010314 #jonquil Some of the lamps are burned out, so the fluorescent light is crepuscular. The radio is off, the phone's not ringing, the computers are sleeping. Occasionally the plumbing makes a noise from somewhere else in the building. Traffic hisses intermittently, softly. The turtle scrapes on its floating rock a few times, then settles back into silence. A sliver of light glows under the door like a one-dimensional sunset or a distant supernova glimpsed over the horizon of a giant, forlorn planet. Out in the corridor, the elevator door chunks open, then shut. Footfalls slowly crescendo, then pause, interrupting the line of light under the door. Not even breathing can be heard. Then the footfalls go away again, on down the corridor. The previous state of not-quite-quiet returns. Gwen and Mary finally exhale, red-faced, hearts pounding so hard their eardrums can feel the blood squishing rhythmically.