Orson felt terror in the air, a palpable, measurable presence. Eloise looked between her father and her fiancé and reflexively crumbled the paper in her fist. Carlos laid his hands on her shoulders. They were trembling. The elder Corwin rested his face in his own shaking hands.

“I will die before I let harm come to this town or to your homes or to you.” Orson broke the silence. “They could send ten thousand troops, and I would burn thousands to ash like some fairy-tale dragon. That’s a promise.”

“What are you talking about?” Eloise asked. “We have to evacuate. We can’t fight off a thousand people. How could we? They have more people coming here than live in the town!”

“Do you still have the shield emitters and artillery we fixed to hold back Thunderworks?” Orson asked. “You powered those when you thought they would come here.”

“We could barely power those five years ago when we had it rigged to the local diesel generators. We used up half our winter surplus during the single flyby from the Thunderworks ship. I don’t think the current solar grid generates quite as much, but…”

“Listen to me,” Orson interrupted. “I’ve got a few ideas. This isn’t the first insane defense I’ve set up. Before we get started, Carlos, help Mr. Corwin into the house and call Doctor Benville.”

“I’m fine!” Mr. Corwin answered. His frustration returned the vigor and strength that fear had sapped from him. “I’m not going to sit around and be doted on. I won’t let these bastards come here, to the town my ancestors helped build and…” He tried to stand and failed. He yelled, as he fell heavily back into the armchair.

“Dad!” Eloise held her father’s arm. “You can’t do this to yourself! You’re pushing too hard. You carried this burden all alone for years and years. You deserve to let us take care of this.”

“You do,” Orson said. “And there will also be lots of things to coordinate that won’t involve getting shot at.” He shot a glance to Carlos and nodded back toward the house, hoping the other man would catch his hint. Mr. Corwin’s complexion had not improved and the intensity in his eyes apparently did not translate to strength in his body.

Carlos nodded and slipped away from the group.

“Orson and I have been in some tough spots together,” Eloise said. “And he gets into fights all the time. His plans always sound foolish before he pulls them off.”

The door lever squeaked slightly as Carlos gingerly eased it open. He stepped out of the ship, but Mr. Corwin had heard him leave.

“Did you send Carlos to call the doctor?” Mr. Corwin asked. “I told you, I don’t need a doctor! Even if I’m suddenly too damn old to be out there fighting with you, I won’t have you kids fretting over me with that militia on its way. Absolutely not.”

“You’re not old!” Eloise said. “But no one can have burdens like yours forever. I was just telling Orson the same thing. If he keeps going like he is, he’ll be like somebody a hundred years old before he’s fifty.”

“Enoa already tells me I’m basically eighty,” Orson said. “And she…”

“Orson!” Carlos yelled. He was still out in the yard. “Your pet’s on our roof! It looks like he’s eating something!”

“Eating something?” Orson called back.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Carlos said. “His head’s moving up and down.”

Orson ran from the ship without saying more or beginning to explain his plan. There, on the roof of the house, Orson could see Wesley on all fours, pulling at something.

“I think he’s at one of the solar panels,” Carlos said.

“I’ll get him!” Orson went back inside the ship and put on his boot. Then he ran out and fired the repulsor. He soared above the yard, coming to a hovering stop beside the aeropine. The animal stood on the reflective, energy-absorbing shingles, his paws at his mouth, chewing on something.

“What do you have there, Wesley?” He reached toward the animal, palm up. The aeropine sniffed at his fingers, something still in his mouth. “Give it to me, Wesley. You can’t chew on my friends’ roof. No you can’t.”

Wesley dropped a small black rectangle into Orson’s hand. The aeropine immediately began chattering and sniffing the air.

Orson raised the object. It wasn’t organic, but it looked nothing like the reflective solar shingles.

He pulled up his visor and scanned it for energy signatures. It didn’t appear explosive, but he saw a small halo of light – energy, glowing from the rectangle. His HUD told him two things.

One, the object was battery powered.

Two, it was some kind of active transmitter.

Orson realized that this was the source of the strange whine he’d been hearing.

“Did this thing call to you, buddy?” Orson asked. “Who’s a good boy? Wesley is. Wesley’s a good boy!”

Orson held up the device.

“Hello, Liberty Corps,” he said. “This is Orson Gregory speaking. If you can hear me, and I’m thinking you still can, let’s have a talk.”

