The alien architecture was having a strange effect on Jill’s brain. It was so blank it seemed to absorb impressions—the impression, for example, of being in a hypnotic state where one is asked to picture a corridor with doors. This kind of corridor, these doors, would be what Jill’s subconscious would conjure up.

“Jill!” Nate was pointing at an oval fixture on the wall. It was emitting light.

Jill’s mouth went even drier at the sight. She followed Nate into the hall. The doors, as they had already learned, opened by proximity, even in the buildings without power. Now Nate stepped right up to a door and it slid back silently. She knew he was being brave, stepping into the doorway like that, and she had a bad moment before the door had fully opened.

But there was no one inside; it was just another boxlike room. Nate made a bowing gesture to let her through.

She headed toward a long narrow counter in the corner. It was like the ones they’d seen in other buildings. The counter had a concave depression with holes arranged around in a ring. It reminded her tantalizingly of a drain and spigots.

“Please, please, please, please, please… “ Nate was muttering as he came up behind her.

The sink operated as soon as she stepped in front of it. Water spouted from the ring of holes around the basin.

Jill was past worrying about whether the water was viable for humans. She stuck her hands in it, making a crude cup, and drank greedily. It tasted wonderful, like good, clean water. Her mouth and throat relaxed into a semblance of soft tissue. When Nate took his turn he stuck his whole head in the sink, his close-cropped hair trickling with errant streams as he drank. Then he tried to roll up his sleeve.

“Do you mind if I wash my arm?” he asked, looking sheepish. “It’s still pretty sore.”

“Of course not.”

His sleeve would not roll up far enough, so he took the shirt off and put his forearm in the basin, splashing the water up onto his bicep and shoulder, face grimacing with pain.

“I just wish the water were hot,” Nate said, forcing an uncomfortable smile. “Wait—it’s warming up now.”

She stepped away, not wanting to stand there watching him, and began moving around the room. The water—both the drinking of it and the relief of having found it—had made her feel a thousand percent better. Her curiosity returned. They were no longer in imminent danger of dying and, by god, if they weren’t, she was going to take a damned good look around.

There were two plain chairs with impossibly narrow seats and a long cotlike bed against one wall. The bed was topped with a hard cushion, and it emerged from the wall much like the molded counter. Near the door was a metal plate they’d seen in many of the buildings. It resembled a fuse box cover, but it didn’t open—wouldn’t budge under her prying fingertips. There were raised designs on the plate that Jill realized—at last—were alien writing. She moved her fingers over it, an expectant smile tilting the corners of her mouth. The characters were like Morse code in their simplicity—horizontal lines and dots in a variety of directions and groupings. She pressed against the writing, trying to get a sense of it through her fingertips. There was a dull thud behind the plate.

Jill had eaten dinner in too many college dorms not to recognize that sound. Her stomach growled and her fingers probed the metal surface hungrily for what she knew had to be there. At the bottom the metal folded neatly inward, revealing a drop bin and a thick, solid bar the size of a brick.

“Food,” she breathed, picking it up and sniffing it. She spent some minutes trying to unwrap a shiny film until it began to melt to her fingers and she realized it was edible. She was about to try a small bite when Nate came over.

“You got it to work!”

“Wasn’t difficult,” she said. Like an old pro, she pressed the writing again to get another bar and held it out to him. “Try it.”

“Oh, I see. I’m the guinea pig.”

“No! I—” She took a hurried bite. The bar crumbled under her teeth. She made a face.

“What’s it taste like?”

“Honey, cardboard, and machine oil.”

“Yum. My favorite.” He took a bite and woofed out his cheeks in disgust. “The good news is we can lubricate a gasket with our breath.”

“We shouldn’t eat much. Not until we see what it does to our system.”

“It’s fine. Really. I feel just—” Nate gasped, bent over, contorting in pain. He fell heavily to the floor, face in agony.

Jill blinked at him for a moment, then sank down to the floor, folding her legs to sit next to his prone body. She took another small bite. He opened one eye to see if he’d gotten her.

“That’s what I like about you, Nate. Your maturity.”

They drew a cache of the bars and made a pack from Jill’s sweater, but they couldn’t find any way to carry the water. At least they knew where to find it if they needed it.

“What now?” Nate asked as they reentered the lobby.

“I want to try the elevator.”

“And, um, why would we want to do that?”

“Because we need a better plan than just walking around. Because this is a relatively tall building. Because if we can get to the roof we might get a strategic view. Any more questions?”

“I liked it better when your mouth was too dry to talk,” Nate said, stepping onto the platform beside her.

There was more of the alien script on a panel on the wall. Jill and Nate were debating about what to push when the elevator began to rise of its own accord.

As it ascended to reveal the next floor they could see alien feet waiting, then legs. Nate and Jill backed into the far side of the elevator. Jill sought, and found, Nate’s hand. A torso appeared, then those big, buglike eyes. The elevator stopped and the alien stepped onto the platform.

It wasn’t the same alien they’d seen in the streets, Jill was sure. It didn’t have the same overbite. This one had a tiny mouth that was perfectly flat. But again, it stared right through them without a flicker of interest, then turned to face the panel. Its fingers moved over the panel briefly. The elevator began to descend.

Nate was gripping her hand so tightly it hurt.

“Hello?” Jill ventured, her voice sounding hollow. Nate squeezed, hard. “Ouch!”

She glared at him and he shook his head mutely, pleading.

But the alien had heard something. It looked around the elevator, its eyes grazing right past them. It scanned the ceiling, blinking translucent lids over thick, gooey eyeballs. The elevator stopped on the ground floor. The alien, after taking one final look around, got out.

Nate dived for the control pad, banged on it. The elevator began to rise.

“Jill,” Nate hissed, “did you see that? I told you, they can’t see us!”

His eyes were large and dark—freaked-out eyes. She knew what he was thinking—some weird, supernatural thing, like maybe that they were ghosts after all. She felt a flash of irritation.

“Maybe this species is blind. How would we know?”

“With those eyes? That’d be a sorry waste of real estate.”

“Anyway, they can hear us, at least. Why didn’t you want me to speak? We’re going to have to make contact sooner or later.”

“What if they’re dangerous!”

“Why assume they’re dangerous?”

He gave her a look like she was being incredibly stupid. “Um… because it’s a hell of a lot safer than assuming they’re not?”

She rolled her eyes, but she had to admit… She was just as glad herself that the alien in the elevator hadn’t seen them. There was something about those huge eyes and husklike bodies that was not very pleasant at all.

The roof was a flat, dusty surface made of the same stuff as the rest of the City—a dense white material that was difficult to distinguish as either synthetic or stone. Nate looked around the rooftop for more aliens before deigning to get out of the elevator. He walked to the edge.