“Where are my analytics reports?” Captain Davard stood in the center of the Manifest Destiny’s ring of bridge consoles. “What manner of fighters are these?”
“Details seem to match interceptor profile,” Sensor Lead said. “Their motion is distorting our readings.”
“Do you have anything I can’t learn by looking out the window?” Davard asked. “How is our communication grid? Have we established a broad channel? I want phalanx shields for our fighters and our bombers in the air.”
“Not yet, sir,” Fighter Coordinator answered. “All comms are direct line. Still no shield coordination. No system interaction.”
“And our reinforcements?” Davard asked. “Have we made contact with our forces on leave? Have we regained communications with the lord baron?” Davard could see the swarming Alliance fighters, marshaled over the flatlands, weaving complex aerial patterns.
And he saw the Aesir, just above the ground. He knew the twin blue drive glows. It moved farther and farther away from their tractor beam range, every moment that they stayed over the Pinnacle like a mother bird guarding her clutch of eggs.
“So far only tentative signals, sir,” Sensor Lead said. “We did begin the wide alert. There are skimmers gathering personnel in the Summiton village, focusing on Shapers, strike force units, and data and medical specialists. But that will—”
“But that will be of absolutely no use against these unknown vessels or the escaping Aesir,” Davard said. “Prepare U-Cannons and PDCs.”
“Yes, sir,” Artillery Lead said.
“Leave the Saw-wings in their defense formation,” Davard said. “We’ll need direct messages to all fighters. Then we proceed without support. The Aesir’s escape cannot be allowed. Crucial intelligence theft is reason alone for hostilities with the Pacific Alliance. All commands—”
“Stand down.” Baron Helmont’s blue-gray hologram appeared again in the center of the bridge. “Stand down, Captain. I appreciate your crew’s preparedness, but we are in no position to engage with the Aesir and these unknown craft, all while deaf. If your vessel were damaged in the engagement, without fighter support, there would be too few defenses for our own holdings. This action would mean war with the Alliance, and our resources are far better spent elsewhere.”
“As you wish.” But Davard again caught the shrinking shape of the fleeing Aesir, passing now closer and closer to the Alliance swarm. “But what of the information stolen? How can we let that fall into enemy hands?”
“It won’t,” Helmont said. “Captain Gregory is no friend to the Pacific Alliance. Remember, he’s an anarchist, Captain. All that matters now is we reach the Dreamside Road Keyholders before Gregory can warn them or intervene. We have a delicate timetable ahead, Captain. So stand down, and we can regroup and begin our key collection in earnest.”
* * *
Orson was watching the Manifest Destiny when it vanished again, returning to the red thermal sensor mass. The sunlight shone through and reflected across the circling Saw-wings and illuminated the sharp mountain peaks.
“Look,” he said. “What is this?”
“They’re turning around,” Enoa said, her eyes still closed. “I think they’re letting us go.”
“We must’ve cost them too much,” Jaleel said. “Too expensive to chase us, just like THX Eleven Thirty-eight. Classic.” He kept the Aesir aimed away from the mountains. Soon, even the horizon-swallowing mass of the Manifest Destiny would not be seen with their distance and trajectory.
“I swear you make up some of these on the spot,” Orson said. “You just come up with a name and know I’ll forget it before I can find out.”
The Alliance ships still gathered over the expanse of plain. They did not shift course or break formation.
“Angle us around them,” Orson said. “I’m not inclined to get pulled over by them either, even with them helping us out. No offense, but I didn’t disembowel a spaceship just to lose everything to another concerned authority.”
“We may be in no position to refuse,” Dr. Stan said. “Now would be a good time to figure out any record-sharing agreement we might propose. I know the most important information is likely a nonstarter for you, Orson.”
“Maybe.” Orson remembered the grip on his repulsor. He felt the true helplessness he had not known for years. It was no tool or weapon of his long travels that had held him in place and saved him. “But I’m not travelling alone anymore. It isn’t just up to me.”
