“Why?”

Dropping her hands, he turns to the two-inch-thick, double-lined, steel door, “I remember mentioning the mall but I don’t… well, after finishing that Klein bottle I guess I…” Still having problems putting the night together, he cuts short his words as he shuts the door, “Tell you later.” ‘Click.’

“Then we’ll go to the mall and acquire lingerie?”

He spins the handle, “Fine.”

“Good, I’d like that.”

Walking towards the kitchen, “I’ll get my keys.”

“Don’t forget your shoes.”

Waving, “Right. Thanks.”