The maintenance areas reminded Amy of a sewer. One suaver than usual, but an underground rat's nest nonetheless. They had followed a short, metal tunnel down at least a storey underneath the lobby. The walls were rusted metal, peeling away like dry plaster. The ceiling comprised of steel squares, bolted together to form a grid. Drops of water made their graceful descent from the ceiling to the floor in turn.
This natural routine was mimicked by the technology that had grown from the fingertips of nature itself. Lights flashed, beeps sounded and faulty wires sparked in repetitive unison, dancing across the control panels and the computer monitors as if personality had developed from their coding in the absence of their creators. To the Doctor, everything made sense. To Amy, none of it did, but it didn't have to. It was oddly beautiful to both of them.
The Doctor shimmied around the room, pressing his screwdriver to all of the buttons and knobs and learning almost everything about the room, while Amy took a gander around, simply absorbing the scenery.
''Ah, maintenance rooms,'' exclaimed the Doctor. ''Ironic, isn't it? How they're not very well maintained…''
''Why didn't she remember us?'' asked Amy. ''The clerk. Alison, I think her nametag said.''
''I don't think anyone would have remembered us from yesterday,'' stated the Doctor. ''Everything's brand new.''
'What, like the hotel's been reset?'' Amy asked, half joking. The Doctor, hunched over a jittery screen, regained his posture and shot Amy a smile.
''Remind me to promote you when we leave her,'' he said, and went back to his analytical business, leaving Amy surprised.
''You already knew,'' she said. ''How did you know that?''
''Just after we left the room,'' said the Doctor, ''I peeked back in and everything was back to how it was when we first found it; all the empty mugs gone, bed sheets straightened and curtains open, but I didn't see a maid come in. Did you?''
''Maybe it was a ghost maid,'' joked Amy, ''real enough to clean, but not actually there.''
The Doctor grinned.
''So what was all that coffee mug talk about back there then,'' Amy asked, backing up to lean on a control panel, ''if you already knew they weren't real?''
''I wanted to see if you could figure it out for yourself,'' said the Doctor. Amy realised, when leaning on the controls, she had dipped her hand into a thick, slimy black substance which coated her fingers.
''Ew!'' she cried, ''Oh, gross!''
She flailed her arms towards the ground trying to flick the goo off of her, but ended up having to wipe it onto her clothes for her skin to be rid of it. The Doctor hasted over and stuck a finger into the gunk. He held it up in front of his eyes, glowing with amazement; the sludge hung down to the floor, trying to escape from his fingertips.
''Hello!'' said the Doctor. ''What are you, then?''
Amy looked on in revulsion as he touched the tip of his tongue to the slime and studied its taste. He darted around the room to see if there was more and to his delight he found another batch to sample.
''Wow, you really are hungry,'' said Amy drily.
''Now this is real. Real-real, not coffee–real,'' the Doctor stated.
''Now what are you on about?'' exhaled Amy.
''The coffee,'' said the Doctor. ''Each cup tasted the same. Exactly the same, always the same cup over and over. Even the decaf. Like it was the same substance just… pretending. Instead of a freshly made cup each time. Know what I mean?''
''No, but I'll take your word for it.''
''This, though,'' the Doctor continued with a spurt of enthusiasm, ''this is fresher than Starbucks. Tastes better too, though I do like those snazzy cups they-''
''Any time you'd like to explain-'' shouted Amy in a tone that suggested she was all too used to the phrase. The Doctor ran to Amy and stood up close, almost pressing his nose to hers.
''This,'' he began, drizzling the goo between their faces and stinging Amy's nostrils with its pungent smell, ''is different.''
Amy backed off a little, scrunching up her face as the substance penetrated her senses.
''Different to what?'' she asked.
''Different to the other one. The goo I found over there tastes nothing like the goo I found over here.''
While sending his pointed finger whizzing through the air, he lashed Amy's shirt with another splodge of the sticky black matter. She flinched, and her face drooped.
