The ship jolted and Arthur stumbled out of the WC into a carpeted hall. He fell to one knee before he caught himself. He stared at the plush carpet with bewilderment. This was nice carpet, thick and bright, not the meager, faded covering--worn in many spots to the metal deck-plating--that he was used to on SlumpJets. There was no way he would not have noticed carpet this nice as soon as he boarded the ship. And the smell was gone too. He slowly looked up and then quickly scrambled to his feet. He turned from one side to the other, his head swiveling. He turned around in a circle. The lavatory door he'd just stumbled out of was no longer behind him. He stood in a long hall lined with ornate wooden doors. He clutched his towel tighter. This is what came of traveling in hyperspace if you were from one of the Plural Sectors. He'd already learned that lesson the hard way and now he really didn't care.

This place looked nice enough. It didn't smell. The carpet was good. The air was, apparently, breathable, since he'd been breathing it for a good five minutes and had not yet suffocated or become violently ill. The doors were of a size he could deal with, if a little large. Maybe there was tea...or at least something not quite entirely unlike it.

He started down the hall cautiously, nervously adjusting the tie on his robe. He wondered if he should try one of these doors, but no--what if he interrupted someone in the bath? Probably not the best way to introduce himself. Perhaps he'd meet someone if he just kept going. He hoped the people here were friendly and wouldn't be upset to find a strange man wandering around in their hall...he hoped they weren't poetry lovers.

Finally he approached an arched opening at the end of the hall. He pressed himself into the corner and then peeked out, taking in a large open area dotted with clusters of furniture--recognizable tables and chairs and sofas--and potted plants. Was that a ficus? He let himself begin to hope there would be tea.