“Captain Gregory,” Max said. “I don’t know where you plan to go from here, but now may be a good opportunity to announce yourself to the Pacific Alliance and make arrangements to drop us off. I hope that is your intention for us, at any rate. You certainly have my thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Orson said. “Yeah, Jaleel, not to throw more at you, but we’ll need to make some arrangements. Maybe we can keep this from being a whole thing. Ruby can walk us through—”
“Wait!” Kol said. “I can’t go… I can’t go yet. I need to find Duncan. And I need to make things right. I need—”
“Kol, you’re going into Thought Fatigue,” Max said. “Just relax.”
“Look,” Orson said. “It’s good we had this bonding time, but—”
“No!” Kol interrupted again. “We can’t leave. We can’t. Enoa… I couldn’t make things right in Littlefield, and there was no opportunity until now. Enoa, I… I would have told you in Littlefield, but Brielle, Major Rinlee, attacked us.”
“Told me what?” Enoa’s voice suddenly had none of the unfocused detachment of her Shaping. She sounded totally present.
“My division of the Liberty Corps had some of your papers,” Kol said. “After the rest was returned, we kept them. I did. Some of your aunt’s business records – we thought there might be a clue in the correspondence about the Dreamside Road. There wasn’t, but there was a letter to you mixed between them.”
“My letter.” Enoa didn’t yell. She fell back against the seat. She closed her eyes again.
Orson sat forward, ready for an explosion that didn’t come. Everyone else went silent.
“Of course you have it,” Enoa said. “Of course you do.”
“I…” Kol began. “I… We… We had very little, and we have it all together. You’ll have it. It will not take long for someone to find.”
“Do you…” Enoa still didn’t shout. She rested her hand across her face. “Do you have any idea how much worse this all was because I didn’t have it? That letter was supposed to show me the way to a real teacher, a member of the Dreamthought Project who saved the children the Hierarchia was experimenting on. Does Helmont know the way to them now?”
“What?” Kol asked. “No! There were no directions, no map, or—”
“Remember,” Orson said. “Enoa, your aunt hid the coordinates with some system. That’s what she said on her video.” Enoa nodded.
“I would have given you everything that day in Littlefield if I’d had the chance,” Kol said. “But it’s away from everyone. It’s safe. It’s in storage. No one has it. No one…” He struggled with words, and Orson couldn’t tell if it was fear or guilt or Thought Fatigue that held him back.
“Everything is at a self-storage business off of Route Sixty-Six.” Max spoke up. “Not far from Littlefield. And perhaps we do have some distance yet to travel together. Until Kol recovers.”
“You knew about this too?” Enoa asked.
“We tried to hide it from him,” Kol said quickly. “Duncan and I did. We knew he would never… He would never do what we’d done.”
What else did Kol know? Orson had almost forgotten the tortured young man’s former mission to find the Dreamside Road. Despite what Kol and Max said, what they believed, was this how the island was found – Kol’s robbery of Enoa, months before?
“Enoa,” Kol said. “We’ll tell you how to get there. I wanted to give it back… I didn’t want us… I didn’t want to have it. But I never saw you again. We were captured. I didn’t—”
“But you read it.” Enoa interrupted. Her voice was still level and her eyes still closed.
“I…” Kol began. “I’m sorry.”
“Now isn’t the time for this.” Orson spoke before anyone else could. “Kol, Max, I’d appreciate it if you stuck around until we got this sorted out. I have an idea for lodging, and I’ll pay for the two of you somewhere totally comfortable and safe until we get you set up with the Alliance. It won’t be more than a day or so until we get everything resolved.” He leaned out of his chair and rested a hand on Enoa’s shoulder. “We’ll talk about this.” He lowered his voice. “Alright? We’ll talk about it.” She nodded.
“I imagine this is the most reasonable solution we’re likely to find,” Max said.
