I won’t tell you how we got here. My cadre, the four of us, got into this sphere on our own after we borrowed an unused escape pod, but that’s another story. We entered by a standard port, no big deal. Inside we found maintenance halls and warehouses, all open, great halls, freight elevators, power ports, and all their tools and equipment, everything we needed. No one else was here. Not even robots. Actually, we found inactive robots in a warehouse, never turned on. I couldn’t say where everyone went. Maybe they were building another sphere around another star. Maybe they were evicted by an infestation of doubt, something that told them this can’t really happen, you cannot build a structure around a star sufficient to capture all the star’s energy. My mate, Bill, was a wanderer; he had seen everything, been everywhere. My second mate, we called him Smee, was experienced in new and ancient computers, and my third mate, Sir Innatent, was a mechanic who understood the workings of anything he could get his hands on. Me, I am only a storyteller. But we were here together, spinning about this B-type star in a Dyson sphere of unknown origin, and it was up to me to spin our story— what could we do with it before it all blew apart, and what could we get away with— to guide the four of us toward our inescapable end.