The black, stale water of Drainage Main 14 continued to rise, lapping against the lower buckles of Arthur’s tactical boots as the echoes of the Sapper ambush died away. Fifty yards ahead, Sluice Gate 9 loomed like an iron jaw set into the throat of the tunnel.
The drop-gate was a masterpiece of heavy-duty metalworking from the early decades of the Vanguard Federation. Solid three-inch square wrought-iron bars were interwoven in a crisscrossing diamond grid, held together by hand-hammered steel rivets the size of tea saucers. Over the century since its installation, calcium-rich groundwater, lime runoff, and turning to stone bio-slime had hardened across the surface, fusing the bottom twelve inches of the grate into the concrete floor like living bedrock.
Valerie splashed forward through the sludge, examining the massive iron frame with the tip of her shock-lance. She tapped the overhead winch chain. It hung down in rusted loops from a ceiling-mounted gearbox thirty feet above.
“The winch is frozen,” Valerie reported, wiping foul water from her brow with her sleeve. “The spur gears in the ceiling housing have seized solid with rust and stone-hard stone scale. Even with a squad of ten men hauling on a block-and-tackle, we couldn’t budge this gate an inch. And the cave-in behind us has sealed off the retreat toward Foundry 4.”
