Enoa led the way through the forest. “Left up ahead. We’re almost there.” She guided Jaleel by the hand through the trees. The lodge lights had faded to a distant glow. Nothing else could be seen.

“I never would’ve thought I’d need spare batteries,” Jaleel said.

“I wouldn’t either, but the show was pretty fun.” She could feel the trees ahead. Just the slight motion of the breeze around them showed her where trunks and branches were hidden in the darkness. Only close-clinging roots presented an obstacle she could not detect. She searched the ground ahead as they walked. “It’s okay.”

They passed between the last trees and out onto the gentle slope back toward the barn. The forest erupted with noise again, behind them, as they returned to the path.

It was a smooth walk to the barn and the interior was still lit, just as they’d left it, hours before. There was a plain, silver van parked beside the Aesir.

“I wonder which one of the fantasy people drove some old junker in here.” Jaleel pointed to it. “Somebody hit some hard times.”

“Junker?” she asked. “I don’t think it looks bad. It’s on the older side, maybe, but aren’t most cars now?”

Jaleel walked to the van. “Check out all the rust. This thing wouldn’t even be okay to take on the road back in the day.”

Enoa approached the van. She felt the hood. It was smooth, the paint perfect.

“I think it’s an illusion,” she said. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s like that Glamer stuff. I can see how it really looks, but you can’t. You got fooled by it.” She didn’t have the energy for a real joke, but she nudged him on the arm.

“Shit, really?” he said. “Hiding the barn was one thing, but I got outed as a muggle by a van!” His shoulders slumped.

“It’s alright.” She steered him toward the Aesir. “I don’t really know how it works and I don’t like it, so let’s not deal with it right now.”

They found Wesley fast asleep on the ship’s couch. There was a bowl on the floor nearby, empty except for the hull of a single strawberry.

“Do we even have strawberries left?” Jaleel walked to Wesley. He held one of the aeropine’s forepaws. “Hey, little buddy, we’re home.” Wesley let out a contented sigh but did not move.

“I thought we were out,” Enoa said. “Hey, there’s a note on the table.” There was a small scrap of paper waiting for them, two of its edges ragged.

Hey gang, there’s new food in the fridge. It’s all labeled. Wesley already ate. –Orson

“Where did he get food?” Jaleel shot a look at Orson’s closed door. “If he wasn’t in such a weird mood earlier, I’d go bother him now.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” She reached for his arm again. “It’s after midnight! That’s so rude.”

“But I’m curious!” Jaleel said. “I want to know what’s happening. Why do we have more food? I don’t like mysteries, and he made a mystery!”

Both fell silent at the sound of Orson’s voice. He was muffled and faint. His words weren’t distinct. And he wasn’t talking to them.

The tone of his voice was strange. He had no edge to his words, nothing like his usual frustrated attitude or even the manic style he adopted while fighting. He sounded lightly sarcastic, playful. He sounded happy.

A woman laughed in response. Her laugh fit well with his words, the same humor and the same happiness answering back.

“He… has a guest,” Enoa lowered her voice to a whisper. “He has been talking to Fire Girlfriend a lot lately.”

“Yeah,” Jaleel said. “That’s awesome.”

“It is,” she said. “I wonder what this means for the plan.” Was this just personal, some romantic reunion, or did it tie back to the danger to all of them? Did it mean turning aside from the journey to the island?

And then all of her worries returned. The night of music and talk of small things had dulled her fears and stolen her thoughts from her pain.

But one instant of other concern and it all returned.

“I guess we should eat,” she said. But her mind had already been stolen away, back to the Dreamside Road and to her training and her family history. Not Nimauk in origin…

* * *

Kol let his full weight fall on a new shield projection. He held himself in a pushup position, the projection between him and the ground. A sensation like static electricity raced along his limbs, as if the field clashed with his touch.

