“They’re almost back.” Orson tapped at the Aesir’s dashboard.

“Jaleel beeped us?” Enoa sat cross-legged on the couch, staff across her lap, eyes closed. Wesley snoozed beside her.

“Yeah, and only once.” Orson pressed the button beside the flashing light on the dash. “So they’re okay.” Orson had sent Jaleel and Dr. Stanislakova on a supply trip into the village of Eight Spurs Crossing, an independent community just south of old Route 66. It was only a mile walk.

The sun was setting again, sinking behind the mountains. It would soon be time to travel through the darkness, the last leg of their desert trek.

“I hope they found the cornmeal.” Orson stood. He exited the ship. The garage outside was almost empty, its concrete floors bare. Shelving and wall-mounts for tools waited empty too. Only a handful of boxes lined the walls, all labeled. The overhead lighting remained dark. They hadn’t used it, saving money and power, avoiding notice.

Orson opened the door for Jaleel and Dr. Stan when they returned. Jaleel struggled with his load, eight fabric shopping bags hooked to the straps of full his backpack. Dr. Stan had the same setup, using Enoa’s borrowed backpack. She’d needed all the day-to-day items she’d lost in fleeing the lab.

They separately carried a collection of jumbo-sized paper-product packages. Dr. Stan held paper towels and napkins. Jaleel carried three massive packs of toilet paper. They passed the paper products through the garage door first. Jaleel then had to turn sideways to fit inside.

“You should’ve taken the cart.” Orson closed the door behind them.

“I wasn’t taking a cart!” Jaleel set down the bags. “I’d look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, you looked real cool with thirty-six rolls of toilet paper in your face,” Orson said.

“Look on the bright side, Jaleel.” Enoa left the Aesir to help with the supplies. “You’re never going to see any of those people again. Not unless someone recognized you!” She widened her eyes in mock fear.

“There was almost nobody to recognize us,” Jaleel said. “Mostly the people working at the stores.”

“I’m guessing they accepted the Pacific Alliance dollars?” Orson asked.

“Yeah,” Jaleel said. “That was fine.”

“Good job.” Orson nodded to Dr. Stan. “How was your walk with Mr. Universe? Did you get what you need?”

“I did.” She exhaled. “Which is a deep relief. I’d hoped that this community would be self-sufficient. Surely, there must be other women who need clothing locally, but I’m not sure what I would have done if that weren’t the case. I should have everything I need now. Thank you for helping me, financially, Captain. If I ever have access to my Pacific Alliance bank account, I will…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Orson interrupted. “We need your help, and you’re in a bad way because of us. This is only fair.”

“Well,” she said. “That is very kind of you.” She carried her bags onto the ship.

“Did you remember the cornmeal?” Orson asked. He and Enoa helped Jaleel gather the rest of his bags.

“I did!” Jaleel lifted one bag.

“You really want to spend an hour making pancakes and cleaning up before driving all night again?” Enoa asked.

“Uh, of course!” Orson led them back inside. Wesley flew to meet them. He landed at their feet and sniffed at the bags as they walked to the kitchen area. “You need to have something good to eat if you have the time. I’m almost too tired to be scared so I want some syrup to get moving.”

“You are so weird with the syrup.” Jaleel began restocking the fridge, filling the produce trays with locally grown strawberries, grapefruits, tangerines, broccoli, and leafy greens. “It’s like I’m on an adventure with a really mean Buddy the Elf.”

“I actually get that one.” Orson joined him in securing the supplies. They fit boxes and cans and assorted other packages into the Aesir’s secure Velcro straps. “And you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve never had the Moonlight Most’s syrup.”

“You have to enjoy the syrup.” Enoa helped them finish with the groceries. Then she returned to her place on the couch. Wesley flew back to land beside her. He clutched a strawberry in his forepaws. “We got shot at to buy that for Orson.”

“It seems so weird now that you two had a couple adventures before we met,” Jaleel said.

