Tsim and Markos pace the length of the promenade, checking the air vents in the floor and on the inward ceiling as they go. They point laser temperature gages at the vents and record the findings on their clipboards. Adah sits on a crooked bench next to one of the overgrown ficus trees to compile their results as they go, comparing them to the expected statistical models of the station sector.

As they go, they get a good view of the space they will inhabit for the next eleven and some change hours. With cautious steps, the pair traverses the promenade, keeping the tram track to the right and the rest of the station proper to their left.

Dilapidated storefronts dot the space, their darkened doorways closed to the potential of anyone being able to enter now. It’s a quiet space, with only the emergency lighting and their headlamps to provide any sense of the space they are in. The quiet only makes it easier to hear the hiss of life-giving oxygen through the vents they inspect as they go.

The stores here are mostly restaurants, a few convenience stores, and one long-abandoned news post. A noodle shop’s window has broken out - a tiny ornamental tree has grown out of its tightly contained planter and its desperate branches reach out of the window toward a light fixture that is currently dark.

Markos points to the tiny tree with his laser.

“It can’t have been dark in here for very long. The plants wouldn’t have survived it,” he comments, sounding concerned. “They’re the only thing thriving.” His green laser skims the storefront.

Tsim nods, his headlamp exaggerating the motion dramatically.

They pause in front of the noodle shop to look briefly inside. Flaking paint on the walls and sagging tiles in the hanging ceiling contrast with the tidily stowed chairs and neatly clothed tables. If time had not had its way with the materials, the space itself would look ready to reopen as soon as someone stepped inside.

The sign on the door still lists the opening hours and menu.

“When we’re done here, you wanna hit this place back up for some soba?” Tsim grins at his coworker.

“You think the new tenant will keep the same menu?” Markos gives a wink with his response. His headlamp scans over faded photos of menu items. “I could go for some of that shrimp right about now.”

Tsim makes a noncommittal sort of grunting sound.

Their footsteps crunch across crumbled plastic debris that time has pulled from the inward ceiling above. The grate for the vent overhead here hangs loose with one valiant screw still attempting to hold it in place.

Markos points his laser upward, while Tsim checks the lower spin-ward vent. They both record temperatures outside the expected range.

“A little hot over there?” Adah asks over their communications links.

“Not noticeably,” Markos answers, noting that the air temperature measured does not appear to match the environment experienced. If anything, he finds the the conditioned station air a little chilly.

“Tsim, you keep checking individual vents,” Adah provides direction, “Markos, pull the schematics and find the controller for that node.”

The two snap agreements quickly and head to their tasks.

Meanwhile, on the floor above Tiphanie reports in on the status of the electrical control station.

“Everything’s looking peachy up here.” Her voice floats into their headsets with perfect clarity. “Looks like them Buffalo done spent a good chunk of their twelve rewiring the main controller closet. It’s clean and tidy like the elevator.”

“Their completed tickets don’t mention that.” Adah checks the service ticket system. “From what this shows, they mostly just worked on populating the work list and running the safety checks. We shouldn’t be at risk of hitting vacuum anywhere.”

Tsim and Markos share a brief nervous look at that suggestion. The nearness of space and its inherent danger is always a threat when you live and work on a ring gate. Markos looks toward the window to the great empty vastness outside the safety of their bulkheads. If there are any cracks in that reinforced multi-layered silica panel, they exist only in his overactive imagination.

“Let’s be glad they did then.” Adah lets the statement lie a respectful moment. Their rival team may not be their equals in efficiency or perfection, but they aren’t incompetent.

“The problem for sure isn’t up here,” Tiphanie explains quietly. “There must be a short in a cable. They run the trunk through the tram circuit. We’ll head back your way.”

The computer technician and the plumber continue their assigned tasks. Tsim finds no additional vents with higher than expected recorded output temperatures.

