A battered old truck, Jo's, sputters to a halt in back of Dr. Hubbleworth’s (our agreed-upon meeting place). Ultra-Violent is already riding shotgun in the front. She looks at us and nods with a wink of enticement.
“You scared, Carey?”
“I know I’m in good hands, U.V.”
“You certainly are, my friend. Hop in!”
U.V. climbs into the back and opens the door for us. She holds out her hand to Colette, who giggles as she climbs in. I go next, then Miraj comes in behind me. He whispers something to U.V. who quickly nods and says, “Of course.”
“I’m hungry,” Jo announces.
“Me, too,” chimes in Colette.
“Don’t worry, folks. I got plenty of snacks.”
“I’m sure you do,” Miraj says in an undertone as he settles into the seat located furthest in the back.
“Onward, ho!” U.V. shouts as the vehicle lurches forward.

We’ve been driving for less than a minute when U.V. says, “Blindfolds, please. Except you, Jo.”
We all comply. We know it’s in everyone’s best interest. Less than another minute later, Colette whines, “Are we there yet?”
Jo snorts, “As if...”
“C’est bizarre, vous savez, mais je me sens comme... C’est comme j’ai fait tous ca -”
“Colette, tu commences maintenant? En francais?”
“Qu’est-ce que tu veux? Tu attends quoi, Miraj?”
“Ahem. Well, Carey, I don’t know about you but I, personally, do NOT speak French.”
“No, me neither.”
“Presque, mais ce n’est pas tout -”
“Colette-euh.”
“Quoi? Je veux l’aider.”
“Lentement. Tu dois etre gentil.”
“Miraj! Bien sur, je vais etre gentil! Qu’est-ce que tu croit? Je vais la craquer?”
“Tais-toi, si te plait.”
“Hmmphfff. J’ai faim. Qu’est-ce qu’on va manger?”
“Colette-euh. Ca suffit, maintenant.”
“Comme tu veux, mais, tu sais que tu -”
“Enough with the French already! It’s rude!”
“I could just as easily say to you, ‘Enough with the English, already!’”
“Which way do I go here?”
“Straight ahead.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“It’s been a while, eh?”
“Sure has.”
“We scared ourselves pretty good last time, huh.”
“Yeah, but lets not get into that tonight.”
“Nope. Everything is very secure.”

Silence.
“Are we there, yet?”
Groans all around.
“Well, I could’ve asked it in French, n’est-ce pas?”
“Carey, how’re you doin so far?”
“I’m ok. Do you think you could describe the place we’re goin to a little bit, before we actually get there?”
Pause. Then, U.V. says, “Sure. Ahh, where to start, eh Colette? Never mind. Don’t say a word. Once there was an investment banker... For two weeks we kissed, held hands, then on a wonderful, Earth-lit day he drove me to his inflatable, self-sealing fabric habitat where -”
“Mon dieu, U.V. Is the drive really THAT long?”
“Alright, the banker is not important. While I was with him, I happened to discover his plans to build a subterranean abode somewhere along the boundaries between -”
“Aughh, U.V. I don’t exactly want to be tortured for the information you were about to, so cavalierly, share with us.”
“Miraj, I was only going to say, ‘mares and highland regions’.”
“Even that is a little more than -”
“It’s no more than any idiot knows about a lava tube, duh. ANYway, as I was saying... A lovely spot giving ready access to elevated regions for communications, regolith harvesting, plenty of mineral resources. Long story short, I’ve taken the place over, and I think you’ll love it. I call it ‘Malebolge’.”
Colette giggles, “Male bulge!”
“Sure, Colette. Anyway, I like to think of it as an amphitheatre -”
“The kind they used back in the day to dissect bodies.”
“Ahem. As I was trying to say, it’s kind of like a large funnel-shaped cavern that has tunnels leading out from it like spokes on a wheel.”
“There’s something about that design: the honeycomb. It’s supposed to be an easier way to control the masses.”
“Yeah, well there aren’t exactly any masses staying there.”
“You mean, not any masses that are still alive.”
“It’s something about discipline that requires complete enclosure.”
“Ahh, that sounds like Foucault.”
“Thanks, members of the peanut gallery. May I continue? Of course, the way they’re describing it sounds harsh, but wait until you see how I’ve decorated it: frosted blue night-lights, rubber matting beneath the rugs. It’s really quite comfy-cozy.”
“The specification of a place heterogeneous to all others and closed in upon itself. It is the protected place of disciplinary monotony.”
“You’re making it sound like the prison.”
“I’m just quoting Foucault. Besides, that’s what it was designed for...”
I finally decide to participate, “I thought it was going to be built for some banker?”
“Tsk, tsk. La pauvre...”
“Prison is actually big business, Carey. He was planning on developing the place and selling it off to one of the major incarceration corporations.”
“Oh. Have the rest of you already been there?”
“Yep,” Jo pipes up from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah, there’s nothing to worry about. In spite of all our jokes, it’s really a pretty nice place to stay,” Miraj says trying to put me at ease.
“Cherie, wait until you see it. Quite a unique space. The lines are so clean and you don’t get any of the ‘partition’ quality.”
“Brand new kitchens, bathrooms. One for everybody.”
“Every body.”
“Don’t start that shit up again. C’mon now.”
“Quelle merde, exactement? C’est Foucault, ehn? Tu ne l’aimes pas? Mais il t’adorait. Je t’assure. One must eliminate the effects of imprecise distributions, the uncontrolled disappearance of individuals, their diffuse circulation, their unusable and dangerous coagulation.”
“Colette, as if we don’t already know this stuff: establish presences and absences. Know where and how to locate individuals. Set up useful communications...”
I’m kinda starting to tune-out after this point, even dozing off a bit.