The swords of fire cast a lavender glow all along the perimeter ledge. New color flashed out with each meeting, and white sparks burst into life where the blades touched.

Orson blocked Helmont’s first lunge and then the answering riposte. Orson’s arms still knew the recoil of the striking flames. It was a lesson his hands remembered, his grip firm, but fluid, his shoulders set.

Helmont’s feet met the deck, and he struck again, all wrist. He aimed a cut at Orson’s belly, then another at his face, then another at his knees. He used the rapier’s reach and polished, simple motions – no movement wasted.

Orson stopped them all. He slid his left hand down his sword’s long hilt, gaining reach and losing strength. But he redirected, he parried, he dodged Helmont’s strikes, flash and flash and flash of light, blue-to-violet like the sky at sunset.

“Your reflexes are better than I expected,” Helmont said. “Did Ophion take up the sword again to teach you, or was it all Master Zelus?”

“Ophion would’ve eaten you for lunch.” Orson saw that the Aesir had stopped firing on the knights, but the roof cannon still aimed toward them. All knights watched the swordplay – Kol too, who remained outside the floating ship. “He taught me to grow my method everywhere I fight—”

“An amateur’s answer.” Helmont snickered. “This is the Griffin’s Way you’re facing now, the twelfth form from the last and greatest house. Their way was the Kings’ Way. The Kings’ Way to kill a sellsword pretender – that’s a fitting thing.”

“I don’t want your resume, Baron.” Orson brought his sword so close to the rapier that he could see thin arcs of fire meet and clap apart. Their heat shields rubbed together. “When you fight me, you fight me. Not what I’m regurgitating back from some dusty scroll. I’m the best of everything I’ve faced and survived.”

Orson batted Helmont’s sword tip away. “I fought all twelve of the covenant ways when I was just learning. I was twenty when I helped beat the Ends of the Earth Guild. I fought their fire then and won.”

Orson stabbed at Helmont’s helmeted face. The strike was pushed aside by a swipe from the rapier’s tip, but Orson turned his blade with his thumb, spun the edge around the rapier. He stabbed again at the baron’s throat.

Helmont stepped away, sword in a low guard.

“If you were really at Isla de Manos and Norlenheim,” Orson said. “Then you saw me fight the gold fire and the dragon-bone swords. Were you there to watch me win, Baron?”

“It’s a rare thing for these swords to meet,” Helmont said. “So many now lost to time. I relish hearing the Fyrsang, even in battle against an amateur. What shall I do with Thousand Destiny when you die? Did you and your true master taint it? Should I divide it among my worthiest knights or preserve its history?”

“This’ll be a great story to tell.” Orson aimed a slash up at the baron’s helmet. It was redirected again. The rapier’s tip pushed Orson’s attack aside with another lavender blast. And Helmont advanced, the rapier’s longer cutting edge all between Orson and his target.

The blue fire burned broader, and Orson smashed the flat of the sword against the rapier. Explosions burst all down the weapons, but Orson held steady. He slid inside Helmont’s guard, with the full length of flames grappling. He stepped closer, close enough to bring the edge toward Helmont’s collar.

Helmont flew backward, and stayed airborne. His boots floated inches above the deck.

“When I give this sword to one of my kids,” Orson said. “They’ll love to hear about all your gloating.”

Helmont flew at him again, and Orson braced himself, ready to jump aside or hold steady and weather another volley.

But the gale of wind hit him first. Orson heard the scream, and he’d almost forgotten Sir Rowan wriggling in the unloading arm’s grip. The gale threw Orson sideways, off his feet, stance and sword posture gone.

Orson fired his repulsor. He righted himself, raised his blade again, fought the still raging wind, howling from the trapped knight’s lungs.

But Helmont did not pursue. He dropped both feet back to the deck. He turned to Sir Rowan and walked toward him. The knight took a breath and watched his master’s approach.

“I am here to support you, as I have been all these years, my lord,” Sir Rowan said. Helmont looked up at him, and he did not answer. “Free me, and we will destroy him together, as we should have fought the Dreamthought traitors almost forty years ago.”

“I will free you.” Helmont rose from the deck again and held himself midair beside the trapped knight. “Yes, I should have freed you long ago.” He flicked his glove from his left hand with a turn of his wrist. He touched his fingertips to Sir Rowan’s bare face. He slid them down Rowan’s neck and then out of sight, tight between the knight and the hand.

“Thank…” Sir Rowan’s words ended in a gag and a long, desperate cough, like something had caught, deep in his lungs.

