Now the girl had reached Ellie. In a voice that expected nothing, she said, "Please?"

"I’ll help you, dear," Ellie said.

The girl shrieked, then convulsively hugged her. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," she babbled.

"Follow close behind me." Ellie strode up behind one of the lifeless un-men and, just after he had slapped his hand on the plate, but before he could enter, grabbed his rough tunic and gave it a yank. He turned.

"Vamoose!" she said in her sternest voice, and jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

The un-man turned away. He might not understand the word, but the tone and the gesture sufficed.

Ellie stepped inside, pulling the girl after her. The door closed behind them.

"Wow," said the girl wonderingly. "How did you do that?"

"This is a slave culture. For a slave to survive, he’s got to obey anyone who acts like a master.

It’s that simple. Now, what’s your name and how did you get here?" As she spoke, Ellie took in her surroundings. The room they were in was dim, grimy–and vast. So far as she could see, there were no interior walls, only the occasional pillar, and, here and there, a set of functional metal stairs without railings.

"Nadine Shepard. I ... I ... There was a door! And I walked through it and I found myself here! I ..."

The child was close to hysteria. "I know, dear. Tell me, when are you from?"

"Chicago. On the North Side, near ..."

"Not where, dear, when? What year is it?"

"Uh ... two thousand and four. Isn’t it?"

"Not here. Not now." The grey people were everywhere, moving sluggishly, yet always keeping within sets of yellow lines painted on the concrete floor. Their smell was pervasive, and far from pleasant. Still ...