* * *

When Duncan first heard the sound of the animal chewing on his microphone, he didn’t understand it. He didn’t connect the overwhelming, booming noise with the tiny, flying creature he’d heard all night, the previous evening. It sounded all together different, up close. Its wet mouth and clacking teeth were as loud as industrial equipment in the cramped station wagon.

Duncan dialed down the speaker’s volume. He didn’t comprehend the danger to his listening device. He didn’t understand the danger to himself, to his mission, to his life.

He didn’t connect the dots until he heard the distant shout of Carlos Albir, barely audible with the speaker’s low volume and the slurps still drowning out nearly everything else.

“Orson!” Carlos Albir yelled. “Your pet’s on our roof! It looks like he’s eating something!”

The strange animal – the freaky flying thing – it was eating his microphone! Why would the animal bother the bugging device? What kind of stupid creature would try to eat a microphone?

“I’ll get him!” Gregory yelled.

Duncan considered running. The fly-on-the-wall was doomed. Either the weird animal ate it or Gregory discovered it. Either way, he didn’t want to be close by.

Duncan still hadn’t heard back from Kol. He’d hoped to follow the young Aesir crewmembers, but the mystery of the second Cobalt Nine signature had delayed him. He’d lingered, but was grateful he had. Imagine if he’d followed Enoa Cloud and never learned why his mic had stopped transmitting. Imagine operating in Littlefield, unaware that Orson Gregory was on to him.

A new sound started, and grew, and came to rival the animal’s mouth. The aeropine stopped trying to eat the mic at right around the same time that Gregory’s repulsor became an audible presence.

Duncan listened to Gregory praise the aeropine. He considered abandoning the mic and fleeing.

“Hello, Liberty Corps.” Gregory spoke with the same smug glee he’d shown in his duel against Tucker. This man, on some level, enjoyed conflict, even if only the struggle of wits or wills. “This is Orson Gregory speaking. If you can hear me, and I’m thinking you still can, let’s have a talk.”

Duncan stayed to listen. Maybe he could gain some last intelligence from the fly-on-the-wall. Maybe Gregory would provide some last shred of useful information.

“Let me guess,” Gregory said. “This little doodad is something else you inherited from the old IHSA? Well, I guess it’s not your lucky day, is it? You didn’t realize we have a guard animal bred by the Hierarchia. I wonder how he found this damn thing. Maybe that’s what he was created to do – debug.”

Duncan again considered driving away. Could Gregory track where he was? Could Gregory locate his speaker from the mic? How long would it take for the repulsor to reach him, to catch him, if he attempted to flee?

Duncan didn’t move. He listened.

“Did you think I was kidding?” Gregory asked. “Did you think I was playing around, interrupting your Requisitions Day? Since I first ran into you and saw the kind of petty dictator bullshit you’re trying to build, I thought I could stop it. I wanted to hurt you just enough, so you’d quit. I could go on my merry way, and you would stop trying to take what doesn’t belong to you.

“But that’s not possible, is it? The Liberty Corps just can’t learn its lesson. The worst person I’ve ever known once told me that the only way to beat a zealot is to kill him, and I’m beginning to think that’s the truth.”

“So let’s not mince words,” Gregory continued. “If you come here tomorrow, I know threats don’t work. I know that. So the only answer is erasing the Liberty Corps. I’ll erase your weapons and your ships and every single one of you, starting with this Sir Nine-flails.”

‘Come here tomorrow’? Orson Gregory knew the truth. He knew about the attack. He knew about Nine-flails. And he had the better part of a day to prepare!

Duncan had to get out of town. He had to warn Kol and the rest of the War Force.

But if he left, that might mean abandoning the Dreamside Road key! How could he not try to save the lives of hundreds of his fellow Liberty Corps forces? How could he measure the value of their lives against the key to some trove of who-knew-what?

But didn’t Littlefield deserve a fighting chance, if nothing else? He imagined again all the homes and lives he’d observed being swept away, destroyed, another casualty in the ever-changing desert.

“I’m hoping I get up early tomorrow, for no reason,” Gregory said. “But if the Liberty Corps comes here, I’m gonna be a one man welcoming committee, and you’ll get to see a few things only the leadership of Thunderworks has seen, and they’re not around to tell anybody.”

“If you try to destroy Littlefield and the people who live here. I’ll erase you like I erased them.”

Duncan heard a crunching sound and then static. His microphone had been destroyed.

