“Our envoys have returned from the Khanate at Sea and the Pan-American Freehold.” Lieutenant Greenley, the prospective new Ledgerman, read the morning command briefing in an even voice. “The midsummer Summit of the Seven will happen on schedule.”

Greenley spoke a hair too slow for Baron Helmont’s taste, but he didn’t stumble with his words. He didn’t hesitate, reading constantly without pause.

He spoke while Helmont ate his steak and eggs, mopping up his plate with a slice of rich, fresh-baked bread. He spoke while Helmont took his morning tea. And he still spoke, the meal over, while Helmont stood at his observatory window, staring at his forces and his valley.

“Has this information been sent to the Lost Park Office?” Helmont interrupted for the first time.

“Yes, my lord,” Greenley answered.

“I assume no answer from His Excellency?”

“None, sir, only a confirmation receipt with the seal of the Voice. Baron Weatherhold hopes to coordinate for the summit. And you’ve received a direct hail from the Teth Division, but that message can be received only by you.”

“What could she want now?” Helmont returned to his table. “I have only so much patience for the sideshows that follow along in the Czar’s wake.” He found the control pad under his table, found the summons for his culinary specialists. He pressed it. Both men entered the room again, without hesitation, collecting cloche, cutlery, goblet, and his teacup.

“I would not guess,” Greenley said.

“No, of course not. What of Mr. Maros? No termination permissions seal?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“We’ll be feeding both Maros brothers all summer, while Sir Geber enables the embarrassment of all the base’s apprentices.”

Helmont found Kol again, his touched, known presence plotted on his mental maps. He found Kol in the midst of Shaping, power and strain, surrounded by other Shapes from air and light. His defiance had returned, his fury too.

He sensed Sir Rowan as well, intent on his exertions, his mind racing with rage and lust and real distress.

Helmont sensed something else, some third will maybe, or a division, but why would Rowan have two forms acting on his same vapor? Was this some new experiment, some new display of his appetites, twice the mind, twice the sensation? That would explain his distress, one more physio-spiritual experiment gone awry.

Or was this a third mind Helmont felt, a blank frame with power enough to register on his map, outside reckoning? But how? There was no such unmapped person at the Pinnacle.

“Greenley, comm the Knight liaison to send a reminder to Sir Rowan. He seems to have taken some interest in Mr. Kolben Maros. They’re in the medical detention corridor. They’re likely with the brother. The liaison need not intervene, but I want Rowan’s attention.”

“Yes, sir.” Greenley followed the culinary specialists from the room.

Perhaps Greenley was the one. If he performed these subtle duties well, that would be the decider. Sir Rowan needed his leash tightened, and it would not do to permanently harm Kolben Maros without permission.

“Let Sir Rowan know that I am running out of patience for his lack of self-control. I will be reviewing this matter, personally.”

* * *

“I found a separate file about your friend, Ophion.” Dr. Stan had returned to the downloads, but Orson didn’t watch her.

He stared at the stolen comm, its screen again lit green.

‘Scanning…’ read small, black text across the screen, the ellipses slowly adding periods as if real progress was being made.

“You’re not helping yourself by worrying,” Dr. Stan said. “We have only a few minutes left. Then, locating our young friends will be our main concern. Until then, there’s not much we can do.”

“I want to be ready,” Orson said. “Depending on what’s going on, they might contact me and need a fast reply.”

“Floppy,” she said.

Orson reached to the floppy drive without looking at it. He collected the floppy when it ejected and fit it with the dozens of others in the base of the cart.

“It appears your mentor was a formal broker of the Enigma Pacts,” Dr. Stan continued. “His name was redacted from the available transcription but they make mention of his sigil, which I believe is the same that you wear, the Forbidden Tower?”

Orson didn’t answer her. The comm’s screen flashed white – more writing.

Quartermaster Silber: Update. Now. You’d best hope you’ve found your team, Daine. Your days of leaving untrained troopers to unload are over. Your days taking early weekends are over. Your captaincy is over, if I have anything to say about it.

