Enoa saw the flashing bursts of emerald green before she reached the top of the ladder. Even in broad daylight, the contrasting color stood out against the clear sky.

She only saw the blue glow when she reached the ladder’s top. Two translucent walls stood toward the center of the roof, the same shimmering blur that had protected Kol Maros and his friend, Duncan Racz.

One field protected a thin, short-haired man who sat strapped to the top of a small cart, like the one that hid Orson’s gear and the floppy disks.

The other field protected Maros.

Kol Maros wore his old suit of Liberty Corps armor, but it was dirty, discolored at the boots and forearms. He wore his helmet, but several strands of his dark hair trailed beneath the rim and hung down below his shoulders.

Two Liberty Corps officers fired the green light from their hands! The light was Shaping! They sent it in fast bursts at Maros and the other man.

The officers wore strange, modified armor with moving metal bars along their arms. They stood opposite Maros, inside a wide white circle drawn on the rooftop.

Men and women in lab coats worked at instruments around the Shapers. They made notes with pen and paper and with stylus on datapad.

One of Helmont’s knights was there. His armor had long antenna raised from the forehead. The antenna moved, twitching in rhythm to the energy blasts from the Shapers. A group of Rifle and Blades Corps troopers flanked this man.

Enoa joined the spectators already gathered on the roof, on a thin ledge that ran beyond the roof’s perimeter fencing. She couldn’t tell which of the dozen assembled Riflemen were those from the unloading dock. One nodded to her, but none spoke. She stood at the far end of their line.

Another round of green blasts struck the twin shields, bright enough to reflect all the way along the roof. Maros flinched. His boots slid back, like the force of the attack transferred through the energy, like he really felt it.

The seated man watched the knight, head turned away from the battle. This man wasn’t the astronaut. She remembered the face of Duncan Racz, threating her, demanding her key to the Dreamside Road. Was the seated man the Maros brother, Maxwell?

Another volley struck the shields. Maxwell didn’t flinch. He didn’t move a muscle, but Maros fell, sagged down to his knees. The light of the shields flickered, like a band of static racing across an old-fashioned television.

“Not long now,” one of the Riflemen said. “He always falls first.” Then another of the Riflemen shushed him.

Enoa watched Maros’s hands, both of them shaking, even the prosthetic. Even through the armor, she could practically see his muscles taut. She understood the natural reflex to tense, like her own physical muscles could make her mind’s muscles fight harder, shape stronger.

And all this pain because the Aesir crew and Littlefield and the Pacific Alliance hadn’t saved them in return. They’d failed Kol Maros and his brother when they needed help.

Help for help, that’s how it should have been. But there was nothing she could do.

Still, Enoa found herself wondering – how would her Bullet Rain stand up against those energy blasts? Would her staff explosions puncture the armor of the knights and their other Shapers?

She wondered at the powers of this knight. She’d seen Sir Rowan and Sir Adrian. She assumed he had skills at the same level, but she had the element of surprise…

Maros turned away from the battle. He looked away from danger and the men attacking him.

He looked at Enoa instead.

He looked at her in the instinctual way people look toward a familiar voice. And he didn’t look away.

Enoa froze. Did he know? Even through her armor, did he recognize her from emotion alone? Or did he just sense another Shaper, as she’d sensed Rinlee or Rowan’s forces.

Because if he did recognize her, then her cover was blown, all their hard work thrown away for the man who had destroyed her home, whatever later good he’d done. Did their success really rely on the honor of Kol Maros? Had she thrown everything away to bear witness to the suffering of a man who’d done so much evil?

Maros stood again. He turned back toward the Shapers. They fired another volley. The twin shields absorbed the blasts, but this time, Maros stayed on his feet. He kept his footing. He didn’t flinch or waver.

Then, when the green light cleared, Maros fought back.

The shields swept away from Maros and from his brother. They slid across the rooftop and scoured it, leaving the metal dull and darkened in their wake.

Both Shapers fired. They fired blast after blast after blast from both open palms – the shields absorbing it all. The Shapers yelled as they fired and Maros yelled with them. He yelled and his shield took their fire, took everything they threw at him and only got faster. Maros roared, both arms raised above his head.

