. . . in a metal room, alongside a shelf at least thirty meters long, holding plants and boxes and clear plastic jars and yet more plants.

The plants must be strapped down somehow, because none of them are floating about the room. Of course, there is no reason for them to move, since there is no one here, and no sensation of motion at all. In fact, the only thing that disturbs the stillness is a faint hum whose origin you cannot place.

On your right, within easy reach, is a rope. The rope is threaded through metal loops that jut from the wall every meter or so, and it has some slack in it, but not a lot. Since your feet are not touching the floor, you pull yourself along the wall using the rope. After you bump into the wall a few times, you get the hang of it, and start looking at the room itself as you drift along it.

The metal shelves appear to be welded to the metal floor. Up ahead of you, the wall turns left, and you can see high up on the wall --- well, "up" relative to your present orientation, which treats the shelves as if they were welded to the floor instead of the ceiling --- what appears to be a ventilation grille. Your eye is drawn up even farther, and you see ropes crisscrossing the ceiling, similar to the one you are using to propel yourself.

The rope turns at the corner, and you follow it, your breathing loud in the stillness, fronds waving behind you in the gentle breeze of your passage.

After you turn the corner, you look to your left and see a long aisle between the shelf you were just drifting past and another similar one, equally loaded down with jars and plants in pots. Past the second shelf is lined up yet another one; in all, four long shelves stretch back the way you just came, with aisles between them.

You also notice something else up ahead, on the wall the rope is now running along. You pull yourself towards it.

It is a monitor screen, set into the wall. Using the rope, you come to a stop in front of it. No sound issues forth from it, but the picture is crystal clear.

It is showing a shiny metallic man-made object floating against a field of stars. You study it closely, trying to figure out what it is, and decide that it is a satellite, or perhaps some sort of giant orbiting telescope.

You also notice suddenly that the object is slowly getting larger.

You are able to make out some features of this satellite. You can see what appears to be a tree-like structure emerging from one side, bathing its branches in the raw sunlight. You see a short tube terminating in what looks like empty space. Other features are apparent, but they are so strange that you can hardly determine their shapes, much less their purposes.

The image on the screen is closing in on what appears to be a docking bay. So this is not simply a satellite, it is some sort of space station or habitat.

The entrance to the docking bay seems to be attended by bees, or perhaps lightning bugs: small figures that dart to and fro purposefully amid bright flashes of light. As you watch them, you realize that they are reshaping the docking bay entrance. In a minute or two, the task is done, and the bee-like figures zip away to another part of the habitat, somehow managing not to collide with one another despite their seemingly reckless speed.

Now the image on the screen is showing the inside of the docking bay. After a few moments the image stops changing, and you feel --- and hear --- a thumping sound reverberate through the metal walls.

With a sharp shock you can feel as a visceral clenching, you realize that the image on the screen shows what is right outside. The shell of denial you have been in since your arrival in this room cracks wide open.

Of course the zero gravity explained the stuffiness in your head, but, but . . .

You start to look around for a door.

Naturally, what appears to be the only one is almost at the other end of the room from you. At least it wasn't in the ceiling. Or . . . would that really be difficult to deal with? You shake your head.