Page 36 of A.I.AM.

“Then what are we searching for?” Tanner studied the board.

“A thing Elias believed could exist outside ARGUS’s certainty.” AJ folded his arms. “That could be a mechanical device.”

“It could be a message,” said Hiro.

“A message is a record,” Code said. “Unless the message is the absence of one.” Ace went to the kitchen counter and collected the suite’s paper notepad.

“We need a search plan that stays off the system.”

“The building itself is a system,” Hiro said.

“Doors, pressure, ventilation, floor loading, temperature. Even if the cameras are absent, occupancy can be inferred from changes.” Bron divided the page by hand.

“Then we do not hide the search. We hide what each discovery means.”

He assigned pairs aloud and then changed every pair before the assignments settled. Code and Hayes would begin with plans and dimensions. Pigsty and Ace would inspect the loading warehouse. Carl and AJ would take the mechanical corridor. Hiro and Tanner would remain mobile. Bron would cross-check every space against the original seed-storage function.

“Why change the pairs?” Carl asked.

“Because the first assignment was for ARGUS,” said Ace.

“And the second?”

“For us.” Pigsty grinned. “I miss work like this. The kind that tests my brain but also lets me be in the field.” They left the board as it was, still with all the notes.

The visible warehouse occupied most of the northern building, a long concrete shell divided by rows of square columns. Its seed bins had been removed, but their circular scars remained in the floor. Sodium lamps cast a yellow light that flattened distance. Every footstep traveled ahead of them. Pigsty stopped ten paces inside.

“Too clean.” Ace looked down. Dust lay evenly across the floor except for their tracks.

“It hasn’t been used.”

“That’s not what I mean. Old grain buildings collect themselves. Husk in cracks. Oil in concrete. Mouse tunnels. Somebody scraped this place down to its bones.” He knelt at the nearest floor scar and ran a finger around the bolt holes. Three held rust. The fourth was filled with gray compound.

“Repair?” Ace asked staring at the bolt.

“Maybe.” Pigsty tapped it with the brass key. “There’s a different sound.”

“You can hear a hidden room through one bolt hole?” asked Ace, crouching beside him.

“No. I can hear that you want me to.” They moved from scar to scar. Every fourth footing held one patched anchor, always on the western side.

“Survey marks,” Ace said.

“For what survey?” asked AJ.

“A grid.” Ace stared at his son, then at the other men. “A grid for the machines that took the bins out.”

“Or a grid for something beneath them.” Pigsty pressed his palm to the floor. “You feel vibration?” Ace waited. A faint tremor passed through the slab, disappeared, then returned at a regular interval.

“Pump,” he said.

“Or fan,” nodded AJ.

“Or ARGUS making us think there is a pump or fan.” Pigsty stood. “This is going to be a long night.” At the western wall they found a line where the paint changed shade at shoulder height. Above it, the block was warmer. Ace held the back of his hand near the surface.

“Air space behind this.”

“Every exterior wall has one,” said Ace placing his hand against it. His brows raised and he spoke again. “Not warm air.”