Charles found himself in a small kitchen as he exited the square room. It lacked a proper stove, but a little hotplate of modern design was connected to a large utility battery built into the counter. After the previous room, he was happy to note that the furniture, walls, and floor in here were neither cavernous nor truly square. Briefly he wondered whether he was permitted to eat or drink any of the supplies in the room.

He realized he didn't have to; he had removed his helmet and other protective gear when he landed, but had not had time to store his toolbelt. Reaching into one of the many pockets on it, he extracted a small pouch of powdered coffee. Water was available from a tap in the wall, and he took a chance that using the kettle and hot plate wouldn't get him in too much trouble as long as he cleaned up after himself.

He had plenty of time to do so. After he finished his coffee and returned all the borrowed implements, including the mug, to their clean and proper location, he looked at his watch. A quarter of an hour had passed. Not a great deal of time, in the long run. He retook one of the chairs around the small table and pulled out his personal journal. As long as he was here he may as well outline his plans for repairs and improvements on the skimmer. He started with the issue of navigation at those altitudes. Unlike a zeppelin, which could use the sky to navigate, his vessel moved too quickly to get accurate star readings. He would need some way to contain the tracking in a device of some type. But the rangefinder was not accurate enough. Maybe if he had another point to compare with?

He had moved on to lists of materials he would need for his repairs when the door to the square room opened again. A Fourth Engineer stood on the other side of it, though he had not spoken during Charles's earlier debriefing.

"Junior Engineer Charles, you are requested." The man stepped aside, holding the door for Charles like a guard. Charles supposed he might well be; the man had some sort of custom artifice piece mounted on his shoulder. It certainly looked weapon-ish.

Charles tucked his journal back into his toolbelt and went into the square room.

To his surprise, the table was gone. As he noticed it, he glanced around the room, and saw the chairs positioned evenly along the walls. Four to a wall. The table must have been moved to one of the other rooms, though. He knew it wouldn't have fit through the stairway he took to get down here, but he supposed it had to have gotten down here somehow. It was only as the Fourth Engineer led him to the gathered Brothers and Sisters in the center of the room that Charles noticed the table had sunk directly into the floor, until its surface was flush with the stone-carved floor. Interesting. They must have a lift built into the table to lower it. Such a mechanism would not be difficult to devise, but he was fascinated because of how closely the table fit. Even standing nearly upon it, he couldn't spot a seam. Well, not without crawling upon the ground in an unseemly fashion. He was almost tempted just by the implied craftsworkship.

"Brother Charles Davvis," Charles directed his attention back to the group of ranking Brothers and Sisters, who were standing in a staggered rank. Now that he knew what to look for, he realized that if the rank was filled out, it would comprise four groups of four people. But for some reason, half were missing. The elderly Second Artificer continued listing Charles' rank and responsibilities. "Junior Wall Repair Technician reporting to Sixth Engineer Chamlon. Inducted originally as a Wall Guard, prior to transfer to the Engineers' Chapter. Currently working during his leisure hours on the development of a new type of Tessenium engine along with Brother Chester Andrew and Sister Issla Fardottir. Built a customized prototype skimmer to explore the applications of said engine. Also developed a new gas mixture able to nearly triple the range and power of a steambow with no additional power load. You're quite the innovator at heart, aren't you Brother Davvis?"

There was a long pause. Charles found his voice. "I suppose so, ma'am," He answered. "I like to solve problems. In maintenance, it's a useful trait to have. But if you're good about maintenance, there's gaps with no problems to solve. So I found some new ones." Chamlon had described Charles that way once, at one of Charles's meetings with him. Charles had adopted it; he liked the way it sounded. And it was, essentially, accurate.

"How is it that a mind with your sense of creativity has not found its way into the Artificers' Chapter?" The Sister asked. It was informal, as far as debriefings went. Charles decided to answer candidly.

"Frankly, ma'am, I find that the Artificers develop too far ahead of my preferred work. The devices you mentioned are all based on theories the Artificers were devising five years ago. Now, none of the originators of those theories are even working on the projects, or at least not in a direct, personal sense. I prefer to put on my welding mask. Collaborating with my counterparts in the Artificers' Chapter, like Sister Fardottir, allows me to design with my own hands."

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Charles glanced over at the Fourth Engineer who had escorted him into the room. Other than himself, the man was the only other member of the Chapter present. The older Engineer was smiling to himself. He understood. Charles wondered if that man was also an 'innovator at heart', as the Sixth Administrator had described it.

