Dining on their entrées, Matt and Ripley glimpsed out of their window, watching the tram going past the dunes that endlessly went on. "It's a miracle he got people out this way," Ripley mused as she chewed on a piece of steak as Matt agreed while scooping mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"Hm, suppose it has it's own charm," Matt suggested as his cheek swoll with mashed potato as he slowly chewed on it.

Pulling her drink close to her, Ripley wondered if the dunes ever ended and Matt shrugged as he swallowed his last bit of mash potatoes before moving on to his fried steak.

"These are good!" Matt commented on the fried steaks he and Ripley ordered.

To some they're schnitzels, but to the tram, they're Fried Steakhouse Slabs.

Flattened beef steaks 20oz, 80/20, 100% grass fed, never processed, from heritage cows locally sourced from speciality farms around the galaxy. Dredged in cage-free chicken laid eggs, tossed in AP flour, drudged in the wash again, before tossed in patented secret seasonings and breedings. Fried to order, the fried steaks come with mashed potato with gravy and peas (or fried steakhouse chips tossed in steak seasonings.)

Ripley got the chips and munched on one as Matt polished off the rest of his steak. The breading crunching under his teeth as he chewed on the succulent steak as the breading gave way.

"Hm, the one time I wish Mallory was here," Matt sighed as he patted down his mouth with his napkin.

The steak's so good, Matt wished Mallory boarded their tram just so she could steal it for him. It's that good that he's willing to let a known thief and femme fatale steal something.

"Probably could make it at home," Ripley pointed out.

Matt reasoned that it wouldn't taste the same and Ripley pointed out that he has enough time to guess the secret recipe.

"Besides, they probably have the recipe on the web," Ripley brought up how often some companies' secret recipes turned up on the internet. Even though some are so simple, nobody's ever able to accurately replicate a dish unless they're one of the major chefs, and even then, TV magic always makes sure those dishes taste just as the same as the ones people get waiting in line.

"That's true," Matt reached over and grabbed his cup.

He sipped on his cider and pushed it back slightly.

Matt asked Ripley how she liked hers and she nods.

"You think I can get it myself?" Matt wondered as he pondered using his CSS for the sake of getting the secret recipe for himself.

Ripley shook her head at this and pointed out that he shouldn't use his CSS for something like that and he's supposed to be the Doctor, not a thief, and that if he tried, she'll have to stop him for his own good.

"Don't make me cuff you," Ripley raised a chip at him.

Matt pondered for a great deal before a smile appeared on his face and Ripley sighed, shaking her head.

"Oh, what will I do with my Doctor?" Ripley sighs as she finished off the chip.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't be a punishment, anymore, so Ripley would've had to think of another way to punish him.

The pair finished off their entrées and the robotic waiter came by to take the used dishes away before giving them the schedule that supper's at 0900 hours.

As the robotic waiter refilled their drinks at the table and left to tend to the other passengers, Ripley glimpsed out of the window and noticed something peculiar.

There's an older man with greying short hair sitting in a white lawn chair with a red large parasol over him, sitting by the tram tracks, he wore large black sunglasses and seemed content, drinking from his large cup.

Ripley wouldn't cared until she kept seeing him… over… and over… and over…

"Rip," Matt called her and she turned her head.

Matt noticed her staring and she pointed out the window, telling him what she seen, and of course, Matt didn't see the man.

She insisted that he was there and Matt tried looking, but he never seen him.

"I think we seen enough of the dunes for one trip," Matt concluded as he pushed one of the buttons that pulled down a dark screen that shrouded their cabin in darkness before the screen's lit up by a dimmed Telly channel.

The pair watched a bit of Telly as they finished their drinks before sending the empty glasses away.

Watching the Telly, the pair relaxed, their feet up and as a habit, Ripley rested her head against Matt's chest as she watched the Telly with him.

Ripley quietly thought about the man she saw by the tracks, wondering if she really saw him. It had to been just her imagination, it's simply too hot out for a human to safely traverse through the desert much less sit by the tram line.

With one arm around Ripley's waist and another holding the remote, Matt flipped through the channels until he found a channel that broadcasted a show the pair agreed upon.

It's a rerun of a show broadcasted forty years ago, but it's familiar enough for them to watch regardless.

Watching the show, the pair felt the tram moving underneath them, and lulled by the consistent movement, the pair drifted off to sleep.

Only when the tram suddenly jolted, their eyes opened wide as they're confused, Matt holding Ripley close as he looked around.

"Please do not panic," the intercom came on and the robotic voice calmly explained what's going on.

The tram lost power, but it'll be back up shortly, and for the passengers to remain in their cabins for the duration of the outage.

"Have a great day!" the robotic voice unconvincingly said as the intercom switched off.

Pushing themselves off the seat, the pair looked at the darkened screen and overheard the grumbling of the passengers.

"At least we ate," Matt sighed as he sat next to Ripley, arm around her waist.

Ripley blinked as she wondered, "They'd have a backup plan, wouldn't they?"

Considering there's no one within the thousand kilometers of the stretch, the company would've had to make sure that if this ever happened, the tram wouldn't go offline, not for an extended period.