“Yeah, it’s been a real time…” Orson retrieved his skillet and began collecting ingredients, vanilla and flour and the new cornmeal. “We can’t finish any of the syrup bottles. I’m going to try to have Teddy reverse engineer the flavors. I always wanted to ask him to do that and now I have to. It’s not like I’m going back to Mayhill for more syrup.”

“You could storm the place!” Enoa said. “They’d get their whole angry mob and when you beat them all up, you can demand infinite syrup as their new overlord.”

“You’re in a good mood today.” Jaleel looked back at Enoa. “What’s up?”

Enoa grinned. She stood again and held out her staff horizontally in front of her. She tightened her grip on the metal.

The staff collapsed. It telescoped inward in both directions, sinking section into section, until it was about the size of a television remote.

“I figured it out!” Enoa yelled. “I was tired of waiting until I had a chance to watch more of the films. It’s all about manipulating the air inside the staff. I’m really starting to get all of this, like I understand it for real now!”

“That’s so awesome!” Jaleel said.

“I know!” Enoa spun the staff. It extended back to its full length. “Now I can take it with us on the heist.”

“I should figure out something like that for my new bow,” Jaleel said. “I like that compact feature.”

“You’re not just fixing the old one?” Orson finished gathering the ingredients. “Enoa, if you want pancakes too, you’ll need to dig out that vegan egg substitute and the milk stuff you use.”

“Uh,” Enoa said. “I think I’m okay, thanks. I just had that whole Panini.”

“I want an all new bow,” Jaleel said. “I want the full upgrade, just the most badass thing I can make right now.”

“Our weapons plans for the heist will depend on a lot of things,” Orson said.

“What’s it like out at your buddy’s place?” Jaleel asked. “Enoa needs to train and watch her movies. I need to make the new bow. You and Dr. Stan have things to do.”

“He has plenty of space.” Orson began to mix dry ingredients. “Not for anything that’ll blow up, obviously, so no wild weapons testing inside. We’ll have to be tricky about that. And we’ll need to judge the environment before we get to any more Aesir flight training.”

“And one more thing.” The tone of Orson’s voice changed. “Don’t mention this while we’re there, but Ted’s a member of the Ookelthorpe family. And it’s a little complicated for him now, but he hasn’t said too much about whatever happened there.”

“Who?” Enoa asked.

“Hey, I think I’ve heard that name before,” Jaleel said.

“Who are they?” Enoa asked.

“Ookelthorpe?” Dr. Stan returned from her bunk, her hair wet. She’d showered and looked somewhat out of place without her Science Advisory coat and uniform. She wore jeans and an oversized sweatshirt bearing the crossed pistols logo for the Eight Spurs Crossing ‘Gunfighter Saloon’. “Ookelthorpe as in Ookelthorpe Defense Associates? Your friend Ted is a Preston Ookelthorpe heir?”

“Yep,” Orson said.

“Are we headed to a house or a compound of some sort?” Dr. Stan took a seat in an armchair. “Enoa, I left your backpack outside your bunk.”

“Thanks,” Enoa said.

“It’s a large underground house,” Orson said. “It’s one of those sustainable, ecological earthships. But the heir thing is less of a big deal than it sounds. That Preston guy had like twenty-three kids and that was a hundred years ago so the family is super huge.”

“Twenty-three?” Enoa said. “That poor woman!”

“I think he had three wives over a long time?” Orson said. “I don’t know. I didn’t study the family tree.”

“Still…” Enoa said.

“I remember now!” Jaleel said. “Ookelthorpe Defense wanted to buy the crawler transports before the Feds got cooked by Thunderworks! They were all pissed that Solar Saver nabbed them with the Sabers Unlimited.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“I’m not surprised,” Orson said. “Big money, but Teddy doesn’t have a lot to do with that, and I don’t know where Teddy is with his family, so we won’t bring that up unless he does.”

“Why would we?” Jaleel asked.

“There’s more,” Orson continued. “His girlfriend, April, she’s childhood friends with my former ghost-writer. I do not want to talk about the memoir, okay? That one’s for me. Let’s not bring up the book.”