“Not ours, I’m assuming,” Dr. Stan said.

“Nope,” Orson said. “Those kids just got me demoted. We might not have the easiest time getting outta here.”

* * *

The storage room matched the size and shape of the cells around it, lined with rolling shelves and transparent canisters of labeled medicines and equipment and surgical gear.

Kol watched Jaleel bind Sir Rowan, the knight’s eyes still closed, his pulse still racing. The younger man fit old-fashioned leather medical restraints around him, locking his legs together and his arms to his sides.

“It’s a good thing I looted the pack from Pervsalot’s student who we fought before,” Jaleel said. “They have these big wires that lead into the helmet.”

“Do you see medical tape,” Kol said. “We should cover his mouth. We don’t need him using his wailing ability.”

“Tape probably won’t work on magic wind powers,” Jaleel said. “We gotta go!”

“I will prepare Max and then I can help you look,” Kol said. “But yes, we must be gone before he wakes up.”

“He is awake.” Enoa leaned in the doorway, helmet off, one hand at her forehead. “He’s really hurt, but there’s part of him that’s still alert.”

“Are you sure?” Jaleel asked.

“I’m sure.”

“More reason to bind him,” Kol said. “Excuse me.” He walked around Enoa and across the hall. The passage was still empty and quiet. The antechamber sprinklers had ceased, all Shaping fumes washed away.

Had Sir Rowan truly disabled the cameras and any sensors? Had he truly ensured they would go undisturbed, blinded by whatever designs he held for Enoa?

Kol took the ramp into Max’s cell. Inside, his brother didn’t look at him, but his head did roll in his direction.

“Max, I’m so sorry.” Kol knelt beside him. He checked the port in his brother’s arm, IV disconnected. “Did you do that?” Max nodded once, his eyes closed. “We’ll get you to the Alliance. They will know what to do. You’re leaving this place forever. I have to find Duncan, but you will go with the Aesir crew.”

“No.” Max’s voice was small and hoarse, grating from his dry throat. “You come with us.”

“I can’t abandon Duncan.” Kol checked his brother’s cart for wiring, any obvious electronics, or anywhere an obvious tracking device could be hidden. “Do you know—”

“Kol!” Enoa called. “We found your brother’s things.”

“Where?” Kol stood. Outside, Enoa and Jaleel arrived at the cell, wheelchair between them, a small plastic bag tied to the right handle.

“That room had a back storage area for the prisoners,” Jaleel said.

“Thank you,” Kol said. “We should see if there’s a blanket we can take, and maybe some of the Neurzodone that’s used for Thought Fatigue.”

“Is Thought Fatigue that thing you get when you magic too hard?” Jaleel asked.

“That’s a gross way to say it,” Enoa said. “I don’t know.”

“If you are certain we are finished with Sir Rowan,” Kol continued. “I can help you escort Max back to the Aesir. I can’t imagine why all of you came here, but I owe thanks to you and Captain Gregory, as well. I’ll give you time to reach a safe distance before I return here and search the cells. I have to find Duncan.”

“Do you think the other place would know where his friend is?” Jaleel asked. “Orson’s gonna flip the hell out anyway, and maybe he can help us.”

“He’s really not going to be happy,” Enoa answered. “But that’s probably our best chance. Kol, you can’t come back here. Orson might be able to help, though, but it will not be easy getting to…”

Enoa trailed off at the sound of whistling. It wasn’t Sir Rowan’s inhuman Shaping-borne call. It had an electronic, synthesized quality, but the sound was coming from the still-open storage room.

“What now?” Kol looked back to Max. “I’m going to put you in your wheelchair.” Max nodded. Kol did not offer his brother the time he would in any other situation, giving Max the opportunity to maneuver from another seat to his wheelchair.

