Ratchet walked into the morgue, went to open one of the body-lockers, and stiffened as he sensed someone behind him. Minimus Ambus was standing in the doorway wearing the bottom section of the Magnus Armor, his wrist-thin legs plugged into a pair of massive kneecaps.

“Hello, Ratchet,” said Minimus sheepishly, tottering into the room as if on stilts. “The armor’s easy to take off but hell to put on, especially by yourself. I wondered if you could help. I can talk you through the process, give you instructions.”

“I’m impressed you were able to sneak up on me,” said Ratchet, kneeling down to examine the point where Minimus’ right leg disappeared into the Magnus Armor. He tapped 13 hidden pressure pads in quick succession and the armor rose up and wrapped itself more tightly around Minimus’s limb.

Minimus watched a confident Ratchet do the same—13 taps—with the other leg.

“How long have you known?” he said quietly.

“About you and the armor? Ooh, quite a while now.”

“But how? The armor is filled with these attention deflectors…”

“That work for all of five seconds.” Ratchet climbed to his feet and wiped his hands. “You might as well use smoke and mirrors. And quite frankly, I’m a little insulted that you’d think I’d be fooled.”