“This is… strange.” He spoke through gritted teeth. The projection was suspended inches above the mossy ground. All that held him up was his own creation, a solid made real from the air around him.

“Duncan didn’t react well to falling against it,” Max said. “This may not be the best idea.”

“Jaleel mentioned using my shields to hold myself.” Kol pictured Duncan, gripping his arms with bloody hands. “If I could catch Duncan and catch the skimmer, I should be able to hold myself too. This is worth exploring.”

Kol raised the projection. He moved it further from the ground, still solid, still holding him above it. But now an inch higher. Then another inch. Then another.

The tingling intensified up his arms, even the prosthetic, like he was holding his hands to an active electric current. Then the sensation spread all up his torso, along his neck and into his head. He felt his hair begin to stand on end.

He lowered himself back toward the ground. The projection faded, just before it touched the moss. He fell less than an inch, but his tingling limbs couldn’t catch him. He sprawled face-first on the ground.

“Kol!” Max shouted.

Kol heard the rustle of the wheelchair along the ground, but he couldn’t raise himself, and he couldn’t seem to force his mouth into words. He managed to push with his stomach and shoulder and heave himself onto his side.

“Can you hear me, Kol?” Max asked. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Kol nodded.

“Very interesting.” Wyll spoke somewhere out of sight. “I’ve seen freestanding constructs before, but none quite like yours. I think your body’s natural electrical field is actually talking to the air around it.”

“That is worth knowing,” Max said. “However, this was dangerously ambitious, Kol. There is no reason to push yourself to the point of injury.”

“I’m fine.” Kol’s prosthetic returned to normal sensation fastest. He shoved himself into a sitting position. “Max, I appreciate your concern, but I need to be ready for whatever happens with the Manifest Destiny.”

“And you’ll be very ready while you’re so exhausted you can hardly stand,” Max said.

“He looks normal again.” Wyll approached. He wore what appeared to be an old-school bomber jacket with armor on the shoulders. An elaborate gunbelt hung low around his hips. The rings of black in his eye seemed to shift, as it focused on Kol. “Your brother has a point, though. It won’t be long now until our lift arrives. My crew will want food before we leave, but if you’re not fit by then, you could be very hungry by the time we land in San Francisco.”

“I can eat now.” Kol forced his half-numb legs beneath him. “We’re all but ready to leave.”

“Fantastic.” Wyll clapped him on the shoulder. “I still need to get my morning briefing from Alliance Command. I’ll see you both for breakfast.” He drew his glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on as he walked away.

“Duncan,” Kol realized. “I almost forgot him.” He held his left hand to his face. All the pain of their escape and he was still more afraid of consequence for his failures than finding the man who was as good as a second brother. “I was so frightened with the letter, I almost forgot about him. We still need to look through the information the Aesir crew collected.”

“They don’t have anything relevant,” Max said. “I asked Sophia to look for us, but they had very little prisoner information with the Dreamside Road data they took. I’m sorry, Kol.”

“I should have remembered him,” Kol said. “I should’ve been less scared for me.”

He walked Max back to the cabin. He showered and changed, and they returned to the barn for breakfast.

They found a crowd around the long table. Aneirin and Melanthymos were there, as usual. Embre sat on the opposite side with four of her employees in their black uniforms. Three people in armored bomber jackets, like Wyll’s, sat further down the table.

And there was a group of seven young people around the head of the table. They were dressed casually in modern sneakers or boots with jeans and T-shirts. Some also wore short swords. One was pale in the distinct skin tone of Syly and her brother. Another had complex looping tattoos on his exposed forearms. They were green and seemed to reflect the sunlight coming through the barn’s windows. A third wore earrings all down the outsides of her ears with round, dark gemstones.

They were probably only a few years younger than Kol. But the way they spoke over each other and the energy in their voices made them sound like children to his ears.

“Can you believe they aren’t holding Quest this year?” A boy asked.

“My sister said you won three years in a row, but I—” A girl spoke over him.