“You know, somebody really needs to tell me where we’re going next!” Jaleel said. “Are we really just gonna fly right past the Alliance guys?”
The swarm of fighters still gathered far above and to their right. They did not break formation as the Aesir neared.
“Give them a wave and keep going unless they hail us directly,” Orson said. “Flash the headlights. Do whatever.” The Alliance ships gave no sign of changing their pattern.
“I get you,” Jaleel chuckled. “Fly casual.” He blinked the headlights, and he honked the horn. Jaleel literally waved through the windshield. Enoa joined him. Orson and Dr. Stan leaned forward to do the same. No response came. The Aesir’s cabin fell silent again, all quiet but the distant chirps from Wesley.
The Alliance ships maintained their pattern, and then the Aesir flew beyond them and fast approached the line of trees that stretched from horizon to horizon.
“Where next?” Jaleel asked.
“Get to a safe distance and slow down so I can look through my junk,” Orson said. “I have to find the map of old truce territory. We’re going to hide on land that my former teacher, Ophion, used to protect.”
* * *
“INTRUDERS. PRISONER ESCAPE. FULL ATTACK. RETURN TO BASE.” The synthesized voice said the words. Then the pinging siren sounded, three staccato beats and then ringing, three staccato beats and then ringing. It repeated, looped every sixty seconds.
Operative Divenoll’s comm was still looping the direct alert when he found the nearest roving skimmer that wandered the streets of Summiton. Other Liberty Corps personnel rushed from the prefab houses and shops, some half-dressed in their armor. Divenoll realized he still held his beer stein, as he stood a block from the trailer-turned-pub. He downed the rest and sat the empty mug on the sidewalk before he crossed to catch the skimmer.
“Liberty Corps Special Operations.” Divenoll found the skimmer with seats to spare. There was a fire team of Rifle Troopers, two Lieutenants in white, and a whole science team with lab coats draped over their arms. “Leave now. I’m needed.”
“We have only a few seats left to fill, sir,” the driver said. “We’ll be on our way—”
“You’ll go now,” Divenoll took a seat. “I’m needed now, Corporal.” Two more Rifle Troopers came aboard while he strapped himself into place, but then the door slid closed. Someone outside shouted, but then the skimmer lifted from the ground and left them behind.
“On our way, sir,” the corporal said.
The village of Summiton passed around the skimmer – neat grids of identical homes and nothing but identical Liberty Corps-issue cars and SUVs on the roads. Then the skimmer moved beyond the town to the dirt track that skirted the hills toward the Emperor Valley. The Manifest Destiny filled the northern horizon. It floated there in plain, imposing view, direct line of sight.
“INTRUDERS. PRISONER ESCAPE. FULL ATTACK. RETURN TO BASE.” The synthesized voice repeated. It called out from the comm at Divenoll’s hip and from those held by other troopers and lab techs and from the pilot’s dashboard, all with moments’ delay, like echoes.
Divenoll drew his comm again, searched its message controls and sound controls and alarm settings.
“Surely, there must be some way to silence the new comms,” Divenoll said. “We are all well aware of the emergency.” One of the lab techs chuckled.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Updating the system for new alerts might silence it,” the tech said. “Should we try that?”
“Either that or everyone’s comm but mine is exiting the rear hatch.” Divenoll updated the alerts. The ringing alarm stopped mid-beep.
Then the device pinged again. “Restoration and recovery efforts are now to begin. Please check your mailbox for details.” That message sounded only once.
When Divenoll set his comm aside, the Manifest Destiny had disappeared from view, cloaked and invisible once again. Even from that distance, Divenoll saw heavy, black smoke coiling from the top of the mountain. Something burned at the Pinnacle Holdfast.
“Jesus!” The driver swore. “Mister, uh, Divenoll, I’ve got another message for you. Do you have a device on you to receive a transmission from the Lord Baron Helmont?”
