"Phoenix project—" began Oliver. "You mean, that's how I got here?"

"Well, it's not a given, but that's what it looks like," the woman said.

His heart skipped a beat. "Can it send me back?"

"I'm going to be honest: we don't know," she said. "But we think so."

"So, you knew about this project, and you… you somehow knew, or suspected, that I was a part of it. How did you find me so quickly?"

"We didn't," broke in Tiro from beside Oliver, where he'd been standing and watching the conversation. "We're recruiting heavily right now. At first, I marked you for a potential recruit."

"A deserter," said Oliver, understanding dawning.

"At first, that's what I thought. But I quickly realized that you were something far more interesting."

"You were lying to me, then." said Oliver. "That night, at the bar, when Galen punched you—that was some kind of scheme, wasn't it?"

"Well, we don't just grab every deserter off the street. They typically don't want to be found. And many of them are cowards, murderers, thieves, or worse."

Oliver nodded. That did make a certain sense.

"So, we needed to see what kind of man you were. I'd hoped you were a deserter of conscience, like Galen here."

"And the best way you could come up with to do that was by faking a bar fight," said Oliver doubtfully.

"It was plain you weren't going to open up, not without a good reason," said Tiro. "Shared trauma breaks down more boundaries than you'd think."

"I still don't understand how that could possibly work," Oliver said.

"You don't have to," said Tiro. "It did. And we're not interested in you for your social acumen, in any case."

There was a momentary pause in the conversation while Oliver digested this statement. They seemed content to let him think.

"You want what I know, don't you?" said Oliver. Pieces were falling into place. "You want my knowledge of modern science and physics."

"No, actually," said the woman, "We don't. But the Empire does, and that's the problem."

"The Empire?" asked Oliver.

"They've been working on the Phoenix project from the very moment martial law was enforced. And since then, our spies have confirmed that it's been the source of several of their recent magical breakthroughs. It's said that they've already solved problems that have gone unsolved for decades, centuries even. A number of them, just in the last few years."

"Because they've brought other people here. Other people from Earth. My home," concluded Oliver.

"We don't know for certain," she said. "But we suspect."

"So, what? What do you want with me?"

"Let me be clear, Oliver, in case you aren't understanding the significance of what I've just said. The Empire is using knowledge from your world to advance their mastery of magic by leaps and bounds. It's not just dangerous. What they're doing — what they are about to unleash — it's apocalyptic. And they're too greedy to see it."

The scope was staggering. "Sounds like you've got a real problem on your hands," said Oliver. "So I've got to ask the obvious question. If you don't want the Empire to get their hands on me, why don't you just kill me?"

"Because. It's not enough to remove a single piece from the game. We need to upset the whole table."

"It's becoming an arms race, isn't it?" asked Oliver. "You need to catch up to them. You need to know what they know, what I know, in order to stop them."

"Oliver, you represent an opportunity, possibly the only opportunity we'll get, to stop this," pleaded Tiro. "If they continue on this course unchecked, it could mean the end of the world."

"The end of your world," said Oliver. Then he realized. "But… it's not just your world that's in jeopardy here, is it? If they can get me from my world, and if they can send me back… what's to stop the Empire from coming after my world too?"

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There was a grim silence as he looked from one face to another. Tiro was frowning, for once. The older woman's face was set. Galen wore his customary scowl. Nobody said anything.

"I think I need to sit down," said Oliver. His initial urge to flee, to escape at all costs, to skip town and never come back, had been replaced by a growing dread. A knot had formed at the center of his stomach, and wasn't going away.

If what they were saying was true, this wasn't something he could run from, not in this world or even in his own.

Even in the depths of his despair he hadn't considered truly handing over the secrets of physics to the Empire and its ilk.

Magic could already do enough damage without being backed by a true understanding of reality. What they were describing, a leap in magical understanding unsupported by equivalent cultural advances and context, was indeed a problem of apocalyptic proportions, a civilization-ending Great Filter event, a solution to the new Fermi paradox presented by the existence of otherworldly civilizations.

He needed to think.

—

"Look, Oliver, I really am sorry about what happened back there," said Tiro. He'd taken a moment to change out of his bloodstained clothes while Oliver had been processing. "It wasn't meant to happen this way. It was sheer chance that Polephenes misunderstood. I talked to him. He thought I'd already brought you into the fold. And apparently, you played him a little."

