At the far eastern terminus of the vaulted water tank, the rusted narrow high walkway ended against a massive, high-pressure inner wall door forged of heavy naval-grade armor plate.
The door was four inches thick, secured with six high-pressure locking pins. Then it painted the dull gray of high-security military installations. Stenciled in black heavy-duty paint across the central hatch was the designation. CHIMERA RESEARCH Work-yard 14 - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Above the warning, embossed into the steel plate, was the world-serpent sigil of the Sovereign Chimera Order.
Arthur Vance approached the inner wall, Grimm pacing silently at his flank, his dark fur rippling with suppressed striking force.
The electronic keypad beside the hatch had been disabled by the ground-shaking tremors that had collapsed Barracks B an hour earlier. A cut high-pressure line was hissing high-pressure oil across the concrete threshold, the locking pins frozen halfway in their guide tracks.
“Titus,” Arthur called out softly. “Clear the latch.”
Titus marched up to the steel door. His forty-five-two-pound bulk lowered into position, his spade claws finding secure purchase in the concrete floor.
Titus wedged the heavy, three-sided keel of his frontal back shell beneath the level steel latch bar that locked the two door leaves together.