Kol lifted his brother under the arms. He’d lost weight in captivity, the weight-loss of starvation, lost mass and atrophied muscle. He set Max into the wheelchair and eased the wheelchair back into the corridor.

Enoa and Jaleel were again waiting for him when he arrived outside.

“Someone’s calling Sir Rowan!” Jaleel held a comm, issuing the synth whistle. “Some liaison guy. He keeps calling. As soon as one call ends another one starts. And there’s a little notification that says the Baron is watching him.”

“We still need to move the guards into your brother’s cell,” Enoa said.

“No time,” Kol said. “With this much attention, we’ll have to hurry. We seal Max’s cell, and leave it as it is.”

“No,” Max said.

“Yeah,” Enoa said. “With Rowan, uh, nonverbal, it will take—”

“No,” Max said again, his voice stronger but still scratchy. “Answer, text only. Liberty Corps leadership has usage forms. Have Rowan take command of this area for testing. Imitate his signature if you find it on file, or use his fingerprint. Then you should have time enough to move the guards and prepare to leave this place.”

“And time to warn Orson.” Jaleel held up his own stolen comm, screen flashing white. “With Rowan getting his call, I figured we should check our messages. Looks like our boss is persistent too.”

* * *

“Orson, I have everything.” Dr. Stan turned away from the monitor, its screen darkened. “Even the Brody family files are downloaded. Is there anything else we need?”

‘Scanning…’ The stolen comm’s screen had not changed since the last message from Quartermaster Silber.

“Orson, we’re running out of time,” she said. “Five minutes on the timer.”

“Uh,” he started. “You have information on the current knights?”

“I did that as soon as we read about Sir Rowan. Those floppies are packed away. Think, once I close this out, there’s no coming back here. Is there anything else stored in the old Hierarchia memory that you’ll want, before you lose your chance?”

“I think it’s worth going back early.” He clipped the comm – still scanning – to his belt. “I don’t see why they didn’t answer. As long as Jaleel really had a handle on the unloading, what else did they really have to do? And if they didn’t… It was a mistake bringing them at all.”

“You’re sure you want me to shut down?” Dr. Stan held her hands above the keyboard, the monitor still dark. “Last chance.”

Orson thought through the years, all the half-uncovered Hierarchia secrets, their tawdry plots, the corporate meddling, the power plays that had moved the world, changed and ended lives, known to only dozens. Were there still secrets that remained after the Blitzkrieg and Thunderworks?

He thought too of the histories rewritten, the secret powers that still lived, their vast knowledge of the hidden truths of the universe.

What had the IHSA known? Had they finished their unifying theory behind what the ancients called magic? Had they linked Shaping and sorcery and the old elements? Had the Hierarchia bridged the old world and the new and left that truth buried without fanfare?

What else should he know? What else could be learned to heal old wounds and bring closure to the world so harmed by their secrecy.

But his mind was empty of specifics, fogged by fear and near-helplessness.

Sir Rowan could sense Anemos. If Sir Rowan found them again and found them when he wasn’t there…

A chirp came from Orson’s belt. He drew the comm and answered it.

“Captain Daine, sir!” Jaleel said. “I am very sorry to ignore your message, but we ran into an old friend and his, uh, other friend. They want to speak with you before the end of the, uh, the day. Another, uh, superior tried to reassign a member of the team to his own unit, but she said no. We’re all fine now.”

“Explain,” Orson said. “Is everything proceeding with the unloading?” Reassign a member of the team? Old friend? These could have many meanings. “Have you returned to the trailers?”

“How did you know that we left?” Jaleel asked.

“Quartermaster Silber let me know,” Orson said. “That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to find you. Have you gone back there?”

“No,” Jaleel said.

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

And behind his voice, Orson could hear other speaking, other lower voices, definitely not Enoa.

“We were forced away by our friends, and now we’re trying to decide our best way forward… our best course of action. You know what, we’ll be there soon, and we can explain in person.”

The call ended.

“What the hell was that?” Orson said.

“I cannot imagine,” Dr. Stan said.

