Stonebridge rose from the rolling plains like a monument to neutrality and commerce—a sprawling settlement where high stone walls enclosed a patchwork of architectural styles reflecting the diverse cultures that had found sanctuary within its boundaries. The city straddled a wide river, with massive arched bridges of carved stone providing the crossing that had given the settlement its name.

  Mike, Trolley, and Kirgen approached the eastern gate in late afternoon, having made good time on their journey from the Artificer's Workshop. The Configurator rested securely in its shielded case, carried alternately by all three to distribute the weight during their travels.

  "Remember," Trolley cautioned as they joined the queue of merchants, travelers, and traders waiting for entry, "the containment shielding will mask the energy signature, but it won't prevent physical inspection."

  "Let me handle the talking," Kirgen suggested. "I'm familiar with Stonebridge customs protocols from my Academy days."

  Mike nodded, studying the massive gates before them. His builder's eye appreciated the craftsmanship—forty-foot wooden doors reinforced with iron bands, set within a stone archway that had clearly stood for centuries. Guards in distinctive blue-and-silver uniforms patrolled the battlements above, while a similarly outfitted contingent managed the screening process at ground level.

  "Neutrality through strength," Kirgen explained, noticing Mike's interest. "Stonebridge maintains independence by ensuring no single faction gains influence over its defenses."

  As the queue advanced, Mike observed the inspection process with growing curiosity. Each traveler was required to present identification, declare any magical or technological artifacts, and pay an entry fee before being granted access. The guards were thorough but efficient, maintaining a business-like demeanor regardless of who stood before them.

  Their turn came after nearly thirty minutes of waiting. A broad-shouldered human woman with captain's insignia on her blue-and-silver uniform gestured them forward impatiently.

  "Names, origin, purpose," she demanded without preamble, a tablet-like device poised in one hand.

  "Kirgen of the Eastern Academy," Kirgen responded smoothly. "These are my associates Trolley and Mike. We're returning to our base after a research expedition in the western territories."

  The captain eyed them with practiced suspicion, her gaze lingering on Mike's unusual attire, the ancient hammer at his belt, and the woodcutter's axe strapped across his back. "Research?" she echoed skeptically.

  "Historical analysis," Kirgen clarified. "The Academy maintains field teams throughout the neutral territories."

  She seemed to accept this explanation, tapping notes into her device. "Any magical artifacts or enhanced technologies to declare?"

  The question hung in the air for a tense moment. Mike felt Trolley stiffen slightly beside him, her hand unconsciously moving closer to the shielded case.

  "Standard Academy field equipment," Kirgen replied, indicating the various devices visible in their packs. "Detection arrays, sample collection tools, communication beacons." He paused, then added with calculated casualness, "And my friend carries a family heirloom—a woodworking hammer of some historical value but minimal enchantment. The axe is purely functional."

  The captain's eyes flicked to Mike's hammer and axe, then back to her device. "Entry fee is three silver per person, or equivalent value in alternate currency."

  Mike stepped forward, reaching into his belt pouch for the gemstones he'd collected from the goblins months ago. He selected three of medium size, placing them on the small tray provided for transactions.

  The captain examined the stones briefly, then snorted. "Goblin-cut emeralds. Worth about seven silver." She reached into her own pouch and counted out four small silver coins, dropping them on the tray alongside the remaining gems. "Your change."

  "Thank you," Mike replied, pocketing both the silver and the returned stones. The transaction complete, the captain gestured them through with a bored wave.

  "Welcome to Stonebridge. Weapons remain sheathed, disputes go to arbitration, commerce ends at sunset bell. Violate neutrality protocols and you'll be removed. Permanently."

  As they passed through the massive gates, the bustle and energy of Stonebridge enveloped them like a physical force. The main thoroughfare stretched before them, lined with shops and stalls of dizzying variety. Merchants called their wares in multiple languages, exotic scents wafted from food vendors, and the air hummed with the background noise of a thousand conversations.

  "This is incredible," Mike breathed, his attention darting from one marvel to the next.

  Dwarven metalworkers operated forges that glowed with unnatural colors, crafting items that seemed to capture light in impossible ways. Elvish herbalists tended living displays of plants unknown in normal ecosystems, some of which appeared to respond to customer inquiries with subtle movements. Human traders hawked goods from distant territories, their stalls festooned with maps showing exotic origins.

