Ranger Station Zeta-9 existed in 4.7 dimensions, which Jack discovered immediately when he walked into his own back while stepping through the front door.
"Orientation tip," said the greeter, a being made entirely of crystallized sound waves. "Never trust your peripheral vision here. It's probably showing you next Tuesday."
The Prometheus had docked in Bay 12-and-a-half, between dimensions where parking was cheaper. Jack's shadow had already eaten the redundant parts of docking procedures, reducing a two-hour process to six minutes of actual importance. The customs officer seemed both grateful and disturbed.
"Ranger Castellan reporting for—" Jack paused, reading his assignment pad, "—temporary residence until the Pattern Eater situation resolves. Room 7B?"
"7B exists on odd Tuesdays and whenever someone's homesick," the greeter chimed. "You're in 7B-Prime. Down the hall that's sometimes up, past the bathroom that's usually a closet, next to the sentient equation. You can't miss it."
Jack could definitely miss it. The station's architecture had been designed by someone who'd heard of geometry but disagreed with it philosophically. Corridors branched into probability. The ceiling was having an argument with the floor about which was which. A maintenance sign read: "Caution: This Section Under Renovation/Has Always Been Perfect/Will Never Exist."
His shadow navigated better than he did, having already eaten the confusing parts of the journey. Jack followed its lead through impossible angles until they reached a door marked "7B-Prime: Currently Existing (Mostly)."
The door dilated with enthusiasm. "NEW RESIDENT DETECTED! Beginning optimization process! How many dimensions do you prefer to sleep in?"
"The regular amount?"
"Boring but achievable! Please note: the station's Helpfulness Virus is currently contained to Sector C. Your quarters are in Sector B, which only experiences Mild Suggestiveness. Would you like help unpacking your emotional baggage as well as physical?"
"Just the physical, thanks."
Jack entered to find his quarters already half-unpacked. His belongings were arranged by some system that hurt to understand—socks filed by existential weight, shirts hung in order of future usefulness. His shadow immediately began eating the redundant optimization, returning things to normal chaos.
"Welcome!" A voice materialized from the wall. Not through a speaker—the wall itself vibrated. "I'm Pi, your neighbor! Well, 'neighbor' implies linear adjacency. I exist as a mathematical constant, so I'm technically everyone's neighbor at 3.14159 doors away."
Jack met his first sentient equation. Pi manifested as a shimmer of numbers constantly calculating themselves, occasionally solidifying into almost-human shape before dissolving back into pure math.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Jack, I solve impossible problems and my shadow eats waiting time."
"Ooh, temporal consumption! That'll make you popular at the DMV. Fair warning about station life—the cafeteria's on the ceiling today, gravity's more of a suggestion than a law, and Wednesday poker night exists in a superposition of all possible games simultaneously." Pi's numbers rearranged into what might have been a smile. "Oh, and orientation's in five minutes. Conference Room Sqrt(-1)."
"The square root of negative one?"
"Imaginary conference room for real meetings. Station humor. You'll hate it here." Pi winked mathematically. "In the best way."
Jack found Conference Room Sqrt(-1) by following other confused new Rangers and one very confident custodian who existed in all station sections simultaneously. The orientation hologram flickered between existing and not, finally settling on mostly there.
"Welcome to Zeta-9!" it announced. "The station where physics comes to cry! A few rules: Don't feed the temporal anomalies. The Tuesday mail arrives on Monday—plan accordingly. If your quarters achieve sentience, negotiate fairly. The rec room only exists when nobody's observing it, so please use the honor system for booking."
Jack's shadow was already snacking on the boring parts. The twenty-minute orientation compressed to the five actually useful minutes: here's your badge scanner, here's the emergency exits (usually), here's how to report reality malfunctions.
"Any questions?" the hologram asked.
A new Ranger raised her hand. "Why 4.7 dimensions?"
"Because five was showing off and four wasn't enough for proper storage. Next?"
"Is it true the cafeteria food sometimes orders you?"
"Only on Thursdays. The menu has become somewhat philosophical. Next?"
Jack raised his hand. "Where's Echo's quarters? I need to warn her about a mission."
"Ranger Echo exists in Section Probability-7. Take the elevator that sometimes goes sideways, exit at the floor that smells like purple, turn left at yesterday. Can't miss it."
Jack could definitely miss it.
But his shadow, still digesting orientation redundancy, was already mapping the route through impossible architecture. At least the Pattern Eater mission would be straightforward compared to navigating his new home.
"Oh!" the hologram added as they dispersed. "Shadow Swap Day is coming up! Voluntary participation is mandatory. That's not a contradiction, that's station policy!"
Jack looked at his shadow, which shrugged. How bad could swapping shadows be?
He'd find out soon enough.