“Orson,” Enoa said. “No one has ever mentioned your memoir but you. Never.”

“Maybe Pops and Kash, one time each,” Jaleel said.

“Maybe,” Enoa said. “But only in relation to his theme song.”

“His memoir?” Dr. Stan asked. “His theme song?”

“Yeah, he has a memoir that didn’t sell very well,” Enoa said. “There was supposed to be a biopic movie and there was music written, but it didn’t go anywhere. Orson’s very bitter about it.”

“I’m not bitter!” Orson said. “The whole thing was Teddy’s idea, and I just don’t want to say no to him. He’d feel really sad if he knew I wasn’t happy with the book. Every so often he still mentions setting up interviews to have the other two done. It was supposed to be a trilogy, one about me getting started and the whole Blitzkrieg adventure, one for the Isla de Manos thing, and one for the fight with Thunderworks – my really big adventures before I went off on my own.”

“Captain,” Dr. Stan said. “You have a reputation for being… eccentric, but when we met, I found you to be a fairly pragmatic and straightforward man. Maybe your reputation was accurate.”

“Maybe.” Orson shrugged. He finished whisking ingredients. “Do you want any pancakes, Doc?”

In under an hour, the pancakes were eaten and they’d returned to the road. Orson drove them around the outskirts of Eight Spurs Crossing. They passed the town’s farmlands and solar fields, both watched by tall prison-style armored guard-towers with circling spotlights. Orson steered clear of the light and followed the winding road north and then west. They crossed Route 66 without seeing another traveler.

“Grand Canyon’s that way.” Orson pointed north. “Too bad there’s not more time. It’s an amazing view to fly there.”

“Oh man,” Jaleel said. “Don’t tease me like that!”

“Once we’re fully charged,” Orson said. “Maybe we could all fly over in a few days.”

No ‘Welcome to Nevada’ sign greeted them, but the roads changed. Suddenly, there were no bumps, no breaks in the pavement. Everything was as if it had been freshly surfaced, perfect.

“They’re doing well for themselves,” Orson said.

“Who?” Dr. Stan asked.

“The Shoshone who reclaimed this land,” he said. “For so long they didn’t have many resources. It was really hard for them to maintain roads. Now, something’s different. They didn’t have concentrated influence before, either. It was all little patches they’d own, like they own that garage where we stayed but don’t seem to have any influence in Eight Spurs.”

“How much of Nevada do they have?” Enoa asked.

“You’ll have to ask them,” Orson said. “Well, Teddy might have some idea too. I’m sure Vegas and Reno and the other existing communities have stayed independent, but I’m guessing there’s a lot of abandoned government land and resources just sitting around.”

“This friend of yours is the heir to a big business?” Jaleel asked. “And he’s living out on Shoshone land?”

“Yeah,” Orson nodded. “He lives on the land they choose to lease to other people. Lots of hermits – a few hundred live in Outcast Country – past where the roads end.”

“Your friend is a pastry chef?” Jaleel asked again. “But he lives in a place without paved roads and very few customers, on purpose?”

“He says he likes the seclusion to focus on his art,” Orson said. “His baking. He sells his pastries pretty far afield. The transportation costs are pricy but you can charge more when you’re the best. We’re going to skim the southern end of the state now and curve up along the western edge, near the California border.”

The roads remained smooth and perfect and empty as they traveled. It was then that they passed the first other vehicles they’d seen since leaving the Crystal Dune Forest. A long caravan of other campers drove in the opposite direction – 10 in total. They flashed their headlights at the Aesir and revealed unique modifications, windows covered with metal sheets or mesh and visible weapons emplacements mounted on their roofs or sides.

Orson left the ship’s headlights off, but two members of the caravan honked cheerily after them, all the same.

Orson returned the greeting. “Let’s hope we don’t get made. All we need is to be found now and lead the Liberty Corps right back to Teddy with us.”

“Should we stop?” Enoa asked.