  Most striking to Mike was the diversity of the population. Humans predominated, but dwarves moved through the crowds with businesslike efficiency, while elves glided with their characteristic grace. More surprising were the Zengrids—immediately recognizable by their three eyes and multi-limbed forms—conducting commerce alongside those who elsewhere would be their mortal enemies.

  "Is that... are those goblins?" he asked quietly, noticing a group of smaller figures engaged in intense negotiation with a human merchant.

  "Trade representatives from the eastern clans," Kirgen confirmed. "Stonebridge's neutrality extends to all races and factions willing to abide by its commerce protocols."

  "Even the Zengrids?" Mike couldn't keep the edge from his voice.

  "Even them," Trolley replied, her own tone carefully neutral despite the blue tracking tattoos that marked her history with the invaders. "Neutrality is absolute here. The only currency that matters is commerce."

  They moved deeper into the city, the press of bodies and sensory overload gradually giving way to a more navigable experience as Mike adjusted to the environment. The main thoroughfare eventually opened into a large circular plaza—the Grand Market, according to Kirgen—where the true heart of Stonebridge's commerce took place.

  "We should establish our priorities," Trolley suggested, finding a relatively quiet corner near a stone fountain where they could converse without shouting. "Supplies first, then information gathering."

  "I'd like to visit the Academy outpost," Kirgen added. "They might have news of my colleagues, and their archives could provide insights on the remaining Crafter locations."

  Mike nodded, his tactical mind already processing the most efficient approach. "We should split up to cover more ground, then reconvene before sunset. The market will be closing then, according to our friendly gate captain."

  "I'll handle supply acquisition," Trolley volunteered, her fingers absently brushing the case containing the Configurator. "I know exactly what we need for the return journey through the Expanse."

  "I'll come with you," Mike decided. "Kirgen can visit the Academy outpost alone more easily than with non-academic companions drawing attention." He glanced at the scholar. "Unless you'd prefer company?"

  Kirgen shook his head. "Solo visitors are less remarkable. We'll meet back here at the fountain before sunset bell." He hesitated, then added, "Be careful what you say, especially about Haven or our objectives. Stonebridge's neutrality means Zengrid agents move freely here, gathering information as actively as they trade goods."

  With this sobering reminder, they separated—Kirgen heading toward the city's northern quarter where academic institutions clustered, while Mike and Trolley remained in the market district to begin their supply gathering.

  The shopping proved both educational and bewildering for Mike. Trolley moved through the stalls with purpose, bartering with practiced skill for items ranging from mundane necessities to specialized equipment he couldn't begin to identify. The currency system—a complex arrangement of different metal coins, trade goods, and occasionally direct barter—left him confused, but Trolley navigated it with casual expertise.

  "Academy training," she explained when he commented on her bartering skills. "Understanding economic systems is fundamental to understanding infrastructure development. The Central Provinces required all engineers to complete commerce certification."

  As they passed a stall displaying various optical devices, Mike paused, his attention caught by an array of spyglasses of different designs and capabilities. The merchant—a middle-aged dwarf with spectacles perched improbably on his broad nose—noticed his interest immediately.

  "Ah, a discerning eye!" the dwarf called out. "These aren't your ordinary market telescopes, friend. Each one hand-crafted with precision lenses ground in the deep forges of Ironhold Valley."

  Mike picked up one of the spyglasses, remembering the one he'd found on the goblin sentry months ago—a tool that had proven invaluable until he'd lost it during his desperate plunge from the cliff while escaping the volcanic region. This one was far superior—brass fittings gleaming in the market light, the eyepiece padded with soft leather, extension mechanism moving with satisfying precision.

  "How much?" he asked, already reaching for the silver coins in his pouch.

  The dwarf's eyes gleamed with professional appreciation for a customer who didn't waste time with excessive haggling. "For the standard model, three silver. For that particular beauty in your hand—five."

  Mike tested the spyglass, extending it to examine a distant shop sign. The clarity was impressive, details jumping into focus that were invisible to the naked eye. Unlike his lost spyglass with its cracked lens, this one offered undistorted viewing across its entire field of vision.

  "I'll take it," he decided, counting out four of his silver coins and selecting a smaller gemstone from his pouch. "Would this cover the difference?"

