Robert R. Corwin, Jr. had watched his marriage end in the years following destabilization. Littlefield’s renewed isolation had altered his future as much as any world-devastating weaponry.

Rob often flew a single-engine plane between Littlefield’s makeshift airstrip and the former state capitol in Sante Fe, where his twin daughters lived with his ex-wife. Rob had earned his pilot’s license just before licenses lost their relevance. He’d learned on a whim. If Eloise could be a pilot, why couldn’t he?

It was a convenient way to travel, faster and safer than making the long trip on empty highways. He’d gotten adept at flying or at least at that particular flight.

Rob was used to the vast landscapes beneath him, seeing his home terrain from the unique aerial viewpoint. He’d seen the post-battle devastation at one of the regional oil fields. He often saw strange ramshackle villages growing in the open desert, as nomads or fugitives – now with far greater options, began building new lives. Rob saw how small Littlefield truly was. He’d known that all his life, but he emotionally processed the scale of the world only when he saw it from the air.

None of these sights prepared him for witnessing the devastation on old 66.

Rob was situated in a crash seat aboard the Pacific Alliance Anti-Gravity Atmospheric Craft (AGAC). He sat beside two Alliance officials. One wore a military dress uniform, the other a suit. The officer, an older, graying and balding Colonel, named Musgrove, had introduced himself to Rob. The other man had not.

The rear of the AGAC looked like it had been designed to resemble the interior of an office, with two desks and a few uncomfortable metal seats, all bolted to the floor. Each seat had an emergency switch that could signal the cockpit flight crew.

Due to potential danger from Liberty Corps stragglers, Rob and the two Alliance officials sat in seats along one wall. Rob wasn’t positioned beside a window, but he unbuckled and stood when Musgrove directed him to look out.

The ship’s inertial dampeners gave the view out the window an unnerving quality, as if he were watching a video of the world outside, as if he weren’t really there. He felt no motion.

Route 66 lay far beneath them, cast in the orange glow of early twilight. At first, Rob didn’t recognize his home. He didn’t notice the turnoff toward Littlefield or his hometown’s lights glinting in the distance. He saw only the junkyard of smoking debris that covered what must have been a mile or miles of roadway below.

The AGAC flew too high to distinguish any of the debris, but Rob could appreciate the scope of the devastation and the carnage. This was what remained of the War Force. This was what remained of the thousand-strong attack on Littlefield.

“Captain Gregory did this?” Musgrove asked.

Rob didn’t know the full intentions of the Pacific Alliance, and he knew just enough about Orson’s trouble with the former federal government and the League of Nations that – despite his gratitude to the man – he would not entangle his own family with the scene below. “He must have,” Rob said.

“It’s a good thing he was here,” the unnamed official said.

“Mr. Corwin,” Musgrove said. “When we land, we’d like to conduct our meetings somewhere local. We think a town office would be more comfortable for everyone. Can you help us?”

* * *

Kol slept during the meandering trip back to Max’s lodging. It was a deep, full sleep, impenetrable, without care or thought.

He was groggy when Duncan shook him awake. He had enough presence of mind to be surprised by the setting sun – he’d been asleep all day – and by the sight of Max’s empty wheelchair beside the station wagon.

“What’s going on?” He’d slept in the car all day? Kol allowed Duncan to guide him from the station wagon and into the wheelchair. His legs had strength. His muscles probably could have held him, but he was unsteady.

“I couldn’t take the road with the evacuating forces,” Duncan said. “Driving off-road took forever, and I circled around a few times, in case we were followed.” Then he closed and locked the station wagon, before wheeling Kol through the empty parking lot.

“How’s Max?” Kol asked.

“He’s just fine,” Duncan said. “He’s the happiest I’ve seen him in… I think he expected us to have our skulls bashed in by Nine-flails.”

Kol fought his exhaustion. He wanted to see Max. He had survived the battle. He’d survived Brielle, at least physically, and he’d outlived Sloan and the War Force. Against all odds, he and Duncan had returned to Max, but the parking lot seemed impossibly long, and he dozed again.

“Do you remember the name of the drug Rinlee’s people gave him during his last exertion?” Max’s voice entered Kol’s sleep and reminded him of his success and his survival. He’d slept for some unknown duration, while Duncan returned him to Max’s room.

Kol knew hearing him speak would reassure his brother. “Brielle called it Neuzodone.”

When Max gripped Kol’s hand, Kol knew it was him, and he knew the relief in the gesture. Max’s hands had retained most of the calluses they’d earned during his time in the Navy.