He slid his hand to the station wagon’s glove compartment. He drew his pistol, little good it would likely do against Orson Gregory, in his full armor, but he needed the talisman of action.

Duncan waited, but no one came. Neither Gregory nor his ship flew out of the sky to kill him.

He was left alone with his terrible choice.

* * *

“I think the signal will be stronger.” Kol finished reworking his comm’s settings. “I’ll give this another test.” He almost appreciated the dire nature of his attempt to reach Duncan, anything to distract his mind from what he’d done. He and Max had set in motion something he could not fully appreciate, something he simply would not understand until events played out.

“Good.” Max watched him work, staying mostly quiet. When dealing with the tight-beam transmissions, the Liberty Corps comms were closer to those used by the old Hierarchia than anything the traditional armed forces ever possessed.

He typed.

New Instructions: Leave Littlefield immediately.

Go to rendezvous point. I will meet you there.

“Sent.” Kol set aside the comm. “I’ve done all I can think of. If this doesn’t work I’ll have to…”

“You can’t go there,” Max said. “You can’t.”

“It was always my plan to go.” Kol almost screamed. He could not be idle, not since the telegram was sent, not now that he’d betrayed the Liberty Corps.

There, that word, the truth – his truth. He was a traitor, inarguably. He’d betrayed Duncan and Brielle and Ilias Hawthorne. Though he’d known the Corps Czar for only a few years, the man had gifted him with his path in life.

He’d made that choice – to betray them. The least he could do was go to the battle, to fight with the others, to fight Orson Gregory – the same man he’d warned, the man who could save Littlefield. The town didn’t deserve…

Despite painkillers, a throbbing ache spread along the side of Kol’s head. He pressed his left hand to his temple. The pressure was too much. It was too much. He felt like he was going to be sick. He’d done what he could to save the innocent, but he still had to save Max and Duncan and Brielle.

“Kol?” Max approached him. “Listen to me. You’re going to drive yourself to a mental breakdown. Your mission is to find the Dreamside Road. Your mission is not and was never to serve Sloan. Leaving is within your purview.” He rested his hand on Kol’s arm.

“Don’t try to persuade me using chain of command.” Kol flinched away. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this! It’s…” He stopped speaking when his comm chimed.

Duncan.

Gregory found mic!

He knows about attack. Spread the word.

Hope you’re getting messages. Nothing from you.

Too dangerous to leave. Lockdown beginning here.

Will try to warn the War Force tomorrow. Will try for Enoa Cloud’s key too. Will wear transponder. We’ll find each other at battle.

Kol put down his comm. He couldn’t unravel the unlikely web of loyalty and choice that had locked him onto his current path. It was like an impossible wall had been built around him day-by-day and choice-by-choice. There was no escape.

“What did he say?” Max asked. “That’s Duncan, correct? What did he say?”

“He can’t get out,” Kol said. “I have to find somewhere safe for you, now, and then I’ll have to rescue him, during the battle.”

* * *

Enoa and Jaleel arrived back at the house, arms full of pet supplies. They were just in time to see the line of Corwin trucks pull away from the sidewalk and drive off, toward the outskirts of town. A collection of boxes and crates sat outside of the gate. Orson and a team of blue coverall-wearing workers began moving the boxes inside.

“This can’t be good.” Enoa wasn’t sure how long they’d been gone, but she’d received no message on her comm. The new jamming didn’t affect Aesir comms, did it? They walked through the gate, between loading teams, and found the yard full of containers and bustling people.

A Corwin maintenance crew walked through the yard with metal detectors and small handheld scanners.

On the sidewalk, a group in heavy helmets and goggles were assembling a large machine that glowed softly in a pale pink light.

“Good.” Orson broke off from the moving team when he saw them.

“Is that a mirage field generator?” Jaleel pointed to the machine. “Why does Littlefield have a Hierarchia cloaking device?”

“The Liberty Corps is attacking, at dawn,” Orson said. “We’ll have a van ready for the two of you to get out of here. You can take Wesley and your films and things, and go out into the desert. There’s a trading post on the border with Colorado…”

“Wait!” Jaleel set down the bags of food and toys he was carrying. “What are you talking about? Why would we run away? We’re the Aesir crew, with you.”

“I’m not running.” Enoa thought, as she always did, of her home, ablaze. If she could help prevent the same from happening to Littlefield, she would. “I’ve been training all week, in case this would happen. We want details, Orson.”