"They should," Matt sighed. "Well, I'm sure they'll figure out something. We can't be here all day, right?"

Nodding, Ripley relaxed again with Matt.

They expected the tram to resolve the issue within a timely matter and lazed about in the seat.

It must've been thirty minutes, hard to tell in the dark, but Matt needed to use the loo and excused himself, leaving Ripley alone in their cabin.

Waiting for Matt to return, Ripley relaxed as she folded her arms behind her head, looking up at the darkened ceiling with the elegant light.

She started drifting off again and as she tried, she heard tapping noises.

Thinking that it's Matt, she moved close to the cushioned wall so he'd have room.

He never laid down near her and the tapping continued.

Pushing herself up, Ripley looked around and didn't see Matt. She heard the tapping noise again and turned her head towards the window.

There's a manual switch to pulling up the screen on the side of the window and Ripley used it to force the screen to retract.

Ripley jumped backwards as she recognized the man in front of the window.

It's the man she kept seeing… he's standing right there, holding his drink.

"W-what?" Ripley raised a brow at this.

The man tried to talk to Ripley, but his voice's muffled.

He gestured for her to come out of the tram and Ripley's baffled.

"Matt?" Ripley turned her head slowly, expecting Matt to return from the loo.

"Matt, I think we've got a live one," she tried calling him, but he never came back.

Turning her head back, the man's still there, sipping on his drink.

Ripley stepped towards the window and the man pointed at her.

She'll find Matt herself because this is crazy.

Leaving the cabin, Ripley attempted to look for Matt but found every cabin she checked's empty and by the time she checked the loo, she concluded the fear.

She's the only one in the tram, there's nobody else.

"What… what the hell?" Ripley blinked.

Remembering the man outside, Ripley tried to think.

He couldn't be outside, the temperature would've roasted him, he'd be crackers before someone found him.

Yet, this is happening to Ripley, so evidently, something's definitely wrong.

Ripley made her way towards the exit ramp and forced it to open. She expected the heat to hit her face, but it didn't. It felt pleasant, for a desert.

Carefully, Ripley stepped off the steps and looked around the desert, there's nothing but the sand and dunes.

"Oh, found yourself off the tram, finally, did ya?" Ripley heard a gruff Scottish voice and turned her head to see the man coming towards her.

He seemed to be carrying a guitar on his back, wore a black suit piece with an opened jacket, and a white band shirt on top of everything.

Ripley likened him to a Scottish Peter Cetera with faint head veins with a bit more gruffness.

"I didn't know they had a cover band for Peter Cetera out here," Ripley poked fun at the man's appearance.

It seemed he knew who Peter Cetera was and he chortled, sarcastically at her. "Oh, a comedian, are we?" he looked at her.

Ripley crossed her jacketed arms and asked the man what's going on and where is everyone.

"Yeah, they're somewhere else," the man told Ripley.

Ripley inquired what he meant and he explained that they're in one plain while the others are on another.

"How did I get here, why didn't anyone else?" Ripley asked him.

It alarmed her Matt's not with her and that she's out of her element. Apparently, she's not in the same existence as Matt and wanted to go back to it, immediately.

The man shrugged as he said, "I don't know, snapped me up, too. Say, you got any jelly babies on you?"

Ripley flatly told him she doesn't and she hated sweets. He's appalled at her stance and asked what reason she could've had to hate even something as benign as jelly babies.

"How could anyone hate them?" the man lamented.

Ripley shrugged as she told him that she just wasn't a fan of sweets and it set off the man. He ranted that every person he met never failed to take a jelly baby from him.

"My own da—" he quickly silenced himself before he finished his rant.

Shaking his head, the man couldn't understand why Ripley hated sweets.

Sighing, Ripley got back to the point at hand and asked the man his name. He introduced himself as… Peter.

"You just took the name, didn't you?" Ripley caught him.

He shrugged as he asked her what she planned to do. They're both stuck here, after all. Ripley uncrossed her arms and shook her head.

"Fine, Peter, if we're here and they're there, how do we get back?" Ripley played along, only so she could get back to Matt.

Peter shrugged his narrow shoulders as he replied, "I don't know, I've been trying to get back since yesterday. You're the only person I've met."

Thinking, Ripley asked him how he got stuck in the first place. He told her that he was traveling to the resort town to meet someone and ended up stuck.

"Just happened?" Ripley gestured.

Peter nodded.

He explained that he tried getting back, but he couldn't. So, he made do with what he found and hoped for the best.

Looking behind, Ripley frowned and worried about the others. She hoped they were okay and that Matt's doing what he did best, because she can only imagine how fervent he must feel.

"Okay, so, if we're here and they're there, how do we get back?" Ripley wondered as she turned back to Peter.

Scratching the side of his cheek, Peter told her that it has to be something close by because that's the only thing he can think of. However, he's older than he liked and there's too much sand than he liked that he couldn't bother looking.

"What if there's someone else here?" Ripley worried that someone else's caught up in the weird event, too.

Peter comforted her and said that he checked, as far as he's aware, it's just her and him.

As for how and why, he couldn't tell her.

"Better comb the desert, then," Ripley frowned.