Orson spent the night in the Aesir’s main cabin, listening to the strange interference. Jaleel hadn’t completed Wesley’s pen, so Orson watched the aeropine, as the animal tottered around the ship and ate apple slices.
The interference whine varied, going mostly silent for hours and then suddenly intensifying. Orson had reported it to the Corwin security and technical supervisory offices. He’d run his own scan from the Aesir – nothing irregular.
He needed sleep. He’d learned his lesson in his earlier battles with the Liberty Corps and with Daniel Tucker – he wasn’t twenty anymore. He couldn’t go without rest and stay fighting-fit.
He dozed when he could. Wesley seemed happy left to his own devices. He had food and now a litter box, which Enoa had purchased from the general store, down the street. Orson dozed fitfully, his sleep little more restful than his waking hours.
The interference whine intensified early in the predawn morning. Orson resisted the urge to switch to another channel. He could ignore the sound, shut down the visor so it didn’t recognize all errant radio waves and assorted other activity on that part of the electromagnetic spectrum.
But he wouldn’t. He’d been in the business of adventuring too long. He rubbed at his eyes and donned his gear, making his way for the ship’s door. Wesley tried to follow him outside. He squeaked furiously, but Orson wiggled his fingers at the aeropine and slipped out the door, closing it behind him.
The noise didn’t intensify, but it was undeniable. Orson walked through the empty yard, again listening for any variation in the frequency.
The house guard had been added after the bounty hunter attack, but they had no relevant equipment. They were essentially muscle, not intelligence operatives.
Orson’s visor comm beeped. He found the message in his HUD view and sent a call back.
“Am I keeping you awake?” he asked.
“No,” Eloise said. “I was still awake, and I see you wandering around out there. I think Alec is right. You have a real horror movie or Halloween vibe going on.”
“Hey, if you’re awake, can I step inside for a second?”
She must have been just inside the door. It opened almost immediately. He walked into the entryway.
“You hear it too, don’t you?” He asked.
“Yes!” She was wearing her clothing from the day before. “I took a listen to that surveillance kit I brought with me, after shutdown, and I found the frequency!”
“It’s so weird, right? I’m gonna sound totally crazy, but that noise changes volume, depending on what we’re talking about.”
“You think it can hear us?”
“I do, at least outside the house. Hey, your dad is the one who owns the main comm station in town, right? Do you think it’d cause too much of a stir if we put out our own interference, just in case?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“If someone’s trying to listen in, somebody with the Liberty Corps, I want to keep them from hearing us.”
* * *
“He’s late.” Kol recreated the makeshift soundproof box, crouching between the spare seat cushions. “What the hell is he doing?”
“You’re going to order him out.” It wasn’t a question. Max faced him, fixing Kol with a constant stare. “When do you plan to use the telegraph station?”
“I’m still figuring that out,” Kol said. “My first priority is getting Duncan out of there. Then Sloan’s meeting. Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll have enough time to figure out the rest before Brielle arrives.”
“Major Rinlee,” Max said. “What do you intend to tell her?”
Kol did not reply. What could he tell Brielle? Not the truth – she was prepared to kill for the Liberty Corps, kill for order and stability and what she called safety. He used to say the same.
But he couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about her, or the battle to come, or his future. He had to think about saving lives, livelihoods, and homes in Littlefield. If saving them was the right thing to do, he would need to figure out the rest later.
His comm chimed – four brief messages.
Gregory and Corwin onto me. Littlefield jamming transmissions. Can’t call. I will find key. Leave town after.
“No!” Kol almost threw the comm. “He can’t reach me. He’s still after the key!”
“You have to persuade him to leave.” Max maneuvered between beds like he was trying to line up to see the comm screen. “No matter what happens, he is in terrible danger there.”
“I know that.” Kol fired back his own messages.
Do not pursue key. Leave Littlefield. Drive to pickup station.
“I sent him his instructions,” Kol said. “I have to make an appearance at Sloan’s meeting. Then, hopefully, I can get this under control. ”
“Duncan will receive your encrypted texts?” Max asked. “Once the telegram is sent, there will be nowhere safe for him.”
“He should get them. Make sure you’re ready to leave, as soon as I reach him.” Kol had already packed his own things, those few items he’d removed from the rover.
“You can’t go to that battle,” Max said. “If you have no one who can stop Sloan, then this organization is not worth dying for. You must know that.”
