She studied the inner surface of the cone as the gap between it and the ship narrowed. The material it was made from resembled some tempered metal, etched with complex, swirling patterns of densely-packed lines. As a girl on Maes Far, she"d been fascinated by the patterns the frost made on the windows of their house: branching whorls like the splayed fronds of plants, familiar and yet never repeating. The patterns on the ground reminded her of those, but whether they were decorative or functional, she had no way of knowing.
The ship kissed the surface with the slightest tremble of contact. Surtr said, “This point is the location of the lock.”
“Why this point?” It looked no different to any other spot on the vast, curving surface. “Do the markings signify something?”
“The patterns nev
