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working—is there as well. And deck eight holds the administrative offices and research facilities.”
    There was a quiet chime and the elevator doors whispered open. Asher waved Crane in, then followed.
    The elevator was of the same strange material as the corridor. There were six unmarked buttons on the panel: Asher pushed the third from the top and the elevator began to descend.
    â€œWhere was I? Oh, yes. And deck seven is the science level. Computer center, scientific laboratories of every description.”
    Crane shook his head. “It’s unbelievable.”
    Asher beamed, looking as proud as if the Facility were his own, rather than on loan from the government. “I’ve left out a hundred things you’ll discover for yourself. There are mess halls served by kitchens specializing in haute cuisine. Half a dozen lounges, comfortable accommodations for over four hundred persons. Basically, Peter, we’re a small city, two miles below the surface of the ocean, far from prying eyes.”
    â€œâ€˜In th’ ocean’s bosom unespied,’” Crane quoted.
    Asher looked at him curiously, a half smile on his face. “That’s Andrew Marvell, isn’t it?”
    Crane nodded. “‘Bermudas.’”
    â€œDon’t tell me you’re a reader of poetry.”
    â€œNow and then. I got the habit during all that downtime on sub duty. It’s my secret vice.”
    The smile widened on Asher’s wind-tanned face. “Peter, I like you already.”
    The elevator chimed again, and the doors rolled back onto another corridor, much wider and busier than the others. Glancing out, Crane was shocked at how well-appointed the staff quarters appeared to be. There was elegant carpeting on the floor, and—miraculously—framed oil paintings on wallpapered walls. It reminded him of the lobby of a luxury hotel. People in uniforms and lab coats were walking past, chatting. Everyone had an ID badge clipped to a collar or shirt pocket.
    â€œThe Facility is a marvel of engineering,” Asher went on. “We were extremely lucky to get the use of it. In any case, this is deck ten. Any questions before I show you to your quarters?”
    â€œJust one. Earlier, you said there were twelve decks. But you’ve only described six. And this elevator has only six buttons.” Crane pointed at the control panel. “What about the rest of the station?”
    â€œAh.” Asher hesitated. “The lower six decks are classified.”
    â€œClassified?”
    Asher nodded.
    â€œBut why? What goes on there?”
    â€œSorry, Peter. I’d like to tell you, but I can’t.”
    â€œI don’t understand. Why not?”
    But Asher didn’t answer. He simply gave him another sly smile: half chagrined, half conspiratorial.

6
    If the Facility’s living quarters reminded Crane of a luxury hotel, then deck 9 seemed closer in spirit to a cruise ship.
    Asher had given him an hour to shower and stow his gear, then he’d shown up to escort him to the medical suite. “Time to meet your fellow inmates,” he’d joked. On the way, he gave Crane a brief tour of the deck below his own quarters, known officially as Crew Support.
    But “Crew Support” didn’t begin to do deck 9 justice. Asher steered him briefly past a hundred-seat theater and a fully stocked digital library before leading him to a large plaza bustling with activity. Music echoed faintly from what looked like a miniature sidewalk café. On the far side of the plaza, Crane made out a pizzeria, and beside it a small oasis of greenery surrounded by benches. Everything was miniaturized to fit into the small footprint of the Facility, but it was so artfully contrived there was no sense of crowding or claustrophobia.
    â€œDeck nine has a unique layout,” Asher said. “Basically, it’s constructed around two large perpendicular corridors. Someone dubbed