''I don't understand,'' she said, ''how does that make it really real and not just a part of the hotel?''
The Doctor paused, thinking how to explain it.
''Go over to that computer and start typing, just start pressing buttons,'' he eventually said.
''O-okay,'' stuttered Amy, indulging in his request.
''Now,'' he said eagerly, ''Do you feel them? Do you feel the keys?''
''Of course I do, why wouldn't I?'' Amy queried.
''Now close your eyes and more importantly focus on the idea that it's not what it seems,'' said the Doctor. Once again, Amy obliged. Though, this time, after focussing deeply on the thought, her senses changed. She could still feel the keys, but they felt different. Colder. Older. She felt a cobweb brush against her hand and strange rust on the keyboard. She opened her eyes and scooted away from it.
''It's different,'' she exhaled, ''It's like there are two things…''
''Competing for the same space,'' the Doctor finished her sentence for her. ''The building is using a technological placebo effect! One strong enough to fool even the sonic.''
''Come again?'' Amy said, perplexed.
''Have you ever taken medicine and felt better almost immediately, even though it hadn't kicked in yet? Just because you know that medicine is meant to cure you? That's what's happening here. You can feel what the buttons are supposed to feel like, taste what the coffee is supposed to taste like just because that's what you see them to be. You can pick up a mug and think you're holding it and even feel it, but it's just another projection, following your hand.''
''So I was right,'' pronounced Amy. ''It's not just the guests and the storm that are fake; it's everything?''
''We were both right,'' said the Doctor. ''All of the people, and the objects inside the building, are just an echo. A hologram, projection, call it what you like. Wherever we are, it's drawing on the memories of the hotel from when it was still here. I don't know how, or why, but that's the only way these people can be here. The building itself though, is more than that. Most of the walls and the floor and the ceiling are all corporeal, otherwise we could just walk straight through any of it.''
''But everything else can be manipulated, or reset?''
''Gold star. It's highly unlikely that whatever's replicating the building has enough material to do the full job. I bet some of the floors and rooms are not completely there. There's enough matter to somehow change into the shape of most of the hotel, including that computer and your bed. Those parts just need a bit of freshening up to look like their hotel counterparts, but parts of the hotel that can't be physically generated need to be faked completely.''
''By holograms and the placenta thingy,'' indicated Amy.
''Placebo effect,'' the Doctor corrected.
''Apples and oranges,'' bantered Amy. ''So it's, what? Sending a signal to our brains? The signal from the elevator!''
''Two gold stars,'' bellowed the Doctor.
''You've known this for a while haven't you,'' asked Amy, suddenly irritable.
''I've been working on it since this morning, yeah,'' said the Doctor tensely. ''The decaf was the clincher.''
Amy scowled at him and folded her arms. The Doctor's expression became anxiously obstinate.
''Sorry,'' he murmured awkwardly. Amy shook her head.
''The question is though: why?'' mumbled the Doctor. Amy turned to look at the goo dripping from the control panel.
''Okay,'' she said, ''so back to my original question, what makes this goo stuff real?'' Just because they taste different? Maybe the coffee tastes the same regardless. Just because it was the best hotel in the world doesn't mean it had the best coffee.''
The Doctor was suddenly staring at the ceiling above Amy with a mix of fear and awe.
''Do you want the long answer or the short answer?'' he said.
''I feel like you want me to say both,'' said Amy.
''Long answer… I can differentiate between a placebo effect and the real thing when I have something to compare,'' said the Doctor, slothfully pacing backwards. Amy peered around at him and her indifference became dread. When the Doctor is scared, Amy knows to become terrified.
''D-doctor? What's the short answer?'' she grilled, but noticed something drooling onto her shoulder.
''The short answer?'' said the Doctor. He nudged the wall with the back of his shoe and was forced to halt in his tracks. ''Don't look up.''