"Well, I suppose," the Second Artificer answered, "That I cannot accurately deny the truth of what you say." The Fourth Engineer's smile got wider. "And regardless of whether your claims are accurate, your skill is remarkable. Brother Charles," She said, standing up straighter. All around her, the others stood up straighter as well. On instinct, Charles noticed himself mirroring them. Formal situation. "We have discussed your situation. We have considered your prior work as well as the work you performed just earlier this very day. We have reviewed your notes, and we have all come to the same conclusion."

Charles waited. There had not been a question in there, and he did not feel as if he had permission to speak.

"You have probably wondered about the purpose of this unusual room. You have probably also wondered if you were correct about your speculations on the device you employed in the field. You will get those answers. But first, we need an answer from you. Charles Davvis, in a time of crisis, champions must rise. We believe you have the potential to be one of those champions. For not all champions must be soldiers, or duelists, or pilots. We call upon you as a champion of innovation. Will you take a leading role in the development of our artifice in the crisis that is brewing?"

There was the question. An odd way to frame a promotion, though. He wondered if the Second Artificer was a dramatist in her personal time. "I cannot attest to any skills I may have as a leader. This promotion may not be well-suited to my skills. But I am willing to try, if my Brothers and Sisters of greater experience think I have the potential."

"This is not a promotion, Brother," a Fifth Administrator spoke up from the left side of the arranged persons. "It's an invitation to..." he glanced down the line. Marshal Massenne spoke up to finish the thought. "Think of it as a small but important chapter," the Marshal offered. "Like how the Historians are enfolded into the Administrators, but fill a role quite different from the rest of that Chapter. Except our Chapter is split amongst all the major chapters."

That...almost made sense. "What is the purpose of this chapter, then?" Charles asked.

"We are, and we select champions. Pillars of certain traits important to the Order and its needs. Foresight, diligence, community, veracity. We act, on our own initiative, to nurture those traits in the Order and in the city. And we support each other as we do so."

"I've never heard of such a branch." Charles pointed out. It was perhaps a redundant comment, given the fact that they were having their conversation in a room that could only be described as hidden.

"No. The virtues we represent are well known to the Order, of course. But by tradition set down by Tessen himself, we eight keep certain secrets that we cannot divulge to any outside our branch."

"And I would join you?"

"That is up to you."

"If I do not?" Charles suddenly found himself wondering if he would be allowed to leave at all if he turned them down. The idea of being part of a secret social club had always appealed to him; it was a popular element in stories. But he couldn't help but remember that generally secret social clubs were willing to kill to keep themselves secret. Was he too far in?

"You will be allowed to leave, provided we have not introduced you to those secrets," the Marshal replied. "We are not some pulp novel's secret organization of blood drinkers. This room is little known, but not confidential. But once you are brought in on the knowledge we keep, the consequences for leaving become much more severe."

Brother Davvis considered it. He stood there for several minutes under eight pairs of eyes considering it. Eventually, he found he was fiddling with the driver in his hand.

"Okay," he said. Curiosity had always been one of his more beneficial vices. "I will accept your offer."

Everyone moved at once, clearing the surface of the table set into the floor. There was a flash of yellowish light from the Marshal, and just like the tunnel wall had before, the table flowed up from the floor like a liquid. It stopped at knee height.

"You will need a new conduit tattoo," the Fourth Engineer explained, as he pulled out a battery-powered tattoo kit. Brother Davvis recognized the brown pigment in the tattoo gun's compartment as the mixture used in Order tattoos. "It will let you access our meetings, and it will allow you to use certain," the man hesitated only briefly, "devices unique to our branch."

"Is this permitted?" Charles asked. Ordinarily, tattoos were strictly regulated by rank.

"Yes. The design is included in all of the records books as a permissible personal tattoo," the engineer gestured to the table. Charles understood, and went to sit on the edge of the half-height table. When directed, he rolled up one sleeve, and in short order, the Fourth Engineer had given him a tattoo similar to the mark on Marshal Massenne's arm. Charles was perplexed by its design. It wasn't efficient, like most conduit tattoos. But mostly, he couldn't help but notice something.

It was made up entirely of squares.

"Welcome to the fold, Champion of Innovation," the Second Administrator said cheerfully. "We'll get you up to speed when you wake up."

Wake up? Charles was awake now.

And then he realized that he was rapidly becoming not awake. One of the members whose voice he had never heard caught him as he toppled sideways off the table. As he lost consciousness, he thought he heard a woman's voice. "So, they have finally found me a Champion. Welcome, young man. We have much work to do."