Blair took one look at the thin jetty stretching out to the sliding door, and the distant cloud cover far below, and she refused to set foot outside. Instead, she hurried to the head to throw up what remained of her breakfast.

Rip asked the Verez sisters if they would like to visit the exchange post, but they politely declined.

“Someone might recognize us,” Liza said.

Hilda added, “We wouldn’t want to cause a panic, this high up. Central Europeans know our kind more than Umbrians. You go on along, Ripley. Have fun.”

Powell continued showing no interest in leaving the ship. He waited patiently for the Luftaustausch service crane to make an appearance. Rip stood on the bridge with him, watching out the large window at all the dock activity.

The crane moved slowly along a set of circular tracks and could be positioned near any one of the docked airships. Rip decided they only had one crane due to weight, as that seemed to be the primary consideration for everything on this floating city.

When the device finally wheeled to a stop next to the Steel Comet, he watched as it slowly unfolded, with two men riding in a cherry picker box at the end. It stretched out, reaching down and toward the rear of the ship.

Powell paced nervously around the tight floor space of the bridge, obviously wishing he could be out there with the men working on his ship. A few minutes later, the crane retracted, and Rip noticed that now along with the men it also held one of the ship’s rear engines.

When the cherry picker reached the platform, another group of men stood ready to take the engine away. They had a newer model, freshly unpacked from a shipping crate, ready to swap out. This model looked bigger, and more robust. Rip’s [Mechanical Discernment] picked up a notch as he read off the stats on the new engine.

Soon the crane stretched out accordion style once more, and the men resumed their work, hooking up the new engine.

Rip said, “Alright. I guess I’ll go out there and look around.”

Powell nodded, distractedly. Rip left the bridge and let the man worry on his own.

When he saw Chance staring out the door, he said, “Want to see if we can pick up something interesting at the marketplace?”

Chance’s eyes lit up with the idea, and together they gingerly set foot on the thin wooden strip suspended outside the sliding door.

Rip traipsed the distance over to the larger platform without looking down. Neither did Chance, but he sweated all the way, holding his hands out for balance.

When they finally reached the safety of the large circular deck, Chance said, “Blimey, that’s a long way down.”

“Yeah. I’m thinking we could probably sell a ton of parachutes to people who live and work up here.”

“I dunno. That dock master would likely gripe about the added weight, eh?”

Rip smiled at that statement as they made their way toward the large circle’s center, passing under massive balloons that floated above the outer ring, holding everything up.

“Either way, let’s keep our interspatial wallets out of sight as much as possible. No point in giving away all our secrets.”

They soon approached the very middle of the platform. Here, a 20-foot tall statue of a man, cut out of balsa wood, stood with one hand outstretched as if showing off the sky. Rip and Chance slowed as they took it in. On a placard, also carved in wood, they read the man’s name: “Ferdinand Adolf Heinrich August Graf von Zeppelin.”

“Hm. I guess it kinda makes sense they’d honor Zeppelin,” Rip said.

“Ach! Is that Umbrian I hear? Come here, come here, mein Herren. I have wares you cannot buy back home!”

They turned and looked at a long line of booths circling around the base of the wooden statue. In the one to their right, a beaming German salesman held his arms wide. Behind him, clothes, guns, ammunition, toys and even some band instruments were strewn around and hanging on pegs.

“Klaus Schulmann, so pleased to make your acquaintance. It is so very rare these days I gain the opportunity to practice mine Umbrian. But I do have some recent items from Ethinium. Have you heard of Doktor Colfax? He had developed some excellent things.”

Chance opened his mouth to reply, but then decided against it. Instead he moved closer to the booth along with Rip.

“What can I interest you in? I have a wide variety of wares, you see?”

“We’re interested in enhanced items,” Rip said, ignoring the overpriced safety razors and bottles of petroleum jelly arrayed on the booth. “Particularly clothing and ammunition.”

Shulmann’s face dropped. Then his eyes narrowed with a hint of lust for money.

“Ach! You must be from the Royal Venture Society, ja? Only they are interested in such things.”

Chance nodded and said, “Ja!”

Schulmann reached down to some shelves hidden from view. When he stood up, he held several jackets, neatly folded.

“These are enhanced. They are proof against the bullets, ja? Take a see, take a see. Only 500 francs each. You have Umbrian sterling? Seven hundred fifty pounds. A bargain, ja?”

Both men frowned, looking at the jackets. A notification popped up in Rip’s mind’s eye.

[You see poorly enhanced linen jackets.]

He concentrated on the popup, something he had not done before very often. A dropdown menu appeared, with more data.

[Original composition: cotton, Egyptian. Estimated production site: Dusseldorf. Estimated enhancement quality: 35%.]

“I think we’ll pass. These are very poorly enhanced. They may last a long time with normal wear, and not fall apart like a regular jacket over time, but I don’t think they’ll be all that effective in a firefight. Certainly not against high caliber bullets.”

Schulmann’s eyes grew round, with a look of astonishment. He pulled the jackets back down to their shelf under the booth, the tips of his ears growing bright red.

“Oh, sir! I see you are man of, how you say? Urteilsvermögen.”

“Discernment,” Rip said with a smile, after his popup offered a translation.

“Ja! Discernment. Wait here. I shall retrieve the good stuff. Der beste.”

“If he wants that much for the shoddy stuff,” Chance whispered as Schulmann moved to the back of his booth and rummaged through some chests, “I wonder how much he’ll ask for quality products?”

Rip shrugged and waited patiently for the salesman to return with a new round of jackets. These were khaki, and resembled those worn by Venture Society members.

“I fear I must ask for much more with these, mein Herren,” Schulmann said, bowing apologetically as he set the pile of jackets down on the counter for their inspection. “But they truly are the best I have.”

Rip picked one up and rubbed the material with his thumb. His popup this time indicated the place of manufacture to be Mancunium, which he recalled was this world’s name for the city of Manchester.

That explains the similarity to RVS gear, he thought.

Out loud he said, “These might be a little better.”

The look on Schulmann’s face indicated offense.

“Sir! You will find no better enhanced outerwear anywhere!”

“Maybe.”

He handled another jacket with a frown, rubbing the cloth between his fingers.

Reluctantly, Rip sniffed and asked, “How much?”