“Let’s shut off the system and have all the floppies secured before they get here. I’m thinking this is about to get more complicated.”

“At least he said they’re fine.” She turned back to the keyboard. She pressed a complex command, six keys at once. Then she issued another such command.

The system made a long, low rumble. With a click, the towers and processors in the other room stopped moving. Their lights shut off.

Dr. Stan handed him the last floppy, but a knock came on the door before he could add it to the cart. Orson handed it back to her and walked to the door.

When he opened it, he found four people waiting there, Enoa and Jaleel in their Mountain Patrol armor, his too small. But another armored figure stood there too, a Liberty Corps officer in filthy armor. He was helmeted, but strands of greasy hair hung free and dangled along his breastplate. His boots were muddy and his gauntlets were stained the distinct reddish-brown of dried blood.

Between them sat a man in a wheelchair, his eyes unfocused. He was wrapped in a heavy white blanket.

“Hi,” Enoa and Jaleel said, at once.

“Hurry.” Orson stepped out of the way. They entered, guiding the wheelchair-bound man into the room. “What the hell is this? Why weren’t you at…”

The officer pulled the helmet from his head and revealed the face of Kolben Maros.

* * *

Helmont found Lieutenant Greenely waiting beside the observatory window when the baron returned to his main chambers, dressed, armed, and armored.

“Sir,” Greenley said. “Sir Rowan has filed experimentation paperwork. Everything appears in order, including the prisoner release forms for Kolben Maros and Maxwell Maros.”

“Signature?” Helmont felt for Rowan, found him alert and still frightened, immobile. He did not sense Kolben Maros. He sensed no one near Rowan.

“Fingerprint,” Greenley answered.

“Prepare two squads.” Helmont scanned his maps for Kol Maros, seeking his body or his power. He wasn’t in medical detention. He wasn’t in his own cell. He was nowhere in the detention complex.

Then Helmont felt Kol’s defiance again, sustained adrenaline and the faint embers of hope. He sensed Kol clearly, and he was surrounded by more presences, five more that he did not recognize.

One of the five left a strange imprint, a faceless shadow, but strong, as if cast by a great light. Only Shapers, only real powers felt that way on his maps. Was this the third presence from the struggle in detention passage? Was this some secret of Rowan’s, now out of hand?

The five strangers and Kol Maros were gathered in the computer terminal area.

“Send one squad to retrieve Rowan,” Helmont said. “As my new Ledgerman, you have full authority to use my override. They are to escort Rowan back to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Greenley said. “You honor me, sir.”

“Difficult day to begin,” Helmont said. “The second squad must contain at least five Shapers, journeymen should be sufficient. And be sure the rifle troopers are equipped with repeaters.”

“You believe the forms were… fraudulent?” Greenley asked.

“I believe Sir Rowan’s appetites have finally come to harm him. And we are going to be certain we are not harmed with him.”

* * *

“Thank you,” Kol said. “Without your crew, my brother would be doomed here. I will owe Enoa forever for destroying her home and her business, but I owe you all for saving Max.”

Orson stared at him, clearly bewildered. Kol needed his words of thanks and relief before he could ask help from the man he’d opposed so many times. He had to gauge his reaction, but Jaleel spoke first.

“Orson, you wouldn’t believe it!” He said. “Sir Rowan found Enoa again. He was gonna let the rest of us go if she went with him, and he had like this magic kink going on, the grodiest thing I’ve seriously ever seen, just so bad.”

“He sensed me,” Enoa added. “Like he did at Crystal Dune.”

“And we had this huge battle with him,” Jaleel continued. “Rowan was trying to keep it a secret that he was after her, and he gassed their own guys and helped block the cameras, and Enoa tried to blast him with those explosions she does, but he used his fart flier technique and escaped and…”

“We were in the cell block to rescue the Maros brothers,” Enoa said.

