Cathy drove her Sandwheel in pitch darkness. Its treads tore through dirt and dune and sped them back north, back toward Outcast Country. The bike used no headlights, leaving Orson to see the world through the distorted greens and blues of night vision and his HUD’s assorted electro-sensitive displays.
Orson had room enough in the sidecar to stretch out his legs, and he’d fit the sword into the sidecar’s storage compartment. But that space was too narrow for the Typewriter. He held it in his lap as they traveled.
“If you want to tell them we’re almost there,” Cathy called over the wind. “Do it now!”
“I think dirt blew in with the paper,” Orson shouted back. “Might just have to surprise them!” The remaining journey was so brief Orson wasn’t sure if he would’ve had time to type a message anyway.
“Low sensor readings.” Cathy shut off the bike. Orson recognized the shape of the exposed Earthship roof, but everything was in total darkness. “This place always has the welcome lights.” She threw the PAY gun’s strap over her shoulder. Then she drew other weapons in each hand, a blaster in her left and an old-fashioned revolver in her right.
“Well, I did warn them.” Orson spoke for his own benefit, and he drew his sword. If anyone watched them, the flickering blue light would leave no doubt that Orson Gregory had arrived.
Cathy walked to the front door, still holding both weapons. She holstered the revolver to knock, but the door flew open before she could.
Teddy stood there, wearing what appeared to be a chain mail shirt and coif. On his chest he wore a makeshift bandolier with cleavers and scalpels and a rolling pin. A small dagger in an ornate hilt hung from his belt. Around his neck, hung a necklace that emanated a warm, orange glow, illuminating him, but little of the entryway.
“Get in!” Teddy grabbed Orson by the shoulder. Orson let himself be led inside. Cathy followed behind. Then Teddy pushed the door shut. “We saw you show up on the house monitoring system. Buick Jim’s after us, man. The Liberty Corps sent a whole bunch of Buick Jim copies all over the place. The Groom Lake Neighborhood Watch! We’re packing to get outta here. April and I are taking the cats and leaving too. We’re shutting down everything. Right now we’ve only got power for heat and fridges.” He stopped speaking, out of breath.
“Ted, you can’t leave,” Orson said. “What about your deliveries? They’re already late with the snow and then everything with those probes…”
“I’m a settled man now, Orson,” Teddy interrupted. “I gotta take care of me and my lady. I can rebuild the business! Cathy, please pull your bike around. I’ll open the garage for you. Orson, c’mon! We’re doing our research!”
Cathy hesitated, as if ready to speak, but she walked back through the door. Teddy slapped at the door lock, behind her. It let out a red light.
“Sirona and me,” Orson said. “We ran into the Buick Jim copies once. We had a whole battle with eight of the things in the Savings Spot north of Alabaster…”
“Oh yeah,” Teddy interrupted again. “We talked about that.” He and his glowing necklace led the way down the hall. “And we have all of the Constellations Café radio show episodes about Buick Jim. We’ve been listening all night, man.”
Orson heard the growing sound of speech. They arrived in the darkened living room, where Enoa, Jaleel, Dr. Stan, and April – who also wore a set of chain mail – sat around a small battery-powered cassette player. Teddy hurried on toward the garage.
“You’re telling me,” a male voice spoke from the player. “This strange being was following you?”
“That’s right,” a woman answered. “I was working the overnight shift at the E.R. We’d admitted those kids from the wreck on the interchange outside town and this… this guy kept turning up asking about them, saying he was their friend and needed to see them. To be honest with you, I never believed in any of this flying saucer stuff before, but this Jim… You might not’ve noticed him to see him from a distance at nighttime, but up close, he was just wrong some way. He looked kinda plastic, like a mannequin or one of those crash dummies came to life – really gave me the creeps with the way he kept asking about the kids in that wreck. And his voice…”
“I didn’t know this stuff was real,” Enoa whispered to Orson, as he sat next to her. “I thought it was all goofy lies sold to dumb people.”
“Oh, a lot of it is,” Orson whispered too. “Crazy people selling to crazy people and greasy people selling to dumb people. But not always. It’s also how Hierarchia leaks got out to the public in the early days. You’re listening to the Constellations Café, now?”
“I think so,” Enoa said.
“It is,” Jaleel said. “I’m with Enoa. I thought Buick Jim was just a creepypasta, like Slenderman or whatever.”