The Shapers turned and ran. They rushed back toward their edge of the wide circle. But it was too late. The shields were on them.

The energy hit them and bore them from their feet. The shields drove them back. It swept them both along the rooftop like they’d been struck by a wave.

Maros pushed them and pushed them, until his shields flickered again. He fell back to his knees.

The shields faded away. Only then did the men stop moving, white armor yellowed. Maros fell onto his side.

“Have you forgotten, Mr. Maros?” The knight bellowed. “Have you forgotten your role here? Forgotten again? You’d behaved yourself so well these last weeks. But I feel your old defiance. What will I do with you, Mr. Maros? Do I need to set them loose on Maxwell without your protections? Do I need—”

“Make it worse for me, Geber,” Maros said. “Do what you promised. But I wanted to win today. So I did. And if you hurt Max, then I’ll always choose to win. Every day. I can. You know I can. They didn’t learn to rule the mind. Did they? They’re too scared when you’re not holding their hands.” He laughed, a slow chuckle that grew into a full belly laugh, but he remained on his side. “Rule the mind.”

Enoa caught Maxwell Maros glance at her too. He scanned the full line of spectators, but lingered on her. Had he been paying closer attention to the battle than she’d thought? Had he noticed where Maros was looking before he’d found new strength?

“Do you have no imagination?” The knight, Geber, waved to the guards behind him. “Retrieve him.” He walked to the Shapers. One stood. The other struggled to rise into a sitting position. He gasped and fought to move only with his left leg. Geber touched both men, pressing his bare right hand in the space between helmet and breastplate.

“Win today, Mr. Maros,” Geber said. “The time for threats has passed. But a new reality will await you tomorrow.”

“I’m sure,” Maros said.

Maxwell glanced again from his brother to the line of Liberty Corps spectators, toward Enoa.

“Gimp finally noticed us,” one of the Riflemen said. Three more shushed him. They all waited as the guards approached both Maroses.

By the time they’d collected the brothers, Enoa had returned to the ladder back to the unloading dock.

* * *

“The Liberty Corps lists twenty-two names,” Dr. Stan said. “Twenty-two individuals that could have Dreamside Road keys. I’ll begin copying the list and then start on the individual files about each of these people.”

Orson watched the scrolling motion of indecipherable text. He saw nothing to separate the names.

“I’m guessing I’m listed somewhere,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. “ ‘It is believed that the wizard Ophion’s Key of the Forbidden Tower is now held by his pupil Orson Gregory.’ It looks like they have quite the extensive files about you and this Ophion. I assume you want both files?”

“Definitely,” Orson said. “Maybe one of them has a hint where Ophion’s been all this time. These last few months would’ve been a hell of a lot easier with his help.”

“You are marked ‘active investigation’,” she said. “He isn’t.” She continued to scroll. “And here’s another active investigation – Sirona Birgham. Hers is also marked ‘surveillance’. They appear to have extensive images.”

“They’re watching her?” Orson said. “Does Helmont still think I’m gonna turn up there to hide?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But that’s not why she’s listed here. They believe she has another key – passed from a Gertrude Montgomery – the Key of the Primeval Forest.”

“Oh shit,” Orson said. “The Liberty Corps has surveillance, like they’re watching her at the Inn?”

“Orson.” Dr. Stan looked up at him. “I need to keep moving to collect everything. The images are stored separately, but they’re being downloaded in tandem with the other data. If you’d like to see them right now, you might be able to find them as they download if you turn on the next monitor.”

“Thanks.” Orson found the “on/off” switch beneath that monitor and flipped it. The display looked more legible, recognizable folder icons rather than the endless moving text. Orson scanned the files, reading mostly combinations of numbers and letters and symbols.

But then he saw a folder marked “current download”.

The connected keyboard had arrow keys that moved a cursor arrow along the screen. Orson selected that file.

He saw for the first time in five years a new picture of Sirona.

Sirona was laughing and smiling, wearing a green dress that accented the green of her eyes and hugged the curves of her body. Her hair was longer than when he’d known her. Gone was the short-hair of the active adventurer, herself barely out of her teens. That was many years past. In the image, her red hair fell to the small of her back.

