Troopers swarmed out of the doors in a seemingly endless stream.

They formed up in ranks, aiming their guns at the cluster of people in the middle of the giant ring.

No one fired yet.

Because Oggolopoli stood in their midst? Rip did not know.

He felt very exposed with all those weapons pointed their way.

The others felt the same.

“We’re sitting ducks out here, Colonel! We’ve got no cover!”

“And no dynamite!”

“Have a little faith, Mr. Chance, Lady Brooke. I think our salvation is arriving from above . . . now!”

Rip looked up in time to see the prow of a bright silver dirigible dipping through the clouds, pointing down at an angle toward the huge metal circle.

A second later its cabin appeared, tucked safely underneath, sleek and wooden with wide glass panels in front and along the sides.

Most of the troopers looked up too, in time to hear the engines churning away, huge propellers spinning at maximum velocity, pushing the big airship down . . . down . . .

Canisters shot out from side guns. They landed to the right and left, billowing smoke as they bounced. In an instant, a wall of white vapors sprang up between the five in the middle and the troopers on either side.

“Get ready! The ladders are dropping!”

A trap door slid back on the bottom of the cabin, and half a dozen rope ladders dropped out, unrolling fast. They dragged along the metal floor, racing for them as the pilot pulled up on the dirigible’s nose, leveling her out.

Just as the ropes started to go up in the air, the last dangling rungs rising up off the metal floor, they ran into the team.

“Grab on, everyone!”

Bixby slung his gun over a shoulder and stood in front of an oncoming rope, hands up and ready to grab on. The rope lifted up him off his feet, carrying him forward. Blair and Chance followed suit, jumping up and grabbing ladders.

Oggolopoli struggled with his briefcase and the breadboard, awkwardly trying to hold onto both while reaching for a rope ladder. He hugged the breadboard to his chest, hoping the vacuum tubes wouldn’t break, and reached up with the hand holding his briefcase.

The ladder hit him and dragged him off his feet. The briefcase flew open on impact. All the cards flew out, thousands upon thousands of them fluttering in the wind.

“My punchcards!”

“Hang on, Doctor!”

Somehow the web of ladders missed Rip. He securely tucked the enhanced wrench in his front pocket and strapped the broomhandle over his shoulder.

Then he ran.

The Sewer Troopers had enough. One side shot into the fog, hitting troopers on the other side, who then returned fire. A hail of bullets zipped through the smoke.

Rip lunged at the last moment and caught a rung. He held on for dear life as it quickly flew away from the ground.

The nose of the dirigible tipped up . . . up . . . bringing five dangling figures on rope ladders along with it. They crested the far side of the outer ring and Rip found himself looking down at a bleak muddy field a hundred feet below.

Heedless of the height, or the danger, Bixby climbed up his ladder several rungs.

He yelled to the others over the wind.

“Hang on! The winches should kick in any minute and pull us up!”

Indeed, Rip felt his rope ladder jerk. When he looked up, the distance to the bottom of the cabin and the trap door above seemed to be decreasing.

Oggolopoli dropped his briefcase in frustration and held onto the rope with one hand and the robot’s breadboard with another.

Rip watched the empty briefcase sail away and land in muddy water, now farther below than ever.

He looked up and the trap door seemed very close now. A moment later and he reached the top just as a giant winch inside cut off.

Bixby pulled everyone in, making sure everyone was safe, one by one. Finally he grabbed Rip’s arm and pulled him aboard.

Chance helped with the last of the rope ladders, and Bixby slammed a button on the wall. The trap door slid shut, blocking out the roaring wind and cutting off the view of the ground, now far below.

A speaker on the wall crackled to life with a voice Rip thought carried something like a Scottish burr.

“Aye, welcome aboard the Steel Comet! Always happy to pick up passengers in the nick o’time! And where might you people be wanting to go today?”

Bixby smiled at everyone with a “told you so” grin.

Chance frowned, looking like he was ready to shoot someone while Blair stood holding her knees, as if catching her breath.

Oggolopoli sat down off to one side, still clutching the breadboard to his chest. He looked as if he might puke any minute.

Rip dragged himself away from the trap door, just in case it decided to open again. He leaned up against the curved interior wall, and let his head loll back. Already, even hundreds of feet in the air instead of safely on the ground, he felt better now that nobody was shooting at him.

Bixby continued smiling and turned to a small microphone built into the wall, just below the speaker, and pressed a button.

“We’ll be going home now. Brilliant execution as always, Mr. Powell. The smoke canisters helped extricate us from a fine pickle indeed.”

“Not a problem, Baron Swathmoor,” the jolly voice boomed out of the speaker. “I’ll tack them on to my bill when we settle up. Onward to Ethinium then. We’ll turn south, and we should be at Carlyle Aerodrome in a matter of hours.”

“Very well. My thanks to you and your excellent aeronautical skills, as usual Mr. Powell.”

They heard a laugh come back over the speaker.

“You can thank me by paying up quickly, Baron!”

Then the speaker clicked and the line went dead.

“Sounds like a reasonable fellow, so long as he gets paid,” Rip said.

“He’s the best pilot in the kingdom,” Bixby said. “And the Steel Comet is the best private airship. I’ll go up to the bridge and have a word. We’ll have free reign of the cabin. I’m sure he’ll charge us for anything you eat or drink, but after the crown pays us for safely retrieving Dr. Oggolopoli, I’d say we can afford it.”

Rip nodded and closed his eyes, resting. Bixby turned and walked through a bulkhead, heading toward the prow.

“Come along, Robert,” Blair said when he left. “Let’s go find the alcohol. I’m sure there’s some onboard.”

“I’m sure Powell will charge us extra for that, if we raid his liquor cabinet.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

They walked through the same bulkhead, leaving Rip alone with Oggolopoli.

Rip sighed, trying to let the adrenalin drain from his system. His body started complaining about the recent abuse he put it through.

He opened his eyes when he heard a sob.

Big, fat tears looked three times their normal size behind the professor’s glasses.

“What’s the matter, Doctor? You’re safe now.”

Oggolopoli fumbled in a pocket for a handkerchief and blew his nose, making a loud honking sound.

“It’s not that. I’ve lost all my punch cards! They had the proper sequence to open a gate between worlds. It’s what brought you here to us, Sergeant.”

He locked eyes with Rip and shuddered, bringing his sobs under control.

“Without them, I can’t prove anything to my colleagues at the Lyceum. I can’t replicate the experiment!”

“Hm. Well, that’s not so bad. Who cares what a bunch of uptight academics think, anyway?”

Oggolopoli blinked in surprise at this statement.

“It’s not just that, Sergeant. The calculations necessary for opening a portal require a tabulator, specifically the Hallwood T-1, hooked up to an electrical resonance transformer. Without those cards . . . I can’t send you back!”