The elevator door opened and the floor of the car was four inches higher than the lobby floor. Dale looked at the gap. "Tolerance threshold," he said. Sally looked at the gap. It was a significant gap. You had to step up into the elevator the way you'd step up onto a curb. Dale stepped up into it. "Hydraulic elevators find their own level," he said. "The fluid pressure adjusts continuously. Right now it's between cycles." Sally stepped up into the elevator. The floor was solid. The elevator didn't move. "Between cycles," Sally said. "The leveling system runs in intervals," Dale said. "It corrects and then rests. You're seeing the rest phase."

The doors closed. Dale pressed the button for the third floor. Nothing happened for a moment. Then the elevator began to move, slowly, with a low sound underneath them like something being asked to do more than it wanted to. "That's the pump," Dale said. "Hydraulic. The fluid pushes the piston. You can hear it working." Sally felt the floor through her feet. It wasn't smooth movement. It was slightly incremental, a series of small upward adjustments rather than one continuous rise. "It's bumpy," Sally said. "That's staged lifting," Dale said. "The system lifts in increments to manage pressure distribution. Smoother would actually indicate a problem."

The elevator stopped at the third floor. The doors opened. The elevator floor was now three inches below the hallway floor. Dale looked at the new gap. "Still cycling," he said. Sally looked at the gap. It had been four inches high coming in and was now three inches low going out. That was a seven inch range. She didn't say that. She stepped down onto the hallway floor. The floor was still. She could feel the difference between it and the incremental movement of the elevator. Dale stepped down. "The cycle will complete between uses," he said. "By the time someone else calls it the adjustment will have run."

A woman came down the hallway and pressed the elevator button without looking at them. The doors were still open. Sally watched the woman step over the gap without slowing down. She pressed the button for the lobby. The doors closed. Dale watched the doors close. "There's nothing to notice," Dale said. "It's within range." They heard the elevator descending. The low pump sound again, the same incremental quality, the same sense of something working harder than the movement suggested.

Dale looked at the closed elevator doors for a moment. Then he looked at the button panel on the wall. The down button was still lit even though the elevator had already left. "Demand latency," Dale said. "The button registers the call and holds the signal until the system confirms receipt. Standard protocol." Sally looked at the lit button. She reached out and pressed it again. The light stayed the same. She pressed it once more. Still the same. She put her hand flat against the elevator door. It was warm. Warmer than the hallway air. She could feel a faint vibration in it from the mechanism below. She left her hand there for a moment. Dale looked at the button. It was still lit. "It has the call," Dale said. "Pressing it again doesn't change anything." The button went dark. "There it is," Dale said.

They waited. The elevator came back. The doors opened. The floor of the car was now two inches below the hallway floor. Different from before. Still not level. Dale looked at the gap. "Late cycle," he said. "It'll finish leveling once we're aboard." Sally looked at the gap. She looked at the warm elevator door and then at her hand and then at the gap. "We're not going anywhere," Sally said. Dale looked at the elevator. "Good elevator," he said.

The doors stayed open for a moment. Then they closed on their own. The elevator sat there behind the closed doors, two inches below level, finished with them, already waiting for the next call. Sally put her hand against the door again. Still warm. Still the faint vibration. Then she took her hand away and they walked toward the stairs.