“You can’t do anything about it?” Interrupted a third.

“One at a time, please.” A woman spoke over them all. “Please. I’m not saying all events will be cancelled for the year, but the council voted and it is just not safe now.”

“But you did Quest!” One of the boys shouted. “You were our age when you went on the Highway for real with Captain Gregory.”

“Bad example.” Orson stood on the far side of the table, half a muffin in his hand. He looked between two of the young people and nodded to Kol. “People were trying to kill us.”

“My sister said you only beat the Thunderworks boss because you had weapons from Sirona,” the second said.

“He has lot more of Sirona than just her weapons.” Melanthymos called up the table.

“Master Melanthymos,” the woman answered. “Here, we usually introduce ourselves before shouting innuendo in public places.”

“You know who I am,” Melanthymos answered.

“Master Sirona, is Captain Gregory your boyfriend again?” One of the girls asked.

“The Keeper’s Consort,” the young man with the tattoos corrected.

“I don’t know,” the woman, Sirona Birgham, answered. “Orson are you the Keeper’s Consort?”

“I’ll accept whatever title fantasy world wants to give me.” He kissed the back of Sirona’s hand. “As long as there won’t be any goofy outfits I’ve gotta wear.”

“You are the height of fashion,” Sirona answered.

Orson turned her wrist. He kissed her again where the side of her hand met her palm. “Nobody take my seat,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

One of the girls jumped into the seat as Orson stepped around the table. “I didn’t hear you call ‘fives’ Captain Gregory,” the girl said.

“I did something better,” Orson said. “I actually paid to be here.” There was no bite to his words and none of the annoyance that had settled on him in recent weeks. The younger group groaned at Orson, as he walked around the table to meet Kol and Max.

“Sorry for messing with your breakfast,” he said. “We’re at a popular spot right now. Did you get what you needed from the crap we stole off the baron?”

“I think we have all we need,” Max said. “Thank you.”

“Great,” Orson said. “I, uh, covered everything for your stay, so you’re good to head out. Let me just clear out the peanut gallery here so you’ve got somewhere to sit.” He turned back to the gathering. “We’ve got hungry, paying customers here. Let’s give them some table room.”

When the group cleared, still grumbling, they revealed Sirona and Dr. Stan seated opposite Orson’s chair.

Sirona Birgham looked different without the armor from her illusion, but she wore her hair in a similar braid and the bracelets and choker she wore had the same red gems. But her eyes had none of the illusion’s furious intensity. They were a paler green when she looked up at the brothers.

“Hello,” she said. “You must be Maxwell and Kolben Maros. I’m Sirona Birgham. I’m glad I got to meet you before you left.” She stood and shook their hands in turn. “You saved my friends two times, and I hope you had the chance to recover here.”

Kol didn’t know what to say, to thank her or to apologize for his early attacks against Orson. Again, he did not know which story waited ahead of him, the Liberty Corps agent or the man who’d turned against them.

“We have,” Max said. “Thank you. It was an honor to know the safety provided by the Concealment Truce. It was a rare opportunity. We appreciate it, and we will not forget it.”

“Yes,” Kol added. “Thank you.”

And then the moment passed before he had to say more or think more. Sirona returned to the head of the table. Kol and Max gathered their breakfasts. Kol took his last opportunity to assemble one of the lodge’s omelettes. He returned to find Max beside Dr. Stan and a free seat waiting for him between Max and one of the lodge employees.

“I’m telling you, I had them all,” Orson was saying. His plate was already clear. “Every instrument known to human kind. It was beautiful. Almost brought a tear to my eye.” There was an ease in his voice. He looked somehow younger, not that he ever looked particularly old or even really looked his age, but it seemed like a palpable weight was lifted from him. He held one of Sirona’s hands with both of his, like he was afraid of losing hold of her.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“You did not.” Sirona rolled her eyes theatrically. “There’s no way you had literally every instrument. I bet you didn’t even have every European instrument. Did you have a lute?”

