he checked for Lander One’s transponder again. The scan showed negative. Of course nothing would come up. In his professional estimation Alice Vale was simply too smart for a mistake like that.
He’d have to track her down the old-fashioned way: detective work, spycraft.
“With 1950s technology.” He collapsed back in his chair, overwhelmed as the enormity of the task ahead of him crashed down like an avalanche.
He must step onto this world with nothing but the clothing on his back, and even that he’d have to swap for local garments as quickly as possible. He didn’t know their customs or, hell, know the first damn thing about the life-forms he would meet. Yet somehow in two weeks he needed to acclimate, find his target, perform the task, and leave? Monique had been right, he was the perfect man for the job.Every one of his adventure holidays had been in preparation for this mission. Only this was no holiday. A life would be taken. An entire world’s course of history was potentially at stake.
Peter Caswell decided to follow the spirit of Monique’s orders, if not the letter. A little extra risk of contaminating this place he could stomach if it meant his chances of success increased.
No matter what, he’d have to return to his ship before his implant released the biochemical agent in his brain. Every neuron, every synapse and dendrite in his brain that had changed since the moment his implant had first flooded them with the marker, would suddenly and irrevocably rewire itself back to that moment. Mentally he would find himself in that weightless instant staring at Angelina Monroe, only to emerge who knows where with a song lyric on his tongue.
The word is all of us…
The implant had other uses, though. And being hidden within his body it was perhaps the one technological marvel he could take with the confidence it would remain hidden.
Caswell closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He pressed his fingers hard into the skin there, savoring the slight pain that would signal his implant. A smartwatch he wore usually handled such tasks, regulating him automatically in subtle ways. This manual approach, by pressing the temples and thinking deliberate thoughts, he’d not done in years. He needed to be sure it still worked. The artificial gland in his neck released chemicals per his desire, calming him, sharpening his focus. He’d regret it soon, but for now he needed the edge. He had to get this right.
He turned to selecting a landing site.
It seemed likely that Alice would seek familiar ground. He studied her birthplace in the mountains of Colorado, but that area lay within the path of destruction. In one of the recordings Caswell had studied she’d mentioned a village in France called Olargues, some sort of childhood vacation spot, but it lay too in the wasteland of craters. He glanced at Alice’s file on another screen. According to the dossier she’d lived the last few years of her time on Earth nearthe ESA’s British headquarters in Lancaster, England. He scrolled there.
The culture on this world favored densely packed towns and cities, leaving much of the landscape wilderness, including the outskirts of Lancaster where Alice’s flat on Earth had been. In the end he picked a clearing near a lake roughly eighty kilometers from there. High ground near plenty of fresh water, and no roads anywhere nearby. Curiously, the water levels of just about every lake and river he saw were lower than Earth’s. The coastlines, too.
There seemed nothing else to do. His finger hovered over the landing sequence icon, though, as he tried to think of anything else he might have forgotten. He was no good at this sort of thing. Improvisation was his specialty.
The screen bleeped at him. The landing window was closing. He tapped the button and settled back, a shiver coursing through his body. Soon he would set foot on an alien world.
Within seconds the tiny ship began to reorient itself for atmospheric
He’d have to track her down the old-fashioned way: detective work, spycraft.
“With 1950s technology.” He collapsed back in his chair, overwhelmed as the enormity of the task ahead of him crashed down like an avalanche.
He must step onto this world with nothing but the clothing on his back, and even that he’d have to swap for local garments as quickly as possible. He didn’t know their customs or, hell, know the first damn thing about the life-forms he would meet. Yet somehow in two weeks he needed to acclimate, find his target, perform the task, and leave? Monique had been right, he was the perfect man for the job.Every one of his adventure holidays had been in preparation for this mission. Only this was no holiday. A life would be taken. An entire world’s course of history was potentially at stake.
Peter Caswell decided to follow the spirit of Monique’s orders, if not the letter. A little extra risk of contaminating this place he could stomach if it meant his chances of success increased.
No matter what, he’d have to return to his ship before his implant released the biochemical agent in his brain. Every neuron, every synapse and dendrite in his brain that had changed since the moment his implant had first flooded them with the marker, would suddenly and irrevocably rewire itself back to that moment. Mentally he would find himself in that weightless instant staring at Angelina Monroe, only to emerge who knows where with a song lyric on his tongue.
The word is all of us…
The implant had other uses, though. And being hidden within his body it was perhaps the one technological marvel he could take with the confidence it would remain hidden.
Caswell closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He pressed his fingers hard into the skin there, savoring the slight pain that would signal his implant. A smartwatch he wore usually handled such tasks, regulating him automatically in subtle ways. This manual approach, by pressing the temples and thinking deliberate thoughts, he’d not done in years. He needed to be sure it still worked. The artificial gland in his neck released chemicals per his desire, calming him, sharpening his focus. He’d regret it soon, but for now he needed the edge. He had to get this right.
He turned to selecting a landing site.
It seemed likely that Alice would seek familiar ground. He studied her birthplace in the mountains of Colorado, but that area lay within the path of destruction. In one of the recordings Caswell had studied she’d mentioned a village in France called Olargues, some sort of childhood vacation spot, but it lay too in the wasteland of craters. He glanced at Alice’s file on another screen. According to the dossier she’d lived the last few years of her time on Earth nearthe ESA’s British headquarters in Lancaster, England. He scrolled there.
The culture on this world favored densely packed towns and cities, leaving much of the landscape wilderness, including the outskirts of Lancaster where Alice’s flat on Earth had been. In the end he picked a clearing near a lake roughly eighty kilometers from there. High ground near plenty of fresh water, and no roads anywhere nearby. Curiously, the water levels of just about every lake and river he saw were lower than Earth’s. The coastlines, too.
There seemed nothing else to do. His finger hovered over the landing sequence icon, though, as he tried to think of anything else he might have forgotten. He was no good at this sort of thing. Improvisation was his specialty.
The screen bleeped at him. The landing window was closing. He tapped the button and settled back, a shiver coursing through his body. Soon he would set foot on an alien world.
Within seconds the tiny ship began to reorient itself for atmospheric
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