“I’ll see it your main monitor.” Divenoll stood. The inertial compensation was only slight, and he gripped other seats as he walked toward the front. “Respond now.”
Divenoll reached the dashboard. On the monitor, he saw the source of the smoke and fire. The Pinnacle’s roof burned in four places and was broken through in a dozen more. One crater was large enough to be another hangar. Two of the proper hangars looked collapsed shut. The front unloading area was broken, multiple lines severed. Several capital ships lay along the mountainside, shattered, defensive artillery beneath them.
But then the image changed to a feed of Baron Helmont. He stood just outside the Pinnacle, surrounded by seven of his knights, amid indistinguishable wreckage.
“Lord Baron.” Divenoll inclined his head. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“You’re needed,” Helmont said. “The damage is quite extensive. Your studies of combustion and fire were always valuable, but they are now invaluable. I will be sending a dropship to collect your skimmer and ferry you directly here. I will not wait for the cables.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Divenoll said. “If I may, what happened? I did not have immediate access to anything but my comm in the village.”
“Infiltration,” Helmont said. “Mass breakout. Many are dead. There are now five vacancies in my circle of knights. You’ve wanted a seat for years, don’t deny it. You may win a title in my circle, in the days ahead, if you succeed for me, and if you survive.”
“You honor me, my lord,” Divenoll said. “And you have my word that your faith will be rewarded.”
* * *
Kol followed Orson from the Aesir. They’d landed in a wide, grassy clearing, surrounded by old pine trees, with trailing mosses and dense foliage hugging their roots.
Two phone booths and a tall post clock stood in the center of the clearing. One of the phone booths looked relatively new, mostly glass, its surface pristine. The other was not maintained. It looked to be covered in years of grime, and it was partially overgrown with vines and ivy. A heavy padlock hung from its loose door. Some of the vines stretched inside. Both booths had the word ‘TELEPHONE’ stenciled across the top.
The clock was a complex, antique design, with four faces and brass ornamentation. It rested on a thin support, decorated with ornate gingerbread. Most of it was cast iron, with more brass accents and markings.
All three structures stood on a wide cement base. The grass was trimmed neatly around it.
“Did the Pacific Alliance bring back phone booths after destabilization?” Kol asked. “I haven’t seen a payphone since I was a little kid.”
“There’s an inn nearby where people can hide for an extra fee.” Orson handed Kol a small scrap of paper. “It’s way more complicated than that, but that’s the gist of it. But I can’t just show up. I have to make an advance reservation, and I can’t make that call from just anywhere.”
“Which explains the strange phones in the middle of nowhere with no telephone lines and I’m assuming no satellite or other cellular connection,” Kol said.
“I want to know how it works too,” Jaleel called from the Aesir’s doorway. “I mean, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Kol’s right, there’s no way there’s an underground cable this far. Oooooh, is it old and magical, like the typewriter?” He stepped from the Aesir. “Can I come along and take a look?”
A figure appeared out of thin air the moment Jaleel’s booted foot touched the ground. She materialized without sound or sign. Kol recoiled. Jaleel jumped backward. Orson laughed and began to slowly walk forward.
The woman wore a dark, hooded cloak over layered plate armor, all shades of black or gray. Small red gemstones dotted her gauntlets and greaves and the choker around her neck. The armor at the stones danced with crimson writing that moved like fire, like the writing on Orson’s lantern.
The woman’s red hair was draped across her left shoulder. What was visible under the hood was twisted into a series of complex braids and knots. It was ceremonial and complicated, in twisting patterns that confused the eye like an optical illusion.
There was something familiar about her face, the command and color of her green eyes. She stared past Kol and Orson toward Jaleel.
“Look at you,” Orson said. “It would be you now.”
And Kol recognized her then, just before she spoke.
“Liberty Corps,” she said. “You already know me, and you know the power that I have. I am Sirona Birgham, and I hold the peace now. Ophion and the Montgomerys made a truce with your Hierarchia, and they led the peace, but now it is mine to hold. You will leave this place or I will know it. You will leave all shielded lands or I will know it. You will not return or I will know it.”
