Five women sat around the dusty combobulator wondering just where it came from and what it was supposed to do. Do, she thought. “Do” seemed to her to be a human expectation – a goal of our gadgets and gizmos – but this, this fell from the sky. Maybe it has its own set of rules. The scary thought had Mary imagine mushroom clouds and raining acid, people twisted and hollow beneath an innocent orange mist, and palm trees cracking and stooping over, searching for the last vestiges of sunlight in a new, dark red world.