“I should have freed you from your lusts.” Helmont pulled his hand back. A trickle of blood began from Sir Rowan’s lips. “I should have freed you from your whims and your weakness. I could not fix you, so I should have freed you.”

Sir Rowan gasped. The blood was not carried by the knight’s breathing. It was like a wound had opened inside him.

The blood poured out, like a constant stream of red vomit from his mouth and then his ears and eyes and pores – everywhere, until the knight could not be seen, like he was being turned inside out. Somewhere beneath the discharge, Sir Rowan screamed, but the sound ended, faded, like he was washed away.

When the last poured out from Sir Rowan, the knight was gone. Nothing remained of his head, sticking from the unloading hand’s grip. Orson saw clear through to the loose, empty armor held between the fingers. Helmont regarded his handiwork.

Orson drew the lantern and twisted it open again. Fire shot toward the baron, still looking away. The violet fire burned in the air around Helmont and met the lantern’s red flame.

But now Orson treated the aura like he had the frigate’s shield. He intensified it, opened the lantern to burn white-hot and then burn blue. And then he flew at Helmont to cut through his defenses and—

Orson slammed down into the ledge before he could question why. It was like his boot had reversed and thrown him away.

Then something pulled him, dragged him across the ledge, lantern still firing into the open air. And Orson rammed into the Pinnacle’s outer wall.

He came to a stop there, and only then did Orson recognize the invisible grip on his repulsor. It was the same will that had taken his blaster and dragged it out from his armor. Now it held his right boot, as if it had magnetized it to the deck.

Orson twisted the lantern shut. He rolled onto his left side, right boot still tight at the platform. He angled his sword back toward its sheath.

The boot moved again. It screeched against the metal, dragging Orson along behind it.

“We’re not yet finished with Thousand Destiny,” Helmont said. “And for now, I prefer you stay where I leave you. Unlike you, I need no trinkets to imitate the ancient arts. I know their ways. You’re just a man, with no power but what you can teach your muscles. How could you ever hope to stand against me?”

The baron raised his sword. But he didn’t fly at Orson or move to strike him, from afar.

Instead, the baron swung the blade, and an arc of violet fire broke free of the sword’s tip, making another cutting edge. The new blade projected out through the air like Aneirin’s golden technique. It followed the ledge toward the far unloading station where the skimmers had departed, where some might still be taking the long journey back to the valley.

The violet light cut through all three magnetic cables before it burned away to nothing. Visible electricity shot from the decapitated docking stations.

The three cables fell away from the base and down the mountainside toward the unseen ground.

* * *

Kol sensed the last two skimmers fall, like he heard their metal hides whistling through the air as they plummeted toward the valley floor.

And it was like he could actually hear the screams of those inside, like he heard the distant roar of many voices, a crowd just out of sight.

Kol could not sense the first skimmer. He assumed and hoped it had found the ground before Helmont’s attack. But the two that fell, they faced a straight drop toward the ground. He knew that. He sensed it, as clear as if he saw it, as clear as he saw Helmont tormenting Orson Gregory.

“I’ll strip you down, Gregory,” Helmont said. “I’ll peel Ruhland’s shell from you – or is it a Zelus imitation? I’ll tear it away and plot you. Then you’ll cleave your own head from your shoulders.”

If Orson answered, Kol didn’t hear him. Kol listened to the falling skimmers, his mind focused far down the sheer rock face, toward the valley floor.

Kol reached out to catch the falling skimmers, cushion them both, slow their fall. Looking at the scale of the mountain, it seemed a short way from the bottom of the severed cords to the ground. Kol formed projections beneath them, but then he felt their full weight and their full inertia, and it was like trying to hold a car still with his bare hands.

Pain raced down his shoulders, like he’d physically caught them both or like they’d both landed, one on each of his arms. It was weight and pain like the mass of steel that had destroyed his right hand. But this was outside logical explanation. It was all just mental, but still too real to ignore, like the weight would tear both arms from their sockets.

Kol tried to lower the skimmers. He tried to find some place where only the task mattered, where the impossible truth of what he was attempting didn’t matter, where only success or failure were real.

But then Kol felt a new sensation – numbness, and it was a numbness he knew, sudden and complete. Kol knew the power of Sir Geber when he felt it, but his whole mind and effort were tied to the impossible work to save the skimmers. He had none for himself.

Kol dropped both projections when the numbness reached his head. He fell to the deck beside the Aesir. He toppled sideways so he had a clear view of Baron Helmont and his knights beyond. Most still stared at Orson, but Sir Geber looked at him. Both antenna pointed in his direction.