“I don’t know anything.” Kol swung his legs over the other side of the bed, so Max could not try to stop him, as he passed. “I’ll do what I have to do to help, but Duncan is strictly on assignment from me. If you can get out of here with him, that’s what’s important. You’ll have to seek asylum in one of the Alliances, just in case. I don’t think anyone will monitor communications, but you can’t take that risk.”
“I’m not hiding anywhere without you.” Max maneuvered between the beds and around the room while Kol fastened his armor. He situated himself in front of the door. “They would kill you, without question, if they ever learn the truth.”
“Now you’re trying to talk me out of this?” Kol held his helmet under his arm.
“I want you to do the right thing and survive,” Max said. “Dying to stop the slaughter of innocents is noble, but not when that death is avoidable. When the telegram is sent, you, Duncan, and I must leave.”
“You want me to disavow everything I’ve done for years!” Kol couldn’t handle this level of interrogation, not with the tightrope he had to walk. Talk to Sloan. Face Brielle. Help Max warn Littlefield. Warn Orson Gregory. “We’ll talk about this later.” He forced his way around Max and out the cabin door.
Kol hurried across the camp, thankful he encountered no one on his trip to the command tent. He crept inside it, parting the doorway as little as necessary. The interior was entirely dark. Another Orson Gregory video was playing for Sloan and his officers.
Gregory, himself, was on the screen, but Kol only recognized him from the fire sword in his hands. He and a red-haired woman stood with their backs facing the camera that had recorded them.
They were surrounded by an arc of fire, a swirling, twisting mass of red flame, like a serpentine wall. The fire was apparently being directed by the woman, who moved her hands in a motion that mirrored the fire’s movements.
A band of dark-clad individuals stood on the far side of the circle of flame.
“How many dates have we had where nobody attacked us?” The woman glanced at Gregory, but she continued her fire manipulation.
“We’ve only been in fights on like eight date nights.” He reached to his hip and drew a revolver in his free hand. “And most of those we got called away to help somebody, while we were out. People only tried to attack us, specifically, like two times, during a date. Two times in three years isn’t so bad.”
“Three times. You forgot the man who tried to steal your sword for his museum.”
“I didn’t forget him,” he said. “He was just sad. He stalked me all week and showed up then because that was the first time I went anywhere.”
“I don’t know…” She was interrupted when two men in quilted protective gear charged through the wall of fire. Gregory and his date both yelled.
The scene ended and the screen went dark.
“Next up,” Sloan called from the front of the tent. “We’ve got a whole mess of other footage. A lot of it is basic security feeds, not very clear, so if you just arrived and you missed the brand-new video with Gregory and the Five-Point Palm we watched yesterday, you should take a gander at that later.”
The screen lit up again. Kol saw flashes of other episodes from Gregory’s wayfaring. Most of the footage was grainy and without sound, but it charted a clear course – Gregory’s journey to skill. Most of the early flashes of video showed him surrounded by other people. He saw recurring faces, recurring individuals standing and fighting alongside Gregory. He saw the woman with the fire, an old hippie man with long hair and a wooden staff, like a storybook wizard, and two men with ludicrously large rifles. The video changed too rapidly to decipher more.
The videos progressed, until one showed Gregory alone, locked in a sword fight with three towering shapes – blue-eyed Thunderworks automatons, wielding electrified pikes. They worked in perfect tandem, circling around him, all striking, but he blasted away with his repulsor. He wobbled in the air with none of the practiced control he later earned. He flew toward the camera.
Another clip showed a group of people in heavy combat gear, flak vests, helmets, tall boots, all carrying some sort of energy projectile weapon. They surrounded Gregory, firing on him.
Gregory tore them apart, weaving between them, forcing them to take care in their aim or attempt to fight him with melee clubs. Kol saw at least two instances of friendly fire. The rest of the guards were quickly dispatched by the fire sword.
The final video showed Orson standing beside a hulk of twisted, burning, indistinguishable metal. He was speaking, but his words could not be heard. He was younger, but had already collected most of his regalia.
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He held a head from one of the automatons, its eyes still glowing. He laughed and carried the head under his arm, like a football.
Sloan spoke when the screen went dark. “Cocky bastard. I think that gives us a clear idea what his capabilities are. Now let’s take a look at our champion. AND IN THIS CORNER!”
Kol could not immediately decipher what he next saw on the screen. It looked like some undersea creature, a tentacled monster, some kind of man-o’-war, but this was on dry land. It was striking people with its waving arms, sending men and women flying, bloodied and broken.
