Another long day on Mars. The portal hit a record high of over 7 hours. I stayed for the duration. It only takes about 4 or 5 hours before the mind begins to feel fuzzy. The jarring gravity (not to mention surreal surroundings) eventually plays tricks on you. Leafhead has stayed over on Mars during the 24-hour portal-crash but doesn't recommend the experience. We are working on developing decent gravity-pills and atmospheric-normalizers. With the time I was able to traverse about half the perimeter of the lake. The only real exploring to do is amongst the rubble of the city. No reason to wander off and get lost... as far as the eye can see in every direction is empty desert. Leafhead claims there are many other ruins on the other hemisphere, ones even more well-preserved than Lake-City, but that he chose this area because it is the only spot left with fertile enough ground to support growth. I have learned much about the Martians who thrived here long ago, but for everything I understand about their society there is twice the amount of bewilderment. For every answer discovered there is a new question revealed. While digging through the crumbled alien walls I found a very Earthly object... a dusty gold picture-frame. The glass remained unbroken, the document untouched. I quickly realized I'd found where Leafhead had chosen to stash his Last Will and Testament. This didn't seem all that strange considering Leafhead... until I actually read the document. It is dated from 1963, making him much older than he appears. This confirms what I essentially already knew, given that pop culture based on his life dates back to at least the mid-40s. I intend to question him about the Jellyfish. The really strange part was the fact that I, Jonathan Farquarson, am listed as the sole beneficiary of the estate. The will predates my birth by a decade and a half... and yet there I am written down in Leafhead's unmistakable handwriting. I brought the mystery back from Mars and have hidden it in my room--

  "Leafhead says to meet at the library now," suddenly announced my wrist-watch. Acting as a messaging device was probably the its most useful talent. Without wireless communication in a house like this you could spend hours trying to find someone and wind up stumbling into more carnivorous reptiles than humans.

  I stashed my notebook with the Will and headed to the library.

  "Look at this!" exclaimed Leafhead. The round-table had shifted a few feet to the left, revealing a hidden staircase.

  "What's down there?" I asked. This house would never run out of surprises. The perfectly plain table that I'd had breakfast at every morning for months was now another doorway into another unknown room.

  "I don't know," said Leafhead.

  "How could you not know?" I puzzled. "This house has mysteries even for you?"

  "Evidently," he replied. "I wouldn't have thought so either. But evidently,"

  "Why'd you move the table anyway?" I asked.

  "I didn't. I was eating breakfast... toast with raspberry jam and blended Martian blue-leaves, as well as genetically-altered eggs that I rendered on the 3-D printer. I placed said items on the table, but before I started eating I also opened a book of word-puzzles and placed down a pen. Suddenly the table moved itself a few feet to left. The only explanation I can think of is that someone rigged this doorway to have an elaborate key system that is unlocked only when a group of very specific items are placed on a tabletop in an even more specific order. Given that I have never sat down at this table with toast, raspberry jam, blended Martian blue-leaves, 3-D rendered eggs, a puzzle book open at page 38 and a pen, the door has never bothered to open."

  I peered into the floor of the library, Only the first few stone stairs were visible before a pit of total darkness.

  "Torch!" ordered Leafhead. His wristwatch produced a holographic image of a burning torch. It gave off a flicker that is devoid amongst flash-lights yet required when descending the staircase of a creepy basement.

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  "You first," said Leafhead. "Sometimes when I walk down stairs in the dark I think there's one more step then there actually is and I end up twisting my ankle and being unable to flee from sub-level zombies."

  I also summoned a torch on my wrist-watch before walking down the stairs. They were steep so I reached for the handrail.

  "Don't!" shouted Leafhead. "That handrail could be a trap. Might start this whole place collapsing."

  "It smells like--"

  "Baking soda and broiled caterpillars, I know," said Leafhead darkly.

  "Er... I was going to say a pile of dead bats."

  "Might be a few of those too. I'm picking up a lot of scents, but nothing stronger than baking soda or broiled caterpillars."

  The stairs were caked with thick dust that filled the air with every footstep. No one had been down here for awhile.

  "Here is a light-switch," said Leafhead as he flicked it. Lamps came alive sporadically around the room. Both our wristwatches extinguished themselves, having sensed the electric lighting.

  "What is this place?" I marvelled, turning my head in all directions.

  Hundreds of framed pictures hung from the walls. Some of them were of documents of science experiments, while the rest of them were people posing in front of famous landmarks. In every picture the same man appeared standing beside a random group of people. Nearer the far wall was a sleeping area that wouldn't have looked at all out of place as a movie set for a 1970s stoner basement. A tall rack of ancient-looking vinyl records (flanked by lava lamps) was the centerpiece attraction. Near the staircase was another Coney Island photo-booth that had been transformed into a weird machine. Oddest of all was the stretch of counters on which sat elaborate miniatures and models of landscapes, civilizations and entire worlds. A tiny robot system of pulleys and cranes continued to function, silently making minor adjustments to the layout of the little lands. We had no idea how important this would later prove to be. After all, it looked like a bunch of toys.

  Leafhead took one of the framed pictures down from the wall. He used his labcoat to wipe off the dust. It left a grey streak in contrast with the usual alien colors. The picture showed a group of people gathered on an icy tundra.

  "This was Melvin's room," he finally said. "I wondered where it was. Always thought he had a tree-fort or something."

  "This was Melvin, eh." I looked at more of the pictures. His life had clearly been an extraordinary adventure. It seemed as if he visited everywhere, even the River of Five Colors during the actual appropriate time of year.

  "Where is that one from?" I asked, pointing to the icy tundra that Leafhead had chosen to look at.

  "Antarctica."

  "Was that the expedition you nearly died on?"

  "I guess it was," he said, returning the picture. The lamp-light glinted off Antarctica where it only dully hit the rest of the grey squares on the wall.

  "It seems like no one has been down here for years. Didn't Melvin die shortly before I got here?"

  "One never knows about time around here," said Leafhead. "Especially when measured in dust," he added with his usual cryptic spin.

  "Is this another face-replicator?" I asked as pulled back the curtain to the Coney Island photo-booth.

  "No, definitely not. This booth has been altered in a different way. Don't go in there until I've deduced its purpose."

  I perused what looked like a shelf of bootleg VHS tapes. They were labelled as different episodes of a documentary of sorts. It seemed I was not the first intern to feel like my time here was worth recording.

  "Look at all these tapes," I said. "Did you know Melvin kept a video journal all about the experiments?"

  "I knew he was a filmmaker," said Leafhead.

  Suddenly I sneezed. "Let's get out of here," I said, beginning to choke on the dust.

  "Drink this," said Leafhead, producing a tiny vial. "Anti-Dust agent I perfected years ago. I once accidentally opened up a portal to a perpetually wind-stricken dust-world. The house was instantly engulfed. Was forced to invent this antidote quickly... barely survived the trials while I exhausted the entire local water supply. Did you ever hear about the record-high draught of '89?"

  I drank the Anti-Dust Agent. It was surprisingly delicious.

  "It tastes like--"

  "Cherimoya and Pomelo, I know," interjected Leafhead again.

  "Uh, sure," I said as we ascended the staircase. "Do you think now might finally be a good time for that Q and A interview?" I asked hopefully. It wasn't something I frequently pestered Leafhead about. I was down to mentioning it only every couple weeks.

  "I guess now is as good a time as ever," said Leafhead.

  I was elated. We sat down at the library table, and so began...