Kol opened his eyes. He didn’t know the expression on his brother’s face. Max sat beside him in the room’s desk chair. He had an odd look in his eyes, similar to the expression he’d worn at their parents’ funeral, fragile control.

“Well, he’s alive,” Duncan said. “What do we do now?

“I’ve contacted an old friend of mine,” Max said. “I’ve known him since the Academy. I sent a coded telegram to San Francisco, where he’s a Commander in the Pacific Alliance Navy. I asked him for help. With any luck, he will arrange a pickup for us, but if you agree to hide with the Alliance, your freedom will depend on whatever Liberty Corps secrets you choose to share.”

* * *

“What do you think? Too formal?” Orson wore a sport coat he’d forgotten he still owned, a pre-wayfarer garment that had never been laced with armor. He’d ironed a shirt and found a tie. He carried no weapons – or at least nothing that was created to be a weapon – and a hand-me-down briefcase that held nothing more than a tiny audio player, with a single minute-long track in its memory.

Orson arrived in the Corwin house’s infirmary and found his crew, the Corwin siblings, and Carlos. “Man, I don’t think I’ve been in this room in ten years.”

“I hate this place so much,” Eloise said. “After all the days I was here alone, I would chop this room right out of the building, if I could.” Carlos squeezed her hand.

“You were sick because of the same man who made Wesley and your Dino?” Jaleel asked.

“Yes,” Eloise said. “We were all just Kappa’s playthings, me and my Dino and the aeropines. But I can take enough of the right medicine to feel normal now.”

“It must have been awful.” Enoa was no longer receiving IV, but she still had the port in her arm, and the assorted medical apparatus still stood around the bed. “But I think this room is cozy.”

“I always thought it was nice too,” Carlos said. “Not a lot of people can go to the hospital in their own house.”

“Orson, you look like a Rock Star who’s getting sued,” Rob Corwin sat nearest the door. He’d arrived the night before, aboard a Pacific Alliance aircraft.

Orson had watched the Alliance convoy arrive under cover of darkness; a dozen hover tanks, three troop transports, five mobile all-purpose operations buildings, dozens of armored and armed military vehicles, and a motley selection of air support craft. Orson had watched the vehicles on the Aesir’s sensors, arriving in town around the same time that the evacuees – those who had fled prior to the battle – had returned.

Orson watched the Alliance with gratitude and with dread, a horrible mix of emotions. He felt high-strung and paranoid. Old frustrations, slights from dead governments and fallen civilizations came to mind, unfair thoughts, but they weighed on him, all the same.

“Thanks, Rob.” Orson nodded to the man. “Always good to see you, too. How was your flight?”

“It was a smooth trip,” he replied. “Their technology is pretty unbelievable. Sometimes I didn’t even notice I was moving. They seem pretty happy with how things went here, but they’re not gonna take your long-hair barbarian look as reassuring.”

“You look really stiff,” Carlos said. “You need to relax a little bit, Orson. You helped save the town! The Alliance wouldn’t have gotten here in time. Show them you’re relieved. The jacket might be a little too tight in the shoulders, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Orson said. “I don’t have a lot of nice clothing, and I’m not getting a haircut just to meet with a couple suits.”

“I think you look great, boss!” Jaleel sat beside Enoa. He was doubled over in the seat, not even looking at Orson, instead watching the spot on the floor where they’d set up a bed for Wesley. Orson could hear the aeropine’s chattering. The animal was apparently trying to leave his bed. “We’re all happy to see the Captain, but I think you should stay where you are, little man. Come on, Wesley.”

“They know who you are,” Enoa said. “I think you would be better off in your adventure stuff, how you’d be comfortable.”

“You think?” Orson smoothed out his jacket’s shoulders. “I’m meeting with them in the staff building, next door, so I don’t think I have time to change. I’ll just have to go with this. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m tired for longer, this time, but I guess that’s normal.”

“I wanted to bring her films over here,” Jaleel said. “Her aunt has to say something about what happens when you work too hard with the Shaping, right? But she…”

“That would be a decidedly bad idea,” Orson interrupted. “We don’t want to watch any one-of-a-kind magic instruction videos where the Pacific Alliance might try to confiscate them. Enoa, if you’re worried that you’re not getting better fast enough, and you need to see your films, we’ll need to move you back to the ship.”

“You don’t trust anybody, Orson,” Alec Corwin said. “Do you really think those agents would force their way in here and rob Enoa?”