Then Orson noticed she wore the pointed hat of a pop-culture Christmas Elf, green to match her dress. She wore some Christmas costume, elf hat and dress and striped stockings. She stood beside a tall wing-backed armchair where a man dressed as Santa Claus read from a thick leatherbound book.

Behind them, Orson saw part of the foyer of the Inn at the Evergreen Forest, everything decorated for Christmas.

The great atrium tree that grew up through the foyer and reached through a skylight in its roof was fully decorated with lights and red, white, and golden Christmas balls. The ivy and other vines and moss that lined the outer walls had come alive with long strings of fairy lights. Every little tree was lit, all the green made to shine at Yuletide.

Orson remembered placing those same lights. Together, they’d twined them between the leaves.

The image changed.

Sirona stood at the head of the inn’s private dining room table, all seats full. She was smiling again, and Orson was so caught up in seeing her that the image was changing again before he thought to look for other faces he knew.

The next image found Sirona seated at a round table, outdoors. She faced a broad-shouldered, bearded man. Was this the ex-boyfriend that Franklin mentioned? She was laughing here too.

She looked so happy.

Orson saw her living the life she’d wanted.

It was like she’d found a truer version of herself than the Sirona he’d known, like the heavy emotional callus she’d worn to hide from all her pain and trauma had totally healed away.

She was whole again, whole and happy and fulfilled, no signs of the horror or sorrow they’d faced together.

And his only interaction with her in five years was endangering her.

Orson felt then the full weight of his choices and his wanderings. For the first time, he felt fully, truly, utterly homeless. He’d spent a sixth of his life mostly alone on the highway, all those years of adventures that had done nothing to heal the world, that had done little but keep him from a true home he might have known and from joy he might have shared.

He’d lost it all by his own choices.

Then the image changed. He saw more scattered pictures, photos stolen by the Liberty Corps that reminded him of their purpose.

They were watching her.

He saw an image filled with the red blur of oncoming flame. He saw Sirona standing on the wide drive from the Inn, a place with a great clearing from trees and buildings. He saw only part of her, her shoulder, her face, her booted feet. The rest was hidden behind the fire – probably the last moments of the Redhead probe they’d sent after her.

Then the image changed. Orson saw her standing on her balcony, beside her residence at the Inn, where they’d spent so many nights looking at the stars.

He saw her walking in Evergreen City proper, walking beneath a canopy of trees grown between the buildings.

He saw her standing on tiptoe to kiss the man from the cafe.

Orson almost turned away and turned off the screen. What was wrong with him – prying into her life, looking over the shoulder of the Liberty Corps as they spied on her?

But then the image changed into something he didn’t recognize. A blur of reds and whites filled the screen. He turned his head, hoping he’d understand what he was seeing at a different angle, like with an optical illusion. Then he saw the text marking the bottom of the screen.

Fire Elemental – Dermatological Cross Section

Dissection of Specimen 13

Elemental Enigma Nature Study – June 1962 Correlates to footnote three, filing 3717-9

And the image changed. He saw a man on an operating table, naked, arms and legs bound. He was cut open, baring his organs from collar to belly. His eyes were wide and aware. Thin flames curled, inches above his fists. Men in heavy quilted garments stood around him with long prods, pointing at him, touching him, inside and outside.

And the image changed. Orson saw a whole line of naked people, adults and children standing in a cramped, windowless space. They faced a machine that spewed fire. Some of their mouths were open in silent screams.

And he saw a flurry of more images, more diagrams and charts, images of gouts of flame, images of individual body parts, more images of vivisection – a cold, calculated montage of clinical torture.

Then those pictures also were gone, replaced by a box that read, “File: Primeval Forest 2 Images – processing complete.”

Orson shut off the screen.

* * *

“I wish Geber still let us talk up there.” The Rifle-troopers spoke as they arrived back on the unloading ledge.

Enoa walked far ahead of them, and she walked normally. She resisted the urge to run.

Back on the roof, they’d pulled Maros to his feet. She sensed him being dragged away. It was like his energy shield was still lit, a light she could see from far away and could not ignore. They took him back into the building, but she still followed him in her mind.

“If we could still talk up there, we’d’ve kept him from his mind powers,” one of the Riflemen said. “Then he’d have taken his punishment.”

