The lift slowly ascended to Level 12. No one spoke as distant gears strained to pull them up.

Dr. Oggolopoli sat on the floor in a corner, clutching the breadboard filled with vacuum tubes to his chest.

Rip and Chance sat beside him, breathing hard from the their bullet-dodging run, while Blair and Bixby swapped out drum magazines yet again on their guns.

Dr. Oggolopoli shook suddenly, as if coming out of a stupor. He handed over the wrench to Rip.

“Thank you. Remarkable tool. Imminently adaptable. I see more enhanced people than I do objects, it seems.”

Rip took it and slid the wrench back into its familiar pocket, frowning.

“Did you say enhanced people? What do you mean by that? And what is an enhanced wrench, anyway?”

“Ah! You don’t have luminiferous ether in your world?”

“No? I think I’ve heard of ether, but . . .”

“So, a quick lesson for our visitor from another world. Much of society is built upon standard physiks. Some time ago, boffins like myself, working in the Lyceum, discovered luminiferous ether. It is invisible, weightless, and permeates everything. The mysterious fifth element, if you will. I shan’t bore with you with our centuries of investigations into its properties. Suffice it to say that today, we in the Lyceum can significantly enhance people, once they choose a specific path and receive dispensation for their enhancement from the Crown.”

Rip leaned back against the lift’s wall, frowning.

“I see. So, with the approval of the king, individuals are . . . enhanced?”

“Precisely. Baron Swathmoor, as a peer of the realm, has been enhanced with military and leadership capabilities far exceeding most of us commoners. Lady Brooke and Mr. Chance over there have their own improvements.”

Blair caught Rip’s eye and smiled.

“We already told you ours. I’m a spy and Robert is an infiltrator.”

“You said those were your classes.”

“Precisely!” Oggolopoli interjected happily. “After testing at the Lyceum, an individual undergoes a special procedure to enhance the luminiferous ether innate within us all, to bring out and accentuate those properties of the person most likely to be beneficial in their class.”

Rip chewed on his lower lip, thinking.

“Sounds like magic.”

Chance snorted. Blair smiled. Bixby raised his eyebrows at the comment.

“Not at all, Sergeant, not at all,” Oggolopoli said in a soothing tone. “The Lyceum has had over seven centuries to refine the procedures used in this process. Why, this is as scientific as alchemy!”

Rip looked at him and . . . blinked.

“Heads up, gentlemen,” Bixby said. “We’re about to pass Level 12’s lift room. Everyone stay quiet so we don’t attract the attention of the guardian statue there.”

He and Blair moved carefully to the side as the next room slowly appeared near the top of the ceiling.

The lift steadily pulled up, showing them more of the room. A collapsible grate slid across the face of the doorway. A solitary robot, same as the others, stood watching the door to the hall, ignoring the lift pulling up behind it.

Bixby put a finger to his lips in the universal symbol for “Be quiet!”

No one said a word as they continued going up, the room slowly sliding out of view below them.

When the sidewall showed metal once more instead of an open room, Oggolopoli continued with his lecture.

“Once you have your class, you’ll do those things related to the class, improving your skillset. As you improve, your gradients will incline.”

He paused, smiling happily. Then he noticed the expression on Rip’s face.

“Ah, this sort of thing is rather difficult to explain to someone who has not grown up in our world. I’m sure it must seem quite incomprehensible to you. There are in fact various theories as to how gradients work. Even the nomenclature is in some dispute. There are those who refer to the process as ‘climbing the stairs’ to another ‘floor.’ In my discipline, we use the term ‘gradient,’ although younger researchers have latched onto the term ‘tier’ in recent decades.”

Rip scratched his head and smiled.

“Don’t tell me. They’re like levels. Just like we’ve ascended to Level 12 here in the vaults.”

“Why yes, I suppose that is one way to put it. But as I said, the preferred term is gradient among the educated set. Though I suppose tier is more common, now. You can tell an old fuddy-duddy by what terms he uses.”

He smiled and cleared his throat.

“Now, you are in fact already accumulating knowledge and expertise in your future enhancement. The procedure will determine what tier with which you shall begin. Most people are rather young when they are enhanced, younger than you. Myself, I was 17.”

“And what is your class, if I may ask?”

“Researcher, originally. The class shifted with time and experience into Scholar.”

Oggolopoli’s chest swelled with pride.

“I always knew growing up I would be good at scholarly research. The initial tests confirmed my proclivities. I started almost half way to the second tier, right away, thanks to considerable experience with bookwork beforehand.”

He paused dramatically, and Rip could not help but ask the question, as if rising to the bait dangled before him.

“And what tier, or gradient, are you now?”

“That’s a personal question. But of course, you have no knowledge of our customs and social niceties. I personally don’t mind sharing, though. I am a Tier Six Scholar.”

He beamed with pride.

“You should also know it is rare indeed for someone to reach Tier Five in their lifetime. To attain Tier Six is a rare feat, indeed.”

“Does anybody go higher?”

“Certainly. The Lyceum records indicate certain Kings and Queens have achieved Tier Eight. One emperor on the continent, who spent a lifetime conquering territory, attained a documented Tier Nine. But such accomplishments are rare and usually require the privileges of royalty and a healthy coffer to help accomplish it.”

He clapped Rip on his bare shoulder.

“Many are the men who reach Tier Three in their old age, and are happy with it.”

Rip smiled at the unspoken message seeming to indicate that he would likely be lucky to hit Tier Three in this world.

Bixby hushed them again as they approached the next lift station. Everyone maintained absolute silence as they slowly passed the room. As before, the robot guarding it was turned away from them and faced the door.

In the clear once more, Oggolopoli continued.

“I can’t wait to bring you to the Lyceum, Sergeant. You represent the culmination of years of study in my chosen discipline. I finally did it! I brought someone in from a parallel world!”

He looked giddy, with a huge grin to match his magnified eyes behind the spectacles.

“He’ll need to see the king before you poke and prod him to pieces, Dr. Oggolopoli,” Bixby said in a cautionary tone. “This was royal mission, and if he truly is as big a development as you say, His Majesty may well wish to meet the Sergeant in person.”

Oggolopoli’s smile dropped.

“Tish-tosh. The palace always gums things up with intrigue and politics. If he goes in that side of Doctors’ Commons, he may never come out.”

Bixby shrugged and said, “Be that as it may, it is the king’s prerogative to examine any findings from a royal mission such as this one. I imagine Sergeant Coulter will be visiting the court first, before the Lyceum. All after our report to the Venture Society. Presuming we get out of here, of course.”

Oggolopoli’s good mood evaporated and he quieted down while the lift ascended another level.