***I***

"N-nacalnik?!" Makaravich was struck by horrid recognition. Even in the dimness of the gaslamps on the edge of expiration he could discern the graying whites of Indrik's— his former employer's— labcoat. The light reflecting from the shining chrome of the metal plate embedded in the frontal lobe.The glint in the green lenses of the goggles that hid eyes full of disdain. And a brass nozzle of a handheld steamthrower which was aimed at russich's general direction.

"Blyaha muha, I-I can e-explain! Uhh... You see-..." The thief Makaravich began to spout out his excuses for which Indrik had no patience for. They blended into the background ambiance while he scanned the russich dreg, his gaze landing on the rucksack hanging barely on the shoulder and quickly shifted on a heavy-duty wrench held in a shaky ever tightening grip. Then the focus returned back to the sack from which bulged with cylindrical shapes. Indrik's prize must be still confined in their protective casing.

That was all he needed to know.

Makaravich must have sensed what was about to come, but was not quick enough. As he sprung into action with the wrench held high, he was bathed in hot steam by Indrik. With a shriek of agony that quickly morphed into gurgles, he flopped to the ground with a meaty sound. The sack and the improvised weapon clanged next to the thieving russisch on the metal grit of the floor.

Indrik knelt down beside the still twitching body, pulling the collar of his shirt above his nose, for he hated the smell of boiled or steamed meat. Blood trickled down from every possible opening like tears; while skin and flesh had noticeably sagged downwards. Most likely muscles had been separated from bone.

The researcher carefully tried to remove the rucksack's strap, not wanting to touch his handiwork, but the russisch's hand got stuck on the grit. The pulling resulted in tissue being separated from the bone. With great effort Indrik managed to hold his breakfast inward and to finally seize his prize.

Wasting no time, he untangled the knot like a child unwrapping a present on christmas eve. There it finally was. As he suspected, brass document tubes: all fully sealed. This made his mouth's corners curve upwards slightly. His life's work; his research was safe with him again.

He secured the rucksack over his back and stood up, spitting at Makaravich's corpse. Russisch bastard! Indrik never had much faith for a drunkard thug he had found strewn on the floor in a bar. Cheap, disposable labor was all he was, for the researcher's faith was in his own security systems. A theft from such lowlife was expected, but he had not expected treachery in his designs. The safe had been breached and with its contents gone: his blueprints, his notes, his formulas. All gone!

It was already evident that an ape like Makaravich had no use for Indrik's work. Someone else knew about its existence and desired it greatly. So much, in fact, that they even provided russisch with high end tools for the job which made even the researcher envious, for he had to make financial compromises where he could, including tools. He should return for them later.

To think that Makaravich would leave something this valuable in his rat den means that quite a bit of coin was on the table, yet the russisch's rush was beneficial to Indrik as well. The dreg had left a discarded piece of parchment with letters and numbers that would confuse a casual eye. Not Indrik, for he was a tunnel-rat once.

The thief's rendezvous with his mysterious benefactor will be here at the maintenance tunnel- B36C7. The pipe, wire and tube mess that is the Riga's underbelly is a maze to the outsider, so even with the head start Makaravich didn't stand a chance. The researcher had rushed through many shortcuts to be the first at the meeting spot. An access hole here, a ventilation shaft there and here he was thanks to his ability to squeeze through narrow spaces. That one laundress seemed particularly unhappy when he began his descent at the local washhouse.

Indrik picked up the discarded heavy-duty wrench, inspected the red painted tool in his hand and tried a few mock swings. The utensil had a comfortable grip and had a considerable heft that is desirable in a bludgeoning weapon. Too much caution has not killed anyone.

The researcher took a stance where russisch once did, weapon in each hand. One end is tied, now the other one awaits. He shook the steamthrower gently in an examinatory fashion. It was a portable one-handed variant with a limited capacity canister. Good for steaming a pack of rodents, but to take down a one man he had wasted a half, thus he had at least one burst remaining.

Indrik had favoured this armament over a coil-blaster for a more silent takedown. The hiss of its belching stream of steam would fit at home with its more peaceful brethren. Though he had not accounted for the scream of agony, but it was not uncommon to get injured here and in this backdrop might have just resounded as a painful yelp.

After what seemed to be a half an hour had passed till the researcher finally heard footsteps. More than one set and they were heavy. One by one dark shapes formed in the gloomy mist of the corridor: three in total. As foolish as that may sound, Indrik did not perceive the possibility that there could be more than one collector. With one he could deal with, two is a maybe, but three was way too much.

Calculating his odds, the researcher decided that the best course of action would be— to flee! With a downward strike he dislodged a valve from one of the main pipes, flooding the area with steam and making his escape.

He jumped, leaped and slided through the many obstacles of the maintenance tunnels. Memories of his former days as a tunnel-rat flashed by as he Indrik grinded to a halt. At this specific junction there was a major water pipe that cut through a wall and led directly to sector-B's main exit. A narrow gap surrounding that pipe. A tight squeeze, but doable.

He shoved his weapons over to the other side, then proceeded to dislodge both of his shoulders and wiggled like a maggot through the opening, flopping to the ground. At the right time too, as multiple pairs of footsteps slowed down near his location, but soon hastened and passed onward.

After sighing in relief Indrik stood up with his arms swaying lifelessly. That needed a fix. Using the force of his body mass, he slammed backwards into the wall which transferred kinetic energy through a pressure plate on his back to a pneumatic mechanism. With swift pull his shoulders were painfully back in their place.

The researcher secured his armaments and rushed for the exit. One more staircase and he will be in the safety of the streets.

As his boots clanged against the metal steps, about to pass a side tunnel on the left, for a moment he saw a glint of silvery steel. Indrik immediately, as fast as he could muster, turned his steamthrower leftward, blasting the tunnel entrance with steam. Had the researcher hesitated for a moment more it would have been his last, as a curved blade merely grazed the top of his metal forehead, making a metallic screeching sound.

He flew through the hatchway and then closed shut, tightening the valve. With a nearby scrap pipe he jammed it and, to be sure, whacked it a few times for good measure. Next thing Indrik knew: he had scrambled across the cobbled streets into the flow of Riga's masses.