The northern outer edge of the Central Sump ended before an armored barrier of monstrous construction: Bulkhead Gate Twelve, the threshold separating the heavy-duty foundries of the Ashen Epoch from the sovereign chambers of Entry hall 681. Forged from chilled star-fallen steel fourteen inches thick, the gate was a single circular slab four paces in width, seated into a massive cast-iron door post anchored directly into the living solid mountain stone.
The surface of the steel gate was devoid of ornament or stone carvings. It was an unbending shield of pure heavy-duty metalworking, secured around its outer edge by twelve heavy wedge-dogs of forged bronze. Each dog was held in place by an internal high-pressure toggle-linkage that had been locked under high pressure five thousand years ago. Just then, the final dead-letter order was carried out.
Qiao Ming stood before the gate, his bare calloused feet planted firmly upon the cold andesite doorstep. He laid his palm against the chilled steel. The metal was dead and motionless. It held no heat draft. But his sensitive skin detected the faint, high-hum sound hiss of dry air escaping through the micro-clearances of the packing gland. The chambers beyond were dry, preserved in an ancient empty pocket.
