"It would seem," Rosemary suggested, "that this is as low as the lift is willing to go."
"Aye," Rosemary agreed, nodding toward the glittering projection. "But not at the bottom."
"Not by half," Lamont seconded, frowning. Using his hands to manipulate the floating metallic particles, he scaled the skeletal representation of the tower down as small as he could. "I'd estimate that we're roughly in the middle of the tower now."
Rico made a snorting sound and blinked, his black eyes darting around. "We are there?" He asked.
"We're somewhere," Rosemary replied. "But not where we meant to be."
"Perhaps there is some reason why we cannot go further," Rico suggested, tugging himself away from the curved wall and yawning. "We should see what is outside."
"Wait," Lamont countered. "Not yet. I just want to test something."
Placing his hands at either side of the floating spherical control, he began to rapidly pull them upward as if he were splashing water from a pool. The red beacon that indicated their present location quickly slid up out of view as thousands of levels flew past in a blur. After a lengthy repetition of Lamont's movement, the three passengers were once again looking at the ghostly representation of the tower's base, with jagged suggestions of the moon's metallic surface in the periphery. Holding his breath, Lamont jabbed his finger pointedly at the lowest portion of the tower map.
They waited for a long moment.
"We are not moving," Rico observed. He had retrieved the remnants of Lamont's ration bar from its place on the wall and was nibbling at it.
"I can see that, mate," Lamont replied grimly.
With slower motions, he manipulated the map downward, so that they were virtually moving up the tower. He could make out a variety of complex shapes representing the interior of the tower at the levels just above the base, shapes suggestive perhaps of chambers and corridors, but without a level of detail that would allow him to know for certain. He stopped about ten levels up from the base and once again punched his finger at the center of the map, indicating where he wanted the shuttle to take them.
Once again, nothing happened.
Frowning, he repeated the motion one more time, this time moving the representation of the tower what he estimated to be several hundred levels up—perhaps somewhere in the lower third of the tower, but still well beneath their present location. Glancing at Rosemary and Rico, he shrugged and once again punched his finger at a randomly selected level.
As before, there was no change, no sensation of movement.
"It would seem," Rosemary suggested, "that this is as low as the lift is willing to go."
Lamont folded his arms, feeling simultaneously frustrated and vindicated. "That was the point of this little exercise," he explained. "I had a suspicion that we didn't actually have free reign over the tower. That it wouldn't let us all the way down."
"Why?" Rosemary asked.
"Because ever since we got here, it's been guiding us to the top," Lamont pointed out. "I'd wager that there's something down there that the Cloud of Witnesses, or whoever's in charge here, doesn't want us to see."
Monday: Third Shift