“No,” he answered. “Of course not. It’s an obsolete instrument. Who plays the lute anymore?”

One of the group in the bomber jackets looked up from his breakfast. “I play the lute,” he said. “Mainly electric. It carries well enough and I’m good enough that no one says it’s obsolete once they’ve heard me.”

“I’m sorry,” Orson said. “I didn’t mean to offend your choice of music.” He turned back to Sirona. His voice was all playful again and she looked like she was trying to keep herself from laughing. “This doesn’t count. This is probably one of, at most, twenty places on the western seaboard where you can find anyone whose main instrument is the lute.”

“I know at least four lutists off the top of my head,” Sirona matched his lower volume. “Now five. And I bet you didn’t have the ocarina, either, or the cimbalom or the hurdy-gurdy.”

“You made those up.” Orson said. “Those aren’t real words.”

“Legend of Zelda.” Kol spoke up. “Ocarina of Time. Nintendo Sixty-four.”

“Here we go!” Orson said. “Kol, I didn’t think you’d be a second Jaleel with your references and your naming lists of things that I don’t know about.”

“I play the hurdy-gurdy.” Embre didn’t raise her voice, but her words projected out across the table. “I think it’s a fine instrument, even if its fame isn’t what it was.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” Orson said. “I shouldn’t try to tease Sirona in public. She’s way too dangerous socially.”

“Maybe leave all your flirting in private.” Melanthymos called up the table. “We don’t need to hear your clumsy banter.”

“And you’re one to talk,” Orson replied.

“I’m sorry Orson isn’t aware of local musical taste,” Sirona said. “And Orson, I’m sorry how unreasonably touchy so many of us are here. Everyone thinks it’s a closed group because of the arcane secrets we all have, but it’s really just because most of us are too thin-skinned to mingle.”

“You’ve got it bad too, Girl,” Melanthymos said. “You cleared his sight. You defend him when he makes a fool of himself. Must be something special about him for all that.”

“There is,” she said. “He’s the kind of man who risks his life for other people, even if they’re endlessly rude for no reason other than their own enjoyment.” Melanthymos snickered in answer.

“You got in without trouble, this morning?” Max looked to Dr. Stan.

“Actually,” she said. “They’d locked me out. Our young friends were apparently fast asleep by the time I walked back, and I had to disturb Orson and Sirona.”

“We should’ve left it at two movies,” Max said. “I’m sorry.”

“It was no problem,” Sirona answered first.

“I didn’t realize I’d even fallen asleep until I heard some sort of low power message from your android,” Max said. “He’s still standing in the spare room of the cabin, with his sunglasses on.”

“We’ll pick him up, Max.” Dr. Stan smiled at him. “Thank you. And thank you for hosting a nice evening.”

“Can we leave Jim over there?” Orson turned back to the conversation. “What the hell are we going to do with him? We can’t really cart him along to go sightseeing.”

“I think we should,” Dr. Stan said, without a trace of doubt. “I have no plan to leave him behind, here or anywhere. Helmont thinks Jim belongs to them, but he does not. Jim’s one more thing that the old IHSA stamped as their own without really understanding.”

“No offense, Doc,” Orson said. “But—”

“Ms. Birgham.” A short man approached from the far side of the table. He wore a pinstriped suit with pronounced shoulders. “I have a matter I hope to bring to your attention and the attention of the council. I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“You aren’t.” Sirona’s demeanor changed, suddenly all thoughtful concentration. She sat back and wore a small smile. “How can I help you, sir? Can we talk about this here or will we need to move to the lodge’s business office? I’ll be there for two hours this afternoon.”