  The dwarf examined the gem with expert eyes, then nodded approvingly. "A fair offer. May it serve you well on your travels."

  Mike secured his new purchase in an accessible pocket, satisfaction warming him despite the expense. The spyglass represented more than just a useful tool—it symbolized his growing adaptation to this world, replacing what had been lost with something better.

  Their next stop brought them to Riversedge Outfitters, a sprawling establishment that occupied an entire corner of the Grand Market. Unlike the open-air stalls that dominated the plaza, this was a permanent structure of stone and timber, with multiple departments dedicated to specialized equipment. Banners depicting various terrains—mountains, forests, deserts—hung above corresponding sections, while experienced guides offered consultation to travelers planning expeditions.

  "Best place for corruption-resistant gear," Trolley explained as they entered. "They supply most of the legitimate research teams and trading caravans that need to navigate the borderlands."

  The store's interior was arranged in concentric circles, with the most common supplies near the entrance and increasingly specialized equipment toward the center. Trolley led Mike directly to an inner section marked with warning symbols and staffed by attendants wearing protective gloves.

  "Ki-resistant textiles," she explained, examining a display of specially treated cloaks and garments. "Expensive, but worth every coin when crossing corruption zones."

  She selected several items—cloaks designed to shed mutated spores, gloves treated with compounds that repelled corrupted vegetation, and masks with filtration systems embedded in their fabric. The cost made Mike wince, but he trusted Trolley's judgment regarding what was necessary for their return journey.

  As they moved to another section dealing with navigation tools, Mike noticed a strange device that resembled a compass but with multiple needles pointing in different directions.

  "Corruption detector," the attendant explained, noticing his interest. "Standard issue for Academy expeditions. The red needle points toward the nearest corruption concentration, allowing you to plot safer routes."

  "We'll take two," Trolley decided, adding them to their growing collection.

  By the time they left Riversedge Outfitters, their supplies had expanded significantly, requiring a temporary storage solution. The establishment provided lockers for customers completing multiple transactions—a service they gratefully utilized before continuing their shopping expedition.

  At a particularly large stall specializing in forest navigation equipment, Trolley spent considerable time selecting specialized tools. The proprietor—an elderly woman with hands stained green from handling plant-based compounds—seemed impressed by Trolley's technical knowledge.

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  "Don't often see outsiders who understand biofiltering meshes," the merchant remarked as she wrapped their purchases. "You've traveled the deep corruption zones before."

  "Enough to respect them," Trolley replied carefully.

  The old woman's eyes narrowed slightly, her assessment growing more pointed. "Those tattoos—Central Province work, but modified. Keepercraft, unless I miss my guess."

  Mike tensed, his hand unconsciously moving closer to his hammer. Trolley, however, maintained her composure perfectly.

  "I've had many lives," she said simply. "Stonebridge respects that, doesn't it?"

  The merchant held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Indeed it does. Which is why I'm going to offer you this." She reached beneath her counter and produced a small package wrapped in waxy leaves. "Spore neutralizer. Effective against the blue-black variant spreading through the eastern corruption zones. Not on my regular inventory."

  "And not included in your official reporting to the trade authorities?" Trolley guessed.

  A thin smile crossed the woman's weathered face. "Some transactions transcend ledgers. Consider it professional courtesy."

  Trolley accepted the package with appropriate gravity, tucking it into an inner pocket of her jacket. "Your courtesy is appreciated."

  As they moved away from the stall, Mike kept his voice low. "Can we trust her?"

  "Probably not completely," Trolley admitted. "But there's a network of... sympathizers. People who see the corruption's true threat beyond the Zengrids' propaganda. They help where they can without openly aligning with resistance movements."

  "Keeping their neutrality while hedging their bets," Mike observed, adjusting the woodcutter's axe strapped across his back. The weapon's familiar weight had become comforting over the months, a constant reminder of both his adventures and adaptations in this strange world.

  "Exactly."

  Their next stop was Crystal Harmonics, a shop specializing in communication devices that occupied a cramped but meticulously organized space between larger establishments. The proprietor—an elf with unusually short hair and fingers stained with metallic residue—greeted Trolley with familiar courtesy that suggested previous transactions.

  "The standard package?" he asked without preamble.

  "With extended range modifications," Trolley confirmed. "We're traveling through varied terrain."