“This Jim.” The voice of the radio host bled into their whispered conversation. “He was extremely active for several years and some callers claim that these Men in Black or MIBs that have been cropping up lately are actually copies or doppelgangers of the original?”
“Jaleel, Buick Jim really existed,” April said. “He killed people in my hometown. That was thirty-some years ago, but people still talk about the Fall’s Top Terror.”
“You’re from Fall’s Top?” Enoa asked. “Why didn’t you tell me? Nimauk is pretty close to there.”
“I’m not going to speculate,” said the woman on the cassette. “It’s been almost ten years and I still see him watching me, not blinking…”
“I actually don’t know where Nimauk is,” April said. “All week, I wanted to look at my old map of P.A., but I just didn’t get to it. I’m sorry! But yes, I grew up hearing all about the Terror.”
“I’m no expert,” Orson added. “But Jim was a bio-android of some kind – alien or a fluke science leap. He killed a lot of people back in the eighties. Supposedly, the ones around today are weaker Hierarchia imitations, like photocopies of photocopies of the original super-dangerous robot.”
“How’s the research?” Teddy returned from the garage, Cathy behind him, still wearing her helmet. “We have to be ready to take on those things, just in case. This is just like when the full Ooke Squad had to fight those interstellar headhunters hiding out as punk rockers. The alien punk headhunters were everywhere, man. It was in 2011, so you can imagine.”
“What are alien punk headhunters?” Jaleel asked.
“No time to get him started,” Orson said. “Speaking of the Ooke Squad, Ted. Are they all too far out of range for a pickup?”
“Oh yeah, man,” Teddy said. “You know how split up we’ve been since Thunderworks. It takes a long time for news to travel across space and time. It’s just us on this one. So we gotta secure the stuff we can and get going.”
“Then I’ve got another idea,” Orson said. “It’s not safe going out there alone, Cathy and her crew have their own people to defend, and I want to do something to draw their attention. Let’s get you another escort. Franklin is meeting with Pops’s people, I think, somewhere on the old interstate fifty corridor. That’s only six hours from here. Let’s see if he’s still willing to come the extra distance.”
* * *
Max did not speak to Kol when they were brought together for another testing session. Max didn’t look at him. He did nothing to respond to the words of Sir Geber, to the projectiles fired at him, or at Kol’s Shaping.
Max sat slumped to the left. His eyes were half-closed, accentuating the deep purple bags beneath them. But the visible welts were noticeably paler than the day before and some color had returned to his face. That was enough for Kol to play along, to shield Max and let him heal.
Kol raised his projection without prompting. He cooperated while the projectile tech fired bolts into the shield. He cooperated while the sensor techs probed at his projection. He allowed them to take his blood.
“Now,” Kol spoke only when the projectile tech stepped back from the launcher. “Our agreement. I want a word with my brother.”
Max still said nothing. Sir Geber regarded them both. His helmet’s antenna extended outward.
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“Then talk with him,” Geber said. “He’s right there. I won’t interfere.” The Liberty Corps techs and guards watched Kol. Max did not. His brother still had the vacant, eyes-distant expression he’d worn since the testing began.
Kol walked around the techs and their devices. Max still didn’t look at him, not even when Kol leaned down toward the cart where they kept his brother restrained.
“I’m so sorry.” Kol hugged his brother. Max gripped his arm. So much of the strength was gone from those fingers. “All of this. All of this was me again, just like the loft. All those years and…”
“You will speak so you can be heard.” Sir Geber said. “Raise your voice and step away from him.”
“I’m going to test them now,” Kol whispered again. Max released his arm. “I have something I want to learn.” He heard booted footsteps, techs or guards advancing.
“I said ‘step away’.” Geber himself approached – even better!
Kol stepped away from Max. He faced the knight and his security squad. The guards activated their electrified prods. Visible electricity arced from the weapons’ blunt tips. Geber walked ahead and raised his right hand to threaten him or to touch him, to use his Shaping.
Kol didn’t wait to find out. He formed a new projection, made a shield from wall-to-wall. The blue field appeared, turning thin air into solid energy.
He swept the shield along the floor and threw Geber and the guards from their feet. Kol felt the weight of the men he pushed with the energy, felt it like it was his own physical body moving them. The shield flickered, but held. Kol pushed harder and forced the projection further. Then the techs fell too, their sensors toppling around them, probing arms twisting at odd angles, glass shattering.
