"Ow," she muttered and jerked away, absorbed in what she saw. It was hard to tell whether the liquid was thick jelly or fine-grade oil. It would have been invisible without its pigmentation. Inside, rippling heat currents boiled from the machine’s brass surface like a deep-sea hydrothermal vent. She stared at the analytical engine, the soft golden sheen darkening with her shadow, and followed it to the ground, looking for joints or imperfections. She knelt and rested one cheek against the white floor. The exterior of the armor-glass tube was perfect—the MI immaculate as if it were a solid rod of metal—until it reached the floor. There, she saw a one-inch gap.