In the round room, there were three people sat on the comfy chairs, discussing quite literally whatever popped into their minds.  To exhilarated to sleep, they had come back from wandering and simply stayed where they had stopped.  Donald Dalton had been a police officer, whilst Keira Chaney and Josephine Howell were customers from my time at the cinema.  Of the twenty-six that had come to Kenglowe, they were the three that I did not actually know.
People in passing.  Those that I recognized from walking down the street, the local supermarket or customers of the businesses that I had worked for.
There were many such people amongst the last of humanity, three of which had gone silent as I had entered the room.
They appeared to have formed a connection over the fact that they did not know me on any kind of personal level.  Judging by the icy stares I was getting, they were not keen on the idea of remedying that fact.
Fine by me.
I would get something to eat and slope back off to my room.
There was a thick, smooth substance in the refrigerated section that resembled toffee yoghurt.
I found a bowl, ladled some into it, grabbed a few of the sweet things from one of the bowls on the nearest table and turned to walk back to my room.  My senses had driven me to choose the bedroom right at the furthest end of the round room from the door, which meant that I had to walk back towards the door, up the ramp and then back along the room before I could escape the awkwardness.
Before I had even gotten to the end of the row of tables, I heard one of them mutter, “can’t even stand to be in the same room as us.”
My heckles rose and before I had realized it, I had taken a seat at on of the desktop consoles.
A series of almost outraged gasps reached my ears.  I fought the urge to run.  We would at the very least have to learn to co-exist in the same room as each other.
Tapping the surface brought up a control pad and keyboard at my fingertips, whilst a series of deep blue lights made up the screen.
I took a moment to figure out how to change the colour.  Ever since I can remember, I have not been able to focus on blue light.  Any time I try, it feels as though the light itself is splitting my vision and pushing my focus aside as though it were made of ‘corner-of-the-eye’ technology.  I know of a few other short sighted people who have the same problem, although I have never been able to find any information linking the two.  I do recall something about how blue light scatters more easily than any other light, which, I would imagine for people who are already straining to focus, would make it difficult to see.  Blue Christmas lights are pretty much unbearable to look at.
I had taken my bag from my room with me as a reflex.  Setting it down beside my chair, I pulled out a notebook and a pen.
I began to search for information on the galactic races.  I wrote down their names; one species per two pages, with a brief description of how they looked, their average age, their home-world, whether they were Community or thulai and any extra information that I found interesting.
During my information gathering, I came across three other races that had no denomination, two of which had no name.
Out there in the galaxy, there are three races that are classified as pre-sentient.
The furthest advanced of these races have evolved so far as to have developed a rudimentary speech.  In the past ten cycles they have begun to refer to themselves as yirola.  They have long, strong front legs that support them, whilst their rear legs are short and thick, yet they have no fingers or toes.  A slim tail twice the length of their rear legs appears to be their only means of holding objects.  Hair coats their bodies, long and coarse, although their tails are bare.  They have rounded snouts that, in my opinion, look like those of a moomin.
The next race has no speech, yet as their race evolves, it does not appear likely that they will develop it.  They have the appearance of giant marshmallows with a trumpet nose and scales over the top of their heads, spreading down their backs.  The scales allow them to photosynthesize, they have no mouths and no need to take in food any other way.  Their ears are flopped over points and their skin is covered in a fine, downy fuzz.  They are telekinetic.  It is their only defense against the various predators of their planet.
The final race also has not developed any speech.  They are difficult to describe in a serious manner, yet I shall try.  They have bodies similar to Earth’s monkeys, their fingers and toes have round toe pads at the tips, their tails are approximately thirty percent longer than their legs and their heads are similar to that of a chicken’s, with a beak and tuft of long, brightly coloured hair on top.  Other than this patch of hair, they are completely bald.
I was writing a description of the last race in my book when movement at my elbow startled me.
Josephine had sat down sat down in the seat next to me.
From behind me, Keira spoke, “what the hell is that?”
Moving slowly so as not to startle them, lest they back off again, I explained what they were seeing.
“So we weren’t the bottom of the evolutionary chain out here?” Donald seemed relieved as he came to stand next to Josephine.