Markos pulls a chair away from a little bistro table outside a cafe with pictures of pizza on its walls. A banner proudly proclaims that it is closed for renovations and will reopen soon. He has moderately higher hopes of this being more true now than when it was first hung.

Might need a few additional renovations than had been originally planned though. Time and neglect have not been kind.

His clipboard’s soft glow dims as he points his headlamp away from the screen to reduce glare. He navigates through the documents for architectural diagrams of this sector of the station. There are some handy generic sector overviews that provide a few clues.

As Tiphanie mentioned, the main trunk for the non-critical electrical circuit runs through the rail tunnel for the tram that services the entire station. This provides power to serve most of the functions for residential and commercial spaces away from the inner technical space of the workings of the gate itself. A linked line also handles life support roles, but the two are not codependent to help prevent great tragedy with the risk of overloading the life support line with commercial use.

And of course, nothing connects to the critical gate components at all. Nothing but the plumbing.

Tiphanie arrives, her crunching footsteps giving her away as she hurries toward where Markos is casually sitting at the bistro table. He looks to her, perfectly in place, as though a waiter would appear to take his order any minute now.

Adah and Amina follow close at her heels.

Markos points with his laser at the overly warm vent.

“We have a hot spot.” He puts down the schematic on the table so that everyone can see. “There’s a control switch under the floor here, and a junction on the main cable trunk under the ceiling tiles above. He points at the spots on the diagram, and then points at each vent with his laser.

Tiphanie opens a specialist’s set of the same diagrams, investigating on her own to be certain of what needs to be done before asking Amina to open any holes she’ll have to close again later. The electrician agrees with the computer technician. The heat indicates that there is a possibly related problem with the failed overhead lighting.

The ceilings throughout the station are not normally very high. This open space is an exception to the rule, as the height of the tram dictates that the tram stations must also meet a particular minimum height.

Due to safety shielding between floors, she knows that she cannot access this line by coming from above. With a sigh, she and Tsim collect a ladder.

Amina and Markos work on extracting the lower vent from its cage of escaped tree roots. Amina’s little electrical saw proves most efficient at the task. She works free the last bit of the vent cover.

The exposed vent below is just wide enough for a person’s torso, but not deep enough for someone to crawl inside. The floor of the ductwork is littered with the detritus of many years of high traffic use. There are many pieces of fossilized chewing gum, chips dessicated into dust, a few key cards, and notably a short length of pipe with caps on either end.

Amina backs slowly out of the space, clearly unnerved. Markos gives her a questioning look before peeking below for himself. Laughing, he pops back out a few seconds later.

“It’s not a bomb,” he assures her, “just a treasure hunter’s cache. Some people like to explore abandoned places and they leave things like this for others to find.” He reaches inside and picks up the pipe. It does not explode.

“Wonder how long it’s been down there if the tree had blocked it off?” Amina asks, looking at the roots she’d so recently severed.

Markos only shrugs, and unscrews one end of the dusty pipe to reveal a small collection of little glittery stickers, each with a bright number 32 and the logo of the pizza restaurant on them. Markos takes one, attaches it to the back of his clipboard, and replaces the end of the pipe.

“We’ll leave it for the next group to find, eh?” Amina smiles down at him while he slides more of himself into the vent proper.

A password keyed control panel has been tucked into the side of the duct to make it less accessible to passers by. Markos pulls its password out of the documents at hand and gets to getting it open as quick as he can.

Above, Tsim and Tiphanie have a ladder ready, and Tiphanie marks out the space to cut away the damaged panels to gain access to the lines she needs.

Tiphanie runs a temporary ground line to the metal bulkhead while Amina cuts away the space she needs to repair.

The actual repair doesn’t take very long once Amina has it open. Rodent damage is obvious to the conduit, but the line itself is intact. Current affecting the conduit piping sets off the failure indicator and disables the entire line out. Once Tiphanie makes her repair she’s able to reinitialize the failure monitor.

And with that, the lights abruptly turn back on.

And with them, the inoffensive popular music.