“Yeah, details,” Jaleel said. “I’m not running away in some van. I’m gonna help plan this thing. Look at what we did together against the Sabres. They were trying to kill us.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Orson said. “Yes, Nalrik and his guys would’ve killed you, but that’s different from a battle, on this scale. There’s no version of this where dozens, if not hundreds, of people aren’t killed.”

“You weren’t this worried about us when you flew at the rail gun.” Enoa set down her own bags and the assortment of bedding and cleaning supplies she’d bought for Wesley.

“Because now I have time to think about it,” he said. “You two can get out of here before shit goes belly up. I need to look out for the two of you. I would never forgive myself if either of you came to harm.”

“Aww,” Jaleel said. “He really does love us.”

“You’re still not getting it.” Orson shook his head. “This will be a real battle. I don’t want you to see that level of bloodshed or what I might have to do to win this for Littlefield.”

“Orson,” Enoa said. “This is the group of people who destroyed my home. I don’t care what you have to do to defend this town.”

“Yeah.” Jaleel nodded. “Honestly, just tell us what to do.”

“I’m on the ground for this one,” Orson said. “But once Eloise makes sure her dad is okay…”

“What happened to her dad?” Enoa asked.

“Mr. Corwin got a telegram warning about the attack, and I think he’ll be fine, but his health took a hit. He’s with the doctor now.”

“A telegram?” Jaleel asked. “Who sent that?”

“I don’t know,” Orson said. “We’ll talk about everything later. Eloise is going to get some flight time in the Aesir, because she’s our pilot tomorrow. She obviously hasn’t flown in years, but you don’t have nearly enough practice with it, Jaleel. She’ll need a gunner, though. The Liberty Corps has airships of some kind.”

“I won’t let you down! That reminds me, I have some ideas about how we could install a belly gun…”

“Not now,” Orson interrupted. “I don’t think we’re going to take the time to do any installations. Uh, Enoa, what do you want to do? I’m sure there are other things you can help with on the Aesir. Or do you have some Shaping to share with us?”

“I know what I’m doing,” Enoa said. “If Littlefield can get me enough water, I’ll make sure the Liberty Corps is fighting blind.”

* * *

Kol began packing Max’s bags into the rover and extended the rear loading-ramp for his brother to enter the vehicle. Before Max could drive his wheelchair inside, Kol heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Brielle hurried across the parking area, wearing full armor. “Where are you going the night before the op?” Her voice was neutral, but her eyes were not. Kol saw flickers of the same suspicion and anger she’d shown before their last parting. She stepped between Kol and the last of Max’s luggage.

“I have to take Max to a safe place,” he said. “This camp is clearing out tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid my battlefield days are probably behind me,” Max added.

“I’m finding him overnight lodging,” Kol said. “It shouldn’t take too long. Then I’ll come straight back, with more than enough time to rest and be ready for tomorrow.” He was talking too fast. Kol knew he was talking too fast, but he couldn’t stop.

“That could be dangerous.” Brielle still spoke in that neutral tone. “It could risk the exposure of our operation. He should stay here.”

“Exposure?” Kol poured his fear and his pain into the words. When Brielle opened her mouth to argue, he raised his prosthetic index finger. He stepped close to her and lowered his voice.

“Sloan is calling every rabid maniac for two thousand miles to commit murder for him. Everyone has to know they’re here, with them screaming their way down the highway. There are fewer than fifty real soldiers in this legion he’s recruited. The ones Sloan leaves behind will break and leave Max stranded if the operation goes poorly. And what would happen here if Orson Gregory’s recruited his most dangerous friends, and he has wizards and elementals and starchildren guarding Littlefield? His damn girlfriend was an elemental.

“Sloan’s endangered my mission and Duncan. I will protect my research, my advisor, and my blood more than the element of surprise in the Governor’s dick-measuring contest. I owe him nothing! But once I find my brother – the veteran and war hero – somewhere with a bathroom that actually fits his wheelchair, then I’ll be back.”

It relieved Kol that Max didn’t speak, that his brother did nothing to draw Brielle’s ire. Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. Kol didn’t look away. Max’s life could depend on her response.

“Find your way back, safe.” Brielle stepped away from Max’s luggage. “I’ll see you later.”

* * *

“Will this be enough, miss?” Pedro, the Corwin supply-driver, leaned one hand against the second of the two water-tanker trucks.

