The White Space. Chapter 16. Upgrading the Car
The next day after work in Lucarno, Sirius stopped by the café of his friend Tom.
It was one of those places where he felt almost at home. It was warm, filled with the aroma of coffee and freshly prepared food—the very things he missed so much in the White World. It was also the only public place whose interior he had designed himself. He enjoyed watching people relax and spend their free time there. What fascinated him most was seeing first-time visitors carefully look around the interior, silently taking it in and noticing all its details.
He had been planning this conversation for a long time. He had gone over countless ways to carefully bring up the subject with Tom. But the moment they sat down at a table, everything unfolded differently.
Sirius simply told him the truth.
He told him about the bunker. About the underground café. About the people who had already become part of their little colorful world.
Tom listened attentively.
From time to time, he simply nodded in silence. When Sirius finished, Tom paused for a moment before speaking calmly.
— You have a problem.
— What is it?
— You don't have a food printer. Or a drink printer.
Sirius nodded.
— We thought that sooner or later we'd come up with an idea... or find some kind of solution. But so far, nothing. And without food, it can't really be called a café.
He looked at Tom.
— That's why I wanted to talk to you. You've been in this business for years. Maybe you know a way around it. Or perhaps you have some equipment you no longer use.
Tom didn't answer immediately.
He stared at the table, quietly considering different possibilities.
Finally, he looked up.
— I have an old food printer.
Sirius looked at him in surprise.
— It's old, but it still works, — Tom said with a smile. — It's been collecting dust in my basement for years.
He paused for a moment.
— But I don't have a drink printer.
Tom shrugged.
— That shouldn't be a problem. I'll ask around. I'm pretty sure someone I know has a spare one.
Hope sparked inside Sirius.
Tom leaned closer.
— But that's not the real problem.
— What is?
— Getting all of it into your world.
He looked Sirius straight in the eyes.
— You told me they inspect everything at the border to make sure you're not bringing anything extra.
Sirius slowly ran his finger along the rim of his coffee cup.
— Yeah... I've been thinking about that too. I thought about taking the printer apart and transporting it piece by piece.
He shook his head.
— The smaller parts might be easy enough to hide. But the large ones... I have no idea how I'd get them through inspection.
A brief silence followed.
Tom suddenly snapped his fingers.
— What if you built a hidden compartment?
— A hidden compartment?
— You're a designer. You understand how structures work.
He leaned forward as if he were already sketching the idea across the tabletop.
— Modify the rear seats of your car. Build hidden compartments underneath them.
Sirius listened carefully.
— Of course, you won't be able to move everything in one trip. But if you transport it piece by piece, you'll eventually get all the larger components across.
Tom smiled, clearly pleased with his own idea.
— And I seriously doubt anyone would think to look there.
A broad smile slowly spread across Sirius's face.
— That... could actually work.
Tom finished the last sip of his coffee and set the cup down.
— Then let's not waste any time.
He stood up abruptly.
— Ben! — he called toward the counter. — You're in charge today!
A young man leaned out from the kitchen.
— Got it, Tom!
Tom was already putting on his jacket.
— Come to my place, — he said. — We'll do everything in my garage.
Then he smiled.
— And while we're at it, you'll finally see how I live.
He headed toward the door.
— But first, let's grab the printer from the basement.
Tom's house stood on the slope of the high hills of Liberia. From the street, it looked surprisingly small. All that was visible was the entrance, a few windows, and a wide garage door for two cars.
But the moment Sirius stepped inside, he realized his first impression had been deceiving. Because of the terrain, the house appeared to have only one floor from the road, while from the opposite side it revealed a full second level.
The upper floor contained the garage, the entrance hall, an open-plan kitchen and living room, and a bathroom. Downstairs were the master bedroom and a guest bedroom, each with its own private bathroom. Both levels overlooked the city, now bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Its rays slowly drifted across the spacious living room, filling it with a comforting warmth.
The house was full of decorations, travel photographs, souvenirs, and little keepsakes collected from different corners of the world. Tom's wife was visiting her parents, yet her presence could still be felt throughout the home.
The house felt truly alive.
Every object seemed to tell a story about the people who lived there.