  The elf nodded and disappeared behind a beaded curtain, returning moments later with several crystal devices nested in protective casings. "These will maintain connection across significant distances, even through moderate corruption interference. The modifications should give you approximately double standard range."

  Mike watched as Trolley examined each component with expert precision, occasionally asking technical questions that meant nothing to him but clearly impressed the elven merchant. The transaction concluded with an exchange of currency and what appeared to be a small vial of liquid that Trolley produced from a hidden pocket.

  "Rare catalyst," she explained as they departed. "Worth more than gold to those who work with communication crystals."

  As the afternoon progressed, they accumulated an impressive collection of supplies—specialized ropes for navigating corrupted terrain, edible rations designed to counter trace Ki exposure, purification tablets for questionable water sources, and numerous other items Trolley insisted would prove essential for their return journey.

  "One more stop," she announced after they'd stowed their purchases in a temporary storage locker near the central fountain. "We need technical components that won't be available in the general market."

  She led him away from the main thoroughfare, down increasingly narrow side streets until they reached a section of the city that felt noticeably different from the boisterous market district. Here, the buildings were constructed primarily from metal rather than stone, with strange energy conduits running between structures and occasional bursts of colored light flashing from workshop windows.

  "The Mechanism Quarter," Trolley explained. "Where technologists and mechanists push the boundaries between conventional engineering and experimental applications."

  "Is this... safe?" Mike asked, noting the reduced foot traffic and the suspicious glances directed toward unfamiliar faces. His hand unconsciously drifted toward his axe, though he knew drawing it would violate Stonebridge's strict weapons protocols.

  "Safer than trying to cross the Verdant Expanse without proper equipment," she replied, her expression suggesting this district was actually more comfortable for her than the crowded market had been.

  They approached a workshop with a sign depicting interlocking gears surrounding a stylized energy crystal. Unlike the open stalls of the market, this establishment required them to announce themselves through a speaking tube beside the heavily reinforced door.

  "Credentials?" came a clipped, mechanically distorted voice.

  "Trolley Kincaid, Central Province Engineering Corps, third-tier certification in experimental energy mechanics," she responded without hesitation.

  A brief silence followed, then the door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. "Enter. Authentication and verification required for all transactions."

  The interior resembled nothing so much as an explosion of technology, with components, tools, and half-finished devices covering every available surface. The proprietor, a wiry human with metal implants visible at his temples and wrists, regarded them with clinical detachment from behind a workbench cluttered with precision instruments.

  "Province engineer," he observed, eyes lingering on Trolley's tattoos. "Defector?"

  "Realigned priorities," she corrected smoothly. "I need flux calibration components. Specifically, resonance attenuators compatible with pre-corruption energy systems."

  The technologist's expression shifted from professional disinterest to sharp curiosity. "Pre-corruption systems are rare. Mostly theoretical constructs at this point."

  "I work with historical reconstruction," Trolley replied, the cover story flowing naturally. "Academic applications only."

  "Of course," he said, in a tone that clearly indicated disbelief without particular concern. "Restoration work requires precise authentication. May I?"

  He gestured toward a device on his workbench—a scanning array similar to but more sophisticated than the detection equipment Trolley herself carried.

  She hesitated, then nodded, extending her arm for scanning. Mike tensed slightly, wondering if the device might detect the Configurator despite its shielding, but Trolley's confident demeanor suggested this was standard procedure rather than cause for alarm.

  The scan lasted mere seconds, a blue light passing over Trolley's arm and face before the technologist nodded with apparent satisfaction. "Certification verified. Central Province background confirmed. Modifications noted but irrelevant to transaction parameters."

  He disappeared into a back room, returning moments later with a small case containing components that resembled nothing Mike had ever seen—crystals interlaced with metal filaments, geometric structures that seemed to shift subtly when viewed from different angles, and sealed containers of what might have been liquid energy rather than conventional fluid.

  "Resonance attenuators, cross-spectrum calibration tools, and isolated containment modules," the technologist announced, laying each item out with meticulous precision. "Sufficient for connection to pre-corruption systems without destabilizing their foundational energy matrices."

  Trolley examined each component with expert eyes, occasionally adjusting positioning or checking connection points before nodding approval. "Price?"

  "Seven gold equivalent."

  Mike barely contained his surprise. Based on the exchange rate he'd observed in the market, seven gold represented a small fortune—far beyond the value of the gems and silver coins they carried.