“For which I am grateful beyond words,” Kol said. “Please take Max away from this place, but I need to ask—”

“It’s so good I took that armor from the other fart flier Shaper at Crystal Dune,” Jaleel said. “I knew right where to shoot Rowan’s power supply.”

An alarm sounded at the terminal desk. The woman seated there lifted what appeared to be an egg timer from beside the keyboard and shut it off.

“Time to go,” she said.

“Right,” Orson nodded. “We’ll deal with the specifics of whatever the hell this is when we’re anywhere but here.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s only figure out what we absolutely have to plan, right now. Enoa, I’m guessing Rowan isn’t currently a threat or you wouldn’t be here. Is that right?”

“We trapped him without his mask surrounded by his own poison,” she answered. “Now he’s tied in a storage room.”

“Oh.” Orson nodded. “Good job. Is there anyone else who can sense you or follow any of you? Because that changes how we have to do this.”

“Not that I know of.” Enoa looked over her shoulder at Kol. “I found Kol through Shaping, and he knew I was moving toward him, but I don’t know how. I still have so much to learn, I don’t know what the other Shapers or Knights can do. I’m trying to hide from them right now.”

“Uh-huh.” Orson nodded once and looked at Kol. “And if she can sense you, can anybody do that? Do you have some kind of big magic spotlight on you, Man Bun?”

Kol froze. No one had investigated his secret practice of holding the cell door open, but did that mean no one noticed? Did that mean no one could notice?

“I don’t know.”

“Unlikely.” Max coughed after he spoke, but he sat up straighter in the wheelchair. “Documented instances of enigma co-detection are most common between acquainted parties or in areas without prevalent Shaping activity. I suppose you could call it background noise, for lack of a better term. This place is I’m sure quite noisy, but my brother and Enoa are acquainted and this Sir Rowan was aware of her abilities.”

“Yeah, he was,” Orson said. “That tracks. Well, if there’s not a whole legion following along after you, I guess we’ll risk this thing. Keep your armor on, Man Bun. We’ll get you out of sight first. That just leaves finding some way to hide your brother. Max, right?”

“Yes,” Max said.

“I’m not leaving,” Kol said. “Not right away. I need to find our friend, Duncan Racz, who was also granted asylum by the Pacific Alliance and abducted by Baron Helmont. I am the reason he was taken. I’m the cause of all of it. Save Max, but I need to be sure of Duncan. I need to use the computer terminal to look for my friend. He’s like another brother.”

“Kol, you must come with us,” Max said. “You can’t free everyone here. If you attempt to free Duncan alone, both of you will die.”

“Then we’ll die,” Kol said.

“Come on!” Jaleel said. “After all the shit we dealt with to save you, you’re still going to stay?”

“No,” Enoa said. “We’ll all find your friend.”

“We won’t,” said the woman at the keyboard. “Not with this terminal.” She sighed. “It was my hope to only tell you all later, but—”

“What now?” Orson rounded on her. “Oh god, you didn’t?”

“Everything’s wiped,” she said. “It’s all gone.”

Kol pictured Duncan, still bruised and bloodied as he’d been when they’d been dragged apart in the desert. He imagined his friend alone in a silent cell, as he had been, with no idea that rescue was once possible and no idea that possibility was lost.

“Wait a minute,” Jaleel said. “You’re telling us that everything here is just gone? All of the old IHSA stuff is just deleted.”

“I’ve begun a process that will make everything stored here unreadable,” she answered.

“We might as well have just downloaded everything to a big portable drive,” Orson said. “Just let everybody know we were here. Why did we buy hundreds of damn floppy disks for you to draw attention to us while we’re still here?”

“I didn’t draw attention to us,” she said. “And I didn’t tell you, because I couldn’t know if my overwrite program would work until I actually dealt with the system. I modified one of those floppies to carry and introduce my own programming here, and that programming succeeded. And they won’t know until the overnight system refresh at midnight, Pacific Time, tonight.”

