The following morning both teams assembled in front of the Q Field. Paul and Ramin were a team, as were Clio and I, and I was going to be in overall control of both teams. I could see that Paul wasn’t thrilled by that piece of news, but I had more experience and a better track record of successful retrievals. Sam had chosen me over Paul, and Paul had better not let Sam see his displeasure. Our boss had no time for people who questioned his judgement. I sympathised with Paul though. I hated it when I was passed over to lead an expedition. I just had to trust that Sam knew what he was doing.
We were travelling light. We had our bag of tricks, laser guns, wow bangs, first-aid kit... the essential stuff. The rest we would purchase and re-purpose when we got over there. We could easily adapt their technology, although I couldn’t wait until they improved their capacity and speeds. They were still using microchips, so some days it was like playing with an abacus. Still, it was easier than travelling back to a pre-digital age, where we had to carry over more equipment and risk being discovered and called witches.
Most of our technology was stored in our wrist brace. It was our tether to home, and as long as that was on our wrist we could get back. Besides being our lifeboat, it was also a communicator and locator. Through the brace we were linked. While on Beta we had no way to communicate with home, so it was essential we all keep in touch with each other. I smiled as I took in our suitcases. They had wheels on, which was a nice development for Beta. Not exactly hover technology, but better than having to lug poorly-designed, heavy cases off one arm. Everyone was dressed appropriately, which of course meant we were currently sweating profusely. Wardrobe had given Clio heels as requested; added to her long leather swing coat, I thought she was a tad conspicuous, but Clio stood out anywhere. Her argument was that she may as well look good at it. We were stepping through the field into London so she wouldn’t stand out too much, but I wouldn’t send her to Poland. Tall Egyptian women that had the poise of an ancient pharaoh would be pushing our luck. Although for a laugh I could order her to wear a cagoule and doc martins. Like I was. Ramin and Paul were both dressed in leisure wear. Fancy tracksuits, hoodies and trainers that never saw the light of a gym. Ramin was from Persia, Paul from France. Neither genotype should be an issue in London, but we’d probably need to keep Ramin out of the Home Counties.
Having run through a final briefing, Sam gave us the go ahead and switched on the field. The plain white wall in front of us began to bulge and shimmer. Colours and sparks began to ripple across it, and as the safety bells started to chime, Clio and I walked towards the wall and stepped through.
#10 Charles – Beta Earth
Charlie rubbed the back of his brogues on his cords and caught his reflection in a high street window. Well dressed; expensive, but casual. A simple blazer over a tailored shirt, a leather belt and a pair of needlecord jeans. He wanted to portray money, not desperation. It was a known fact that people will give more money to people that look as though they don't need it. Charlie now needed to convince a total stranger that he was someone that could be trusted. He was cold-calling, but he wasn't coming empty handed. He had stopped at a polish delicatessen and picked up some cakes. Charlie was hoping that a bit of childhood nostalgia might sweeten the old boy.
Leaving the high street behind, he headed down a residential street of smart Victorian terraces. Each property was well maintained, with a range of garden style out the front. All were uniformly small, but in this area of London they were worth their weight in gold. Charlie knocked on the brass knocker. Through the stained glass he could see a figure approach the door. An old man opened the inner porch door and peered out through the glass of the front door.
‘What do you want?’
Hmm, a naturally suspicious and distrustful character. What approach to take? Charlie recalibrated his “journalist looking for a bird” story and decided to go with the truth. Well, most of it.
‘Philip Guscott? I've come from your sister-in-law. Pani Guskov.’
There was a pause, and then Philip stepped forward and opened the door. He seemed suspicious, and was debating whether to send him away. ‘And I've brought some napoleonka?’ He held the bag up, smiling. ‘Have I pronounced that correctly?’
Philip’s eyes immediately lit up. Who could resist cake? ‘Pah, these modern bakers have no idea. Still, they may be tolerable. Come in.’
Introducing himself, Charlie was shown through to a well-lit front room. Heading out to the kitchen, Philip put the kettle on, and pulled out some forks and side plates for the two slices of cake. Charlie offered to help but was waved into the front room, and whilst he waited he had a look around. It was an elegant room with an almost prissy level of perfection. This was the space of an avowed bachelor. The shelves were full of history and wildlife titles. A few of the history titles rang gentle warning bells, and he began to wonder about the rift between the two brothers. A collection of Leni Riefenstahl was curious, the thumbed copy of Mein Kampf seemed a little more problematic.
Zofia