“Not at all,” I replied, “in fact there are others.  Let me just…”  I stopped and thought for a moment, “hang on, I’ll try and get it up on the big screen.”
They followed me over and resumed their previous positions amongst the chairs.
I managed to bring up the images with little difficulty, then proceeded to talk them through what I had found out about each race.
The Community races;  tharat, sheenar, kaplo, hlorsiené, basikor and alive.
The thulai races;  living, shtrillan and pink.
The pre-sentient races; yirola, PS1 and PS2 (which was easier to refer to them as, and set off pangs of nostalgia).
The four of us sat in research mode for almost an hour, the previous iciness forgotten for the time being, finding out anything that might seem relevant and pinning it all up on the screen.  More and more we added to it, images and facts spreading across the walls on either side.  Before long, there was very little of the wall remaining at all.

As people emerged cautiously from their rooms, we came to a stop.
The information that we had gathered was quickly sifted through for relevance and posted around the room, one section per race, so that everyone could take a look at who we might meet.
The moment that someone else addressed me, it became as though a spell had been broken and the three of my co-researchers seemed to be reminded of who I was.  They drew away, ignoring my attempts at bringing them into the conversations.
The further we got from our past lives, the more understanding and patience was needed. 
I had an epiphany regarding this.  If I were capable of hiking the rocky high road, then I could, in theory, help others weather the low roads.  They could vent their frustrations then work through their mourning and conflicted emotions a lot more healthily than if they were spend the effort to concern themselves with political correctness. 
It was a hope that I grasped a hold of.
Finally the past decade of training myself not to react on instinct, to see things from other perspectives, to allow people their anger and frustration, would not be wasted.  The best way that I had discovered to deal with situations where I had found myself at odds with someone else, was to simply let it go, to concede my point and work around them.  In my experience, pushing back or trying to convey what was in my head, could only lead to heart ache, either for myself or the other person.
I care about my friends and family too much to prove them wrong, call them liars or shout at them for their failings.  I do not believe myself any less at peace for it.  I did, many years ago.  It used to eat me up inside.  However as time went by, the more I let myself go, the less it mattered to let them think they were in the right and eventually, where some relationships had been damaged or even broken, they began to mend.  If I had pushed at times like that, I know that I would have irreparably lost someone that I loved.
And I would not loose a single one of them to something as trivial as a disagreement or fault that could never define them.
Because I had just as many faults in myself, if not more.

Breakfast was comprised of various grain-based consumables, a few people went out of their way to cook a few items in the hopes of recreating a full-English.  It failed miserably.
At some point, someone discovered that the wall directly opposite the main entrance was covered with a blind, like the bedroom windows.
As it was on the lower level, it lead out to a lower balcony, upon which we discovered more chairs and tables.  The whole thing was covered in grass, possibly artificial, however it felt and smelt real.  Running along the end of the grass was, completely unexpectedly although thoroughly welcomed, a swimming pool.  It ran the length of the balcony, a two storey high mote, keeping us safe from any intruders who were attacking from the outside, who had managed to scale the building from the outside because the door was too obvious.
The idea was amusing enough for me to share with Phoebe, after all, this was an entirely different planet, in a distant part of space, who knew what could happen.  She laughed, more at my strange way of thinking than the idea, and called me weirdo.  It felt good to laugh.
There had been a finite lack of genuine laughter.
There was an overbearingly devastating reason, the worst that could have ever happened.
However, to survive and move on would mean that one day, humanity would once again laugh as though it had lost nothing. 
I do not believe that any of us shall live to see such a day.
I believe in the eventuality of it though.
I have to.

Everyone went in.
Some went straight in, not even pausing to take off their clothes.
Some went to their rooms and came back wearing water friendly clothes, most being shorts and tankini tops.
Some went in wearing nothing but their hair.
It all felt very metaphorical; casting off our past and entering a new life, everyone doing so in their own way.
Those that had gone to get changed, had the presence of mind to bring out multiple sheets which resembled microfiber towels.
The star, Viori Sal, began to rise, bringing with it a warm, dry heat.
The first substantial temperature change that I had experienced in what felt like forever.
With the dawn came a tinkling of bells.
The sound came from each of the tablets, each displaying the same message.