“Am I really the only one who actually stuck to this plan?” Orson asked. “You could have told me, you know that? I’m all for breaking shit. I just like to know in advance.”

“This was one consideration you didn’t need,” she said.

“Maybe I…” Orson stopped speaking as Max began to laugh.

Max coughed again and wheezed, his breath short, but he didn’t fight it. He laughed from his belly, his shoulders shaking.

“None of us can harm the Baron as deeply as you have,” he said. “Other than destroying this base or his battleship or his sword – if such a thing is possible – no one could hurt him so much.”

“And what about Duncan?” Kol asked. “I still can’t leave.” He reached to his belt and retrieved the stolen Detention Complex Card Key. “I’ll have to check all the cells. If he is here, I’ll find him.”

“The Shaper Influence Study is in the Quiet Zone,” Max said. “Unless they left Duncan here for weeks without transfer. Unless… No, we won’t entertain that possibility here and now. I don’t believe he is here.”

“How do you know all these things?” Orson asked. “Did they leave the manual in your cell by accident?”

“Everyone,” Enoa said. “Something’s happening.”

Kol heard the sound again, without words, the mental noise that meant Enoa was shaping or that particular place in her mind was active.

“Like you, Captain Gregory,” Max said. “Information is my trade.”

“Hey!” Enoa raised her hand. “Someone’s coming here! I feel it. People are on their way. They’re looking for us. I feel them and something else. Someone else is watching us.”

Kol felt it then too. The way he heard the slight sound that meant Enoa, Kol felt a deep thrum that moved through the walls and the floor, that moved everywhere around them, a power that stretched across the entire base.

“Helmont,” Kol said. “The Baron knows something is wrong.”

“Well, don’t look back at him!” Orson said. “How does this shit work? Can you be quiet, and he won’t see you?”

“No.” Enoa pressed her eyes shut. “They’re coming here, Orson. I think… Baron Helmont will see us no matter what.”

Kol looked back to Orson. The older man’s jaw tensed, and he closed his own eyes. Kol expected Orson to rage at their discovery or the failure of his work there.

“Then I’ll have to give him a lot more to look at.” Orson tore the stolen gauntlets from his arms. “Man Bun, I’ll need that Card Key. Maybe I can get your friend for you if he’s here. I assume he’ll know me if he sees me, anyway.”

“He will,” Kol said. “Yes.”

“I guess that’s the benefit of having you freaks chasing us for thousands of miles.” Orson slipped free of his boots, tassets, and breastplate. “All of you need to get back to the unloading dock. This Helmont sense is different from Rowan homing in on you, right?”

“I don’t know,” Enoa said. “My aunt never talked about being noticed like this.”

“We downloaded reports from Sir Rowan, about him sensing you and your Aunt from far away.” Orson stripped down to sweat socks and a standard Liberty Corps jumpsuit. “We’ll add that to the list of crap we need to look into.” He opened the top of the storage cart. One corner held a unit for stacks and stacks of floppy disks. The rest held Orson’s gear: coat, boot, and sheathed sword.

“Man Bun, do you have anywhere in mind for me to start?” Orson pulled on his coat and boots. A thin, dangling wire reached from coat to repulsor. Orson plugged them together, and lights raced down the boot.

“I don’t know whether Duncan would be kept with the high risk prisoners or in medium-security.” Kol answered.

“The detention complex is spread across three levels,” Max said. “With varying degrees of security. My area, for example, had access to fitness and library facilities, more a remnant of federally observed IHSA incarceration than current standards.”

“Alright,” Orson said. “I guess I’ll start where they had you, Man Bun, and work my way out.”

“I was block One Nine Seven Seven.” Kol passed the Card Key to Orson. “If you take the lift at the northern end—”

“I’ve got a map of the place already.” Orson slid the key into his coat’s breast pocket. “So that might be all I need. Hopefully, I find the kind of prisoners who will cause problems for the Liberty Corps and not just for us.”

