Rip sat beside Blair in a hansom cab, the horse methodically clip-clopping over the cobblestones toward Pickle Leigh Street.

She snored lightly, her head leaning against his shoulder.

He didn’t mind. He felt sleepy himself as he reflected on the fight’s aftermath.

The girls were reunited with Lady Fisher. Rip gave a preliminary report to Hedgefield, who asked him to appear before a larger hearing on the morrow.

Rip suggested that Blair outranked him, so she should probably be the one making any public statements.

Hedgefield glanced at her. She could barely stay awake, even standing there.

“You’ll do fine,” she said, yawning. “You can’t twist your way out of this just because you don’t like speaking in front of crowds.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I’m a spy. I know people.”

With assurances from Lady Fisher that Anna and Molly would also appear for the report, Rip said goodbye to everyone and hailed a cab. He helped Blair inside when one stopped to pick them up.

On the seat, Blair leaned back, exhausted.

She smiled sleepily and said, “Your first team.”

He chuckled.

“It didn’t really feel like an official one. It was more like part of a larger team . . .”

But she was already snoring.

At the townhome he helped her out and managed to get her awake enough to walk on her own. He tipped the cabdriver and helped her inside.

Nancy met them at the door. She grew alarmed at the sight of Blair, leaning against Rip.

“Is she injured?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s just under the influence of some sleeping powder, or something.”

Nancy ran off to prepare Blair’s bed. When Rip felt reasonably sure that Blair could follow her and not fall asleep halfway down the hall, he headed for the guest cottage.

Honestly, I feel pretty tired myself, he thought.

He lockpicked the door to his cottage, out of habit. He walked past the sofa and the pile of books from Blair’s library piled nearby, and headed for his own bedroom.

There, he stripped to his underwear and plopped down on the bed.

“Man, that powder really did a number on us,” he said, suppressing a yawn.

Absently, he opened his implant’s interface, grateful for easy access to his stats.

[Unbreakable Will] and [General Combat] had each gained two points since he last looked. He was pleasantly surprised to see both go up, thanks to the fights with the Luddites and Cream. He had also gained one point each in [Detect Traps], [Lock Picking], [Night Vision], [Mechanical Discernment], and [Weaponry].

While the haul was not as impressive as it had been after going down in the steam vault and fighting all those enhanced robots, it seemed evenly distributed.

He noted the implant also acknowledged his knighthood, and he wondered if any stats might develop out of that.

Obviously not yet, at least at this level, he thought.

[You are a Tier 2.72 Battle Rogue Technologist.]

[Nobility Achieved. Level: Knight]

[Skill: Unbreakable Will, 1.12]

[Skill: Detect Traps, 1.12]

[Skill: Vampiric Speed (Boon), 1.25]

[Skill: Transporter (Combo), 1.30]

[Skill: Night Vision (Boon), 1.32]

[Skill: Disarm Traps, 1.45]

[Skill: Lock Picking, 1.50]

[Skill: Mechanical Discernment, 1.53]

[Skill: Stealth, 1.56]

[Skill: Weaponry, 2.32]

[Skill: General Combat, 2.49]

He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about tomorrow. Rip sincerely hoped his public hearing, in which he would be forced to play the role of team leader and do most of the talking, would not be a big spectacle.

“Maybe it’ll be held in one of the smaller rooms. Maybe it’ll even be a private hearing.”

But in his heart, he doubted both statements. First, Cream was already a media spectacle, and so was he. Second, he had seen the way these things worked. The king might ask for a second private hearing, with far more detail. He’d probably be talking in front of people all day. Or at least until lunch.

With those thoughts in mind, he rehearsed what he could say out loud for public consumption. Not too much happened that should be secret, he thought, but he would probably downplay some of the more grisly details, at least in public.

“Gotta remember everything’s gonna be repeated in the papers.”

Then his mind drifted to the marketplace and the prototype speed loader Sergio Cuellar had developed. He wondered if the man had been able to start a production line yet. Would that be something that Blair’s father could assist in? Rip filed away that thought for later.

With the introduction of petroleum jelly and fluoride toothpaste, he hoped to start leaving a mark on this world, making it a better place. He thought back on all the history books he had read, and papers he had written in college, and considered the next suggestions he could offer to help this world along.

“Someday, I’ll have to tell them about the transistor.”

His mind wandered over to all the disabled robots down in the vault. At some point, that would need addressing. Perhaps the best thing to do tomorrow, after the hearings, would be to encourage RVS to send him back down there. Those girls from Lady Fisher’s school certainly seemed capable enough. Maybe they would be interested in joining a group going down there?

“Speaking of the girls . . .”

He looked over at the wrench sticking out of his jacket pocket. The image of it sticking out of Cream’s head was still fresh in his mind.

“That was the first thing I found in this world. It’s been worth its weight in gold.”

Then his eyes grew heavy as drowsiness began creeping over his mind.

Rip’s thoughts turned to Blair before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

-+-

A giant black airship sank slowly out of the clouds at the Gretna Green steam vault, nose pitched down and its propellers working hard, forcing it lower.

At the last minute the dirigible leveled out and dropped its mooring ropes in the middle of the giant outer ring. Sewer troopers ran out, grabbing the lines and feeding them into massive ground winches. Immediately they brought the ship under control, then slowly pulled it to the ground.

Its huge sliding door rolled open, so recently used to drop enhanced robots over Ethinium. This time Dar Caul stepped out, scowl firmly fixed to his face under his black peaked cap.

Another man approached, likewise wearing a black cap and a black leather overcoat. He nodded at Caul, silently greeting him as an equal.

Almost imperceptibly, Caul nodded back.

“Dar Moss.”

“Dar Caul.”

“You have found it?”

“Yes. The last one was finally recovered in a search today.”

The two walked side-by-side, heading for a doorway inside the ring. The sewer troopers they passed snapped to attention, but the men ignored them.

“How many were there?”

“Altogether, 1,581. The last one must have been carried away by the wind. We found it a good half mile from the others.”

“And all are readable?”

“Yes.”

They reached the door and Moss opened it, waving for Caul to enter first before following him inside. Their black leather boots clanged on the metal floor.

Moss stopped three doors down where a robot stood, cradling a big 9-50 in its arms.

He produced a key and unlocked the door. They walked inside to a large room with four long tables, sewer troopers moving all around them with cloths and brushes.

Caul looked at all 1,581 punch cards Dr. Oggolopoli had lost during his escape. Some looked wet, still. Some had been crumpled, and smoothed out. Others looked like they landed in mud. The troopers tended to each one, cleaning them and smoothing them out.

Another trooper walked around with a notebook, marking down details about each card.

The lines on Dar Caul’s face eased. He did not smile, but his perpetual frown decreased in intensity, somewhat.

“This is very good. How soon can we run the cards through our tabulator?”

Moss grimaced.

“I can’t say for certain yet. Our next challenge is figuring out their proper order. However, we can do experiments for that. Already, I have a team making a backup set of cards so that we can run multiple instances without losing any.”

Caul nodded, his eyes taking it all in.

Moss looked at him, expectantly.

When he did not reply, Moss said, “Rest assured, Dar Caul, we will succeed.”

“Good. I want my own otherworlder. And, I want to know how to cross over to their world, as well. We need to figure out how to send our people there.”

Moss nodded.

At last, Caul had seen enough. He turned to leave and Moss followed.

At the door, Caul glanced back one last time at all the tables and the punch cards.

This time, his lips slowly curled up in a smile.

End of Book I