The architect eventually regained consciousness and never mentioned Tannel Street again. Q knew better than to ask. They spent more time discussing the details of the mansion while the architect was served various types of tea, and his head was cooled by an exceptionally attractive assistant. It was decided that the current mansion would remain as it was to avoid raising any suspicion. The extension would be constructed by halving the unusually high roof and simply adding an additional floor.
The architect explained that the cost would be exceptionally high—not only because he was making a substantial profit (which he did not even attempt to conceal)—but also due to the need to hire laborers from outside the city to ensure the project's credibility and avoid impacting their License to Operate. The associated licenses were numerous and costly. Materials posed no issue, and the maître d'œuvre was none other than his brother, a highly trustworthy individual. This trust was rooted in the fact that failure or exposure would result in the complete ruin of their family.
The proposed technology was intriguing. The walls would be constructed from simple materials, well-insulated, and coated with a special paint designed to capture and redirect signals rather than block them—ensuring the construction remained inconspicuous. The only downside was that no technical communication could occur within the extension, but Q deemed this limitation acceptable.
To harmonize with the new roof design of the "normal" mansion, it was decided to paint a trompe-l'œil to replicate the appearance of the original roof. This concept was so compelling that Q extended it to the bedroom, requesting a ceiling painted to resemble a galaxy.
The discussions about the mansion's extension shifted to the operational specifics. It was no ordinary project. Q had made it clear: the new floor was not just an extension of the mansion's grandeur but a hidden nerve center for clandestine operations in a regime where secrecy was a matter of survival.
The architect leaned forward, wiping the rim of his teacup as he spoke. "We're venturing into dangerous territory here. If we're exposed…" He let the sentence hang in the air.
Q remained composed. "That's why failure is not an option. Let's talk specifics."
The architect unfolded a set of holographic blueprints on the polished mahogany table. The plans showed a floor that seamlessly integrated into the existing mansion's structure, invisible to anyone who wasn't aware of its existence.
"We'll be working within the high roof structure, so there's no external evidence of construction," he explained. "The materials are pre-fabricated composite panels laced with nanofibers. Lightweight, self-healing, and resistant to most scanning technologies. These panels will absorb and redirect radar signals, making the space undetectable even during routine aerial surveillance." And anyway we still have the signal redirection paint.
It was discussed and agreed that the access to the secret floor would be through a biometric entry system embedded in the mansion's grand library. A seemingly ordinary bust of a 19th-century philosopher served as the key. A fingerprint scan on the bronze surface would trigger a silent hydraulic lift concealed behind a bookshelf.
"Redundancy is critical," the architect continued. "If the primary access is compromised, we've installed an emergency egress system. The fireplace in the west wing is a concealed hatch that leads to a sub-basement tunnel network."
Q raised an eyebrow. "And if someone stumbles upon it?"
"Pressure sensors embedded in the floor will detect unauthorized access. The hatch will lock down, and a decoy mechanism will flood the fireplace with smoke to mimic a malfunction."
The operational floor itself was a marvel of engineering. It featured advanced soundproofing using a material called sono-foam, which absorbed sound waves and vibrations.
The walls were coated with adaptive signal paint, a futuristic material embedded with micro-antennas. "This isn't just for blocking signals," the architect explained. "The paint will redirect intercepted signals, mimicking ordinary noise patterns to avoid suspicion."
Energy was another concern. A traditional power supply could draw attention due to sudden spikes in consumption. Instead, the floor relied on solid-state quantum batteries, capable of powering the operations for weeks without recharging. A backup system of flexible, transparent solar panels was hidden within the mansion's glass ceilings, ensuring continuous power during extended use.
"The only downside," the architect admitted, "is that this floor will be a no-tech zone for wireless communication. To maintain secrecy, no signals can originate or terminate here. Instead, we'll use fiber-optic lines for data transmission, routed through hidden conduits in the walls. These lines will exit the property via the existing plumbing network, making them indistinguishable from utility lines."
Q nodded. "Good. I'd rather have no wireless communication than risk interception."
To maintain the illusion, the floor's design echoed the mansion's historical aesthetic. Vaulted ceilings with trompe-l'œil paintings hid advanced surveillance systems. A central conference room was equipped with holographic projection tables and augmented reality interfaces, allowing Q to visualize real-time data without external devices.
The bedroom, as requested, featured a galaxy-themed ceiling. What wasn't visible was the embedded neuro-responsive lighting system, capable of adjusting the ambiance based on Q's mental state.
Labor was the riskiest part of the operation. The architect's brother had been briefed extensively. "We're bringing in workers from outside the regime," the architect said. "They're skilled, discreet, and have no ties to the city. They'll be brought in through controlled routes, each believing they're working on separate, unrelated projects. By the time they realize the scope, it'll be too late for them to piece it together."
Q smirked. "And the costs?"
The architect shrugged. "Astronomical, of course. But considering the stakes, it's a bargain." And saying so he wrote a number on a nearby note, writting the price down rapidly and folding it, note that despite the writing being almost microscopic the priceed to be to one edge to an other. That amused Q.
Before leaving, the architect paused. "One last thing. The signal paint—it has a secondary feature. If anyone tries to scan the walls aggressively, it'll emit a localized EMP pulse, frying their equipment without leaving a trace."
Q stared at the holographic plans, already visualizing the hidden floor's role in the larger scheme. "Perfect. Let's begin." he said while unfolding the litle paper with the big price on it: 52 millions.