Autor wrinkles his nose. "Consumption?" he says, and then shudders. Still, he does half-heartedly pluck the mask off his face. "The garage, if you're looking for it, is through that door and down the elevator--a steel box made of death and falling, I say, though no one ever agrees with me."

He sips his tea. "I bet Bar can give you some nice tools, though they'll go on your tabs board, over there."