While Arthur and Grimm secured the ground-level terraces of Biodome 01, three hundred feet above them in the load-bearing crown of the geodesic sphere, another battle was underway in total, deadly silence.
The upkeep narrow high walkways of the biodome formed a fine, detailed sharp-angled web of narrow light metal grating, suspended beneath the curved quartz-glass ceiling panels by high-pulling steel cables. Here. There, the high-pressure misting lines, self-running nutrient delivery channels, and emergency fire-crushing weight pipe hubs intersected, the surrounding humidity was choking. The stench of packed fungal growth was sharp enough to burn the wet inner skin of an unprotected throat. It carried the acrid bite of volatile organic esters and man-made pheromones.
Thick, jelly-like cords of purple fungal mold clung to the light metal heavy beams, swaying like rotten stalactites in the draft of the massive overhead breath flow fans. Every few seconds, a heavy droplet of sticky, spore-laden slime fell from the struts, plunging three hundred feet into the misty canopy below.
Vesper moved along an eight-inch light metal pipe with the easy, liquid grace of a black glass shadow. Her sleek silver-white coat, striped with faint charcoal bands that seemed to absorb surrounding light, shifted its color heat dynamically to match the dark purple reflections of the fungal canopy. Her notched left ear was cocked forward at a thirty-degree angle. She tracked the minute sound shakes traveling through the high-pressure water pipes. Her tail extended straight behind her, its tip making tiny shifts to preserve…