"I barely said anything," admitted Oliver. "But yeah. Like I said, I had to know what you were up to. And I was right to be suspicious."

"I'm proud of you, Oliver," said Tiro, grinning. "You took a page from my book." The attempt at banter rang hollow given the circumstance, and the grin fell away from his face after a moment.

Oliver took another sip of tea, then set the mug back down. They were sitting at a humble wood table in a small kitchen, with a fire blazing on the hearth.

It was just Tiro and him at the table; the others had mostly wandered off while Tiro got him settled and then went to get changed. Galen was still lurking in the background, and while he'd holstered the wand, his hand never strayed far from his side. Under his watchful eye, Oliver hadn't made a run for it yet.

Instead, he'd been thinking.

"Tiro. How can I know what you all are saying is true?"

"You saw the truth-teller while we were talking. It didn't light up once, did it?"

"No, I suppose it didn't," said Oliver. "But you could easily have faked that. Magic, you know?"

"Well, how about this, then? As a show of good faith, we'll spend some time getting you up to speed, teaching you how magic works. And then, once you feel like you have a bit more of a handle on this world, we can revisit the subject."

"And what if I decide to leave? Can I just… walk out?"

Tiro looked at him, then sighed and glanced away, drumming his fingers on the table.

"No, I suppose not," said Oliver. "I've seen faces, learned names."

Tiro's voice was soft. "This house could be compromised. Most of the people who live here, they're good people. Innocent. My cousin, Iseult, and her mother, they've lived quiet lives. Do you know what the Empire does to Moderates when they catch them?"

Oliver looked up at Tiro, shook his head.

"Healing magic is costly. Takes a lot of mana. But they like to make an example. And it turns out, if you have the mana to spare, the human body can endure a lot of trauma. A lot," he said, voice breaking a little.

They sat quietly for a little while. Oliver said nothing.

"My—my father and my uncle," Tiro said finally. "They managed to keep them alive for two weeks. And when they were done, not even my mother could recognize them. Of course, they died as soon as the mana supply to the healing spell was ended."

Galen shifted his bulk in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," said Oliver, and he meant it. He'd seen a little torture on his second tour, and even terrestrial methods could inflict unspeakable horrors. He couldn't even begin to imagine what was possible with healing magic; his gorge rose at the thought.

"So, what do you think? Stay and let us teach you a little? Prove our good will?"

"It doesn't sound like I have a choice," said Oliver slowly.

Tiro shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Look, like I said, we both want the same thing."

"I missed the part where you want me to get home," said Oliver, struggling to contain the heat in his voice. Tiro spun a good sob story, to be sure, but it still didn't feel like his story.

"You want to get to your family, to keep them safe," said Tiro. "So do we. If we can learn more about Project Phoenix, how they're snagging people from your world, that should give us enough info to shut them down. And get you home."

"I… don't know," said Oliver, after a pause. "This isn't going to be easy, you know. Trust is a two way street. And you already broke mine," he said.

"I know," said Tiro. "It was the only way. And we were going to come clean once we had what we needed to know."

"I'll just have to believe you on that," Oliver said, and carefully didn't say what he was thinking: that even though this might be a temporary truce, he absolutely didn't trust them a single iota, and he'd take them for all he could and split as soon as he had the chance.

Tiro waited, watching him. He'd already made his pitch, and knew when to keep his trap shut and wait for Oliver to talk himself into it.

The silence between the two men stretched on.

"Fine," said Oliver eventually. "But we're going to need to get straight on a couple of points. One: I will go home as soon as I have the chance, regardless of what you need at that point. And two: I'm not a member of your rebellion. I'm working with you out of necessity. So I don't answer to anybody, and I'm not a part of any command structure."

"Done," said Tiro a little too readily, with a little too much relief. He held out his hand. Oliver reached out and clasped his forearm, and they shook on it.

"That's it?" asked Oliver. "No magically binding oaths or blood signatures or anything?"

"Blood signatures?" asked Tiro, in mock offense. "We're not savages, Oliver. And anyway, if such magically binding oaths existed, we could've just asked you to swear not to reveal us and let you go on your merry way. No, I'm afraid we have to do things the hard way."

"The hard way," echoed Oliver.

"Right. Anyway, time for some proper introductions, I think." He stood from the table and set down his own cup of tea. Oliver followed suit, and the two of them made their way back out into the open courtyard, where the sun was beginning to set.