Richard and Michael had fallen back asleep. Suzanne gave them both a poke but neither stirred. Perry lent a hand.

“Whatever was in that water affected them more than us,” Suzanne said as she shook Richard to get him to open his eyes.

“They felt drugged from being in the spheres, even before the dousing,” Perry said. He pulled Michael, who groaned to be let alone, up to a sitting position.

“Let’s move it!” Donald called. “I don’t want this door to close before you’re all out of here.”

Despite their groggy state, the warning about the door penetrated Richard and Michael’s stupor, and they got to their feet. As they moved their mental state rapidly improved. By the time the group joined Donald, the divers were even talking.

“This isn’t half bad,” Richard said as he inspected the corridor with lidded eyes. Instead of mirrorlike metal, the walls and ceiling were a high-gloss white laminate. Framed, three-dimensional pictures lined the walls. The floor was covered with a tight-weave white carpet.

“These pictures are something else,” Michael commented. “They’re so realistic. It looks like I can see into them for twenty miles.”

“They’re holographs,” Suzanne said. “But I’ve never seen a holograph with such vivid, natural color. They are startling, especially in this otherwise white environment.”

“They all look like scenes from ancient Greece,” Perry said. “Whoever our tormentors are, at least they’re civilized.”

“Let’s go, men!” Donald called. He was standing impatiently just over the next threshold. “We’ve got some tactical decisions to make.”

“Tactical decisions,” Perry mimicked in a whisper to Suzanne. “Doesn’t he ever relax this military posturing?”

“Not often,” Suzanne admitted.

The group walked the length of the hallway and paused, taken aback by the scene in front of them. After the series of stark, industrial chambers, they were unprepared for the room’s sumptuousness. The decor was futuristic, with lots of mirrors and white marble, yet it had a calm, cool, inviting ambiance. A dozen, canopied, couchlike beds with white cashmere blankets lined both walls. Five of the beds were invitingly turned down with folded clean clothes lying atop each pillow. In the background, soft instrumental music completed the mood.

Down the center of the room stretched a large, low table with chaiselike, deeply cushioned chairs. The table was laid for a meal with covered servers and pitchers of iced drinks. The dishes were white, the tablecloth was white, and the flatware was gold.

“If this is heaven, I’m not ready,” Perry said when he had recovered enough to speak.

“I don’t think chow smells this good in heaven,” Richard said. “And I just realized I’m more hungry than tired.” He started forward with Michael at his heels.

“Hold up!” Donald said. “I’m not sure we should eat anything. The food’s probably drugged or even worse.”

“You really think so?” Richard said with obvious disappointment. He wavered, looking back and forth between Donald and the laden table.

“And those mirrors,” Donald said, pointing to the huge sheets that formed the far end of the room. “I’d assume they are two-way, which would mean we’re being watched.”

“Who the hell cares, if they treat us like this,” Michael said. “My vote is we eat.”

Suzanne’s eyes fell on the folded garments on each bed. She had not noticed them sooner because they were white like most everything else and blended perfectly with the white linen. She went over to the nearest bed. She lifted the garments and shook them out. There were two simple pieces: a long-sleeved tunic that opened at the front and a pair of boxer shorts. Both were made of a silky white satin, and both were curiously seamless.

“My word! Pajamas!” Suzanne commented. “Now this is downright thoughtful.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Suzanne pulled on the shorts. The tunic was generously proportioned and came to knee length, covering the boxers. It tied with a gold braided rope. Along the sides were several pockets.

Suzanne’s dressing reawakened everyone’s self-consciousness. The four men grabbed clothing sets from the beds and donned them.

Michael eyed himself in the mirrors at the end of the room. “Not much to these things,” he said. “But they’re comfortable.”

Richard laughed at him. “You look like a faggot.”

“As if you don’t, asshole,” Michael shot back hotly.

“That’s enough!” Donald barked. “There’s to be no fighting among ourselves. Save it for whoever it is we’ll be facing. Which brings me to the issue of setting up watches to stand guard.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Richard asked. “This isn’t some kind of military exercise. I’m going to eat and then I’m racking out. I’m not standing any watch.”

“We’re all tired,” Donald said. “But there is a door to consider that we don’t have any control over.”

All eyes swung around to gaze at the door at the end of the room opposite the mirrors. It was white like everything else and was without a knob, latch, or hinges.

“We have to stay vigilant,” Donald added. “I don’t want these Russians or whoever these people are sneaking in here and doing whatever they want to us.”

“Judging by the pains they have taken with these accommodations, I don’t think your paranoia is justified,” Suzanne said. “And I thought we decided we’re not dealing with Russians here.”

“Well, you people argue about all that,” Richard said. He walked over to the table and lifted the cover of one of the chafing dishes. The savory aroma filled the room.

“What is it?” Michael asked. He leaned over to look.

“I don’t have a clue,” Richard said. He lifted the spoon. The steaming food was cream colored and had a pasty consistency, like hot cereal’s. “It looks like Cream of Wheat, and it smells mighty good.” He brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted it. “Well, I’ll be damned! How’d they know? It tastes like my favorite food: steak.”

Michael took a taste. “Steak? What, are you crazy? It tastes like sweet potatoes.”

“Get outta here!” Richard complained. “You and your sweet potatoes.” He sat down on one of the chaises and helped himself to a sizable ladle of the food. “You’re always talking about sweet potatoes.”

Michael sat opposite and took a portion for himself. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I happen to like sweet potatoes.”

Suzanne and Perry stepped to the table, their curiosity piqued by this exchange. They were experiencing almost irresistible hunger. Suzanne was the next to try the food.

“That’s incredible,” she remarked. “It tastes like mango.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Perry said. “Because to me it tastes exactly like fresh corn right off the cob.”

Suzanne took another taste. “To me it’s mango, without a doubt. Maybe there’s some way it tricks our brains to interpret the taste according to our own predilections.”

Even Donald was intrigued. He came over to the table and tried a minute amount. He shook his head in disbelief. “It tastes like biscuits to me: fresh buttermilk biscuits.” He took one of the chairs. “I guess I’m as hungry as everybody else.”

Everyone helped themselves to varying amounts of the curious food. They found it difficult to resist going back for seconds. They also discovered that the iced drink had a similar variable effect. It tasted different to each person, according to his or her preference.

As soon as the group’s ravenous hunger had been slaked, the exhaustion and sleepiness that they’d experienced earlier returned, and with a vengeance. Fighting against sagging eyelids they pushed back from the table and sought their separate beds. No sooner had they drawn up the covers than everyone but Donald fell into a deep, hibernating sleep. Donald struggled vainly in hopes of maintaining a vigil, but it was impossible. Within minutes he, too, was slumbering.