Kol ignored the cries and shouts from the testing crew. He kept the shield solid, even as pain like knives stabbed into his temples. He didn’t stop moving the energy until it had forced the Liberty Corps against the far wall.
The projectile tech had been leaving when Kol had formed the shield. It caught the tech unawares and threw him out the door, leaving him sprawled facedown in the hallway.
Kol felt something, almost immediately, a tingling in the pit of his stomach, like he was falling, like someone had caught him by both arms and was pulling him to the ground.
Geber was fighting him. He was trying to work his own Shaping, his iron binding. But it was only partly working. Were the knight’s powers dimmed by surprise or by Kol’s shield?
Kol pressed the shield against Geber and the techs and the guards. The falling sensation eased, even as the pain in his temples deepened, like the agony was reaching through his skin and bone and into his brain.
Kol found his moment. He ran back to Max and whispered again. “I will free us,” he said. “I have a plan.”
“None of this is your fault,” Max said.
And maybe he would’ve said more, but Kol wrenched away from him. The falling sensation intensified, and he lost grip of the shield – both at once. The room spun around him. He sank back to his knees. He heard groans and more shouts from the Liberty Corps, but Sir Geber’s voice rose above the others’ pain and surprise.
“I see it now,” Sir Geber said. “Terror is your real teacher.” The knight reinforced his Shaping. Kol felt the numbness spread, the pins-and-needles feeling of his entire body going to sleep.
Kol closed his eyes. His mind was still clear. Could he ignore the rest? Could he make a new shield and throw Geber again?
“Every feat of Shaping you’ve performed has been won through fear,” Geber said. “You saved your own life. You saved Mr. Racz, for a time. You work to save your brother. It’s impressive, but you forget that I am a knight and no mere novice could ever overwhelm me. I broke your shield like I will break you, until the Liberty Corps learns everything we can from your mind.”
The techs came forward then. One checked Kol’s pulse. The other began placing small objects along his forehead. They stuck tight to his flesh like suction cups.
“Tomorrow,” Geber said. “We’ll be moving your work outside. It’s been weeks since you’ve had the chance to enjoy the view.”
* * *
“I can’t take all of your food,” Cathy said. “Won’t you need some of it?” Orson stood with her and Teddy at the entrance to his pantry, a space bigger than the living room. One wall was lined with commercial-size refrigerators, the rest with floor-to-ceiling shelving.
“We can’t fit everything,” Teddy said. “And the Aesir can’t either. I have the eggs backed up now for the next delivery. I have some fruit salads that have maybe a couple more days before they go bad. I was going to make meatballs so I have a crazy amount of hamburger. Either you take some of the perishables or they’ll spoil. Right now, I have some signal masking doodads hiding the power used by the fridges, but they have to get turned off. Somebody’s gonna notice eventually.”
“I have some low-pulse motion sensors I can plant now,” Cathy said. “And we’ll keep watch over your home.”
“You can do that,” Teddy said. “But you’ll have me checking in for updates all the time. Orson!” Teddy looked over his shoulder. “I have those hamburgers with the Colby jack cheese you like. And I have the labeled samples of the syrups from that pancake place.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Orson said. “We just need to get together for you to go. I’m sure Cathy can come and take anything that would spoil if you’re away.”
“And watch your hydroponics,” Cathy said.
“Orson!” Enoa called from the hallway. “You heard back from your friend.” Orson met her in the doorway, as she ran from the Typewriter, holding a long sheet of paper.
The message read:
‘Orson! How the hell are you, kid? It’ll be great to see you. Absolutely, we’ll help out. Just dropped off the cooked probe. We’re heading back to Evergreen afterward, so Teddy and April and their cats can let things blow over at the Inn. Sirona says Ted’s usual cooking for lodging deal is always open anyway. Orson, are sure I can’t talk you into coming along? It’s way past due for us to catch up. I’m sure everyone would love to see you and meet the new crew, we keep hearing about. Anyway, leaving now. We’ll be there in six hours or so.’
* * *
Klay Turner drove alone in the carrier’s cab. He’d sent the rest of the team back to their overnight compartments, hidden inside the modified shells of what used to be tractors. Klay liked driving. It cleared his mind.