“They’re not far away now, Orson,” Enoa said. “Whoever is coming here… I see two that look a little like Kol does, and three more that look sharp. No, that isn’t right.”

Kol listened too, tried to hear beyond the thrum that meant Helmont, the unavoidable frequency that ran through everything and could not be ignored. He concentrated and the hair rose at the back of his neck.

“I think I fought the men who are coming here,” Kol said. “Or people like them.”

“Yes,” Enoa said. “I think it’s like them, too.”

“I hate being out of the loop like this,” Jaleel said. “I want to learn to sense people coming to kill us. I’ll need to get working on a scouter, like DBZ.”

“I’m calling the Aesir.” Orson removed his sword from the cart and with it, a slab of black stone, a glowing red gemstone set in its center. “Keep to your disguises and stay out of sight. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Excuse me.” The woman at the desk waved to Max. “I think with the cart empty, we may be able to fit you and maybe your wheelchair safely inside. You won’t be seen, and the cart may very well be better armored than most of us.”

“Thank you,” Max said. “But I am prepared to fight with you. Arm me.”

“She might be right,” Kol said. “We have no disguise for you, but if you’re out of sight that would help us.”

Max looked between Kol and the woman and the cart.

“I accept,” he said.

“If you really want a weapon, grab the blaster from my disguise.” Orson pulled on his visor and bandana. The automaton eyes lit blue. “I don’t need it.” He pressed his hand to the side of the visor. “Activate.”

A muffled woman’s voice answered.

“Clearance code?” she asked.

Orson paused. He groaned and walked as far away as the tight space would allow.

“Oh, won’t you heal me with your hands, Sirona,” he said. “Oh, won’t you fill my heart with sound.”

“Accepted,” the voice answered. “You may state your remote commands.”

“Pickup,” Orson said. “We need pickup at the map location marked ‘dock’. Five passengers. Expect airborne sixth. Use skim route, shield-velocity balance, uh, seven.”

“Launch preparation commencing,” the voice said. “Repulsors…”

Orson pressed at the visor again and the voice stopped.

“The lyrics are even cuter in context,” Jaleel said. “It’s like he’s asking fire girlfriend for help.”

“Adorable.” Enoa’s voice stayed clipped and monotone.

“By the look of that smithcraft,” Max said. “You keep a closer association with your former crewmate that you suggest publicly.”

“Now I have to change the damn code.” Orson nodded to Max. “Do you need help getting into the cart? You just gave me a new reason to keep you safe – find out why the hell you know so much about me.”

“No need to interrupt your preparations,” Max said. “Kol, lift me to the cart. Please.”

Kol lifted Max from the wheelchair, blanket still around his shoulders. His brother wrapped his arms around Kol’s neck, until he swung Max’s legs over the side of the open cart. The interior was wide enough for Max to sit, legs outward, his back against the stored floppies, but with room to spare. Kol removed the bag of luggage from the wheelchair’s handle and passed it to Max. Then he collapsed the wheelchair and fit it snug beside his brother and the floppies.

“Leave the side open for airflow.” Orson handed Kol a small black sidearm, still holstered to his stolen belt. “Some extra power packs on there. Hopefully, you won’t need it.”

Kol nodded and handed the belt and blaster down to Max.

“Thank you,” Max said.

“Do you want a blaster too, Kol?” Jaleel asked. “I took an extra one from your gassed guards, so the one that came with my armor is yours if you want it.”

“I’ve never fired an energy weapon,” Kol said. “Only physical projectiles.”

“Take it.” Jaleel drew the blaster from his hip and held it out. “It’ll help me forget how I had to leave seven others behind and unlooted.” Kol took it.

“You better have good trigger discipline with that thing,” Orson said. “Blasters aren’t like firearms. You twitch your finger on that and you’ll be shooting everyone.”

“You strike quite the different character in person, Captain Gregory,” Max said. “Far more practical sense than the bravado I’d expected.”