Kol was only half looking back. In his mind, he watched both skimmers crash to the valley floor. The second fleeing skimmer dropped only meters, probably less than fifty feet. He felt the end of its fall, felt it break on the ground.

The third fell much farther, a thousand feet or more remained. It was still plummeting when Kol heard his name and his concentration was broken.

“Kol!” Dr. Stan pressed one hand to his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw her raise a blaster toward the knights. “You need to move Kol!”

Kol could not answer her. The numbness had taken his mouth too, all but his eyes. Nothing else would move.

“Jaleel! Now!” Dr. Stan yelled. And then there was a tremendous noise, gatling gun volleys or several machine guns. Kol remembered the hidden guns at the Aesir’s front grill and how they’d torn a Sun Talon to shreds.

The numbness began to ease. He had feeling again in his face and neck and arms. Dr. Stan helped him into a sitting position.

The knights stood behind a wall of shifting metal pieces, like it had been made of swirling shrapnel that absorbed the fire from the Aesir’s guns. But Kol didn’t look for long. He didn’t look at the knights or the baron or captive, trapped Orson Gregory. When the feeling returned to his legs, he let Dr. Stan lead him up into the ship he had pursued so often at the beginning of the year. Kol stepped aboard the Aesir.

“It’s his boot!” Jaleel sat in the pilot’s seat. “It’s gotta be. We need to get that baron, and I’ll slice the boot off of Orson. I know how! I’ve seen how he puts it on.”

Kol allowed Dr. Stan to guide him to an armchair. His head was still spinning, and the tingling became a headache when the Manifest Destiny blared a second klaxon. New ringing in his ears drowned out the soft response Enoa mumbled in reply.

“Yeah,” Jaleel said. “We’re running out of time.”

Dr. Stan found a seatbelt at the side of the armchair and buckled Kol into place.

“Thank you.” Max sat across from him on the ship’s couch. “Enoa told us what you did, Kol. That was very brave.”

“It didn’t matter,” Kol said.

“Did you feel her catch it?” Enoa’s voice rose. “Melanthymos stopped her skimmer. She brought up the ground to meet them. You let her save all those people.”

Kol couldn’t feel it. Even his physical senses were diminished. His mental view of the valley was entirely gone.

“Damn, he’s really zonked out, huh?” Jaleel said. “I was hoping I’d have his help again. What are we gonna do with both our magic people burned out? We gotta save Orson! We have to be smart like Orson would be if it was one of us.”

“There’s another Shaper coming,” Enoa said. “He’s coming to get Helmont.”

“You’re really going full DBZ on me, now,” Jaleel said. “Feeling power levels. How do you know he’s coming to fight?”

Jaleel was answered by a long howl. It was an animal cry, wild and crazed, but with a palpable, human anger. And then Kol felt it too, the rage, like an arrow pointing across the sky at the Baron.

Then Jaleel yelled. “What the hell is that?”

* * *

Orson eased his left hand down his side, toward his opposite leg, toward the wiring from his framework and the clasp that held the boot in place.

The exoskeleton boot had carried him through the Hierarchia constructor forge. He’d worn it first to fight foe and friend-turned-foe among the bonding metal and death machines. The boot had anchored him to the hull of the Zirukath, the city-killer dragon of the Thunderworks fleet. It held him there to win his HUD and face the half-living endling who ruled that warship. He’d worn it for five years of travels and battles and survival.

Now, Helmont had it.

Orson hooked his index finger around the first power cable and gave it a quick yank.

“No, no.” Helmont sent him spinning again, thrown sideways by the boot. Orson lost his grip when he struck the deck, winded. “You stole that repulsion unit, and it now belongs to the Liberty Corps. As justice, you belong to me, Gregory. You will die by your thievery, carried to death by your stolen repulsor and with your stolen sword buried in your heart.”

Helmont turned him end-over-end so he fell face-first onto the platform. The limited armor at the edge of his hood pressed into his mask and cheek and made his teeth clack together.

“How durable are you beneath the shell?” Helmont asked. “How long would it take to mash you down to pulp? How much dispersion can your armor achieve?

Orson felt his pocketed weapons and tools beneath him. There were explosives that he had no time to arm. There was his second Colchean Man-trap, but no way to move within range to use it. There were annoyances and distractions, his stinks and smokes and his kazoo. Did he have enough air to wield the kazoo outdoors? Save himself and save the boot? But all the lung-power in the world couldn’t retrieve it from his pocket or bring it up to his lips.

