Invasive by Chuck Wendig

or—
    â€œYou okay?” David asks her.
    â€œJust lost in my own head,” she says. Then, given the company she’s in, she decides to float a more honest answer: “Dreaming about the future. The good stuff and the bad stuff.”
    He chuckles. “We like to think it’ll be a dream, but it’s good to remember it could be a nightmare, too. That’s why we gotta do good things now. Make good decisions. Try to move the rudder long before the boat ever gets near the iceberg, right?”
    Ray grouses: “Can we just go inside?” He pockets his phone. Hannah assumes he lost his game.

    They pass through an empty reception area bubble.
    (David says: “I don’t even know why we have this area, to be honest with you.” Ray answers: “Because it’s what Einar wanted, David.” To Hannah, David mutters: “A familiar refrain.”)
    The second bubble serves only as a fork in the road.
    Go left, David points out, and you head toward the living quarters: the dorms, the kitchen, the rec area. “Bathrooms and showers,” Ray adds.
    Go right, and you head toward Arca proper: the labs, the offices, the conference room, the science library, the cafeteria.
    The living area is open. The lab area is protected by RFID locks. “Everybody who works here gets a wristband with a chip in it.Silicone-encased. Water resistant, but not waterproof. We can code who can get through which door from the main computers in the lab.”
    â€œNot everybody has access to every bubble?” she asks.
    David says, “We have thirty-three people here, but some are just support staff. Two cooks. Two janitorial. One maintenance. The cooks don’t need to go deep into the labs, and only one of the custodians is trained to handle hazardous or biological containment—not that we have that problem around here.” He seems suddenly defensive. “Anyway. Let’s get you set up.”
    David hard-charges into the living area. Ray follows behind Hannah. They pass through a rec room lined with severe-looking European couches, a bookshelf holding hardcovers, ratty paperbacks, board games like Settlers of Catan, a whole shelf of vinyl records, a small metal bucket with LEGO bricks in it, and a coloring book. Is there a child here? Hannah wonders.
    David talks as he walks: “This is the rec room. You know, just a hangout space. Though sometimes people hang in the dorms, too. Play cards, music. They’re pretty soundproof.” He changes the topic so fast she feels like she just fell out of a moving car: “We won’t have a badge for you, so when you go to the labs or the caf you’ll need to have one of us with you. But that should be no problem, no problem at all.”
    Directly connected to the side of the rec room is a small kitchen bubble. Narrow fridge, microwave, a set of burners, cabinets. Past that: the dorms themselves. David points down the long hallway, its edges crinkled like the elbow in a bendy straw. “See here, these doors?” All along the cylindrical hallway are narrow, windowless doors. “Fourteen rooms. Seven doors on each side, usually two to a room, though there’s four beds in each room because they’re bunks. At the end, bathrooms and showers. Communal and unisex.”
    â€œOkay,” Hannah says.
    â€œIt’s dinnertime in the caf.”
    â€œIt’s a little early yet. I could use a shower.”
    â€œNo time. Unless you don’t want to eat.”
    â€œI . . . want to eat.” She’s exhausted. But she’s hungry. And it would be best to get to work.
    â€œLet’s eat,” Ray says.

    The cafeteria is the first bubble heading toward the labs. David moves his wristband with its diamond-shaped swatch of white plastic toward the RFID lock, and the door opens onto a room holding five long, heavy tables. While everything else in Arca has been austere, this room is not: the tables are a