“You haven’t seen me fight yet.” Orson removed the glowing slab from his sword sheath. He held it against a patch of his exposed skin, at his cheek. A tracery of red writing spread like fire across the top of the object.

“Oh shit!” Jaleel shouted. “Is it time for the lantern?”

“It’s time for all of you to go,” Orson said. “Right, Enoa?”

“They’re almost here.” Enoa faced the closed door, eyes still shut.

“You said that already,” Jaleel said.

“It’s not an exact thing!” Enoa spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s not like I have a security camera in my head. I don’t know more than almost.”

“That’s fine,” Orson said. “You’re almost gone. Are we ready? Do we have all our luggage? Dr. Stan, is everything set? Nothing else you want to delete?”

“I’ve finished my sabotage for the day,” Dr. Stan said.

“Good. Get the cart set, and let’s go.” Orson drew his sword. Kol felt the sudden warmth. He remembered the quick, brutal work Gregory had made of the Ferrant Shapers on Route 66. He imagined the full heat.

The red stone on the lantern glowed brighter, like it worked with the sword, like they were connected. Kol heard something else, a new sound without hearing, another noise he couldn’t capture in words. The sword and the other object were connected, made to work together, or bound as one in some way.

Kol swung the cart shut above Max. Except for a narrow open panel along one side, where Max’s shoe could be seen, the cart was solid black.

Orson nodded to them and slid the door open, holding both sword and lantern. Kol waited for Enoa and Jaleel. Then he pushed Max and the cart of floppy disks from the room.

“They’ll come from the right.” Enoa turned that way, toward the far end of the empty hall and a pair of the standard corridor bulkhead doors.

“I’ll stay here to greet them.” Orson stopped in the center of the passage. “My HUD sees them. They really are almost here. Go.” Enoa and Jaleel wavered. “Go.” Orson didn’t look back at them. “I think we’ll all have some fighting before this day is finally over, but I start mine right here.”

“I’ll watch for you.” Enoa led the way down the passage. She pulled her staff from her belt.

“Good luck, boss,” Jaleel said.

He and Dr. Stan followed after Enoa. Kol pushed the cart after them.

Enoa ran ahead and pressed the door release with her free hand. Jaleel covered the opening with his bow, but shouts erupted behind them before they could take the passage away from the terminal.

“Halt!”

“Sword down! Sword down! We will open fire!”

Kol didn’t turn back. He pushed the cart ahead and followed Jaleel through the open doors, Dr. Stan with them.

But Enoa wavered in the opening. She stared toward the far end of the hall, where five figures in white stood, two of them with quivering metal bars sticking from their glowing gauntlets and breastplates. The other officers shaped weapons, daggers or long polearms. A dozen more rifle troopers stood behind them, blasters raised.

“Hi!” Orson called to them “I’m looking for my tour group. I went to the bathroom and got left behind. Can you point me in the right direction?”

“You’re dead coming here,” one of the energy Shapers said. “Our master and all…”

“I’m going to give you my own warning even though I already know the answer.” Orson’s voice changed, distorted and microphone-augmented, too loud to shout over him. “You can put your weapons down, or you—”

Both energy Shapers fired blasts of green.

Red fire met the Shaping. It burned from the lantern and struck the Shaped green orbs, filling the hallway with a yellow blossom of heat and light.

Orson did not offer another warning. He fired from the lantern again, fired it directly into the blue of his sword.

A projectile arc of blue flame shot out from the fire of the blade. It tore across the hallway, burning through another green volley, burning through two pairs of white armor and the men beneath them.

Both energy Shapers fell in charred pieces, still thirty feet from Orson.

“The rest of you get the same chance,” Orson said. “Weapons down or you’ll go out like your friends the glow twins, here.”

None of the Shapers or troopers fired, but none lowered their weapons.

“Run!” Orson shouted over his shoulder.

Enoa fell back through the open bulkhead, letting it seal behind her. She took the next passage away from the battle. Kol pushed the cart after her.