What impressed Sirius most was the kitchen. It was unusually large and spacious, instantly revealing that Tom loved to cook. And not just by printing food. He genuinely enjoyed working with real ingredients—mixing them by hand, experimenting, and discovering new combinations of flavors.
This was a man who truly loved his profession.
— Well then, shall we get started? — Tom asked with a smile.
— Let's do it, — Sirius replied just as enthusiastically.
They spent the rest of the afternoon working in the garage.
They removed the rear seats and stripped away everything that wasn't necessary. Some parts were unscrewed by hand, while others were dismantled using a shredder. Then Sirius printed a completely new seat frame, specially designed to create large hidden compartments underneath.
Once everything was reassembled, the car looked exactly as it had before. Only through his smart glasses and remote access could the hidden locking mechanism be unlocked, allowing the seats to fold back and reveal the secret compartment.
While they worked, Tom told Sirius about his life. About how he had built his business. About his passion for cooking. About how he and his wife loved traveling, tasting local dishes, and discovering new flavors together.
In return, Sirius told him about their underground Color Movement.
About how they transformed spaces.
And how those spaces, in turn, began transforming people.
He had noticed that people were becoming kinder, more open, more emotional. It was as though they were slowly discovering a sense of purpose they had been missing for so long. Before long, they began searching for others—people who were also ready to see the world differently. That was exactly why the sculpture existed: it was the symbol by which they recognized one another. Every member of the club owned one.
Later, they dismantled Tom's old food printer. It was a large unit, roughly the size of a bedside cabinet.
Some sections of the outer casing had to be cut apart because they simply wouldn't fit beneath the seats otherwise. Sirius was confident he would find a way to put everything back together later.
Most of the printer already fit inside the hidden compartments.
One more trip, and he would be able to transport the rest.
By the time they finished, it was well after dark.
Sirius looked at the car with relief. From the outside, it looked completely ordinary. Yet hidden beneath its seats was almost an entire food-printing system.
That was when Tom suddenly spoke in a serious tone.
— There's one more... very big problem.
Sirius immediately grew tense.
— What is it?
Tom let the silence linger for a few seconds before breaking into a wide grin.
— Why am I still not a member of your underground club?
Sirius blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter.
— No, seriously, — Tom continued. — After everything we've done today... and after my completely illegal activities... I think I've earned my membership.
— I suppose you have, — Sirius replied with a smile.
Normally, he kept most of his thoughts to himself. But this time, he decided to be honest.
— To be honest... I never imagined that someone from Lucarno would actually want to become part of our movement. It simply never seemed possible to me.
— Well... I do, — Tom replied calmly.
There wasn't a trace of hesitation or humor in his voice.
Sirius looked at him for a long moment.
— The truth is... you're already one of us. Especially after everything I've trusted you with. And after everything you've done for us today.
He paused.
— But now let's make it official.
Sirius put on his glasses, opened the 3D model of the sculpture, and sent it to the printer.
— Welcome to our club.
The two of them stood silently beside the printer, watching as, layer by layer, it created the small sculpture—the symbol that now connected them both.
Sirius left Tom's house genuinely happy.
He had found a friend. Someone he could talk to, argue with, exchange ideas with, and through whom he could better understand the other world.
He had never imagined that someone from Lucarno would willingly choose to join their secret movement.
It gave him hope.
Perhaps they really could change the system.
Of course, Tom couldn't simply move to the White World and stay there. Technically, it was possible, but far too many bureaucratic obstacles made the idea almost impossible in practice.
Besides, attracting unnecessary attention was the last thing they needed.
Instead, Tom could help from his own side of the border.
And when Sirius thought about it, Tom had already done an incredible amount for their club.
The thought of the food printer hidden beneath the seats warmed his heart.
Then he thought of Angela.
He made up his mind to visit her shop within the next few days. He could already picture the day she would step into their bunker once it was finally complete.
The only question left was whether she wanted to become part of their club.
He believed she would.
But with every kilometer that brought him closer to the border checkpoint, a cold feeling spread deeper inside him.
Not because he was returning to the White World.
It no longer weighed on him the way it once had. They now had their own little oases of warmth—places where they could truly feel alive.
No.
Something else frightened him.
The thought that the border guards might discover everything hidden beneath the seats.