Patch looked up through the iron bars at the figure standing on the ledge above them, the striking figure of Seraphina Vale, tall and slender with knee-high boots, a long-tailed captain’s coat, and her signature maroon tricorn hat with its single jet black plume. She smirked down at him and his companion.

“Well, lass, are you going to help us, or what?”

“No, Patch. I know you won’t die from this, but I do hope it will delay you long enough.”

Beside Patch, the professor spoke. “Confound it, Miss Vale, delay us for what purpose?”

“Captain Vale, Penbrook. I earned my title, just as you have yours. I expect you of all people to use it.”

“My abject apologies, you are quite correct. But again, I implore you, Captain, for what reason are you attempting to delay us?”

“Because I can’t let you stop me from accomplishing my task. You two have been nothing but persistent in tracking me down. Were I to allow you freedom of movement, you’d find some way to stop me, probably by talking me to death.”

“She has you there, Archie,” Patch quipped.

Ignoring his companion, Penbrook pushed on. “Perhaps we can aid you in your endeavor? Presuming your scheme isn’t to lay waste to this ancient Venusian temple.”

“You blow up one house of parliament, and they never let you forget it,” she complained. “What I’m up to is none of your business, Penbrook. You and your partner just cool your heels here for a while. When I’m done, I’ll return and set you free. Ta-ta now.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode down the hallway away from the pit trap that Patch and the Professor found themselves stuck in.

Patch and the Professor looked briefly at each other, then started searching around the pit trap for a way out. The pit was nearly ten feet on each side, and the top, where Vale had been standing, was now covered with a barred grate about twelve feet above them.

Patch spotted it first, a removable panel that guarded the trap’s machinery. He detached his auto-multi-tool from its belt holster, dialed it to the specific kind of Venusian bolt fitting used to hold the plate in place, and started working the bolts out. They had rusted over in the damp Venusian atmosphere, so he applied a dab of penetrating oil to each one and continued working the tool around them. In short order, all five bolts were sprung, and he eased the pentagonal panel to the floor of the pit.

“I say, good work, my love. Excellent work!”

“Don’t thank me yet, Archie. It was booby trapped.”

As if on cue, Venusian rot beetles appeared on the edges of the top of the trap. Patch knew from experience that each one was about the size of one of His Majesty’s pet terriers, but far more vicious. There were at least a dozen of them, but it only took one to infect someone with the jungle rot that could kill someone in less than a very unpleasant hour.

“Professor, keep them busy. I need ten minutes, maybe less.”

“And if you need more?”

“Let’s not find out.”

As Patch set to work, leaning into the mechanical bay, he heard his partner open his flask. “I’m deeply sorry, Master M’cheq’uvamas’u, but we don’t have the luxury of time to properly conduct the pouring ritual. I’ll endeavor to make it up to you at some point in the future.”

Patch grunted in annoyance at his partner. Apologizing to the absent and distant master distiller of Martian Fire Brandy was pure Archibald Penbrook, PhD. “Wasting time, Archie,” he admonished.

Patch smiled despite himself. After all these years, Archie still sounded more concerned with etiquette than the fact they were surrounded by monsters.

From the sound, the professor was now pouring the highly alcoholic and quite flammable liquid on the ground, and in his mind’s eye, he could picture his partner drawing a circle around them with the booze. Good thinking, he admitted to himself. The acrid fumes would cause the bugs to try to find a different path to their impending meal. If Archie still had the cigar lighter–the whoosh of the booze being set on fire told Patch they had been thinking the same thing.

“I am afraid that I only have six shots in my dueling pistol, love.”

“My gun is on my left hip. Careful with it.”

“Right.” Patch felt the gun leaving the holster, and hoped Archie would remember how to use it this time. Penbrook squeezed his shoulder as he passed, a brief gesture of reassurance between men who had shared more dangers than either cared to count.

He focused on the job of reversing the trap’s mechanisms. It had been a while since he had needed to work on ancient Venusian machinery. The so-called Old Ones were really masters of intricate mechanical devices. The trickiest part was manipulating parts with his two hands that were designed for five.

As he made progress on reconfiguring the device, he heard Archie behind him firing his dueling pistol. The man was a wicked shot, and Patch knew that each shot would find its mark with deadly impact. But he only had six shots, and there were a lot more bugs than that.

The thud of Archie’s gun to the stone floor told Patch he was readying to use his gun. He knew the thing would look wildly unwieldy in the slim and trim professor’s arms, but he had left his lighter pistol back in the Aetheric Sojourner, so Archie would have to make do.

Suddenly, he realized, he had recently added the mini rocket launcher to the weapon. Had he informed the professor? He couldn’t recall whether he had added it before or after he had taught his partner how to select the active ammunition.

The “whoosh” and subsequent explosion suggested that the addition had happened after his demonstration.

“My word, Elias, what in tarnation compelled you to add this excessively destructive component to your trusty sidearm? And, for the life of me, I am compelled to ask how you managed to fit such an arsenal into this contraption.”

“I don’t hear shooting!”

“Ah, right, my apologies!”

The professor evidently remembered how to adjust the function of the weapon because the next sounds were clearly produced by the mini-shotgun setting. Blam! Blam! Blam! Such a satisfying sound.

“Patch, my dear, for how much longer am I expected to hold back these monsters? I fear their numbers are multiplying as we stand.”

“Almost got it, Archie,” and he did. One final turn of his wrench, and the device started reversing itself. The chutes releasing the rot beetles closed first. As he pulled his head out of the mechanical bay, he caught a glimpse of the barred grate above them being retracted back into the ceiling.

He managed to shout out, “Hold steady, Archie!” before the floor started rising. In a handful of moments, it was even with the floor of the corridor, at which point it came to an abrupt stop. He watched Archie wobble for a moment, but then he quickly disposed of the last of the rot beetles. Patch took back his gun when offered.

“Well,” said the professor, catching his breath, “that was rather more excitement than strictly necessary. The Captain has several minutes on us now.”

“Yep. Maybe we should go find her?”

“Immediately, I should think.”