“Our client has been notified of the Sergeant’s arrival, and he is on the way. I invite you all to remain comfortable until he appears. At that time, we will encourage the Sergeant to join us while the rest of you may leave.”

No one said anything, but Rip noticed the looks on the faces of Bixby, Chance and Blair.

King Rat noticed their expressions, too, and chuckled.

“You’re under the streets of Ethinium. This is our domain. We have wonders you who live your lives only under the sun will never know.”

Then he shrugged and added, “We can be very persuasive.”

The King Rat turned and walked back down to the side door, a splash of light briefly illuminating the tunnel as it opened.

When it clicked shut, Rip looked up at the magnet holding their weapons.

“Does it move down when more metal objects are present?”

He felt the wrench in his breast pocket, pressing against the fabric, still trying to get out.

“I’ve got an idea. Anybody have any water? A canteen or something?”

“As a matter of fact, Sergeant, I do.”

Bixby retrieved his spatial wallet and extracted a round aluminum canteen.

“I also have enough food to last the four of us one or two light meals.”

Rip took the canteen.

“You have any more metal objects in there? I think it will lower from the ceiling again if we produce more metal.”

“I have several magazine drums for the guns.”

“Okay. Put them out on the floor when I give the signal.”

“What are you going to do, if I may be so bold to ask?”

“It’s an electromagnet, right? I’m going to try and short it out.”

Rip handed his wrench to Blair and said, “Don’t let go until he throws the drums on the ground.”

She nodded, holding the wrench tightly as it pulled up toward the magnet overhead.

“Bobby, hunch down and let me jump on your shoulders. I need to get up there.”

Chance nodded and braced his hands on his knees while Rip jumped on his back, then set his feet firmly on Chance’s shoulders.

Slowly, Chance stood, his enhanced body enduring Rip’s weight.

Rip wobbled a bit, then steadied, his head now brushing within inches of the ceiling.

“Everybody ready? Now, when this thing shorts out, all our stuff is going to fall back down to the concrete. So, maybe try and cushion the fall or something.”

“I have just the thing,” Bixby said. “An Army blanket.”

“Were you planning on going camping or something?”

“Always be prepared, Lady Brooke. Help me hold the corners.”

As they spread out a gray blanket below the magnet, Rip grabbed the canteen.

“Everybody ready? You might need a third hand, Colonel, but throw those magazines as far away as you can. My theory is the magnet will come back down from the ceiling when it senses more metal.”

Bixby nodded, letting go of one corner of the blanket. He opened his wallet and flung out eight round drums full of ammo. They slid toward the portcullis on the right and clattered against the bars.

The magnet hummed louder and dropped lower once more. The enhanced wrench twisted out of Blair’s hand and almost took the blanket up with it before she grabbed her corner back down at the last second. It flew up and stuck with everything else.

The drums slid back toward the center of the room, then flew up like projectiles to the magnet.

Rip said, “Steady, Bobby.”

He opened the canteen and splashed out water on the wire leading from the ceiling down to the large magnet, dripping liquid all over the top, too.

The humming stopped and the magnet started smoking.

They heard a loud pop as the entire unit shorted out. All the guns and magazines and the enhanced wrenched dropped, the magnet’s power no longer holding them. They hit the blanket with a clatter, but Blair and Bixby held tight.

Two drum magazines and one Tommy gun missed the blanket, falling to the concrete.

“Good job, Sergeant!”

As Rip climbed down off Chance’s shoulders, he saw the notification screen flash on his implant.

[You have gained 1 point in Mechanical Discernment.]

[You have gained 1 point in Disarm Traps.]

He felt a little miffed when he read the second one.

Come on. That was worth at least two points.

Everyone quickly rearmed, but the one gun that fell to the floor had a bent barrel. Bixby pulled the magazine, putting it back in his wallet.

“Alas. I shall do without.”

“We might be able to use it for something, if it can’t be shot anymore,” Rip said.

Bixby handed the gun over, eyebrows raised.

“I saw this in a movie once, but I never tried it in real life. Let me see that blanket.”

Rip retrieved the blanket from Blair, along with his enhanced wrench. He used it to punch a hole in the blanket’s corner, then he tore off a strip of fabric.

“Are we going to stick around and investigate more, Colonel, or head back up?”

“We have our weapons back, for the most part,” Bixby said. “I say we carry on.”

Chance and Blair nodded in agreement.

Rip went to the portcullis on the right with the strip of blanket and the broken submachine gun. He wrapped the strip between two bars, tying up the rifle with it, then he used the last of the water from the canteen to wet everything down.

“Supposedly, the water strengthens the cloth.”

Then he started twisting the rifle, like a giant corkscrew handle. As he tightened the cloth, the bars on the portcullis bent inward.

Rip released the pressure and unwrapped the strip. He repeated the process on the next set of bars, leaving a space wide enough they could all slip through.

He stepped between the bars, bringing the broken gun and wet cloth with him.

Bixby said, “Brilliant, Sergeant.”

[You have gained 1 point in Disarm Traps.]

Rip glared at the now second point he had hoped for, still feeling slightly cheated. But perhaps killing the electromagnet did not actually get them out of the trap they were in, so it worked out.

The others joined him in the tunnel. In the distance, Rip spied the telltale flicker from a street lamp, casting warm rays of gaslight through a shaft leading to a grate on the street above.

He also noticed, for the first time, the distinctive odor of human waste.

Bixby stopped and pointed to their right.

“If my eyes don’t deceive me, there’s the lock we’re looking for. Mr. Chance, if you please.”

Bobby nodded, pulling out his picks.

Rip wanted to ask if he could try, and maybe raise his lock picking skill. But, he had no idea how long a first try would take him. He resolved to buy a set of picks next time he could.

The bolt slowly slid back as Chance twisted, and the door opened a crack, making a partial rectangle of light show on the wall.

Bixby raised his small semi-auto, glancing regretfully at the broken Tommy gun they left behind the portcullis.

“Everyone ready? Push it open, Mr. Chance.”