A Predator of Information

Somewhere there is a free hotel for people working on a very important set of problems related to the potential extinction of humanity and how to keep it from happening.

I was in another hotel with two people and we went to this one. I think I may have stayed there before, to take a look and explore. There are six floors. There used to be seven, but one of them got lost. I went to the sixth floor where there were suites for larger groups, some looking like family reunions with lots of kids running around. I accidentally wandered into one suite because the hall just turned into it and the door was wide open. They didn't seem to mind, but one of the employees found me and asked me if I needed help finding my room.

I didn't know I had a room. I didn't think I was supposed to be there, but they thought I was, and I had a key in my pocket. The room was very nice, very spacious, and decorated in a southwestern style yet somehow all in steel and chrome. There were very large insects around one picture window, all larger than your two fists put together. They weren't pests, they just went about their lives, and stayed in that one area. They were part of the decoration, too, to help focus the visitors' minds and guide their thoughts. The two people I was with were there, too.

Since I was apparently a guest, I thought I ought to work on some part of the problem. I couldn't find my laptop. I asked one of the others if they'd drive me to the other hotel to see if I'd left it there, but they wouldn't. Also he was freaked out by the insects. So I went out see if I'd left it here somewhere.

I knew, suddenly, from the perspective of one of the hotel employees that they were breaking some rule, but felt like the Administration had pushed them into it, as if breaking the rule were intentional, and the rule existed less to prevent action and more to shape people's thoughts.

The fourth floor was called The Garden. The escalator up from it was on a pivot and rotated upward, its base high above the floor so nobody could use it. I thought this was some elitist thing to keep the hoi polloi out. I was mistaken. The escalator going down worked fine, but had a curved roof over it, so I went down. At the bottom someone was waiting for me. It was a zombie. (I don't even like zombies in fiction, but I don't mind here, for some reason.)

Zombies are very fast. Very aggressive. And they don't have to bite you; if they get their saliva on you, you become one of them. You can't kill them unless you have a traditional Japanese wrought-iron zombie mace, but you can drive them back. I kicked and punched and shoved and bashed it with my multitool, though I tried to avoid using bare skin. eventually I got it away from me and ran up the escalator.

I didn't know if it had got any saliva on me. I was afraid and terribly unhappy that I might become one. Part of me wanted to pretend the whole thing had never happened, but risking everyone else like that would be a lousy thing to do. So I went to the elevator to go see the nurse and get tested, so I could be put down if I had been exposed. A huge person, who looked blotchy and caved in and lumpy like a zombie walked in, and I immediately started trying to push him out and mash the door close button. It was actually just some guy with a disfigurement and he, quite reasonably, reported me to the hotel authorities for being rude. They were inclined to give me the benefit of the doubt seeing that I'd just run away from a zombie thirty seconds ago and nobody is in the best state of mind after that.

I went to the nurse's office, the nurse started lecturing me about zombies and how they work, and then said, “But, if you're hearing me say this, unfortunately it's too late for me.” as their head turned around 360° and she leaped at me growling.

Which is when I woke up. No, not particularly scared, because, you know, I'm weird.