  Trolley, however, seemed unsurprised. She reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a small object wrapped in protective cloth. Unwrapping it carefully, she revealed what appeared to be a data crystal similar to those used in Zengrid technology but with modifications that suggested non-standard applications.

  "Central Province experimental design schematics," she stated. "Last-generation shield harmonics with application notes for irregular energy signatures."

  The technologist's eyes widened slightly, a subtle but unmistakable indicator of the item's value. He picked up the crystal with reverent care, connecting it to a reader at his workbench. After scanning the contents briefly, he nodded with evident satisfaction.

  "Acceptable exchange. The attenuators are yours." He paused, then added with unexpected directness, "Whatever you're rebuilding, engineer, be careful. Pre-corruption systems don't always integrate smoothly with current energy paradigms."

  "That's precisely why I need the attenuators," Trolley replied with a thin smile. "Smooth integration is the objective."

  As they exited the workshop, components securely packed away, Mike couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "Those schematics—were they actually from the Central Provinces?"

  "Yes and no," Trolley admitted quietly as they navigated back toward the main thoroughfare. "The base design was Province work, but I... improved upon it after joining the resistance. The modifications are what made it valuable enough for trade."

  "You just gave away resistance technology?" Mike asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

  Trolley shook her head. "Nothing current or critical. That design has already been implemented in our primary facilities and subsequently improved upon twice. The risk is minimal compared to the value of these components for our work with Crafter technology."

  The explanation made sense from a tactical perspective, but Mike still found himself uneasy at the casual exchange of what seemed like sensitive information. The lines between resistance, neutrality, and collaboration appeared far more blurred in practice than in principle.

  They reached the central fountain just as the afternoon light began to soften toward evening. Kirgen had not yet returned from the Academy outpost, so they claimed a bench to wait, their accumulated supplies secured in rented storage lockers nearby.

  "Productive day," Trolley observed, looking more relaxed than Mike had seen her since leaving the Haven. "We've acquired everything essential for the return journey, plus components that should help integrate the Configurator with existing Crafter systems when we reach Haven."

  Mike nodded agreement, absently adjusting his new spyglass in its pocket while his attention drifted to the diverse crowds flowing around the plaza. Watching the various races and factions interacting with relative peace, he found himself wondering whether this neutrality represented hope or delusion. Could different peoples truly coexist through commerce alone, or was Stonebridge merely delaying the inevitable conflict?

  His musing was interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure hurrying across the plaza—Kirgen returning from his Academy visit. Even at a distance, the scholar's agitated movement suggested something had gone wrong.

  "We have a problem," Kirgen announced without preamble as he reached them, his scholarly composure notably absent. "The Academy outpost has been compromised. Zengrid agents have infiltrated key positions, and they're actively searching for information about Crafter technology."

  "Did they recognize you?" Trolley asked sharply, hand moving protectively toward the case containing the Configurator.

  "No, I used appropriate screening protocols. But..." He glanced around the busy plaza before continuing in a lower voice. "They have Professor Linden."

  "The expert from your expedition?" Mike recalled the name from earlier conversations. "The one you thought the Zengrids had killed?"

  "Apparently they kept her alive for information extraction," Kirgen confirmed, his expression haunted. "According to my Academy contact, she's being held in a secure facility in the northern district, awaiting transfer to a primary research center tomorrow."

  "Kirgen," Trolley said carefully, "I understand your concern, but our mission has to take priority. We've acquired the Configurator, we have the supplies needed for our return journey—"

  "She knows about the Crafters," Kirgen interrupted, his voice tight with emotion. "More than anyone else alive. Her research specialty was correlation between Crafter ruins and corruption resistance patterns. If the Zengrids extract everything she knows..." He left the implication hanging, but it was clear: the professor represented both a valuable potential ally and a dangerous information source for their enemies.

  Mike considered their situation with tactical precision, his hand unconsciously running along the smooth wood of his axe handle as he thought. Their primary objective—acquiring the Artificer's Tools—had been accomplished. Their secondary objective—gathering supplies for the return journey—was also complete. But this new development presented both risk and opportunity that couldn't be ignored.

  "Tell us about this secure facility," he said, decision crystallizing. "And everything your contact shared about security, scheduling, and personnel."

