“Then let your engineer demonstrate the protective function.”

Julian looked at Ellis. “Tell them.”

Ellis’s throat moved. “We haven’t installed an independent mechanical cutoff yet.”

The silence was sudden and uncomfortable.

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “We have software interlocks.”

“Software interlocks operating through the same board that sends the motion commands,” Ellis said. “That’s not the same thing.”

A ripple passed through the watching volunteers.

Ada lifted her radio. “The moving floor is suspended. Event staff, clear the immediate installation area and keep the circuit disconnected.”

Julian seized the edge of the table. “You cannot stop the centennial show over a toy computer.”

“We’re not stopping the show,” Ada replied. “We’re stopping one machine.”

He stared at her, then abruptly stepped backward. His assistant emerged from behind the flower and gestured toward the rear equipment tent. Mara saw them exchange a rapid, furious whisper.

Julian disappeared through the tent flap.

***

For fifteen minutes, the park looked as though it had decided to be sensible. Volunteers repositioned barriers. The choir rehearsed under a tree. Food sellers lit their burners. Ada announced that the Lantern Walk would continue, with a stationary illuminated sculpture instead of a moving floor.

Then the light desk rebooted.

Every decorative lamp in the flower blinked in sequence. Mara, standing beside the console, heard the sharp click of a relay from within the platform. The motor supply cable still lay disconnected in the dirt, but a battery indicator on the console turned green.

“Ellis,” she called.

He was already moving. “There is a backup system.”

“Does it power the motors?”

“I wasn’t told about one.”

From beneath the flower came a low grinding sound. One mirrored stem trembled. Then a second began to rise.

Mara seized the console’s master stop switch. The lights went dark, but the mechanical noise continued.

“Backup controller,” Ellis said. “Different circuit.”

The nearest panel lifted an inch. There were no spectators inside the barrier, but three crew members had been replacing floral screens on the far side.

“Everybody out!” Mara shouted.

Ellis ran toward the platform, calling for the crew to leave the structure. They scrambled out through a gap in the screens. Ada ordered security volunteers to widen the perimeter. No one screamed or panicked, but the urgency in people’s movements made the danger clear.

Mara saw Julian near the equipment tent. He was holding a small handheld controller. His thumb hovered over a button.

“Turn it off!” she shouted.

“The system is running its reset cycle,” he answered. “Don’t interrupt it!”

A wooden panel jerked upward, stopped, then struck a neighboring support with a crack loud enough to silence the choir.

Evelyn looked at the display on the old simulator. Its red blocks were racing through the garden pattern.