The gallery door opened because the man at the desk checked the pass and turned the key.
Barnaby found this an improvement upon several competing theories of destiny.
Felix entered beside him, the qualified entrant responsible for the supervised visit. The approved technical purpose appeared in the receiving ledger. Barnaby’s name had not become permission to fly wherever a brass owl could fit.
Their guide pointed out the allowed inspection side, the closed lower controls, and the route back to the gallery desk.
“Stay behind the working boundary.”
“Gladly,” Felix said. “I’ve recently become acquainted with one.”
Below them, workers prepared the apparatus for the final tribulation display. A housing rose beneath the central platform. New decorative panels leaned against a wall while technicians completed the useful things the panels would soon make harder to see.
Barnaby landed on the permitted rail.