“No.” Orson shook his head. “Better to get there and just hope nobody comes after us.”

But only miles down the road, a great light appeared in the sky, flashing white and yellow and red. It hovered directly over the road.

“What is that?” Enoa asked.

“It’s not moving,” Jaleel said.

“Whatever it is,” Orson said. “We’ll be seeing it up close real soon. What do you think? Do you folks want to go off-road?” They did not commit to an answer, but they tensed in near-silence.

Orson followed the road until the Aesir’s sensors revealed the nature of the object in the sky and of its illumination – an airship projecting a holographic message. One of the readouts on the windshield displayed the words that floated in the air, glowing over the desert.

“Lost? Hungry? Tired? Find your way before the end of the road! Last Call Tavern – Next Left!” The message blinked and reappeared, multiple times, cycling through languages; English, Spanish, Shoshoni…

“Man, we’re jumpy.” Orson laughed. “All that and it’s advertising.”

“I think the Pacific Alliance uses that kind of airship,” Jaleel said. “AG something? Here, it’s a billboard. Who would waste the power?”

“That’s a show of strength,” Orson said. “They’re asserting themselves. It’s safe here. It’s ours, and we’re keeping it safe. Hell, maybe that ship is also for security. No one will suspect the flying billboard.”

“So the ship is Shoshone too?” Jaleel asked. “How would anyone know?”

“Because this is their land.” Orson drove them below the floating advertisement. They found the hovercraft only about twenty meters in the sky, just short of what was once a military base. The base’s tall barbed-wire fence remained, but it was covered in signs for businesses. Orson read one, ‘Outcast Country Scenic Tours.’

“They’ve made coming out here an event,” Orson said. “I bet they rent out some of the local properties too.” A line of trucks and more campers waited to enter the former base’s gate. Orson finally turned on the headlights. There were enough vehicles that it was stranger that he didn’t have them lit.

Orson caught a view through the open gate. He saw the former barracks, repainted and redone in the symbols and art of the land’s original occupants, a horse, a blue bird, and a green zigzag he did not recognize.

They left the base behind them and came to a real intersection, where more roads led off toward multiple settlements in the distance, more lights than along old Route 66 or near the crossing at Eight Spurs.

A few miles further, they came to the end of the road, the place where the pavement actually ended. It was marked by a sign, black writing on a yellow diamond – ‘END’. It stood on the border between the pavement and the dirt.

“That’s a little creepy,” Jaleel said.

“I love it,” Orson said. “I always get adventuring vibes when I see it.”

Orson drove around the sign and plunged into the true desert, headed north-west, toward a low shoulder of the Rocky Mountains.

“It’s not far now,” he said.

It wasn’t. The road had changed in his time abroad. The local communities had expanded. The businesses were new. But here, the world beyond the roads was the same.

“Jaleel,” Orson said. “Please let Teddy know we’re a half-hour away.”

“Okay,” Jaleel said. Orson heard the young man’s typing and the carriage return, sending the message. The keys immediately began moving again, in response. “He’s already writing back! He says, um, he wants to know what we did to have people after us. He says, ‘no worries, man, you’re still invited. I’m just curious.’”

“Just curious?” Orson said. “Teddy’s usually not just curious.” Orson imagined rows of Saw-wing fighters combing the desert, his friend too loyal to turn them away despite his world becoming suddenly dangerous.

“Tell him…” Orson said. “Please tell him that the Liberty Corps, that I told him about, are after the Dreamside Road too and that we’ve fought them a few times.”

Jaleel began to type. He paused.

“The message doesn’t have to be long,” Orson added. “I’m sorry. Just write something quick and short, so we can see what he says.”

“What’s the matter?” Dr. Stan asked.

“Yeah,” Enoa said. “Are we okay?”

“Probably,” Orson said.

Jaleel typed again, faster this time. “Ah,” he said. “I think I typed ‘toad’ instead of ‘road’. Shit!”

“What?” Orson asked.

“I typed ‘Dreamside Toad’,” Jaleel said.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Orson said. “I think I’ve mentioned it before. Just finish it.” Jaleel did. He sent the message.