Enoa stood with him in the desert twilight, on a shoulder of hill, looking down on old Route 66. While the others had spent their afternoons in preparation and planning, she’d meditated and trained to wield Shaping on a larger scale than ever before.

“Let me check.” Enoa walked up to the tanker and pressed her hand to the cool metal. She could feel the water inside, thousands of gallons. It seemed almost infinite, compared to the miniscule supply she often generated from the air or manipulated in the Aesir.

But it was less than it felt – she knew that. When the desert morning began, if the battle stretched on, the sun would quickly burn away her fog, unless she had the strength to oppose it.

“What do you think?” Pedro asked. “I know nothing about all this magic business, but tell me if I can help more.”

Before she could answer him, a loud crack sounded in the sky and the Aesir suddenly appeared. It glided down, flying with only a light thrumming sound, without the aggressive noise of its boosters. The ship came to a smooth landing, beside the second truck. It was as if it had appeared from nowhere.

Eloise was at the wheel. Jaleel sat shotgun. The ship’s side door opened, and Orson stepped out. “Did we scare you?” he asked.

“I didn’t see anything,” Pedro said. “Eloise, I never knew you could fly the Aesir.”

“I’m a little rusty now,” she called from the ship. “But I learned to fly it months before Orson did.”

“And she’ll never let me forget it,” Orson said.

“So,” Pedro said. “For five years, I’ve thought that mirage machine was junk, but really, it makes things invisible?”

“Not invisible.” Orson approached the water trucks. “It projects an image of its surrounding environment, so it looks like it’s not there.” He tapped at the tanker. “Will this be enough? I’m worried about the logistics of fitting a third truck up here.”

Enoa had never manipulated anywhere near the amount of water in the trucks, but she needed enough to maintain fog across the entire road. She needed enough to keep the Liberty Corps blind.

“I’ll make it be enough,” she said.

* * *

Kol followed Max’s obsolete road atlas and a series of new, crude road signs to an inn, just off of old Route 66.

Kol had never seen such bright stars before that drive. The clear, desert sky revealed the wheeling heavens. The stars seemed at once so imminent and so impossibly remote from the horrific dilemmas in his own life.

He and Max arrived at the lonely adobe-walled motel, attached to a larger way station. The building bore no name, just “Motel” and a warning that electricity was limited between the hours of 10 PM and 6 AM. Only a small set of solar collectors stood outside.

But it had an entry ramp, and the old woman sweeping the portico confirmed the presence of one available handicapped-accessible room.

“Stay at the edges of the battle.” Max said to him, once they’d unloaded the luggage in the small ground-floor room. “That will give you more flexibility. You can stay out of the fighting and have the option to leave if the chance presents itself.”

“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Kol asked.

The room was small, but the bed, table, and nightstand were low enough to the floor for Max to occupy the space without unnecessary difficulty. It was homey, and pest-free. The room was equipped with a vintage drip coffee maker, an even older clock radio, and an unplugged rabbit-eared television.

“I am sure,” Max said. “You’ll be gone no more than a day to track Duncan.”

“True.” Kol didn’t want to consider the alternative. “But, just in case, you’re sure you can reach your contact in San Francisco? What would you do if the telegraph network doesn’t extend that far?”

“If something would happen to you in Littlefield, I would not go to San Francisco. I would go east, to visit the Governor.” Max had such a casual tone that Kol almost missed the implication of his words. He didn’t know what to say. “But I will see you tomorrow.” Max presented a warm smile, without any trace of his previous threat. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Kol took a long breath, and the pause allowed another wave of fear to wash over him. “The next time I’m in this room, if I ever am, it will be over.”

“Kol,” Max said. “Don’t bite off too much at once. Get back to camp. Evade suspicion. Find Duncan. Get out. Break it all up. Don’t overwhelm yourself.”

“I won’t,” Kol said.

Max moved closer and gripped his arm. “I’m very proud of you. I know I was harsh about the Liberty Corps, and I do not regret those words, but few people have the strength and integrity you have shown these last two days.”

Kol crouched down and hugged his brother, holding onto him long enough to hide the lump in his throat. He was at a loss for words, again, but no longer from fear. He had spent so long in the quest for redemption, to win a future for himself and for Max. He’d given so much to find peace from that old guilt. He’d found some, small closure, but only at the expense of so much else.

Kol stood. “I need to go back. In less than twelve hours, Sloan’s going to give the order to launch the attack.”