It was Nine-flails. He was mostly obscured by the manic motion of his whirling weapons. Nine chains extended from him. The chains each ended in a spiked orb, the size of a bowling ball, with points long enough to gouge flesh.
The camera footage was poor. It was filmed by someone behind Nine-flails, their focus tracking to follow the knight’s weapons. Twice Kol caught sight of someone’s gloved fingers slipping into view.
But the footage left no doubt of Nine-flails and his martial prowess. When his attackers tried to run, the chains snaked out, crushing and skewering his foes against the walls of the steel-gray hallway that surrounded them. When a team of gunmen attempted to return fire, their first volley was unsuccessful, and they did not get a second.
Sloan was laughing, guffawing to himself as the video ended. “Do you want to do a live demonstration, Sir?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Nine-flails stood and the lights rose. Everyone cleared away from the front of the tent, taking their chairs and notes with them.
Kol backed away too, happily unnoticed. He almost bumped into another late arrival, trying to walk through the tent entrance, but she stepped to his side.
“You’re lucky I know you.” Brielle whispered and briefly touched her fingers to the back of his hand. “Otherwise, I might think you were another of Sloan’s clumsy tagalongs.”
“You’re here early,” Kol whispered. “It’s barely nine in the morning.”
“Don’t sound so excited.” She followed him to stand against the far side of the tent. “Or what, did you find some young bimbo looking for a soldier to take care of her?”
“They’re lining up for me,” he said. “Who can resist a man who spends his days reading about a thirty-year-old theft and whose social circle includes fewer than ten people?”
“No, I know I don’t need to worry about you.” She chuckled. “If I didn’t make the first move you would never have talked to me.”
Kol felt his face flush, but he was saved from figuring out a response.
Nine-flails now wore an odd, oversized breastplate, a lopsided apparatus. The heads of his flails sat snug against the surface of the armor, grouped across the breastplate, like a bunch of deformed grapes. This was the housing for his weapons. It had been all but invisible in the film.
He looked entirely different and entirely more dangerous with the flails in motion. The nine spiked weapons that won him his name snaked from his armor, connected to him by thin-linked chains. It was clear why the assembly had moved away.
The chains and their spiked heads spun and snapped outward, without any motion or further action from Nine-flails. They twisted and curved around him, moved by his mind alone. They sped up, moving faster and faster, until they appeared to form an orb of solid gray around him. The flails never tangled and never met, and they moved with the perfect, planned regularity of their master’s mind. The metal links let out an eerie hum, like a flying saucer sound effect from a vintage pulp film.
One of the flails flew free of the mass, blasting out of the orb like a shot, stretching through the tent’s empty front section. Before the flail retracted to join the others, Kol could see the spikes on the weapon, long enough to spear any unarmored person. Driven by the mental power of Nine-flails, the force of the blow alone could surely kill.
Kol finally understood the meaning of the moniker. Nine-flails wielded a horrific evolution of the cat-o’-nine-tails whip, a device of metal and the mind that was almost impenetrable, a ranged weapon and melee weapon, at once.
The knight finished his demonstration and retracted the flails back to himself. Sloan began to clap and cheer, as did many throughout the tent. Nine-flails turned in a slow arc, acknowledging the praise, acknowledging his audience.
“After they see that, we’ll be ready to start the demolition by noon tomorrow.” Sloan continued to clap. “I think we’ve got a good taste of what’s in store for Gregory. He won’t even know what hit him.”
“One sword and no powers is no match for my overwhelming onslaught,” Nine-flails said.
Kol remembered the video of Tucker’s barrage, the Cobalt Nine spikes rising from the ground and falling from the sky, Gregory dodging them all, keeping Tucker on the defensive for almost their entire fight.
“Finish the preparations,” Sloan said. “We’ll reconvene for a final briefing at 1900 hours. Dismissed.”
“So what happened that you got here so fast?” Kol asked Brielle, once the noise and rush of the dispersing gathering gave them some privacy.
“I underestimated how ready for action my team is.” She nodded toward the front of the tent. “Looks like Sir Adrian wants a word.”
Nine-flails had removed his armor and worked his way through the crowd, toward them, toward Brielle.
“Rinlee,” he said. “I’m glad you could make it. It’ll be good for you to see the best Iron Shaper in the Corps.”