“I expected your usual wit,” Helmont said. “I expected a usable epitaph for you, something to mark your grave. I’d grant you that honor. But silence? This I never predicted. Are you only talkative when you win? Braggadocio from the sellsword? And look at you still holding the blade. Is—”

The sudden scream silenced Helmont. It sounded human, but modified, as if modified by some audio filter or distortion. The sound came from above. Orson tried to turn toward the noise, but his boot still clung tight to the deck. He didn’t see the new shape until it flew over the top of the Pinnacle’s roof.

Parade Balloon shot down out of the sky. The ‘former human’ test subject once called Kesey brought a storm of torn-free roof tiles and girders flying along in his wake. He sent a rain of steel and stone down toward the platform. The knights gathered behind their shifting iron pieces. Bits of metal bounced from the Aesir’s energy shield. Even near the base wall, Orson felt coin-sized fragments strike and fall away from his coat and armor.

The violet fire burned around Helmont again. It turned aside shrapnel and a human-sized chunk of concrete. And when the fire cleared, Helmont no longer faced Orson.

Orson slid his left fingers beneath his belly, toward his large hip pocket, where the kazoo waited. He could feel the lump, but he didn’t move his weight to reach it. He didn’t so much as flex the toes of his trapped right foot, and his right hand stayed clenched around his sword.

Another vial of blood rose from Helmont’s belt. Kesey took a breath and stared, unblinking, down at the baron.

Helmont took hold of the vial, but then it shattered in his hand. The baron recoiled, and then the entire case shattered at his hip. Helmont sent it floating away from his belt without a touch. Several broken vials fell free, their contents splattering on Helmont’s armor and leaking along the platform.

Orson reached the pocket with the tips of his fingers, but the full weight of his hips lay across the kazoo. He forced his fingers inside. He forced them beneath his own weight without moving his body, without looking away from Helmont and the telekinetic battle.

A lance soared out from the crowd of knights, but it turned around in midair and swung back toward them. The lance halted, shaking. Then the blade bent sideways, and the weapon fell to the deck.

Kesey screamed again. All seven knights were bowled over, toppling into one another and falling as if thrown aside by a great wind. More debris flew at Helmont, and two fallen unloading docks joined it. They raised up high, then fell down to crush him.

The moment the frameworks fell, Orson forced his fingers deep into the pocket beneath himself. He caught the kazoo between his index and middle fingers. He felt the metal. He twisted it free. It looked like nothing more than tarnished brass with a pair of earplugs twisted around the middle. Orson clenched his fist around it, where it could not be seen.

The violet light erupted beneath the frameworks. The metal smoked with an alkaline smell that made Orson choke, but he didn’t move to fix his rebreather. He did nothing to reveal the kazoo in his hand.

And Helmont’s grip was still immovable on the boot.

The frameworks fell away, one to each side of the baron. Orson could no longer see Helmont, but he heard the man yell with real strain, adding his own voice beneath Kesey’s wailing.

A new projectile fire blade flew from the rapier. Orson saw the violet emerge from the far side of the melted framework. It flew up at Kesey. The fire wobbled, but it didn’t stop until it reached the floating man’s throat.

Orson stuffed the kazoo in his mouth and filled his lungs by the time the test subject’s remains fell, in pieces, to the platform.

Then Orson sent his own blast through the kazoo.

The sound was a bass rumble, a ululating cry that echoed through Orson’s head and sent real pain through his ears. The hurt called to mind Sir Rowan’s bleeding, but there was no sense to fear when the only other choice was certain death. He sent more air through the kazoo. He heard a voice cry out from the knights.

And the weight eased on his right foot.

Orson jumped to his feet. He sheathed the sword and ran. The Aesir had stayed floating at the edge, almost where he’d left it. He could be aboard in an instant if he used the boot to aid him.

He didn’t take the risk, but he felt his lungs emptying by the time he rounded the nearest framework.

He shot one glance toward Baron Helmont, and he saw the other man, sword still drawn. Helmont had his free hand pressed to the side of his helmet.

But Orson didn’t stop. He didn’t pause. He pushed every ounce of air he could through the kazoo, his miniature thought-breaker, and every ounce of strength he could pump into his legs.

The Aesir opened for him, and he slowed to pass through the particle shield.

He only took a breath when he jumped aboard.

“Fly!” He yelled when he felt both feet plant firm on the floor of his own ship. He saw that Kol was there wincing, and Max had hands over his ears, and Enoa groaned.