“It’s not a private matter,” he said. “It’s about the Liberty Corps. My name is Tevim Oakbless. I live in border country and I’m troubled by the idea that you’ll be marshaling against the Liberty Corps so close to my home. I maintain a very delicate ecosystem, several rare species—”

“You’re all here already!” Wyll entered the barn with the usual squeak from the side door. He held a thick stack of papers under his arm. “Great! Kol and Max, if I can steal your attention. Let me introduce the rest of the crew.” The three travelers in bomber jackets stood up.

“Meet the crew of the Kestrel,” Wyll continued. “Lewyn Lavena and the Cygbee twins, Averill and Alain.” The fraternal twins both had a slight build and short blonde hair. Lewyn, the lutist, was a much taller man than had been obvious, sitting down.

“Lewyn Lavena,” Orson said. “You had to pick the lute. What other instrument starts with an ‘L’?”

“My father is a luthier,” Lewyn said. “Best on this side of the world.”

“Okay, everyone,” Wyll said, with a chuckle. “Kol and Max Maros are headed with us for a short while. They had a hand in the Pinnacle Escape. How was your flight in?”

“Uneventful,” Alain Cygbee said. “Skies are clear. Not even any probes.”

“Did you fly silent?” Wyll asked.

“Always,” Averill answered.

“We’ll greet our passengers properly a little later,” Wyll said. “It’ll be a tight squeeze, but the brothers have almost nothing in the way of luggage, so we’ll manage for a few hundred miles. Enjoy your rest, I’ve still got some things to talk over before we fly out of here.”

“Thank you again for your help,” Max said. “I appreciated the hospitality here, but it will be good to return to our own course.”

“You’re welcome.” Wyll shuffled through his stack of papers. “Also, if you wouldn’t mind. I could use your help with something. Would you take a look at these printouts? This shows Liberty Corps flight patterns, compared to where those hidden artillery emplacements are. It seems their Manifest Destiny is moving too far west. It’s like they’re pushing the edge of the envelope, so to speak, just to do it. No tactical reason that I can find. But you know these people… Helmont.” He handed them each a handful of papers. “Don’t interrupt your meal for this. It’s not classified or anything like that, all public data. Just… I’m interested what you’ll make of it.”

“I would be happy to look.” Max took his papers. He began paging through them. Kol tucked his own stack beneath his seat and returned to his omelette.

Advising against the Liberty Corps – it was real. The dreamlike atmosphere at the lodge was suddenly gone. Everything returned to mundane reality and mundane problems. Kol the traitor, Kol the fool, Kol the advisor against Helmont and Geber and all who had held him. He faced his full story.

“It’s great to see you two together again.” Wyll waved to Orson and Sirona. The man in the pinstripes had gone. “Brings back a lot.”

“Wyll!” Sirona stood and offered him a hug. “How are you? How’s Abigail?”

“She’s great.” Wyll scratched his bearded chin. “She’s got the gallery going now. So at least we’re both busy. How about you two? I didn’t really expect to see you around, Sirona.” He hesitated. “I didn’t…”

“Orson is helping me with the truce marshal,” Sirona explained. “Did you stop in to see Gertrude?

“I haven’t yet,” Wyll said. “Maybe on our way back from flying the Maroses to San Francisco.”

“Are you going to be here if there’s a meeting with the Alliance?” Sirona asked. “We’d be happy to have you. Right?”

“Uh,” Orson started. “Sure we would.”

“No,” Wyll said. “Once the Maroses are safe, I think we’re headed back east. We’ll fly north of the old border and out of Helmont’s way.”

Kol returned to his breakfast at the mention of Helmont. The omelette was perfect again, just the right mix of vegetables and meat and cheese. And the basic motor action of shoveling food in his mouth took him away from the memory of his captors.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Max stiffen. It was a simple gesture, a reflex. Max went very still. He clutched one page, the others neatly stacked in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” Kol asked.

“I’m thinking,” Max answered.

“Are you okay, Max?” Dr. Stan asked. Her voice was soft and she set her hand on his wrist.

