Heaven Gilded Zarcroft Hybrid

Thirty Two

We sat at a table in the lobby, finishing our coffee.

"Did we say something wrong?" I asked.

"Maybe he doesn't like talking about his dad," Cynaline said.

"Or it could be about his birthday present."

"Do you think it could be the... you know."

"I don't think so."

"But what if it is? What else could it be? You said his dad owned the place."

"Co-owns."

"Maybe... we should visit Dorothy. They gave you her room number, right?"

"Yep."

Cynaline pressed his empty cup on a red circle in the center of the table. The cup descended into a tube, and the circle returned back. I thought it must've been deposited into some kind of trash compactor. Well, until Cynaline explained that the cups were being cleaned "like an elaborate human dishwashing facility".

I wondered what they did with actual trash, but I didn't ask.

⚝⚝⚝

Several people crowded in the elevator with us. Maybe I was crazy, but no one seemed bothered by it. I was.

The elevator opened to a sterile, blueish hall, with automatic carts strolling down the halls. As we walked down, I tried deciphering the numbers on the doors. Apparently it started with "one" and continued from there, which was way less confusing than usual room numbering. A few people stood in front of a reception desk built into the marble gray wall. A man sat in a big, comfy chair, with a blank white computer screen beside them facing us. They leaned back, reading a magazine. There were actually four of these desks, scattered down the hall, with everyone behind them doing everything but looking up at the visitors.

"I'm visiting Halarde Yuneteps," said a tall black woman in a silver blouse, speaking to the computer. "I'm her mom."

A number appeared on-screen, along with an artificial voice reading it:
"57!"

She left without any word from the human receptionist, or any concern in her voice. In fact, no one looked concerned, but they could've been hiding it. If they were able to heal Jamie's broken ankle with a needle and a few hours, then I couldn't imagine what else they were capable of.

"Dorothy's in Room 45," Cynaline whispered to me. "But I'm gonna check to make sure."

We walked all the way down the hall to the last receptionist, where no one was lined up. The woman behind the desk was sculpting a teddy bear out of pink Play-Doh.

"Just tell the computer who we're visiting," Cynaline said.

I stood in front of the screen. "I'm visiting Dorothea Grail."

Instead of a number, a sentence appeared on screen.

"It says 'can you spell it out?'," Cynaline said. "I'll do it."

He typed her name in on a keyboard.

A green check mark appeared, along with a number: "58!"

"58?" I repeated. "They changed her room."

"Can you text Jamie the new coordinates once we get there?" Cynaline asked, handing me his teleporter. "We'll follow someone."

He pointed down the hall, where the mother from before stepped inside of an elevator. Dorothy's room should be right next to hers.

Cynaline reached his hand between the elevator doors, opening them back up. The woman looked stunned. Despite the roominess of the cabin, Cynaline stood right beside her.