Marceau made a twirling motion with his hand, one finger extended. Gigi and Pierre stepped up, flanking him on either side with weapons at the ready.

The three of them effectively blocked the corridor from the other team with the maneuver. Rip held his hand up, holding his people back as they stood to watch how their French counterparts would handle this threat.

Everyone stood, tense, as the steps clanged closer. Gigi loaded her weapon and aimed, waiting.

As soon as the robot came around the bend and fully into sight, She fired her crossbow. Rip noticed a thin trail of twine following the bolt and guessed it was similar to their harpoons in that regard. A spool whizzed on the gun as the line shot out following the bolt.

The quarrel pinged off the far wall in front of the machine, ricocheting at an angle to go behind the bot before pinging against metal again.

Rip raised an eyebrow as he noticed the twine stuck to both sides of the hallway, essentially trapping the bot in a V shape. The first leg connected to the crossbow and crossed the bot’s path going forward. The second leg connected that wall with the other, and blocked the path going back.

The bolt, energy expended, clattered further away, finally rolling to a halt.

The robot stopped advancing, its head tilting down to face a thin white line crossing the hall at an angle.

Marceau looked over his shoulder at Rip and the others.

He said, “Back up.”

Everyone stepped back until the robot was once again hidden around the bend in the hall.

“Mind the bullets to come. Against the wall, everyone.”

They dutifully lined up along the wall, pressing flat against the metal.

Marceau nodded at Pierre who stepped forward confidently, pulling a windup mouse out of his pack and turning the key.

“Hey, that’s our trick,” Twig said.

Chance said, “I suppose it’s not a trade secret or anything.”

Pierre hugged the bend with his back and set the mouse down so that it would dart toward the bot. Then he held his ears as the machine started shooting at the floor.

When it stopped, the mouse a tangled mess of gears and fake fur, he pulled another one out. This time, everyone heard the distinctive click of a bolt sliding on an empty chamber. The shooting stopped.

Marceau turned to the others, smiling.

“That is way we do it in France. You see? Not a problem.”

“Until you run out of materials,” Blair said. But her tone indicated she was intent on only pointing out the obvious. It was not a criticism.

“What’s with the twine?” Rip said, nodding toward the white line extending from the crossbow to the far wall. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“It is sticky,” Gigi said, with a note of pride in her voice. “Metal men do not cross a line off the ground. It has to do with something in the way they were made.”

Rip raised his eyebrows and said, “I did not know that. Did you know that, sweetie?”

Blair said, “No.”

No one on his team seemed aware of the fact, including the infiltrators who shook their heads when Rip translated for them.

“Well, you learn something new every day. I wonder what could be gleaned from all the different countries’ adventurers if we got together and compared notes.”

“Indeed,” Marceau said, turning back to the trapped robot. “But now comes the dangerous part, where we must hurry past the robot and try to avoid his arms, which will be flailing about. You don’t want to get caught by one of these. Even enhanced, they can be very painful to deal with. First, everyone must duck under the web line or jump over, but do not let it fall to the floor, whatever you do. Then the machine becomes mobile again.”

“Wait, aren’t you going to disable it?”

Rip had no desire to draw near a steam vault robot, having dealt with several in close proximity before.

Marceau chuckled.

“The metal guardians, they are not so easy to disable, my friend. Trapping them in place then squeezing by while they are out of ammunition is best. Trust me, the Foreign Legion has been handling these things for many years. This is how we deal with the problem in the vaults.”

“You’ve just got to take them out with their Achilles’ heels,” Rip said, drawing a handgun from his shoulder holster.

At Marceau’s questioning glance, Blair said, “It’s their face. Their eyes, actually, not their feet. Don’t worry, it’s a saying from his world. You’ll get used it. Very little of his sayings make a lot of sense. But, his ideas are quite effective.”

Rip shouldered by Pierre who made room for him, then he rounded the bend.

“Halt! Intruder!”

The bot raised its empty gun at him, but it stopped at the web-like twine crossing the corridor and did not step closer.

Rip aimed carefully, noticing [General Weaponry] notch up as he did so.

He squeezed the trigger and the robot’s right eye exploded in shards of glass, the bullet pinging around inside, breaking vacuum tubes.

They heard servos winding down and the bot slumped. Its gun clattered to the floor, arms hanging loosely and head bowed.

“Remarkable,” Marceau said, walking up behind Rip and examining the disabled machine. Everyone else followed behind him. “We will add this knowledge to our repertoire.”

“Good deal. We’ll swipe your line crossing trick, too.”

Marceau smiled, his cheek scar bobbing. Then he waved to the others.

“Come along. The next door leading down is not far away.”