“I am,” he said. “I will be. I just… need to figure out what to do. I read something.” He held up the paper. Kol saw a blurry black-and-white image, but he couldn’t decipher it at that angle.

“I’m not sure Orson remembers you, Wyll,” Sirona said.

“I…” Orson hesitated. “I remember.” He looked between them. Their conversation continued, all unaware of the change in Max, whatever he’d seen.

“I thought you were acting a little strange last night.” Wyll pulled off his glasses. “It’s me, Orson! It’s Eye Scan Man!”

“Oh!” Orson stood and shook Wyll’s hand. “Eye Scan Man! Holy crap! It’s been forever. I didn’t know you in the glasses and with your beard.”

“Eye Scan Man?” Sirona swatted the back of her hand against Orson’s arm. “You didn’t really call him that, did you?”

“It’s not like I don’t know!” Wyll said quickly. “It’s how everyone knows me and my family.”

Max drew another page from the stack. He compared the two. Dr. Stan leaned closer, but she didn’t seem to be reading the papers, just moving nearer to him.

“Listen,” Orson said. “Ophion always assumed he’d introduced me to everybody and usually he didn’t.”

“It’s fine,” Wyll said. “No one has my family’s heterochromia anymore. It’s even on my new sigil. You should see the Kestrel. Beautiful bird. The Cygbees have done a fantastic job.” He smiled. “We have the smallest bird of prey.”

“That’s great,” Orson said. “So you’re doing consulting work now?”

“That’s right,” Wyll answered. “Puts my misspent youth to good use. You know, I just saw Dante a few weeks ago. He actually asked about you, heard something about you a few months ago. Somebody talked to him about hiring you. I didn’t think you knew him that well.”

“I don’t,” Orson said. “I bet it was that Solar Saver job. They were really crawling up my butt, talking to everybody I ever met.”

“Solar Saver?” Sirona asked. “They never talked to me.”

“They didn’t?” Orson asked back. “Their leader’s wife mentioned you… Well, that job was just after my first run-in with the Liberty Corps. I got a call from Pops and he—”

“Captain Gregory,” Max interrupted. “Orson. I’m very sorry, but we have to talk. I’ve found something, thanks to Captain Siegast.” He took a deep breath. “I’m unsure what I’m about to do, but we need to talk about it, at the very least.”

“Okay?” Orson asked. “What’s up? What did you find?”

“This move with the Liberty Corps,” Max whispered. “It’s a ruse. But I believe I know what they’re really doing.”

* * *

Enoa could ignore the noises from the breakfast crowd, but it was louder that morning than the days before. Why? What day was it? She’d lost all sense of time. They’d robbed the Liberty Corps on Friday. So it was Monday? Was it really only three days?

Her searching mind stopped at the sound of the Aesir’s side door sliding aside. There was a loud thud and then the noises of walking aboard the ship, several pairs of footsteps and then voices.

“…need to know what you plan to do,” Max Maros said. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, but this is about more than gratitude.” His crisp diction cut through the noises outside and all the ambient sounds aboard the ship. “This is about the best course of action, maybe globally, and perhaps more than that.”

“What are you talking about?” Orson asked. “Listen, we probably have different outlooks on the world, or however you want to say it, but don’t be cryptic here. Tell me or don’t, okay?”

“That’s just it.” Max’s voice fell. Enoa now had to fight to hear his words. “I don’t know whether I should tell you. Or whether there is some authority who should be the one to know. I don’t believe defeating the Liberty Corps is a matter that should be solved by other vigilantism. They are not doing what it seems, but I need to be sure.”

Not what it seems? What did it seem like they were doing? Enoa thought of the destruction at the Pinnacle, the Manifest Destiny on the move, new weapons all along the border, drawing all the attention east…

“Then don’t tell me!” Orson said. “My trust in the alliances doesn’t go far. And it won’t. I’m not sure if it’s in me to totally trust something as big as they are. You chose to be the sword that defended your home. That’s a beautiful thing, but that doesn’t mean I trust the hand that wields the sword.”

