While the crusaders rested on Floor Five, three thousand workers labored below them.
Austin stood in the new access shaft with a checklist. “We have one shift to finish the public-support floors. Keep the guest lift closed until every test passes.”
Floor Six would hold switchgear and transformers. Floor Seven would hold compressors and chillers. Floor Eight would carry storm water and foundry runoff into the deep sump.
Austin cut the rock with narrow streams of solar fire. Chonker and the other pangolins cleared loose stone. Siege golems hauled it away. Behind them came concrete crews, pipe fitters, and electricians.
Xiaoyao arrived with a report from the surface. “The batch plant wants to hurry the concrete.”
“No,” Austin said. “Concrete is chemistry, Xiaoyao, not alchemy. A cracked floor costs more than a late tour.”
By hour twelve, Floor Six had lights and a cured walkway. By hour twenty-four, Floor Seven’s compressors held pressure. Floor Eight was ready ten hours later, with clear drains and safe rails around the sump. Austin checked the slope with a spirit level. “One-quarter inch per foot. A dead-even two percent fall. No puddles.”
Only then did Austin enter Floor Nine.
