Chance and Bixby headed down the narrow corridor first, their submachine guns at the ready. Behind them came Rip and Blair, strolling at a more relaxed pace. On occasion, Blair checked behind them to make sure no one saw them in the opposite direction.

Rip noticed the trio seemed hardly the worse for wear, despite having just been freed from miserable cages. He filed it along with a hundred other things in the back of his mind.

The corridor seemed never-ending to Rip. He noticed it curved gently to the right.

“What is this place? Are we going in circles?”

Blair frowned, looking at him.

“You really are not from around here, are you? You’re obviously not from Umbria. I’ve never heard an accent quite like yours.”

“He’s a colonial,” Bixby said without turning. “I should think that’s fairly obvious. How he got deep inside a steam vault with no memories of how he got here shall likely remain a mystery until we can get back home.”

“Well, I uh . . . kind of remember what happened right before I got here.”

“Oh?” Blair raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“I was in the metaverse, specifically in NeuralNet. My squad, I’m the leader of E-squad, we were investigating an intruder coming in near Online New York and . . .”

He trailed off because of the looks on their faces.

Chance said, “Right. Definitely a head shrink when we get back. My brother-in-law knows a fellow on Dellison Circle. He should be able to help.”

Rip sank back into silence, following the two men down the never-ending corridor, with the woman beside him.

After several moments of silence, Blair decided to answer some of his questions.

“We are inside what is called a steam vault. They are enormous facilities built quite some time ago underneath Greater Umbria and other civilized societies, part of the ancient Remus Empire. They provide power to the cities, among other things. Unfortunately, over time some parts of them have decayed, particularly deeper down. On occasion, the Crown sends out parties such as ourselves to fix problems of one sort or another.”

Rip focused on this, because he could follow the logic.

“So, your team is assigned to rescue this . . . what did you call him?”

“A boffin,” Bixby said, still keeping watch as they progressed. “He’s quite the fellow, actually. I’ve met him at a dinner hosted by the Royal Society for Scientific Inquiry. He was the guest speaker that night, discussing his field of inquiry. A rather curious subject, that. His lecture was entitled, ‘How to Travel Betwixt Parallel Worlds.’ Fascinating”

A sneaking suspicion sparked inside Rip at this statement.

“I don’t suppose whoever kidnapped him might have been forcing him to run experiments on these doorways to alternate worlds?”

Everyone stopped walking. All three of Bixby’s Bandits stared at him.

“Why, Muscles! I do believe that’s the longest string of words you’ve yet spoken. So there is some brains behind all the brawn.”

“We don’t know what is going on down there, Sergeant,” Bixby said. “Part of our mission is to find out and report back to the Royal Venture Society our findings. Along with Dr. Oggolopoli, of course.”

At last they came upon another door, on the left. Unlike the others, this one had a red circle with the number 12 in white painted on it.

“There we go, the stairwell. One more level down and we shall find our Bobbin, hopefully. Mr. Chance, open the door once more, if you please.”

“Right. Should be easier this time, now that I’ve got keys.”

He smiled at Rip as he jangled the key ring.

“I been lock picking all our way down.”

Rip frowned and said, “The doors for the stairs aren’t in one place? Or do they relock or something?”

“No, no,” Bixby assured him. “One of the security measures for the vault is to place stairs between levels at different locations in the hallways. When we are ready to go back up to Level 11, we shall have to traverse back down this hallway quite a ways.”

“About three-quarters of a mile,” Blair grumbled.

“That doesn’t sound safe,” Rip said. “That doesn’t sound safe at all.”

The three others chuckled.

Bixby said, “We could try for the lift. I’m worried by the guardian statues there, though.”

“Yeah, the stairs aren’t the trouble, mate,” Chance said. “It’s the corrupted Workers and Sewer Troopers and a host of other frights down here that’re more likely to kill ya.”

With a grin at Rip, he found the right key and opened the door with a flourish. Rip peered inside and found a metal staircase leading down, with only one gas lamp providing dim, flickering light.

“On your toes everybody,” Bixby said. “Mr. Chance, on me.”

Together the two carefully made their way down the steps, submachine guns pointed downward.

Blair grinned at Rip and set off after them, leaving him alone in the corridor.

He looked both ways down the seemingly endless hall and followed after her.

The stairs were definitely not built with safety in mind, Rip thought. They went down at a steep angle a long way.

The only nod to hazards were handrails on either side. On the right, a metal handrail jutted out from the wall. To the left, someone went to the trouble of installing iron posts every few feet, and attaching a rail to them.

Halfway down, the staircase switched back, ending at another door. This one, Rip noticed, had the number 13 visible in the dim light cast by the lone sconce.

Just as Bixby and Chance stepped onto the midway platform, the door burst open and a man wearing a gray flannel uniform stepped in.

He gave one look up the stairs and his eyes grew wide.

“Intruders!”

Bixby and Chance both squeezed off a shot, but he pulled the door shut and the bullets bounced off metal.

“Down or up?” Chance said.

Bixby did not hesitate. “Down. Quickly, now!”

They raced down the steps, keeping their guns on the door. Blair hurriedly followed, with Rip right behind her.

At the door on the landing leading out, they paused. Chance held his hand over the latch and raised his eyebrows at Bixby, waiting for the word.

“Right, then. Be careful,” the colonel said. “Open it and let’s take a peek, shall we?”

He raised his gun so he would have a clear shot.

Chance nodded and said, “Good thing they open from the inside. I won’t have to fool with locks.”

He turned the latch and pulled on the door . . .

No shots rang out. Nothing waited to greet them on the other side.

Bixby said, “Blast it all. I knew for sure that fellow had it in for us. Open it the rest of the way.”

As Chance pulled the door wide open, they could hear boots pounding on metal in the distance.

The sound grew steadily louder.