‘Good morning, hopefully you slept well and are ready to begin the learning processes.  In one auxe, a guide will arrive to escort you to your induction.  Please make sure that you are dressed and have eaten.’
With groans and over exaggerated sighs, everyone extracted themselves from the warm, refreshing water and began to get themselves together.
It was at this time that we discovered that our tablets were waterproof, as Adisa Okilo, with whom I had been at university with, tried to pick his up from the side before he was completely out of the pool.  Tablets + wet fingers = no grip.
There had been no smell of chlorine in the water, yet most people chose to go and shower before regaining their clothes.
The time differences showed quite strongly that morning, as everyone was ready and waiting in less than an hour.  Not because anyone had been incorrectly tracing the time on their tablet, but because that is how long it took each person to get ready and assemble in the round room.  It was instinctual.
With the remaining 51 lals, we studied the walls.
I had figured out how to keep the images and facts pinned up without needing my tablet to be near by.
Eventually, another chime of bells rang out from our tablets, this time as a slightly different pitch.  The words that came up simply read, ‘door’.
Again, it was left to me to answer.  It seemed likely that the guide would have been Orthus or Deia, or someone that I might have known.  Despite the fact that the only other beings that I had so far spoken to were those two, everyone seemed to have it in mind that I was close with every being that we were likely to come across.
The door opened with a click and through it stepped a teenage girl of at least sixteen years old.
To say that there were more than a few mouths agape around the room would be no great overstatement.
The fact that she looked human was not what shocked everyone, nor was it the fact that her skin was a chalk grey.
It was the fact that she looked exactly like Hermione Granger as played by Emma Watson.
“Hello,” she spoke in a new language, “forgive my appearance, I did not intend to shock you.”  She was obviously a little more conscious of our reactions than Deia had been, “I chose this form as it was thought that it would be familiar and comforting.  My name is Gheetoh Vinordiat, I am a kaplo, I believe that you will think of me as a shape shifter.”
We were all still a bit taken aback, not least at the gravelly voice that replaced the upper class British that you might expect from one of the most recognizable characters, or actors technically, on Earth.  At least she had been.
Eventually I managed to force my voice out, “sorry, we're just a little shocked.”  I glanced around at the others, most of whom had managed to close their mouths, “I think we were actually prepared to meet another race, which I do realize, of course, that you are, but, it’s just the form you’ve chosen is a little…” it twisted my hands around the air, trying to find the right words, settling on, “unexpected.”
Hermione twitched her mouth the one side, clearly contemplating how to react.
“If you will allow me to use one of these rooms, I shall change.”
I feel that more than a few of us had no objection to being escorted by one of the foremost female characters of the twenty-first century, however the curiosity to see what she would be changing into was palpable.
“I think the third room on right is free,” Julie was the first to be able to get some words out.
Nodding politely, she thanked Julie and scurried up the ramp and through the door.
We all remained stood by the door, silent and waiting.
I believe that there would have been plenty of reactive chatter, however the uncertainty lay in the fact that she could come back out at any second and the last thing anyone wanted to seem was rude.
At length, Julie muttered, “do you thinks she’s taking a polyjuice potion?”
A few giggles rippled around the room.  Although the world of witchcraft and wizardry was not on my list of fandoms, I had seen the films and could just about remember what she was referring to.
“If she comes out looking like a cat, I’m done,” I said, raising my hands jokingly.
Another round of suppressed snorts and smiles and I mentally sighed in relief that I had got the reference correct.
The door opened and she stepped back into the round room.
She still appeared human, however, her face was no longer that of someone that we recognized and parts of her body were covered with the hard, darkened skin of an alive.
Her irises covered most of the viable portion of her eyes.  They still looked human, although more as though she were an anime character with regular sized lids drawn over the giant eyes that were atypical of the kawaii culture.
She spoke as she descended the ramp, “I hope this is a little more alien for your liking.”  She said the alien as though it were some hilarious inside joke that humanity would likely never be let in on, “we shall have to do any more talking as we walk otherwise we’ll be late.” 
She sailed smoothly past us and back out the door calling, “if you would care to follow me.”
We filed out of the door, hurrying to catch up with her.