The Forsaken

brightens the floor, leading off down the curve of the horseshoe. “A tour guide will be with you shortly. If you have a prearranged appointment, please speak the letters of your guide’s last name, and I will page your contact.”
    I spin to face Gadya, finally understanding. “It’s not real!” I say. “It’s a recording. A computer program.”
    Gadya’s face reflects my emotions.
    Total, absolute despair.
    “Because at the Silver Shore Terminal,” the voice continues babbling, “your comfort and satisfaction are our primary goals.”
    I have no clue what this building is, or why this automated voice is speaking to us now, but it continues, undeterred.
    “My video feed indicates that no staff members are currently available. So I invite you to take your seats in the waiting area.” The lighted panels on the floor start flashing more insistently.
    “Video feed,” Gadya mutters. “Did you hear that?” We immediately start looking around for cameras.
    Finally I see one, up high on the ceiling above the door. It’s the first camera I’ve seen since the one near the spiral staircase, the first day I arrived on the wheel. Gadya and I both start waving at it. Even though this voice is automated, maybe there’s a human somewhere out there in the darkness, watching us.
    “I notice that you are signaling to me,” the voice says. “If you have a request, please speak to the receptionist. Remember, a staff member will be with you shortly.”
    “Screw you!” Gadya screams, head tilted up at the speakers again, her voice raw. “Rot in hell!”
    I stop waving at the camera. The voice is just saying the same things over and over. I was hoping I could ask it questions and get some answers. Clearly, that’s not going to happen.
    Or so I think—until the voice abruptly changes in pitch. It’s still female, but now it sounds deeper and more serious. “I apologize for the delay. We here at the Silver Shore Terminal take pride in our punctuality. It is possible your guide has been unexpectedly detained. If you wish, you may request the automated tour function. Just say ‘automatic mode.’”
    I do what the voice says.
    The lights dim slightly, and I try to see out of that huge, mysterious window. But beyond all the reflections, it still looks blacker than the night sky.
    “Welcome. I will be your automated tour guide this afternoon,” the new voice continues. “My name is Clara. C - L - A - R - A . At any time you may interrupt this tour, and I will do my best to answer any questions.”
    I take that as my invitation. “Where are we?”
    “You are on Balcony Delta.”
    “No, I mean, what is this place?”
    “Balcony Delta,” the voice repeats, with the exact same inflection.
    “What does that even mean?” Gadya presses. “What does Balcony Delta do? Where are the aircrafts?”
    There’s no answer this time.
    I stare at Gadya helplessly. Under the lights, I see how dirty and grimy she is. Her piercings are dull and encrusted with blood. I see my own reflection in the glass wall and realize I look just as haggard. I barely recognize the filthy, skinny girl staring back at me. I look like a wild animal.
    “This isn’t working,” Gadya mutters.
    “What’s behind all those windows?” I ask the robotic voice, trying another tactic.
    “Windows?” It’s like the voice just recognizes certain words and ignores the rest of the sentence. “This gallery window is the focal point of Balcony Delta, which is one of twelve viewing portals in the Silver Shore Terminal. The windows are made from a Plexiglas-silicone hybrid, fourteen inches thick, to provide maximum viewer protection.”
    “Protection from what?”
    My question throws the voice. “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”
    Gadya speaks up. “She means, what the hell’s behind that glass?”
    For some reason, the voice likes her phrasing more than mine. “Behind the glass is the Silver Shore specimen archive. We’ve processed more than fifty percent of the island’s specimens, making this the largest processing facility on Island Alpha—”
    “The island!” I jump in. “How do we get off it?”
    I don’t think there’s any chance the voice will answer that one. But to my shock, it does. “The helipads and aircraft landing strips are located on the roof level of Terminal C. Please contact a staff member to request all relevant scheduling data.”
    “Can we get off this island without a helicopter or an airplane?” Gadya