The six empty emergency sockets beneath the brewery floor began striking their ceramic caps.
They gave three slow knocks, one close knock, then three more. The same count moved from the west tunnel to the rear gate and stopped beneath Davi's boots.
He dropped to one knee beside the nearest socket. Its copper receiver carried blue paint from West Four's old roof line, chipped where a civilian had forced the borrowed pulse cage through during the evacuation.
"That pattern belongs to Captain Cord's lost team procedure."
Palla left the broken cellar brace and wiped beer from her damaged palm.
"Patterns become public after the wrong machine hears them once."
Fenn climbed down from the brace with a wrench tucked through her belt. One keg still leaked above the shelter lane. Workers had moved every intact barrel aside, leaving the burst one to drip into three wash buckets.
"Her pattern can wait until somebody stops that socket from hitting my floor apart."
