With a deep, sharp air hiss that sounded like the breath out of a sleeping dragon, the four-foot star-iron upkeep hatch swung inward on its hidden Precursor pivot pins.
A sudden, violent rush of warm, high-pressure air blasted out through the opening. He carried the dry, stone scent of hundreds of years-old sandalwood, rusted copper, and stale incense. The air pressure inside Floor Ninety-Nine was nearly twenty percent higher than the thin, freezing gale of the outside heights. The sudden equalization blew Lin Tao’s woolen hair back from his brow and rustled the heavy ox-hide straps of Tie Shan’s pack.
Lin Tao lowered his head and peered through the four-foot sky-slit.
Beyond the threshold lay an unlit, level service crawlway five paces long, lined with copper channel pipes and bundles of fiber-optic potion-made glass cables that glowed with a faint, pulsing amber soft glow. At the far end of the crawlway, an open bronze air-flow grate looked down into the inside chamber of Floor Ninety-Nine.
“Clear,” Lin Tao reported quietly, pulling his land-mapper metal pen from his cuff.
“I go first,” Tie Shan grunted.
“Negative,” Lin Tao said, resting a restraining hand on Tie Shan’s massive shoulder muscle. “You’re too broad to turn around if the crawlway contains a physical pinch-point. I’ll crawl through, clear the inside landing, and unbolt the main bronze grate from the inside.”
