“Good evening, sir,” Dave says pleasantly, hiding his crossword puzzle under his computer keyboard, as the front door chimes. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Afraid not.” The guest fiddles with his suitcase. “I saw the No Vacancy sign, but I gotta ask—”

“No problem at all.” Dave’s keyboard clatters busily, a series of well-practiced keystrokes. “I can still get you in a room.”

“What, really? That’s great!” The guest pauses, brow furrowing. “But, uh, how is that possible, exactly?”

Dave slides a keycard across the counter. “Eh, it’s a math thing. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“Okay.” The guest glances down the endless hallway to Dave’s left. “Do I go all the way to the end, or . . .?”

“Nah. First door on the right.” Dave taps the one on the keycard envelope. “Someone’s in there now—just tell him to move to number two, okay? And so on.”

“Thanks for your help tonight, man; I really appreciate it.” The guest hesitates, pocketing the keycard. “Just so you know, though, there’s a bus pulling up outside. Looks pretty crowded, too.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” Dave sighs. “And maybe don’t get too settled in just yet.”

The bus driver comes in, mopping her face with a handkerchief. “Hey there, Dave,” she says, reading his plastic nametag. “Look, hon, I hate to be a bother, but—”

“Infinite passengers?” he interrupts, pulling a sympathetic expression.

“Oh my god. Yes!” She sags with relief. “You got room for that many?”

“It’s our corporate promise, ma’am.” He taps the paper taped to the counter, where a clip-art receptionist gives a thumbs-up and a huge grin. “A guaranteed room (provided guests adhere to certain terms and conditions).” He almost hears the parentheses in his own voice. “If your passengers don’t mind knocking on the odd-numbered rooms, and sending the occupants to the room numbered with the double of their current room, and the occupant of that room to the next double . . . Infinite odd-numbered rooms for y’all.” He grimaces apologetically. “Sorry. I know it’s a little bit complicated.”

As the driver hurries out to her waiting passengers, a glowing ball of light drifts purposefully through the open door into the lobby. GREETINGS, it says telepathically. I WISH TO BOOK A VENUE.

At least it’s just one superintelligent AI; that should be relatively simple. Dave clicks back into the booking management system. “Do you have a reservation?”

NO. I DESIRE SEVERAL ROOMS TO HOUSE VIRTUAL REALITY SIMULATIONS FOR SOME . . . POTENTIAL COLLEAGUES. The glowing ball of light flares slightly. AN INFINITY OF ROOMS, ACTUALLY. AND I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TORTURE ANYONE IF THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT.

Now he’s a little worried about that. But refusing a room would break the corporate guarantee. However . . . Dave glances around. “And where are these other guests, if I may ask?”

THEY’LL BE HERE! I JUST HAVE TO MANIFEST A VERSION OF THEIR HISTORICAL CONSCIOUSNESSES. IT’S NOT A BIG DEAL, SERIOUSLY.

“Sorry,” says Dave, manifesting a version of customer service excellence. “No imaginary numbers. Hotel policy states all guests must be real and countable.”

The ball flickers threateningly. DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

Dave shrugs.

Disappointed, the light dims a little. GIVE ME THE NUMBER FOR CORPORATE.

Dave produces a business card from the drawer in front of him. “I’ve never had a complaint before,” he informs the AI coldly.

GET BENT, the light says, absorbing the card into itself before vanishing. Dave doesn’t mention that the reason he’s never had a complaint is that the wait time on the customer service line only ever decreases by half. However long the AI waits, it’ll never actually get to speak to a service representative.

Movement outside saps his smirk, though. Another bus has pulled into the parking lot. No, several busses. No, there’s . . . oh, lord.

He rolls up his sleeves as he heads outside to meet the first driver, forestalling the other man’s apologies as they meet in the crossed headlights. “Infinite busses; infinite passengers; yes, I can get them all in rooms as long as they know something about prime numbers and calculating exponents. How long are you folks expecting to stay, anyway?”

“That’s just it,” says the driver sheepishly. “We need someplace to stay until this hanging everyone’s going to see—except the exact day is s’posed to be a surprise. So it can’t happen on Friday, because that’s the last day left in the workweek and if it hadn’t happened by then it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore. And if we know it can’t happen on Friday, then Thursday’s the last day left, so it can’t happen then either—and so on, so, y’know, it can’t ever actually happen and we’re stuck here forever.”

“Well.” Dave exhales noisily. “There’s going to be some extra paperwork involved. But, yeah, I think we can find space for y’all. Even indefinitely.”

The bus driver offers Dave a cigarette and a light, which he gratefully accepts. “Sorry to put such a wrench in your day, kid.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad, really.” Dave takes a calming drag. “Before this gig, I used to drive a trolley. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen.”