“If I want to see the best Iron Shaper.” She leaned sideways, resting her hand on Kol’s shoulder. “All I have to do is look in a mirror.”
“You don’t have one technique that can match the flails.”
“No, but it’s all you can do. It’s a damn good trick, but you are a one-trick pony. You always have been.”
“You don’t need more than one if it’s a guaranteed kill.”
“A guaranteed kill.” She threw her head back and laughed, a real, amused, belly-laugh. “Is that how you justify your time? I guess you need a pretty good excuse to sit around and play with your balls, all day.”
“We’ll see tomorrow.” Nine-flails spoke through gritted teeth. “We’ll see what you have to say once Gregory’s road kill.”
“As long as you don’t slip up and get burned for it.” She slipped her arm from Kol’s shoulder. “Then I’d have to step in and finish the job for you.”
“I’ll have your team be the first into Littlefield,” Nine-flails said. “Once Gregory’s flattened, and they’re all desperate, I’ll have you sent out alone to let them have revenge and get complacent.”
“That’s not even a threat. That’s all you have to say, like I couldn’t take on some farmers and hermits? Please. And do I need to remind you? I don’t work for you.”
Nine-flails left without saying more. Brielle watched him go. Then she flicked her eyes back to Kol. Under normal circumstances, her fleeting, mischievous glances were a reminder of his hopes for the future.
But his stomach twisted in knots. He imagined Nine-flails falling in battle, and Brielle standing against Orson Gregory, as she led the charge to demolish Littlefield.
“The Squid thought if he beefed up and looked scary enough for the upper brass, then the women in the training program would line up to join his personal harem.” She spoke so softly, he could barely distinguish the words. “I know you hate Gregory, but I might root for him against Adrian.” She winked.
“Don’t even say that.” Kol imagined Orson Gregory, warned by his telegram, slamming Nine-flails into the ground, the flails going limp like Tucker’s Cobalt Nine.
“What’s wrong?” She furrowed her brow. “I’m joking! I know it was technically a major infraction to talk that way to Adrian, but like I said, we went through training together. I remember him when he was still learning to twirl the first of those flails. Once an asshole tries to hit on you for the tenth time, you get to say what you want to him.”
“His demeanor is already against protocol.” Kol talked reflexively, his autopilot response. That had been enough for the strangers he’d spoken to, but she knew him.
“Oh! Is Duncan okay? How did his mission go?”
“He’s still in Littlefield.” Good, finally he could speak the truth. The tent had emptied, and Kol had no desire to stay alone with the Governor and his entourage, but where would he go? He couldn’t take her back to his cabin, with Max. They were still preparing… No, he couldn’t even think about what they were planning.
“He’s having some comm issue. He missed his contact window, and I’m still trying to get ahold of him.” Kol nodded to the tent’s entrance. “Want to take a walk?”
“Of course.” She followed him out into the morning sun. “You couldn’t delay the attack? I can’t say I’m surprised. You maybe should’ve considered contacting Helmont’s office.”
“I don’t know what to do. I have enough political enemies in the Western Barony, but I must intervene. I have to get him out, no matter what. I won’t let Duncan be a victim of miscommunication or…”
“That’s the wrong way to go about it,” she said. “You have to try to get ahold of him, and if you can’t, remember he’s a spy. You both did what was right for your mission and that was always going to put him in harm’s way. Keep trying, but trust him. Sloan will need a controlled demolition, so it’s not like he’ll just shell the town.”
“You don’t think there’s any way, after Gregory dies, Littlefield would surrender?”
“No,” she said. “I hope so. I don’t think so. But, once we do what we need to do in Littlefield, nowhere else will fight us this way. There’ll be peace then. And after Gregory is gone, you’ll have more time to find the Dreamside Road.”
* * *
Duncan waited for Kol’s reply. He didn’t receive one. His comm stayed dark and silent.
He’d parked his station wagon a greater distance from the target house. Gregory had seen him the night before. He could not be noticed as a loiterer. He had to wait.
In the distance, the Corwin-Albir residence’s side gate opened. Duncan set his comm aside and slid lower in his seat. He grabbed the Isodar.
Yes! The chance he’d waited for all day. It was Enoa Cloud, leaving the residence with Jaleel, the newcomer. They walked down the sidewalk toward him, idly chatting. She had her staff, and Jaleel wore an odd belt that could easily contain a weapon.