“Max,” Dr. Stan said. “So much of Orson’s harsh reputation with the League of Nations comes from his actions at Isla de Manos. But what he did – he defied many laws, but he also saved thousands of lives that would have been claimed to hide the Hierarchia’s secrets. One of my colleagues was saved by him twice, first at Isla de Manos and again from Helmont’s attack on the Crystal Dune Lab.

“And he has been honorable consistently for the brief time I’ve known him. The one real vulnerability in his heist at the Pinnacle, as it was planned, was allowing the officers whose armor we stole to remain alive and detained, rather than killing them. He chose to spare them. I don’t believe he is the anarchic vigilante he’s often perceived to be.”

“Thank you,” Orson said.

“Fine then,” Max said. “The Dreamside Road. What will you do with it? Imagine this: the Liberty Corps is gone. You have no competitors. And there you are with the power to remake the world, what do you do?”

Enoa strained again to hear Orson’s answer.

“Destroy it.” He spoke even softer than Max. “If there’s anything that was blatantly stolen from a person or a group of people that aren’t hostile, they get their shit back. The rest goes away, like I destroyed the Opal, like I destroyed the engulfment weapon – the Viracocha something? Whatever. I’ll destroy the Dreamside Road the way I would’ve destroyed the Thunderworks fleet at Isla de Manos, do it the right way, before the Hierarchia fought me to hide the truth getting out. It’s gone then, all those leaps in power we didn’t earn.”

“This is what I’m afraid of,” Max began again. He spoke slower, but his voice was stronger. “Who are any of us to say, as individuals, what the best course of action will be? Who are we?”

“What would you prefer?” Orson snapped. “Leave it up to some political leader or the military brass who’d use those artifacts to solve their current problem? Like the morons in forty-five who used the A-bomb – and we won’t even touch on the civilians killed – but because of those bombs that were dropped, now we have to worry about having competent leaders for the rest of time. We face actual doomsday forever, not just the mostly societal crap we’ve got going on now. And all because they did what was convenient in their time. They didn’t really think about us in the future. No. But I won’t let that happen with the Dreamside Road. They don’t get to burden us with a forever problem. I’m taking that option off the table, with or without whatever help you’re considering giving to me now.”

“We have a fundamentally different assessment of nuclear history,” Max said. “But this proves my point. You are not keeping a level head about this. It’s all too personal for you. You’re too close to it. And you’re too emotional.”

“The Hierarchia killed his mother.” A woman spoke and Enoa remembered the laughter from the night before. “They poisoned her. And there was no justice. Then they used Orson. And they tried to destroy him and throw him away.”

“I know his story,” Max said. “I read the memoir. But Nation did not rep—”

“Don’t tell me what Nation did or didn’t represent,” the woman continued. “I saw him. I fought him. He had a legion of Hierarchia forces. He was one of their nine, their administrators. No one batted an eye when he destroyed people, not until he threatened them. Then they wrung their hands and begged for help when he turned on them, but they didn’t raise a finger to save an innocent boy. I help the Alliance willingly, because I am a citizen and I want my voice to be part of it. But the old way earned its death.”

“All of you—” Dr. Stan began.

“I am not trying to defend the deeds of the Hierarchia,” Max said. “I’m trying to defend the need for some authority, that this is not a matter to be decided by individuals, especially individuals who are emotionally close to the matter. Because I’m close to the matter too, so is Kol. We’re all connected to Helmont and defeating him, stopping him from recovering the Dreamside Road Keys.”

“Just spit it out or don’t!” Orson said. “You’re annoying me a lot more with this interrogation than if you just hadn’t said anything.”

Enoa slid her bunk door open. “They’re going after Knightschurch!” She called out. “It’s all that makes sense.” She walked out into the passage, still in pajamas, her feet bare. “What else could they be doing that has to do with the Dreamside Road, that’s about a Liberty Corp trick, but Max won’t tell you?”

