“Stealth system activated,” the computer reports, as the Ghost approaches Earth.
Wil consults the sensor display window he’s inserted into the main display screen. It shows Earth, the Ghost, and several hundred somethings orbiting the planet. Looks like the space junk industry is still going strong, he thinks wryly. Then he pulls up a high-resolution scan of North America. “Okay, let's see what we have here.” He pans around the image while the Ghost cruises toward the upper atmosphere. “Oh, this looks promising!” He slides the image over until an airfield is positioned in the center. Several large hangars sit off to one side, a few looking big enough to hold the Ghost. “Spanish Peaks Airfield, here I come,” he mutters.
It doesn’t take long for the Ghost to penetrate Earths atmosphere and begin its atmospheric flight, hurtling towards Colorado, atmo-engines roaring. Stealth systems can fool sensors, Wil knows, but engines are engines, and the ones that push the Ghost through the atmosphere are loud.
“Sorry moose, and mounties, eh,” Wil says, as the ship crosses over into North Dakota. Adjusting a few controls, he eases off the throttle for the atmo-engines. A couple of thousand feet below, some cows look up. He’s timed is arrival so he’s passing over the central US at around four a.m.
Minutes later, he is maneuvering the Ghost over a seemingly abandoned airfield. “Computer, scan the area below, are there any open wireless networks?”
“Affirmative, two networks detected; Bill’s wireless and Airfield public.”
“Any life signs?” Wil leans forward in his chair.
“Negative.”
Wil punches the air. “Sweet! Activate program, ‘bennies doorbuster’.” He turns to look at the primary display.
“Acknowledged,” the computer answers. On the screen, each of the large hangars is highlighted in blue, one after the other, until one in the northwest corner of the airfield flashes green.
The massive doors begin to part. The program Xarrix’s hacker pal, Ben-Ari sold him works as advertised, cycling through radio frequencies until it finds the remote door opener frequency. Meanwhile, the wireless connection is helping the ship’s computer start familiarizing itself with Earth’s internet.
“Yes!” Wil says, getting up from his chair. “Begin automatic landing sequence.”
The Ghost shuts down its atmospheric engines and reduces the power supply to its repulsor lifts, bringing the ship to hover only a handful of feet off the ground. Then it tilts slightly, letting the repulsor lifts in each wing-mounted engine pod push the ship gently into the hangar.
Wil is in the cargo bay when the computer announces, “Landing cycle complete.” The ship bumps slightly as it settles on the two massive landing struts that have deployed from the wings on either side of its main body, like massive bird’s legs. Wil walks over to the control panel and opens the inner doors, then lowers the cargo ramp.
That done, he hurries over to a storage unit set against the wall of the cargo hold. “Time to see if this thing works,” he says, wheeling out what looks like a go-cart. “It better work. I didn’t even know this part of Colorado existed.”
Getting in, he straps in and flips the switches the vendor on Fury had told to flip. The small vehicle hums to life. Carefully, Wil pushes the throttle forward and pulls up on the control stick—the little cart lurches forward, then surges into the air.
“Yee-haw!” he screams, as he shoots off into the pre-dawn light. As he disappears into the distance, the Ghost instructs the hangar to quietly close its massive doors behind him.
It only takes two hours to get from the old airfield to the southern outskirts of Denver. Wil guides the “flying go-cart,” as he’s decided to call it, down an alley off of Broadway Boulevard. Finding a bunch of cardboard and other debris, he covers the go-cart as thoroughly as possible. He’s picked the back of what seems to be an unoccupied building. Hope no one likes to hang out in this part of the alley, he thinks.
The street is just starting to wake up. There’s a small group of people at the bus stop nearby, and a few other people walking by. Wil steps up to the bus stop, looking at the placard on the sign with the list of routes this stop serves. Perfect, this will get me downtown.
He’s soon at Civic Center Station, walking towards where he remembers there being a coffee shop. In planning this field trip, he had the fabricator on the Ghost create fake items his wristcomm can control remotely: a laptop, a credit card and a mobile phone. All of them aren’t much more than remote interfaces to his wristcomm, but since wristcomms aren’t a thing on Earth, he’s got a bag of junk he’s lugging around and a long-sleeved shirt hiding his forearms.
The coffee shop is about as busy as he remembers coffee shops being. Walking to the counter, he smiles at the African American woman behind the counter, thinking, guess coffee shops and college kids haven’t changed much. Wait—it’s only been a few years, not decades, dummy. He shakes his head a little and smiles again. “Large mocha please,” he says.
“That’ll be $6.24.”
Okay, some things HAVE changed. Glad this isn’t my money! Or even actually money, for that matter.
He pulls out his credit card-looking thing and swipes it. In the few seconds it takes for the point of sale terminal to read the card, his wristcomm has accessed its software and forced the sale to go through. Even though the software is saying “card declined” on the inside, the screen is reading Transaction complete. He smiles and goes to find a seat.
Taking a deep breath and looking around, he feels his smile grow wider. Didn’t think I’d ever been back here. Wonder what James is up to?