This wasn’t a space station. The Congolese had picked up a whole town, a full-on city, and dragged it through the Portal.
Through the plaza and down the hall, I found a sliding door with the Montague logo. It looked just like the real thing, except for the slight flourish at the end of the M that told me that someone had painted this by hand.
Well, they wanted to make me feel welcome.
Or they wanted me to know that they could do better by hand.
I had no idea which. It could have been either, both, or something I’d never figure out if I tried until this universe caught up to ours. I liked to think I had the soul of an artist deep inside. Possibly too deep. I felt reasonably secure in estimating my artistic abilities somewhere below the average rock.
My room was the most luxurious I’d e