She raised her hand and the air above her fingertips burst into orange fire. A gout like a flamethrower leapt high above her head, and all the red jewels on her armor began to glow, and the writing flickered as if it too burned.
But there was no heat from the immense flame. There was no rush of warmth, and Kol noticed then that her booted feet faded toward the ground. They made no imprint on the grass.
“It’s an illusion,” Kol said.
“Jaleel.” Orson stepped sideways, blocking the figure’s line of sight toward Jaleel. The fire now swirled above her, pinwheeling with enough palpable force to make her cloak billow around her and send bizarre shadows onto the untouched grass. “Get back in the ship, Jaleel. Whatever this is knows your armor. Kol’s armor is probably just too beat up and dirty to trigger the warning.”
“No wonder you’re still super into her.” Jaleel stepped back aboard the Aesir. “She’s as threatening as you are!”
Orson didn’t answer him. He watched the illusion, while her eyes followed Jaleel. When the ship’s door cycled closed, and he disappeared from sight, the image of Sirona disappeared too.
Orson sighed, and it was a heavy, forlorn sound. Kol waited for him.
“Anyway,” Orson said slowly. “The people who work where we’re hopefully gonna stay, they’ll probably want to talk to you. They might ask you some questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Kol asked. He lifted the paper Orson had handed to him and read the untidy scrawl.
The Lodge at the Eldest Oak
Lost in the woods package
Wheelchair accessible accommodations
“I’d tell you more if I knew how they do things.” Orson drew a second paper and pen from his pocket. It was a full sheet, all covered in writing, some of it scribbled away or crossed out. He crossed out more and pressed the paper against his knee to write again. Kol noticed the shining black boot – like new, on his right foot.
“This would be a helluva lot easier if I knew these people, but I stayed at this place one time, about nine years ago.” He walked straight through the grass toward the phone booths. “I should’ve figured they’d have a warning like that. I’m sorry, but the important thing is, you’ll be totally safe as long as you follow their instructions and assuming nobody followed us here.”
At the clock, Kol turned left toward the new phone booth, but Orson waved a hand at him.
“Unless you want to make an actual phone call,” Orson led him toward the ivy-covered booth. “That’s not the one you want.” He wiggled his right foot and boot as he walked. “Still didn’t break in this damn thing.”
“If we’re threatened just for having Liberty Corps armor,” Kol said. “What happens if we led someone here?” Kol sensed little but the motion of the trees. The only Shaping disturbance came from Enoa.
Kol sensed her, back in the Aesir. She sounded different now, discordant, like a harsh resonance, just on the edge of his hearing. She hadn’t spoken aloud since they’d left the Emperor Valley far behind, but her mind had been anything but silent. He heard her. He knew.
All of it because the letter was found and kept from her, because it had been opened and read.
“Well, I can probably persuade my ex-girlfriend not go cook us, if that’s what you were worried about.” Orson twisted a combination into the padlock. “God, I hope they didn’t change this.” But it clicked open.
The interior wasn’t glass, and there was no sign of the overwhelming, clinging vines. Inside, everything was all wood grain. It was perfect, an antique preserved from some other era. A strange, earthy aroma wafted out through the doorway, like flowers and deep undisturbed forest.
“How?” Kol stepped around the phone booth. He slide the vines aside and looked through the translucent glass. He saw the vague shape of a telephone inside, but he did not see Orson. And he could not be seeing through the wooden interior walls. “Is it all fake?”
“Another illusion,” Orson said. Kol heard him dial the rotary phone inside. “Yes, operator, I’d like the Lodge at the Eldest Oak. Thank you.” Kol rounded the booth and found Orson with the phone handset to his ear, his paper in hand.
