The oversized light-up snake wobbled above its roof clamps. It was lighter than it looked, hollow, and lined only with thin wiring. The box truck that carried it blasted across the desert highway at a ludicrous speed. Both cab and trailer were done up in colors of yellow and green. Around the snake, the roof was covered in lights. They flashed, a garish, neon beacon, announcing the vehicle speeding through the empty landscape.

REMOTE ANTIVENOM SERVICES

Decals marked the sides and rear of the trailer. There may once have been contact information for the operation, but the trailer was weathered, its paint faded. No further information could be deciphered.

Enoa had seen the outside of the disguised Aesir, before she’d entered the ship through the back of the false truck-trailer. But she couldn’t imagine the bizarre sight they must be to anyone who saw them, part emergency vehicle, part gaudy advertisement.

Enoa sat in the passenger’s seat, and she struggled to follow the kaleidoscope of camera feeds that filled the windshield. There were almost a dozen feeds displayed there, presenting views from the Aesir’s modified exterior, as well as multiple points along the sides of the trailer. Two cameras were situated between the blinking lights and offered footage of the sky.

“Orson,” Enoa said. “What’s happening? I can’t follow any of this.”

“Something flew over us a few minutes ago,” Orson answered. “It was high enough that I’m not thinking civilian, but who knows. If we’re lucky it’s Alliance responding to whatever Eloise said to them about Helmont.”

“You’re sure they would know if we used the sensors?” Jaleel sat behind Orson, a typewriter in his lap. It was an antique model, mounted on an olive-green, metal box, four inches deep.

“I don’t think we should risk it,” Orson said.

“Okay.” Jaleel shifted the typewriter. Its internal workings were exposed to make room for an array of wiring that ran both inside and around the device. All external wires wove up to a translucent cube that had been attached to the back. The cube softly glowed. A thick, black cord reached from the glowing cube to a slot in the metal box.

“Why did I have to say I was a good typist?” Jaleel asked. “You guys are ready to fight, and I have to babysit the ‘ye olde email machine’.”

“Your job is really important,” Orson said. “You’ll fall in love with that thing when you see it work. And you’ll be able to stretch your legs in a few minutes. We’re only about thirty miles from the river, and it’ll take some work to get the tarp set up so we won’t be seen.”

“Shouldn’t we send a message back to Littlefield and let them know we’re okay?” Enoa asked. The tri-cannon’s control stick was already primed for her to use, but she’d be next to useless until the sensors came online, and she got her targeting screen. “Isn’t it pretty cruel not to let Eloise know we didn’t get killed?”

“Maybe.” Orson kept his eyes fixed on the windshield displays. Even in the warm climate, years without maintenance had begun to take their toll on the road. It was worn and somewhat overgrown. Low trailing grasses reached across the roadway. Orson ignored all of it and maintained the Aesir’s sprint through the desert – 150 kph. Enoa had only a fleeting knowledge of metric distances, but she knew they were going really, really fast.

“Okay, Jaleel,” Orson said. “The typewriter can be pretty annoying, but I’ll try to walk you through sending a message. There should already be paper in there. You won’t need that unless we get a response right away, but we might.”

“Yeah, there’s paper in here,” Jaleel said.

“Good. You should be able to start by locking in the recipient. If you turn it, you’ll see labeled switches on the bottom translation plate.”

“That’s the green part?” Jaleel asked.

“Yes, that’s it. There are numbers and initials written there. They should correspond to eight triggers. Uh, let me try to remember this. Eloise will be the one labeled E, hyphen L, hyphen six. Do you see that?”

Enoa turned around in her seat. The back of the typewriter was more complex than she’d noticed when she and Jaleel had removed it from a crate in one of the ship’s storage lockers. There were several small triggers at the intersection of the typewriter and the bottom metal box. Each of these was wired with thin cords that forked many times, all weaving in clusters back along the typewriter.

“No. Wait, yes.” Jaleel hit one of the buttons. “Orson, what the hell is this thing?”

“It’s a little marriage of a folktale relic jury-rigged to a vintage Remington typewriter. Did you hit the right switch? That’s very important.”

“You have no idea what this is, do you?” Jaleel grimaced and looked up from his work.

“I know exactly what it is, but I have no idea how it works, so I’m sparing you the pain of your own curiosity… At least until we have time to talk about it more. Did you hit the right one, or not?”

“Yeah, I hit it.”

“Cool. Tell Eloise we’re alive and hopefully only a little over an hour and a half from getting to the lab.”

“So I just start typing?” Jaleel adjusted the typewriter in his lap.

“Yeah,” Orson said. “But don’t use caps or any punctuation other than periods after sentences. And say ‘over’ when you’re done with the message, like you’re talking on a radio. Eloise will probably start typing before you type ‘over’, but do it anyway.”

Jaleel pressed a few keys. Where the hammers would typically strike a piece a ribbon against the paper, marking it with ink, this device raised its hammers only part way, striking nothing.

