The two flat F-natural chimes still vibrated in the damp air of the Grand Halcyon lobby as Julian pulled the inner glass airlock doors shut.
He turned Clara’s wheelchair swiftly across the rubber sanctuary runner toward the Front Desk, while Elena fell into step on his right flank with her trauma shears ready in her cardigan pocket.
“Stay behind the mahogany counter rail,” Julian told them, pouring the last warm ounce of ginger broth from the steel thermos into Clara’s cup as they passed the sorting table. “Lin Mei, bring the Black Operator’s Binder to the pantry doorway.”
Clara wrapped both hands around the warm cup, her eyes tracking the dark archway behind the 144 key pigeonholes.
“Those three sleepwalkers out on Pier 14 are locked to the sixty-cycle carrier, Jules,” Clara said quietly. “And whatever just rang that dumbwaiter bell inside the wall is humming on the exact same four-hertz offset.”
Julian checked the Casio HR-100TM register resting beside the desk blotter.
The tiny thermal printer zipped twice in the quiet room. Arthur Pendelton had printed a fresh status slip:
SHIFT 11 -- 11:52 PM.