The Aesir moved.

But Helmont’s will caught the boot before the side door could close.

Orson felt his right foot fly from under him. He fell sideways. His head struck the floor, and he saw stars even with his armored hood. The kazoo flew from his fingertips and let out a jingling sound as it bounced away.

His boot stretched out behind him. Orson hooked himself in place, his left leg on one side of the doorframe and both arms on the other.

“Fly!” Orson screamed. “He has me! Fly!”

He heard yelling and talking and frantic, muffled chattering from Wesley. He felt the Aesir’s engines. He felt the slight rush of air, even through the shield.

But the weight on his foot didn’t stop. It wasn’t true pain, but there was a strain at his hips and shoulders, from the leg that would not move and his braced limbs.

“Fly!” He yelled again. “Can’t get the boot off! Can’t get it off!”

And the will on his boot pulled him back. Then there was pain at his left leg and his shoulders. The grip was irresistible and his body hurt from the effort to fight it, even with his coat draped most of the way down his legs.

“Orson,” Dr. Stan said. “We will hold you in place. Then can you remove your boot?”

“I have to.” Orson saw through tears. Kol leaned down at him. The young man almost fell as he lowered himself to the floor. He gripped Orson’s hands with his own. Dr. Stan grabbed his left foot.

“I need my left hand.” Orson screamed the words. “Take the right.” And Kol did, gripped him flat to the wall with his prosthetic.

Orson arched his back, twisted his left hand. He stretched backward, to his knee, to the clasp and the wiring. Both detached. He clenched his toes and pulled his leg back, and he caught the edge of the boot with his free fingers. He pushed down, shoved it lower, jammed his fingers against the metal.

Baron Helmont did the rest.

The repulsor boot that he’d worn through so many dangers tore free of his foot and flew from the doorway. Orson didn’t even see it fall. He rolled inside and the door cycled shut beside him.

The boot was gone. He felt like he’d been stretched, pulled apart in both directions. But his right leg and foot was the worst, like something real and physical had held him too tight to move.

Something hit the Aesir’s shields with force enough to jar Orson sideways. Everyone yelled. And Kol seized him and brought him back up to his knees. The room spun around him, but his legs worked. The right foot’s flesh was tender, but he felt nothing pulled and nothing broken.

“Saw-wings!” Jaleel shouted. “Looks like they’re coming home!”

“Keep going, Jaleel,” Dr. Stan said. “Orson’s in no state to fly. Enoa, do you have the guns?”

“Do I have a choice?” She asked.

“I might be able to take over,” Orson said. Dr. Stan forced his left arm around her shoulders. She and Kol guided him back to his feet. Orson’s vision swam. The room seemed to spin. Kol reached out both hands toward him again.

“It’s okay,” Orson said. “Get buckled in. Thanks, Kol.”

“Kol? You…” Kol began to speak, but then he nodded and turned aside. “You’re welcome.”

Another blast struck the ship, and it was close enough to recognize the discharge of a Saw-wing’s double blaster cannon. But the shields held and Dr. Stan guided him forward to the back row of seats.

Orson fell into the seat behind Jaleel and buckled himself in place. Dr. Stan sat opposite him. Then the Aesir nosedived toward the valley below. The ship groaned. Orson fell tight to his restraints, and he heard a distant screech from Wesley.

“What is that sound?” Kol asked. “Is there a wild animal in here?”

“Animal, yes,” Orson yelled. “Wild, debatable. Jaleel, we’re not in a movie! The inertials can’t hold us like this.”

“Orson, let him work,” Enoa said. “Jaleel’s saved each of us at least twice since we got here.”

“Look at the sensors!” Jaleel yelled back. The Aesir leveled out. Max yelled. Kol let out a small, shocked yelp.

“He’s watching us.” Kol slurred the words. “He can watch me, Helmont. And he can almost watch Enoa and almost watch Orson now. He knows right where we are. There are so many of them.”

“Not now!” Enoa yelled. “I’m trying to ignore that right now.”

Orson leaned sideways to see the dashboard and saw a screen filled with red. He saw moving Saw-wings and the far right of the scanner was a solid hostile blob that meant the Manifest Destiny.

“I haven’t been a passenger in a long time.” Orson sat back and watched the green and brown blur of the valley whipping past them. “Aim due west when we get through the valley. Get us out of Liberty Corps territory as fast as you can.”