“You got that right,” another answered. “Remember when we all played that video of him getting his ass beat by that Indian chick?” Others laughed.

Then Enoa did pick up the pace, on the path back to their unloading berths.

“Hey!” One of the Riflemen called after her. “We’re headed to the village to grab some drinks as soon as we get the okay. Why don’t you join us?”

“Uh,” Enoa turned back to the crowd of Riflemen. One stood closer. “That’s very nice, but I actually have to go back to work. I shouldn’t really have left—”

“Oh! Rejected!” Another of the Riflemen smacked the first across the shoulder. “Lenz got shot down even with his helmet on.”

“Maybe another time if I don’t mess up and get thrown off the mountain?” She shrugged. The Rifleman laughed and mercifully they took the other path along the ledge, away from her.

Enoa turned back to Jaleel and the docked trailers. She saw then that the unloading had moved on to the second trailer, where the robotic arms extended from the open center hatch. Jaleel watched the proceedings.

“Oh no!” She ran to him. “How did it go?”

“I got it now!” he said. “Totally perfect. Another half hour and we’ll be all done.” He waited for her to stand beside him. “What happened up there? Do they really have that guy on the roof?”

“They have these Shapers who can shoot from their hands.” Enoa still felt Maros, even when he was taken inside. She felt his presence brought through the building, taken lower. “They shoot energy… things at him and his brother. And Maros just defends them with those shields he can make now. I think they do that until they wear him down and, I don’t know, then they actually hit him. They both looked…”

Maros had stopped moving. Had they taken him back to a cell, where they kept him, or to more torture? The knight had acted like they were finished with him.

“Looked how?” Jaleel leaned in front of her. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” Enoa remembered the Pacific Alliance’s promise to rescue the Maroses and their friend, Duncan Racz. But there was no real chance of that. The Alliance would not brave the artillery and the ships and the Shapers to save the Maroses. Who would?

Unless the Liberty Corps was totally beaten, unless everything they had was taken away, Maros and his brother and their friend, Duncan, if he was still alive – they had no chance of rescue.

No chance of rescue but her.

“You’re scaring me,” Jaleel said. “Did something happen up there?”

“Maros sensed me,” she said. “He knows I’m here.”

Jaleel stepped back. His posture went rigid. For the first time, he moved like the Liberty Corps trooper he pretended to be.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “He could give us away—”

“I’m going to rescue him,” she interrupted. “Him and his brother. I can feel him. I can sense him. I know exactly where he is. I think they took him back to his cell. I’m their only chance or they’ll be here until they’re killed.”

“What?” Jaleel actually yelled. “No! You can’t! You don’t know your way around. They could catch you, and then our whole mission would be ruined. And what about the K. E. Y.?”

“Aunt Su’s key is at my bunk,” she said. “And by the time our mission is done, it’ll be too late. This is the only way they survive. I wanted Maros to face justice more than anything, but... But he already is facing it. So is his brother. His brother, Max, who Orson said wasn’t even in the Liberty Corps! They’re being tortured, Jaleel. Imagine if the Baron went after your sisters! And I think they’re doing this to them every day. Who else can help them? We have the uniforms. And we can save them all, secretly, like they saved Littlefield.”

“Don’t bring family into this!” Jaleel said. “And where did this ‘we’ start? I’m still doing my job. I’m not watching magic gladiator cage matches or doing rescue missions.”

“It doesn’t have to be ‘we’,” she said. “But I’m going. We have a better chance together. We can wait until the third trailer’s connected. We’ll have twenty minutes. And even after that, we have a little time to clear the berth, right? We can be undercover Hiker Scouts. Isn’t there some comic book or something you’ll get to imitate?”

“Marching into the detention area is not what I had in mind,” Jaleel laughed, despite everything. “But imagine what Orson will do if he gets back here and we’re gone. I mean, what will he think?”

“We’ll have to be back here by then,” she said. “They’re prisoners. It’s not like we have to find their luggage.”

“Ugh!” Jaleel turned back to the unloading. “We spent weeks coming up with this. Now we need to do a cell block rescue plan in twenty minutes! What excuse can we give for even being there? We need some kind of cover.”

“I have one idea.” Enoa said. “Can we open the third trailer before the switch? No one will question a special medicine delivery, will they?”