And he trusted no one else to do the driving. How could he trust anyone? His rotating teams of tech support and muscle – he’d met most of those men in the last ten years, some only since Thunderworks and the boom in his business.
There’d been a romance to the work – why should any government hold back technology from the same people who’d paid for it? With his help, almost anybody could own it, especially in those free-for-all days after shutdown. But those days were done.
If he couldn’t trust a person he’d known since boyhood, trust was gone for him. He’d never trust that way again, he felt sure. And his business wasn’t work he could do alone. His work had died in the high Nevada desert, dead by the hand of Catherine Hawkins.
So when the blinding blue light engulfed the carrier, he thought Cathy Hawkins had changed her mind. She’d followed them to finish the job.
Klay eased his foot onto the brake, but the engine stopped dead and went silent. The carrier was driven down the road by uncontrolled inertia. Klay’s eyes watering and sightless, he twisted the steering wheel, trying to steady the carrier, trying to stay on the road. But blinded and shocked, his responses dulled, steering the carrier was like riding a cannonball midflight.
He felt the carrier strike gravel and then sand as it passed over the shoulder and off the side of the road. The carrier spent the rest of its momentum there and came to a full stop.
Klay again tried to blink away the tears and the harsh blue afterimage. He fumbled with the keys in the ignition. No response. He rubbed his outstretched fingers under the steering column, searching for the emergency ignition redundancy switch. No response. He felt along the dashboard for the radio control, to hail his crew and rally them. Only static emerged from the speakers.
He searched the dashboard with shaking hands, hoping his fingers would close on the failsafe lever, the first half of the emergency-battery’s activation.
“HELLO!” Many voices shouted in perfect unison. It was as if one voice called from many mouths. “HALT! YOU ARE DETAINED! PREPARE TO RECEIVE JUSTICE! INCOMING MESSAGE FOR TRAVELING THIEVES!”
Klay’s vision finally cleared, finally focused, his eyes still filled with tears. He peered over the dashboard and saw eyes looking back at him. Figures stood in the road and in the darkened desert hills all around it. Their eyes glowed an unblinking yellow, too many to count.
“This is Sir Hiram, Liberty Corps Commandant at Groom Lake.” A new voice boomed out of the darkness, once again as if that same voice was shouted by many. “I represent Lord R.K. Helmont of the Liberty Corps Western Barony. I’m speaking to you now to bring judgment against you and your band of thieves.”
Klay’s fingers finally found the emergency-battery activation. He pulled it back and grabbed the secondary power control, beside the clutch. He triggered the emergency battery, a normally-inoperative unit, a secret holdout in the event of energy failure or EMP or ion attack. Klay triggered the activation, praying to hear the startup hum and his last chance at escape.
The carrier spluttered and let out a low metallic whine, instead of a hum from the backup power source. Then the whine died away into silence.
“You have rendered a great deal of assistance to my investigators in tracking theft of Liberty Corps Property. It will be a simple matter now to locate your customers – including the individuals you sold to today. I assume my informant has been discovered.”
Klay finally unbuckled himself. He wasn’t sure what the eyes could see. Would the things out in the darkness fight to keep him where he was?
It didn’t matter. Only two options remained – flee into the darkness with the eyes or try to fit himself in the armored storage built into the rear wall of the cab. Klay reached the cab’s back half and gripped its lock. His hands shook, panic and terror stealing his strength. He pulled at the lever. It budged, but only slightly.
“You face twenty-three counts of theft, twenty-two counts of selling stolen goods, nineteen counts of illegal use of top secret works, and fifteen count of illegally operating equipment. If you wish to face a quick execution, step from the vehicle with your hands on your head.”
Klay wrenched the lockbox door open and threw himself up over the driver’s seat, back into the metal of the cab. He landed in the haphazard mess in the cab’s hidden compartment, sprawled between boxes of manifest notes and bins of spare parts.
“You have thirty seconds to step out with your hands behind your head.”
Klay shoved the door behind him, the tips of his fingers sore from slamming against the metal. He considered crawling farther, rousing his crew, gathering them. Maybe together they could survive, fight the eyes in the darkness, and find some new trust in their common survival.
“Very well.” The voice spoke again. It could not have been thirty seconds. “You will face immediate judgment from my watchmen.”
Klay lay flat against the papers and bins and boxes. For the second time, the carrier was consumed in light.