Renn Vos threw his weight against the ash cheater bar, his boots digging into the granite curb. The heavy bronze spindle turned with a deep, groaning screech: one full turn, two full turns. Then, at two and a half turns, the gearwork seized with a sharp, violent shudder that shook through the ash bar into Renn’s collarbones.
“Hold!” Will Carver shouted, catching the old man’s belt as the ash bar bowed three inches under the sudden, unmoving pushback. “Renn, don’t heave! The wood is bending! If that ash snaps, it’ll take your jaw off!”
Renn dropped his hands from the bar, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gray plumes. He peered into the narrow check slit between the bronze gear casing and the stone wall, shining his horn lantern into the dark recess. “Grit,” Renn spat, wiping stone slime from his beard. “Mountain shale and quartz river gravel washed down from the high gorges. It’s jammed into the guide-track right between the fifth and sixth teeth. The bronze won’t take another inch of torque without stripping.”
In the museum gallery, Pella saw the red signal flag twitch on the Third Gate platform. Her stomach clenched. “The spindle is bound,” Pella said to Corvin. “Renn has stopped at two and a half turns. If we force it, the bronze teeth will shear and drop the sector gate forever.” Ada’s voice came through the sound wire, calm and fully level: “Tell Renn to stand back from the bar. We don’t…