Enoa watched some of the wiring from the back of the typewriter stretching taut as Jaleel typed out the message.

“Ugh, you weren’t kidding!” Jaleel said. “You really can’t see anything you type. What do I do when I’m done?”

“Hit the carriage return lever – push it to the left,” Orson said. “It’s the lever that sticks out on the top right. That will break the connection.”

“Is that the lever that does the slidy thing for normal typewriters?” Jaleel asked.

“Yes,” Orson said. “If you mean what I think you do – the carriage return.”

“Okay.” Jaleel pushed the lever. “AH!”

The typewriter’s keys and hammers began to move on their own. They now reached all the way to the typewriter’s ribbon of ink, marking the moving paper, keys moving faster than with any human typist.

“Now it needs the slidy thing.” Jaleel said. “Does it do that on its own? It’s getting close to the end of the line!” He pulled his hands back, as the paper moved upwards. The carriage slid back into place, and the typewriter started on the next line. “Why is it so fast?”

“Yeah, the carriage returns on its own,” Orson said. “That’s all part of what the translation plate does. It’s moving quickly because the memory in the translator held onto Eloise’s message, until you broke our outgoing connection. It’s trying to catch up to her. She never waits. What is she saying? Is it actually Eloise or did you write to one of my other old acquaintances?”

“Nope, it’s Eloise,” Jaleel said. “She says she’s glad we’re alive, and that you were right. Some kind of fast-moving aircraft went over Littlefield. She thinks the Baron sent a scout to look for us, and it’s good we left the decoy camper in her yard.”

“I thought he might,” Orson said.

“She has some bad news too,” Jaleel continued. “She sent a message to Dr. Stan, and it came back undeliverable.”

“Is that definitely bad?” Enoa asked. “Could it just be a malfunction or something like that?”

“That would be insanely bad luck,” Orson said. “Does Eloise seem worried?”

“I think so,” Jaleel said. “She’s writing more. She’s never seen this error before. Oh, and she saw multiple aircraft fly out away from the Alliance encampment.”

“Great. It looks like we’re already headed to another throw-down.” Orson made a slow exhalation. “Once she’s done writing, you can put it back to ‘send’ and tell her we’ll keep her posted. Whatever’s waiting for us at that lab, we’ll be there soon.”

* * *

Thirteen groups of Pterodactyl-class hunter-seeker drones flew in grids, scanning the skies in a fifty-mile radius around the Crystal Dune Laboratory Complex.

Once, satellite networks would have maintained connection between the Dactyls and their remote control center, but this was no longer the case. Too many of the necessary satellites had been destroyed by the Thunderworks fleet or by attempts to stop it.

Now the Dactyls were linked by high-flying control craft. These crewed aircraft coordinated with the teams that monitored the other three Scientific Advisory labs. All reported to western Liberty Corps Command at The Pinnacle.

The Dactyls were equipped with double forward particle cannons, and a payload of two rockets. Crewed aircraft reinforcements could arrive in minutes.

The Aesir could go nowhere without being seen.

“This is House Call.” All drone coordinators received the message from a fifth team leader. “Aesir might still be in Littlefield, in the property Governor Sloan identified as belonging to Eloise Corwin. There was a covered shape signature, that matched the registered dimensions of the Aesir craft.”

“This is Pasture Watch,” a drone coordinator spoke, representing a remote formation that observed a laboratory in the plains region. “No sign of the Aesir. Nothing to report.”

“This is Bad Neighborhood,” the coordinator of the San Francisco formation reported. “Too many matching shape signatures to investigate, but no aircraft that match the Aesir.”

“This is Mountainview,” the coordinator of a Dactyl formation monitoring an outpost in the northern Rocky Mountains. “We have some passerby data to analyze, but no direct matches.”

“This is Oasis,” the coordinator of the force monitoring the Crystal Dune Laboratory Complex reported. “No aircraft of any kind. No matches. We have data for three modified ground vehicles, two pieces of farming equipment and an antivenom health industry business. Reporting only out of due diligence.”

“House Call again, Pacific Alliance forces just launched from the Littlefield encampment. Looks like twenty craft. Will send more data. Assume other assets in motion, responding to our broadcast. We advise all operations conclude before Alliance forces arrive.”

“Negative.” A new voice spoke over the comm, high-pitched, and with a peculiar gurgling echo, behind the words. “This is Sir Rowan, on the ground at Oasis. Scientists here were working with the Aesir. They just received a warning from Littlefield civilians. We’ve sent a decoy response. The Aesir isn’t here yet, but it will be. Pending approval of Baron Helmont, all forces will converge on the Crystal Dune Laboratory.”

“House call here,” that team leader replied. “We’ll watch the Aesir match on the Corwin property.”

“That may not be the Aesir,” Rowan said. “But continue updates. We need to keep the Alliance forces from aligning with the Aesir or any laboratory personnel until we kill Gregory and apprehend Cloud’s heir.”