The four-star insisted on coming along. At first Buck wondered if this meant that he didn’t trust Buck; then he came to understand that the four-star was more than a little worried about what the Norths thought of him. Who were these people? Buck had never seen them as talking heads on the news—he would have remembered their hick accents—and if they were associated with some university or think tank, the four-star would have said so.

As they walked out to where a fully-fueled M1A3 was rumbling onto the asphalt, Buck tried to find out more about what the Norths’ connection with the military might be, but the four-star shut him down at once. “No questions, Harward,” he snapped. Then, more gently, he said, “Soon enough you’ll understand.”

As the tank came closer and grew louder, Alf North suddenly seemed to be filled with energy. He walked briskly toward the tank, getting directly in its path and striding toward it as if he meant to jump on. It was not a safe thing to do. The driver should have seen him coming and stopped the tank—crushing civilians was not generally regarded as a legitimate training exercise—but the tank didn’t even slow down.

And then, when it was only a foot and a half from Alf North, it lurched to a stop. Alf seemed not to be aware of what a close call he had had. He reached out a hand and rested it on the metal of the front of the tank.

Meanwhile, the driver bounded out of the vehicle and rushed over to Buck. “Sir,” he said, “I tried to stop it twenty yards back, as soon as he came out toward us, but the damn thing wouldn’t stop. I thought he was roadkill for sure. And then it just stopped by itself. I have no idea what caused—”

But then the driver seemed to be aware of the fact that Thor was chuckling. “Sorry,” Thor apologized. “But when Odin wants a machine to run, it runs, and when he wants it to stop, it stops.”

“Odin?” asked Buck.

“Family nickname,” said Gerd North. “Which we never use in front of outsiders.”

Thor looked abashed. “Sorry,” he said.

There was nothing going on here that needed Buck’s eyes—he listened to them talk but watched as Alf—or Odin—walked around the tank, his hand never losing contact with metal, though he did move it up and down, touching everything as he passed. At one point, it seemed to Buck that the man’s hand pressed into the metal of the turret, but within a moment the illusion had passed.

Then the tank started to move forward again.

“Hey!” shouted the driver. But Gerd’s hand flashed out and touched his elbow and the driver staggered. “Ow!” he cried. “What did you—”

One of the crew stuck his head out of a hatch and shouted, “What the hell!”