Julian Vance kept his mouth shut.
He stood right in the center of the corrugated iron hoist platform as the chains rattled downward into Sub-Level 4.
His jaw stayed locked tight like an iron clamp.
“Julian, don’t make a sound,” Lin Mei whispered from the shadow of the steel cage. “Not even a single syllable can leave your lips.”
Julian gave a sharp, silent nod, keeping his lips pressed together as the dark shaft walls glided past.
Rule one of dealing with a tape recorder, Julian thought grimly. Don’t give the microphone fresh ammunition.
Below the open-mesh floor, five miles of brown quarter-inch Ampex magnetic recording tape hung through the darkness like cobwebs.
The magnetic ribbons brushed against playback heads mounted along the steel guide rails as the Foundry Service Hoist rattled down the shaft.