“If they’re anything like the agents I’ve known, they wouldn’t look at it as theft, and I’d rather finish things here, in town, peacefully.” Orson knew he wouldn’t leave with the welcoming vibes he’d hoped for if he went to the meeting with his current attitude. “I trust lots of people,” he added. “I trust at least thirty or forty individual people.”

“Do you trust all of us?” Alec asked.

“I trust most of you, all the time,” Orson said. “And all of you, most of the time. Some people, Alec, aren’t as wary as I like to be.”

“Do you think there will be trouble, Orson?” Enoa sat up in the bed. “Do we need to get ready to leave?”

“Wesley’s cage is all set,” Jaleel said. “Whenever we need to go, we can go.”

“That’s good.” Orson tried again to show relief he did not feel, the relief that he’d lost during his call with Pops.

Eight Dreamside Road keys existed out in the world. Baron Helmont, the Shaper, was after the keys with eleven knights. That didn’t even touch on his unspoken fears. The Alliances would want their own Shapers to fight Helmont, wouldn’t they? That’s how arms races worked.

He didn’t want to vocalize that thought or think on it. The kind of psychic or magic arms race the old Hierarchia had feared might finally come to pass. “I think everything will be fine.”

“You’re worried,” Eloise said. “You can’t hide from me, Orson. What’s wrong? We won yesterday. I mean, how much better could that have gone?”

“I don’t think Orson’s wrong to keep his cards close to his chest,” Rob commented, before Orson could answer. “There was a man on the flight over here who didn’t introduce himself to me. He reminded me of the Hierarchia guys who showed up to the Kappa hearings, ten years ago. There’s nothing wrong with being careful.”

“And it’s more than just that,” Orson said. “I want to pursue asylum for Man Bun and the astronaut. It’s only right, but I know how this works. The Pacific Alliance will ‘Operation Paperclip’ them to safety, and they’ll never see justice for what they did in Nimauk.”

“Do you really think that will happen?” Enoa asked. She was good at hiding her emotions, and she’d gotten better since her Shaping training had commenced. Orson couldn’t tell how she felt. He couldn’t read her face.

“That’s part of how the old IHSA was founded,” Orson said. “Axis scientists – Nazi scientists, were secretly hired by the U.S. and were given new lives by the Allies. They might have to live under different names or something, but if the Alliance thinks Man Bun can help in the struggle with the Liberty Corps, I have no doubt he’ll get away with everything he did.”

“So you’re saying the only choices we have are to let Maros get away with everything, or give him no help, even though the Liberty Corps has to be after him?” Enoa kept her unreadable expression.

“Basically,” Orson said. “I wasn’t going to mention this in front of everybody else, but I need to go now, and we need to decide what we’re doing.”

“If this Maros guy burned down Enoa’s house,” Jaleel said. “He can’t just get away with that, even if he tried to help now.”

“I understand how you’re feeling, Jaleel,” Carlos said. “But if this Maros man sent the warning, he placed himself in incredible danger to help this town. If he has enough info to get asylum, he could have gotten that without the telegram.”

Before the discussion could continue further, Orson set the briefcase on the side of Enoa’s bed and opened it. Wesley flew up from the floor and landed beside the open briefcase.

“Keep an eye on him, Jaleel.” Orson didn’t mean for his voice to sound so short or angry. “I’m sorry… But if we aren’t careful, those agents might decide they want to study Wesley or anything else they say is a danger to society, or any of the usual crap.”

“Orson,” Rob said. “I think they’re most interested in you, actually, and your business.”

“Good.” Orson hit play and let the single stored track project out into the infirmary.

“This is Liberty Corps Western Baron Helmont, broadcasting across all channels.” A curt, professional voice, distorted and muffled like the audio had passed through a filter, spoke in the playback. “All non-essential missions are currently placed on hold. All edicts and directives are halted, pending further instructions. There remain only two priorities.

“All operations that seek recovery of the Dreamside Road keys will continue. And any effort to locate the traitor, Kolben Maros, and his accomplices is now our primary objective. He must answer for his treason. Nothing else can continue until Maros faces the consequences of his betrayal. I have dispatched the remaining five southwestern knights to locate them. They will not escape me or my knights or their entries on my plummet ledger. When we next communicate, justice will be done.”

The room’s occupants stayed quiet after the recording ended. They had heard the voice of the man who had okayed Littlefield’s destruction.

“You have to help them.” Enoa broke the silence. “Save them, Orson, if you can.”