Duncan raised the local newspaper he’d purchased that morning, perusing the weekly trivia from the little town. He absorbed none of the words. All his attention was on the two young people.
He raised the Isodar. A red line stretched across the screen, ending in a persistently blinking red dot on the left. The device began to beep.
Duncan had forgotten to muffle it. He curled the newspaper around the speaker, reducing the sound to a more reasonable volume, no more than a ringtone or chime.
Cloud and Jaleel did not respond. They continued talking, passing the station wagon and moving out of sight.
Duncan had it – confirmation. Enoa Cloud carried the Dreamside Road key on her person. She had to. Why else would she give out a Cobalt Nine signature? If he could get her alone, he could retrieve the key, but how? She’d demolished Kol. She’d been training to Shape her entire life.
But she didn’t know it. She’d never read her letter. Maybe that would provide an opening.
Before Duncan could consider his plan further or think on the imminent attack by Governor Sloan, he noticed something strange.
There was still a Cobalt Nine signature coming from the Corwin-Albir residence.
Duncan could not even begin to guess what that could mean. Maybe there was no key at all and Gregory had taken some of Tucker’s metal as bizarre souvenirs for his crew.
Unless the other Cobalt Nine was hidden in the residence, the second signature was in the Aesir or with Gregory, himself.
Duncan was not prepared to proceed on his own. He needed some input. This was nothing they’d considered or planned for. He grabbed his comm, checked the auto-encryption was enabled. He typed.
Please respond. Second Cobalt signature. Please advise.
* * *
Kol received more messages from Duncan, several, brief and clearly afraid. Enoa Cloud carried Cobalt Nine. Another Cobalt signature was present, though Duncan didn’t know exactly where it was coming from. Why would there be a second signature? If she and Gregory both had Cobalt Nine, was hers actually a key?
“Duncan.” Kol sat on the couch of the small prefab building the Outreach Team was occupying. Brielle sat with him. Three more of her team of Shapers argued over the television and vintage VCR, bickering about their choice of movie.
How should I proceed? Please respond. Please respond. Please respond!
Duncan had not received his messages. He couldn’t have.
Kol’s responses hadn’t been delivered. Duncan was stranded, without help, still doggedly pursuing his mission, with less than a full day before the entire town would likely be destroyed.
“I have to go,” Kol said.
“You could use my field office.” Brielle placed her hand on his arm before he could stand. “None of us need it. I could go with you. I have full clearance, remember.”
“I don’t…” He stood anyway. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know. I need to get in touch with him somehow.”
“Kol, it’s okay.” She stood too. “You need to trust him.” She spoke in a soft tone. “He’s well trained. He’s a smart man. You need to trust that he will do what is right for his mission.”
“He can’t stay there to be butchered! He can’t die for…” He stopped speaking, before he could finish verbalizing that thought.
The trio of Brielle’s troops stopped their argument and looked back toward him. “What happened?” One of them asked.
“Captain Maros has an operative on a classified mission,” she said. “But he’s used to leading from the front. You three haven’t picked a movie in a half hour. Why don’t you head to the mess and grab a round with the others? I’ll be there soon.”
The man who had spoken stared at her for a further second, before nodding. “Yes, ma’am.” He and the others filed out of the room.
Kol wouldn’t let Duncan be butchered so Sloan could win his pissing contest with Orson Gregory! If there was no one to stay Sloan’s hand, he would intervene. Duncan wouldn’t be caught automatically in the event of Sloan’s defeat. His cover was good. And Sloan had to lose.
“I’m leaving too.” Kol briefly held the back of Brielle’s hand, with his left. She pressed his flesh-and-blood fingers to her cheek. He knew she hoped the light pressure of her fingers and face would calm him when her words could not. He slipped his hand free. “I’ll be back later. I’ll figure everything out.”
“You need to be very careful.” She watched him walk from the prefab building.
Kol headed across the camp, back to the cabin he shared with Max. They needed to send the warning. Then he needed to focus on boosting his comm signal. He’d do whatever he had to do. Liberty Corps procedure had failed him, but he would not fail Duncan.
When he entered the cabin, Max was staring into space, his arms crossed. He appeared to be doing nothing, but waiting or planning or thinking.
“I’m sorry!” Kol did not know how long he had been with Brielle, how long he had sat by her side, consumed by fear, knowing that it might be the last time they shared company, knowing… No! He wouldn’t let himself think that way.
“Are you ready?” Max asked.
“Yes.”