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Dr. Caul's facility consists of several structures. You see a long, low building of green glass and white concrete, trailers for the long-term personnel, and a parking lot.

There's also a little outdoor coffee shop with a patio. Behind the main building is a refurbished ranch, a garage for the ATVs, and a landing strip for light aircraft. A high chain-link fence dotted with security cameras surrounds most of the facility. Quadcopter drones drift overhead as you stop at the main gate. The woman guarding the yellow gate takes one look at your laminated introductory letter and immediately buzzes you through.

"You go on ahead to the intersection," she says, "and turn right. There's a trailer waiting for you. Number 23."

The trailer is clean and blandly furnished, except for the thick maroon drapes, which look like they were borrowed from a castle. They completely blot out the sun, though it still feels safer to sleep in the made-up storage space under the table than on the bed. (Yarrk takes the bed anyway.) Dr. Caul knows you're here, but you don't have time to worry just yet—the moment the sun crosses the horizon, you're asleep.

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