The Diagnostic Dais stood at the exact sharp-angled epicenter of the Southern Continental Core.
It was an eight-sided platform of seamless black glass, raised three paces above the cathedral floor and reached by three wide, polished steps. In the center of the platform rested a slender, freestanding stone stand of white star-white-gold, no taller than a man’s chest.
On the flat upper surface of the stone stand lay the Main Check-up Interface of the Grand Dao.
It didn’t feature levers, wheels, or clockwork dials. Set into the brushed star-white-gold face was a circular sky-slit three inches in width, lined with thousands of tiny golden receptor pins—the physical root bus of the land-wide running system.
Lin Tao climbed the black glass steps, his boots moving without a sound across the polished stone.
Behind him, Tie Shan took up a defensive guard at the base of the stairs, planting his boots wide, his fourteen-pound pry-bar resting across his knees like an iron barrier. The giant’s bronze face was grim. His eyes sweeping the was silent cathedral row of stone pillars for any sign of self-running awakening.
“Room is quiet,” Tie Shan rumbled, his voice barely carrying up the steps. “Far too quiet now.”