  Trolley looked at him sharply. "You're not suggesting a rescue operation? In Stonebridge? That would violate neutrality protocols—we'd be permanent exiles at best, executed at worst."

  "I'm not suggesting anything yet," Mike clarified. "Just gathering information to assess options. Kirgen's right—someone with specialized knowledge about Crafter ruins could be invaluable to our efforts, or devastating in Zengrid hands."

  Kirgen's expression shifted from distress to cautious hope. "My contact provided significant detail. The professor is being held in what appears to be a diplomatic annex—technically Zengrid territory within Stonebridge boundaries, but subject to certain limitations under neutrality agreements."

  As Kirgen outlined what he'd learned, Mike found his Tactical Positioning skill activating automatically, analyzing approach vectors, security vulnerabilities, and potential response scenarios. His mind flashed to the weight of the axe across his back, calculating its effectiveness against potential guardians they might encounter. The facility sounded formidable but not impregnable—designed for discretion rather than withstanding direct assault.

  "Security rotation changes at sunset," Kirgen continued, consulting notes he'd apparently taken during his Academy meeting. "The transfer is scheduled for early morning, which means tonight represents our only window of opportunity."

  The conversation was interrupted by a resonant tone that echoed across the plaza—the first warning bell for market closure. Vendors began securing their wares, while city guards in blue-and-silver uniforms appeared at strategic points to oversee the transition from day to evening operations.

  "We need to move this discussion somewhere private," Mike decided, standing from the bench. "And we need to decide quickly whether we're leaving tonight as planned or attempting this rescue."

  "I know a place," Trolley said after a moment's consideration. "A lodging house in the Mechanism Quarter caters to technologists requiring privacy for sensitive work. No questions asked, no records kept."

  "Lead the way," Mike agreed, gathering their immediate belongings while leaving the bulk of their supplies in the secure storage lockers.

  As they navigated through the thinning crowds, Mike found himself studying the city with new eyes—not as a marvel of commerce and diversity, but as a potential battlefield. The Zengrids' presence, previously an abstract concern, now represented an immediate threat. Somewhere in the northern district, a woman with valuable knowledge awaited transfer to a fate that would certainly involve extensive interrogation and probable death once her usefulness ended.

  The ethical calculation seemed straightforward: one life against potentially many if her knowledge helped the Zengrids locate and exploit other Crafter sites. But the tactical calculation was far more complex—risking their mission, their freedom, and the Configurator they'd worked so hard to acquire, all for an uncertain outcome.

  By the time they reached the lodging house Trolley had mentioned—an unassuming building distinguished only by a subtle emblem of interlocking gears above its door—Mike had already formulated the beginnings of a plan. Whether it would prove feasible depended on information only Kirgen and Trolley could provide.

  The proprietor accepted Trolley's credentials without comment, issuing them a key to a private room on the third floor with nothing more than a cursory reminder about payment terms and discretion protocols. The room itself was sparsely furnished but noticeably insulated against both physical and energy-based surveillance—a fact Trolley confirmed after a quick scan with one of her devices.

  "We can speak freely here," she announced, setting the Configurator's case carefully on a table before activating several small devices that created additional security layers around the perimeter.

  Mike wasted no time. "Kirgen, I need every detail about this facility, the professor's location within it, and the transfer protocols. Trolley, I need an assessment of what security systems we might encounter and how to circumvent them."

  For the next hour, they dissected the challenge from every angle. The facility—officially designated as a "cultural exchange annex" but clearly serving as a Zengrid intelligence outpost—occupied a former merchant guild hall in the northern district. Professor Linden was being held in a secure room on the second floor, according to Kirgen's Academy contact who had gained this information through careful observation and bribery of maintenance staff.

  "The transfer team arrives at dawn," Kirgen explained, sketching a rough map of the building and surrounding streets. "Six Zengrids, including a warlock of at least mid-tier capability. They'll use a covered transport vehicle with diplomatic markings—immune from Stonebridge inspection under neutrality protocols."

  "Which means once she's in that vehicle, we lose our chance," Mike observed, removing his axe and placing it within easy reach as they continued planning.

  Trolley studied the sketch with professional assessment. "Standard Zengrid security would include energy barriers at entry points, motion detection systems in corridors, and probably some form of Ki-enhanced guardian constructs."

  "Can you disable them?" Mike asked.