Orson, Kol, Max, Dr. Stan, and a red-haired woman who could only be Sirona Birgham, all turned to look at her.

Then Orson shot a long glance at Max and then at Kol, who shrugged. Max handed him a single piece of paper.

“These vessels flew over the Pacific Alliance two nights ago,” Max said. “While their supercarrier was still supplying their artillery, these vessels flew out to sea. And the leading craft, the one shaped like a bell, I recognize it. I’ve been aboard it. That’s Helmont’s shuttle.”

“A contact of mine showed us a picture of that ship,” Orson said. “He had an image taken just after Helmont captured you near Littlefield.”

Enoa walked to the end of the passage. Orson held out the page. She took it and saw a line of ships, Saw-wings and troop carriers like the one from Trolley Town. And in the front there was a bell-shaped vehicle with the mark of a left-facing Eagle over a red and blue star – Helmont’s sigil, just like the one Pops showed them in Cartoon Roger’s Death Valley Station.

“They could be there already,” Orson said. “They could have the key already.”

“Many of those craft are troop carriers,” Max said. “How far would they go in such craft? I don’t know this island’s location, but is it a reasonable distance? Would they make a full invasion of a hostile territory with no staging area of any kind? We need more data before we can make that judgment.”

“Is everything okay?” Jaleel yelled from his bunk. “Why’s everyone yelling?”

“We’re okay,” Enoa said. “Don’t worry, Jaleel. We’re just planning.”

“Does the Alliance monitor air traffic out to sea?” Dr. Stan asked. “Could they find out if there’s another vessel like the Manifest Destiny out there?”

“I have no idea.” Max held up other pages. “This is just what they gave to Wyll. The Liberty Corps could have a whole star fleet in the islands.”

“If they had a fleet, we would have seen it by now,” Sirona said. “No.” She took Orson’s hand. “You might still get there first. You might beat them there and get the warriors on the island ready to fight them.”

“But.” Orson held her other hand. “What about the marshal and the truce? What about us fighting together?”

Jaleel stumbled out of his bunk and into the hallway. Wesley flew out above him. He crooned as he flew, and he settled happily on Sirona’s shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Jaleel straightened his pajamas.

“Oh, uh,” Orson gestured between Sirona and Jaleel and Enoa. “Sirona, this is the new Aesir crew, Enoa Cloud and Jaleel Yaye. Enoa and Jaleel, this is Sirona Birgham from the, uh, earlier Aesir crew.”

“Is that an Aesir crew jacket?” Jaleel ran around Kol and Max to stand beside Sirona. “Why don’t we have those yet? And what is this?” He grabbed at the printout in Enoa’s hand.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Orson said. “But anyone who’s not coming to Knightschurch for the big battle with Helmont, this is your best chance to jump ship.”

“If you’re going,” Max said. “I will go with you. I know Helmont. I know his forces. And the tactics I’ve studied will be similar enough that I can be useful in aiding whatever individuals live on this island.”

“What happened to ‘too personal’?” Orson asked.

“Are we not going with Wyll?” Kol asked.

“You are going with Wyll,” Max said. “I’m not. I’ve been your voice of caution, Kol. Now, I can do the same in this fight against Helmont. Now that we understand the baron’s newest move, the Aesir crew likely has the best chance to defeat him.”

“How do we know what Helmont’s doing?” Jaleel asked. “What’s going on?”

“He’s going to Knightschurch,” Sirona said. “It seems like a pretty good time to beat the old baron for good, in a huge, final showdown.”

Jaleel’s eyes widened with recognition. He and Sirona spoke at once.

“It’s over, Grover!”

“I knew I’d regret having you all together.” Orson held Sirona’s hand to his cheek. “Looks like our break is over. We’ll have a helluva lot of work to do if we’re gonna try and beat Helmont to Knightschurch.”