I open the outer door and float in, lamp in hand. The hex wall is gone—it’s been replaced by a solid wall of clear material. And on the other side of that wall is Rocky. He’s a spider. A big-assed spider. I turn to flee. But my rational brain takes over. “Easy…easy…they’re friendly,” I say to myself. I turn back and take in the scene. Rocky is smaller than a human. He’s about the size of a Labrador. He has five legs radiating out from a central carapace-looking thing. The carapace, which is roughly a pentagon, is 18 inches across and half as thick. I don’t see eyes or a face anywhere.