  She considered this, absently tracing the blue tattoos on her neck—a habit he'd noticed emerged when she was engaged in complex technical calculation. "Not remotely or permanently. But with the attenuators we acquired today, I might be able to create localized disruption. Temporary at best."

  "How temporary?"

  "Minutes, not hours. Their backup systems would activate quickly."

  Mike nodded, mentally integrating this information into his evolving plan. "And the neutrality protocols? What happens if we're caught violating them?"

  Kirgen's expression turned grim. "Immediate expulsion at minimum. More likely imprisonment pending trial by the Stonebridge tribunal. If they determine our actions endangered the city's neutral status, execution is possible." He paused. "And we'd certainly never be permitted entry again, which would eliminate Stonebridge as a resource or safe haven for future operations."

  The risks were substantial, the potential consequences severe. Yet the prospect of leaving Professor Linden to her fate—and allowing her knowledge to fall fully into Zengrid hands—seemed equally unacceptable. Mike found himself balancing tactical assessment against moral imperative, a calculation he'd faced too often since arriving in this world.

  "I think I see a way," he said finally. "Not without risk, but perhaps with acceptable parameters."

  He outlined his approach—not a direct assault, which would certainly fail against Zengrid security and Stonebridge protocols, but a more subtle intervention leveraging specific vulnerabilities in both systems. The plan required precise timing, technical expertise, and a fair amount of calculated risk, but it offered a chance of success without guaranteeing disaster if they failed.

  "We'd need to split our resources," he concluded, looking at his companions with sober assessment. "Trolley, you'd have the most critical role given your technical knowledge, but also the highest exposure if something goes wrong."

  She didn't hesitate. "I'll do it. Professor Linden's knowledge could be decisive in our larger mission. The risk is justified."

  Kirgen nodded agreement, though concern remained evident in his expression. "I'll provide whatever support I can, but I should warn you—I'm no warrior. My scholarly training included basic self-defense, but nothing approaching combat capability."

  "I'm not asking you to fight," Mike assured him. "Just to use your knowledge of Academy protocols and Stonebridge customs to help create the necessary conditions."

  As night settled fully over Stonebridge, they finalized their preparations. The Configurator remained securely in its shielded case, which they locked in the room's built-in storage vault—their most valuable acquisition safely isolated from the risk they were about to undertake. Trolley repurposed several of their newly purchased components into makeshift devices that might prove useful during the operation, while Kirgen provided detailed briefings on Zengrid diplomatic protocols and Stonebridge security response patterns.

  Mike found himself drawing on every aspect of his accumulated experience—his construction knowledge providing insight into structural vulnerabilities, his combat encounters with various enemies informing tactical approaches, and his growing understanding of this world's systems suggesting potential points of leverage. He checked his hammer, tested the edge of his axe, and adjusted the new spyglass in his pocket—each tool representing a different aspect of his evolution in this world.

  The sunset bell had long since rung, marking the transition from market commerce to Stonebridge's evening economy of taverns, pleasure houses, and entertainment venues. The northern district, according to Kirgen, would be relatively quiet—an administrative area that largely emptied after business hours except for security personnel and those with specific authorized purposes.

  "Two hours until optimal window," Mike announced, examining their crude but functional timepiece—a Stonebridge purchase that used flowing liquid rather than mechanical components to mark the passage of time. "Final equipment check, then we move."

  As they prepared for departure, removing any identifying items and securing their remaining possessions, Mike found himself thinking of Sarah and Jeremy. What would they think of him now—planning what amounted to a covert operation to rescue a stranger from hostile forces in a neutral city? Would they recognize the construction foreman who had left for work that fateful morning, never suspecting he would fall through a portal into another world?

  He had changed, Mike realized—not just in skills and capabilities, but in how he perceived challenges and calculated acceptable risks. The man who had stumbled confused and terrified into this reality months ago would never have contemplated tonight's operation. The man preparing to lead it now did so with clear-eyed assessment of both necessity and consequence.

  "Ready?" he asked his companions, receiving determined nods in response.

  They slipped out of the lodging house into Stonebridge's night-shrouded streets, moving with purpose but without obvious urgency. The rescue operation had begun.

  Behind them, safely locked in its vault, the Configurator awaited their return—the first step in their larger mission accomplished, with many more challenges yet to face.