“Hello, I’d like to make a reservation,” Orson said. Kol heard a muffled voice reply. “Thanks. You too. I hope you’re having a calmer day than I am. Actually, I’m making two reservations, both ‘lost in the woods’. One, I’ll need garage clearance, twelve feet. I’ll be staying on my ship with my three crew members. The other’s for two guests and needs wheelchair accessibility. I can give you all the names if you want.”
More muffled speech.
“Gregory,” Orson continued. “I’m Orson Gregory. Sorry about tripping your warning, but we needed to disguise ourselves in some Liberty Corps uniforms. It’s been a busy morning and one of our group didn’t have a chance to change. He was driving.”
The voice on the other end spoke faster, and deeper. Kol could hear the precision of the speech, but none of the words.
“Are you sure?” Orson asked. “You’re really going to make me go through the whole thing?”
Kol felt a sudden claustrophobia, like the trees were closing in, like the circle around the phone booth had receded. He looked back toward the Aesir and it seemed impossibly far away, some shape at the edge of sight.
“You’re really making me do this?” Orson sighed again. He unrolled his paper and read. “Fine. I’m Orson Gregory, captain of the Aesir, and I need to hide from your enemies and mine.” He read faster as he went, his words stronger. “I was the last student of the wizard Ophion when it was the threat of his power that protected you. I carry the seal of the forbidden tower and the sword once named Thousand Destiny. I was the confidant of Sirona Birgham. I shared the trust and the secrets of your lady protector. She has my full trust in all things. I fought your enemies today. I crossed fire with an agent of the Hierarchia. I fought a remnant that would conquer the worlds seen and the worlds beyond. I have need of lodging and secrecy too, and I have the coin to pay for it.” He groaned and crumpled the paper in his fist. “Are you happy now?”
The voice returned to normal, a single sound, almost definitely “yes”.
“Great, so are we good?” Orson asked. “Standard deal, midnight check-in, no wandering around between dawn and dusk, that stuff?”
The voice spoke again and Orson answered with Kol’s name. “Kolben Maros. His brother Maxwell uses a wheelchair.” And then Orson was handing the phone to Kol, and Kol took it before he had a chance to question what he would be asked to do.
“Hello, Kolben Maros.” A cool, nondescript voice spoke, high in pitch, but probably male. “How are you this afternoon?”
“I am…” Was even this basic greeting some interrogation, some trick? “I’m tired. How are you?”
“It’s a pleasant day,” the voice answered. “We expect a pleasant night. Would you like to join us?”
“I’d like somewhere safe to stay,” Kol said.
“Captain Gregory is arranging lodging for you. You would stay of your own free will, without subterfuge or coercion?”
Safety waited for Kol with the Pacific Alliance – the safety of modern weaponry and tangible strength, the kind of strength he’d known and admired all his life.
But penance waited with the Aesir crew, helping Enoa and helping Duncan. He wouldn’t have access to the floppies if he and Max left early. Only staying could give him that chance of finding his friend.
Otherwise, that information was lost in the destruction Dr. Stan secretly worked at the Pinnacle.
“I am,” Kol said. “I’d like to stay, if you’ll have us.” Orson gave him a concerned look, but Kol ignored it.
“That depends,” the voice said. “Did you stumble through the looking glass, or did you step inside with your eyes open?”
“I…” Kol considered. He could not judge the right answer or the correct one to give. “I used to think I did everything with my eyes open, but now I’m not sure. There are a lot of things I’m not sure about now.”
“Maybe you’ll see clearer after a nice rest,” the voice said. “We’ll see you tonight, Mr. Maros. Have a pleasant evening.”
Then the line went dead.
* * *
Divenoll was already on the terminal level when the local alarm sounded.
He held the remains of a reel-to-reel tape, half melted, burned clear away during Orson Gregory’s rampage. The charred tape disintegrated, powdered to ash and dust as he slid it free of its plastic casing.
“It will take intense review to determine if anything can be saved.” Divenoll shouted over the whooping alarm. He handed the misshapen casing back to the local tech, surrounded by the cooked wreckage, melted metal and plastic.