Teddy replied a single word, ‘okay’.

When they arrived beside Teddy’s home, Orson found the place exactly as he remembered it. There were no wheeling enemy fighters, no soldiers in blue and red, no old federal-style investigators in trench coats.

What little was visible of Teddy’s home peeked above the ground, alone and undisturbed. Little of the structure could be seen, only part of the entryway’s roof with an attached door, an extensive solar collection array, and a large radar dish, as big as the exposed entrance. A warm, yellow light glowed beside the door into the earth.

Before Orson could shut off the Aesir, Teddy ran from the house. He was a great bear of a man, much taller and thicker than Orson, with a curly mane of hair and beard around his head. He wore a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, and held glowing metal rods in each hand.

“Are those…” Jaleel began. “Does he have paddles, like, paddles to show a plane where to land?”

“He does.” Orson stood and walked to the door. As soon as it opened, Teddy charged up the stairs and grabbed Orson in a hug that almost pulled him from his feet. It was a gesture of welcome, not fear.

“I expected you to fly in, man,” Teddy spoke, in a unique, jovial baritone, a voice that exuded both calm and contentment. “I was gonna show off the new garage.”

“Then show it off. We still have to park.” Orson laughed. “How are you? You look fit.”

“Yeah,” Teddy shrugged. “April has me working out again. She wants me to be healthy, but you know how I get when I’m working on a new project. Everything has to pass the taste test!”

“What are you cooking up now?” Orson asked. “And where’s your lady? I hope we’re not coming by too late. I’d rather get under cover, but once we’ve got the ship hidden, we can stay the night in here.”

“I’m working on my gardening,” Teddy said. “And April’s still awake. She’s just collecting the, uh, bad news.”

“What bad news?” Orson asked. Here it was, the reason for his question. Orson realized the rest of the crew had gathered behind him, even Dr. Stan. “Oh, right, I should introduce everybody. Teddy, this is…”

“That’s the bad news, man,” Teddy said. “I know everybody already. Enoa Cloud, Jaleel – and I’m sorry dude if I say your name wrong – Yaye, and Dr. Stanislakova, formerly of the League of Nations Science, er, thingamadoo.” He stepped around Orson and shook all their hands.

“Thank you for the hospitality,” Dr. Stan said.

“What’s going on?” Jaleel looked to Orson once the handshake was over.

“Yeah, Ted,” Orson said. “What’s up, buddy?”

“You’re all wanted by the Liberty Corps.” A fair-haired woman spoke from the bottom of the stairs. April was almost as tall as Orson and wore a flannel shirt, matching Teddy’s. She held four large, rolled-up posters.

“Hi April!” Orson said. “Good to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too.” She offered a weak smile. “You’ll want to look at this.” She passed him one of the posters.

Orson unrolled it and saw his own face, in an image taken from some security feed in the Crystal Dune Complex. He saw Dr. Stan behind him in the image, but where had it been taken? Hadn’t he disabled all the cameras? There was a second picture of him, visor on, standing on the bridge, holding his sword toward the oncoming Knights.

He read his own wanted poster.

'Attention Patriots!

1,000,000 Liberty Coin Reward!

For information leading to the capture of terrorist Orson Gregory

Aliases: Wayfarer One, Captain Gregory

Age: 30 years

Sex: Male

Hair: medium brown

Eye color: hazel

Height: 6 ft.

Build: medium

Gregory is wanted on charges of:

* Murder

* Conspiracy

* Theft

* Criminal trespass

* Disrupting official Liberty Corps operations

* Aiding and abetting fugitives

* Resisting arrest

* Destruction of Liberty Corps property

* Possession of stolen Liberty Corps property.

All information can be provided to your local Liberty Corps civic or field offices.

Gregory can be expected to travel in his prototype light-transport aircraft, named “Aesir”. He is armed and dangerous.'

“Well.” Orson finished reading. “Looks like we’re not doing any sight-seeing.”