Rip glared over his shoulder in the cool night air at the spotlight focused on him, and temporarily went blind as the incredibly bright light struck him full in the face.

Just before that, though, he squinted enough for [Mechanical Discernment] to kick in on the hulking shape of theairship looming behind the bright light.

[You see the Silver Comet, an enhanced airship.]

Well at least it’s friendly, Rip thought. It won’t fire on me or anything, I don’t think. That’s good.

He turned away from the bright light and let his [Night Vision] reassert itself.

For the tenth time in as many minutes, he thought about climbing up the rope. His grappling hook found purchase under a flap. And so far, the flap’s movements had not been affected by the chunk of metal right below it. But, it looked like if he climbed up there, the hook might get jostled and let go.

He glanced down and decided once again that he very much did not wish to let go right now.

Maybe it’ll be safer over water or something. Although you know, I am enhanced. I wonder if I could survive a fall like this.

For right now, he decided he was content to tag along for the ride, quite literally. Nothing seemed to be happening, until the Steel Comet came up behind them, seemingly out of nowhere.

That guy has a tendency to show up at the most opportune moments, doesn’t he? He must have been responsible for all that gunfire I heard back there.

Out of amusement, Rip began thinking of an appropriate nickname for Powell. Maybe something related to a pop culture reference that only Rip knew about.

The only problem with an inside joke like that is, I’m the only one who’ll ever get it. And it’s not as much fun when no one else gets it.

His internal reveries were interrupted when the big sliding door on the side of the airship slid open. A shaft of light from inside shot out into the evening, adding a perpendicular beam to Powell’s spotlight shining on the tail.

Rip frowned and tried to control the motion of air flowing around him so he could get a steady view of what was happening. Ahead, it looked like they were coming up on St. Paul’s Cathedral. Or at least, this world’s version of what would be called St. Paul’s Cathedral in London on his world.

Rip watched as the three bots leaped out of the doorway in quick succession, arms and legs spread wide like metal starfish.

As if suddenly dumping ballast, the big black airship jumped straight up with the abrupt loss of weight.

Rip glared at the falling bots, following them with his [Night Vision]. Then he glanced up ahead at the approaching landmark.

“Not St. Paul’s!”

He grit his teeth, and let go of the rope.

He tucked his arms in and kept his legs together, adding speed to his free fall and pointed toward the bots.

He skimmed down fast, like a human dart, and tackled the back of the nearest robot just before they reached the rooftops.

They tumbled, man and bot. Rip pressed down with enhanced strength and twisted, putting the metal between himself and the fast approaching rooftop.

With a small explosion they hit the side of an apartment building, knocking tiles and bricks off. The bot ripped down the side of the outer wall, stripping a huge gash going down, like an architectural zipper.

Rip heard a woman scream as her wall split open to the outside, but the sound faded quickly as the bot continued down with Rip riding on top.

The machine hit the sidewalk below with another loud boom, cobblestones flying along with bricks from the wall.

Rip jumped at the last minute and rolled, all his energy dispersing on the pavement. He, too, lay flat on his back staring up at the airship, now higher in the sky. He could see the Steel Comet angling up and shooting at it now, but a single small blast rather than machinegun fire. Suddenly, glowing paint appeared on the black airship’s tail.

Pulling his attention away from the battle in the air back to the street, Rip stood up and quickly assessed his injuries while popping the top on a health potion. The street seemed mostly deserted at the moment, which was good, he decided.

He looked around, wondering where the other robots fell. But when his back turned to the small crater, he heard servos whining as the nearby robot sat up, apparently running its own self-assessment.

Rip finished his potion quickly and tossed the vial aside. He pulled out a Webley and aimed for the unit’s eyes.

But the robot had seen him. It raised a hand, and the enhanced bullets bounced off, leaving dents in metal rather than taking out the more vulnerable optics.

It stood and climbed out of the crater, then ran for him. Rip fired off five more shots, all intercepted by the protective hand shielding its face.

He grimaced and put the gun back in his shoulder holster, crouching as the machine came near. Rip jumped at the last minute when its free arm came close enough to swipe at him.

He sailed over its grasp and landed near the face, pulling down on the protective arm. It shifted and flung him off. With a burst of adrenalin, he pulled out his other Webley and fired a shot at the now unguarded face.

He heard the tinkling of glass and the echo of the bullet bounding around inside, then he landed hard on his butt and skid backward several feet.

“Aw, man. You ruined my pants!”

With a burst of speed, the bot raced for him, no longer shielding its face.

Rip’s expression changed, and he squeezed off another round, but this one went over the machine’s head.

Then it was there, scooping him up in both arms. The bot pulled him to its chest and squeezed.

Rip could not move his arms. He felt his chest compress, and his ribs cracking. He grunted in pain as the metal arms squeezed harder, making it difficult to breathe.

The bot squeezed even harder, making his face red and his eyes bulge out.

For the first time since dealing with the vault’s robots, he felt . . . helpless.