arrived—his body was now hers.
She needed to understand this place, because this creature’s memories didn’t have everything. He didn’t know the specifics. Someone would though. Someone out there had to know about the core of this planet. Someone had to know if this was an inhabitable planet for her kind. Someone had to know if she just traveled through the universe only to land somewhere useless.
Morena walked out of the woods and into the field, looking at this creature’s…vehicle, that was the word. She got in and after a few minutes of sifting through the creature’s brain, she started the vehicle’s engine and drove off.
10
Present Day
W illiam J. Thompson never liked going by William. He had preferred Will since he started grade school. He wasn’t really sure that anyone even knew his name was William anymore, because he hadn’t been called it in so long. Certainly no documents had his government name listed so in all reality, his name was whatever he chose it to be. His mother had birthed a William, but that person pulled a Star Wars, died a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (at least it felt like a different galaxy, even if he was born in the States). All in all, he didn’t feel too bad about it. It had been necessary, and now Will J. Thompson could be anyone he wanted, or at least his outer appearance could—the core of Will, well that didn’t change regardless of who he was. Not anymore. The time of metamorphosis for Will was over.
He had told Rigley he would make it here in forty-eight hours, and it took him forty-seven. Had he been late, he wouldn’t have cared too much—Rigley wasn’t his boss in any real sense of the word. Nominally? Maybe, in some org chart somewhere a blank box rolled up to her name, but in reality? Their roles were set long ago.
Will looked around the diner, a Waffle House that sat in the middle of a shopping center. He’d looked at the signs when he pulled in, seeing a grocery store called Publix, and other businesses not holding the same prominence. Great Clips. A Chinese restaurant. Not necessarily small town America, but not quite medium either.
He was looking over the menu as a waitress sat silverware and a napkin down in front of him.
“Hey, honey. What can I get you to drink?” she asked.
“Water’s fine,” Will answered, looking her in the eye as he did.
“Sure thing, be right back.”
She walked off and Will went back to the menu. He wasn’t reading it anymore, but looking out across the restaurant, seeing the people in here. It was one in the morning on Monday, but five or six people filled up booths. A few older folks, a few teenagers—probably eighteen, old enough to not have a strict curfew at home, but still in high school. No one else was looking around, no one else observing the rest of the restaurant. The people might not mind their own business, but they didn’t find anyone in here interesting. The town, to them, was simple, understood if not boring.
Will was looking for infection.
Infection could appear as any number of symptoms, and even that word wasn’t accurate. The infection, which was how Will classified these things even if the suits in Washington didn’t, manifested itself in different ways.
Will had looked at all the data sent over by Rigley. Something was here, he felt pretty confident about that, though he had no idea what. If the people in here were infected, they showed no outward signs. No ticks. No rashes. No strange questions. Just people shoveling food into their mouths, food that would kill them the same as cigarettes, but that didn’t matter to anyone anymore. It didn’t matter to Will either; he’d eat this slop and be happy about it. He might even have a cigarette when he walked out of here.
He had seen a lot of things, cancers that came both from infections and from man. He was fifty years old and had started this when he was twenty-two. That’s a long time and a lot of infections. In all those
She needed to understand this place, because this creature’s memories didn’t have everything. He didn’t know the specifics. Someone would though. Someone out there had to know about the core of this planet. Someone had to know if this was an inhabitable planet for her kind. Someone had to know if she just traveled through the universe only to land somewhere useless.
Morena walked out of the woods and into the field, looking at this creature’s…vehicle, that was the word. She got in and after a few minutes of sifting through the creature’s brain, she started the vehicle’s engine and drove off.
10
Present Day
W illiam J. Thompson never liked going by William. He had preferred Will since he started grade school. He wasn’t really sure that anyone even knew his name was William anymore, because he hadn’t been called it in so long. Certainly no documents had his government name listed so in all reality, his name was whatever he chose it to be. His mother had birthed a William, but that person pulled a Star Wars, died a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (at least it felt like a different galaxy, even if he was born in the States). All in all, he didn’t feel too bad about it. It had been necessary, and now Will J. Thompson could be anyone he wanted, or at least his outer appearance could—the core of Will, well that didn’t change regardless of who he was. Not anymore. The time of metamorphosis for Will was over.
He had told Rigley he would make it here in forty-eight hours, and it took him forty-seven. Had he been late, he wouldn’t have cared too much—Rigley wasn’t his boss in any real sense of the word. Nominally? Maybe, in some org chart somewhere a blank box rolled up to her name, but in reality? Their roles were set long ago.
Will looked around the diner, a Waffle House that sat in the middle of a shopping center. He’d looked at the signs when he pulled in, seeing a grocery store called Publix, and other businesses not holding the same prominence. Great Clips. A Chinese restaurant. Not necessarily small town America, but not quite medium either.
He was looking over the menu as a waitress sat silverware and a napkin down in front of him.
“Hey, honey. What can I get you to drink?” she asked.
“Water’s fine,” Will answered, looking her in the eye as he did.
“Sure thing, be right back.”
She walked off and Will went back to the menu. He wasn’t reading it anymore, but looking out across the restaurant, seeing the people in here. It was one in the morning on Monday, but five or six people filled up booths. A few older folks, a few teenagers—probably eighteen, old enough to not have a strict curfew at home, but still in high school. No one else was looking around, no one else observing the rest of the restaurant. The people might not mind their own business, but they didn’t find anyone in here interesting. The town, to them, was simple, understood if not boring.
Will was looking for infection.
Infection could appear as any number of symptoms, and even that word wasn’t accurate. The infection, which was how Will classified these things even if the suits in Washington didn’t, manifested itself in different ways.
Will had looked at all the data sent over by Rigley. Something was here, he felt pretty confident about that, though he had no idea what. If the people in here were infected, they showed no outward signs. No ticks. No rashes. No strange questions. Just people shoveling food into their mouths, food that would kill them the same as cigarettes, but that didn’t matter to anyone anymore. It didn’t matter to Will either; he’d eat this slop and be happy about it. He might even have a cigarette when he walked out of here.
He had seen a lot of things, cancers that came both from infections and from man. He was fifty years old and had started this when he was twenty-two. That’s a long time and a lot of infections. In all those
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