But then the blob of the Manifest Destiny moved. Even a quarter turn from the immense ship could bring them in its range. And if the worst came, and the supercarrier descended on them, Orson had no way to fight it. He had no way to grip the roof and fire the lantern into its belly as it pulled them back again. He was stuck on the ground again, landlocked again, the same powerless fool with a sword, just six years older.

“Fly as fast as I can?” Jaleel laughed. “That’s a dangerous plan, Boss. Enoa, there are way too many to shoot at, so I’m gonna balance shields and speed. Only shoot at something if it gets close or comes right at us. Then I’ll give you more firepower.”

“Dammit, Jaleel,” Orson said. “You’ve flown this boat, what, three or four times and you know where everything is?”

“This isn’t the first thing I flew,” Jaleel said. “I’ve built aircraft before, remember. And I always ride shotgun so I can watch what you’re doing!”

Orson could see the mouth of the valley ahead, and the last two tower-mounted cannons.

“I see one of our skimmers leaving,” Jaleel said. “I’m gonna hope that’s the one Melanthymos saved and the first one already got away.”

As if in answer, there came a sound like a ringing phone from above them.

“Do we want to respond to that?” Jaleel asked. “Is the Aesir going to tell us who’s calling? Ruby, can you do that?”

“We are receiving a general hail,” Ruby said. “It appears to be transmitted on a broad frequency, no encryption. Shall I open that channel?”

“Receive only,” Orson said.

“Attention Liberty Corps,” a low voice spoke from the ceiling. “This is Pacific Alliance Sierra Lead to Liberty Corps. We’re here to watch our people driving home. Thermal scan shows me your supercarrier’s on the move. We see you, so we figured it was about time to let you know we’re here.”

“Look,” Jaleel said. “We’re seeing them on the sensors.”

Orson leaned sideways and saw a whole cluster of tiny yellow shapes swarming along the far western edge of the screen. The signatures overlapped on the simple display, flying over and around one another, impossible to count or to follow with the eye.

“Ruby, how many are we looking at?” Orson asked.

“I count thirty ships,” Ruby answered. “Should I mark these vessels Alliance? Should I mark these vessels ‘friendly’?”

“Leave them neutral.” Orson the watched mountains shrink around them. Away to the west, everything leveled off to an expanse of flat plain and then forests. Orson watched the red shapes, still on the periphery, but the Manifest Destiny came no closer, and then even the Saw-wings were lost to the edges of the screen. But there were swarming ships above the far horizon, enough to be seen with the naked eye.

“They’re the same kind of little ship that flew by when we were at Cartoon Roger’s place,” Enoa said. “They’re the wedges, but now they have little fins and guns coming out of them.”

“The Pacific Alliance has fighter craft?” Max asked.

“Looks that way,” Orson said. “Enoa, are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Then keep going, Jaleel.” Orson saw a sudden change to the endless red blob of the Manifest Destiny. “They’re moving now.” Before Jaleel answered, there was a puff like static from the speaker. Then another voice spoke over the open line.

“This is Captain Christian Davard of the LCS Manifest Destiny.” The man spoke with exact, precise diction. “Any invasion of Liberty Corps airspace will be met with lethal reprisal. Any aircraft that are not pursuing immediate course correction back to your own territory will be met with lethal action. All fleeing craft are prisoners or intruders, and they will be apprehended with or without your cooperation.”

“Well,” Sierra Lead replied. “I see it like this. Either you let our people leave, or some of your folks won’t be going home tonight.”

The swarm of Alliance fighters left the forest behind, and wove their complex formation over the flat plains. The red mass on the horizon moved as well. Then the Manifest Destiny appeared to the naked eye. Two miles of flying fortress and bristling cannon floated over the eastern horizon. It cast its gargantuan shadow across the mountains and circling Saw-wings beneath it.

“What do we do?” Jaleel asked. “If another fight is gonna happen, are we staying here to help the Alliance? We can’t even contact them, can we?”

“I may have a transmission frequency,” Max said.

“Unless those fighters are really damn amazing,” Orson said. “They’re totally screwed. Is there anybody still escaping out here? Where are the skimmers, can we find them?”

“The one with Melanthymos and the old guy is back a mile now.” Enoa had closed her eyes. Her hands were nowhere near the fire controls. “They’ll need a while to get to the trees, if they can even fit through there.”

“Well,” Orson said. “I guess we’ll try to get ahold of that Alliance crew. We need to coordinate if we’re gonna—”

“This is your last warning.” Captain Davard spoke again. “Leave our airspace. Do not impede the capture of these prisoners and criminals. If you remain, you will be destroyed.”