Divenoll didn’t take the hallway back to the terminal. He followed the newer, faster route, the way Gregory had carved through the walls of the base. Some of the edges were still warm to the touch, but Divenoll knew the heat. He could feel it. He stepped from room to room, through more tape recording facilities and storage, through a room of destroyed vinyl records, all pooled together like melted candles. He moved last through a room lined with disk storage. No shelves stood at the room’s center. Those around the walls were untouched from Gregory’s passing.
Divenoll found the terminal hallway filled with Shapers. Sir Geber stood there with two initiate iron Shapers and one of Sir Lezander’s now teacherless pupils. They and a team of jumpsuit-wearing data techs all faced the closed elevator doors.
“Dangerous time to go climbing, Chace.” Geber nodded. He spoke so softly that Divenoll could scarcely hear him above the alarm. “Lethal time.”
“What do you mean?” Divenoll whispered back.
Geber walked away from the procession, back toward the terminal. Divenoll followed him without a word. Geber said no more until they stood beyond the interface room’s doorway. The room stood empty, but light glowed from the main monitor.
“Sir Rowan knew they were here,” Geber whispered. “The intruders – Gregory and his pups, but he warned no one. Instead, he tried again to capture the Cloud girl and failed, twice.”
Divenoll had traded blows with Gregory and survived. For all his association with flame, the Aesir captain had been less than prepared to face it in return.
“Gregory is slippery,” Divenoll said. “His pups are less dangerous.”
“Hear me,” Geber said. “The lord baron melted Sir Rowan for his disloyalty.”
“Melted him?” Divenoll pictured the fire the baron carried, a quick violet burst from the inherited sword. “Fire?”
“He liquefied him,” Geber corrected. “He touched him and whatever molecular bonds that held him as a man just fell apart. He turned to blood and viscous solutions, and the maintenance crew had to hose what was left off the unloading platform.”
“But Sir Rowan betrayed the lord baron’s trust?” Divenoll said. “And wasn’t that the true folly, believing concealment was possible?”
The elevator arrived before Sir Geber could answer.
Baron Helmont stepped from the lift into the terminal hallway, two more techs trailing after him.
“Sir,” one of the techs stammered. “We don’t… We don’t know what we’re looking at, sir. It’s all asterisks and names, sir, even the local backups. I’ve never… I’ve never seen something like this. I’m afraid it might be a trap, sir.”
“Someone shut off the alarm.” Helmont forced his way ahead. He walked around the techs and Shapers without acknowledging Divenoll or Geber or any of the other assorted Liberty Corps troopers who followed in their wake. The baron entered the interface room.
Divenoll watched Helmont through the doorway. He came close enough to see the baron standing alone at the main monitor, but did not follow Helmont inside.
“These names are League of Nations scientists,” Helmont said. “The rest are the Air Force personnel who died failing to hold the Crystal Dune Laboratory from us.” Divenoll could see scrolling text, but no particulars.
“What is it, my lord?” Sir Geber leaned into the room, and his helmet’s antennae twitched under his arm.
“Bring the encrypt team down from the library annex,” Helmont said. “Call them now. Our offsite copies may recompile much of this. This may be overwritten, but not wiped away.”
“Wiped?” Sir Geber’s voice was very small.
“A last wound from the Aesir crew,” Helmont said. “Thirty years of records gone. Thirty years wiped away.” He clenched his fists. The room filled with palpable heat. Even Divenoll stepped away from the door.
Liquefied him.
“They stole our records,” Helmont continued. “They took them from us, but we know enough to predict the next moves. We know quite enough to meet them on the road.”
“Sir?” Sir Geber asked again.
“Alert all commands.” Baron Helmont’s voice returned to its normal pace and tone. “We gather supplies and equipment. We rally our forces and the full Balor battle group. We make sail for Knightschurch and the Dreamside Road.”