The ozone in the chamber was thick enough to taste like copper pennies.
Beyond the dark, eight-inch manganese blast shield, the mechanical scream of Prime Calculator Zero-B echoed through the basalt vault like an iron beast being pushed past its breaking strain. White steam hissed from the expansion valves along the perimeter, while the high-voltage magnetic field hummed with a terrifying blue vibrancy that made the hair on Elara's forearms stand on end.
Foreman Haddon sat groaned against the rock wall, his palms raw and blackened where the residual charge had thrown him back. Bastian kept his carbine raised toward the upper observation slits, his face set in hard, pale lines, while Sarah knelt beside the shattered gear crate, her hands trembling as she pulled out three surviving rolls of insulated telegraph wire and a heavy zinc relay core.
