UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

LII - PLANET EARTH

The pilot, a man named Hudson, was none too happy. The mission had screw up written all over it. A clipboard was velcroed to Hudson's right thigh. He checked the printout for the tenth time. The lights were dim to protect his vision, but the orange ink continued to glow. The instructions were clear. He was to land near Hugo, pick up an passenger, and haul butt. All without alerting the mutineers.

Of course, that wasn't the worst of it, not by a long shot. Assuming the orders were correct, and not the ravings of a suit gone mad, the person he was supposed to collect was listed as Citizen Doug Douglas, as in Marcus Doug Douglas, a man who had disappeared more than fifty years ago and should be dead.

The navcomp beeped softly and projected a map onto the windscreen's inside surface. The transport was five miles from the LZ and closing fast.

Hudson pushed a thought through the neutral interface, felt the speed drop by fifty percent, and directed power to the bow-mounted searchlight. A blob of white light hit the ground and raced ahead. There wasn't much to see, just rough-hewn rocks, clumps of hardy vegetation, and a herd of animals. They looked up and disappeared. Lights glowed on the horizon and hinted at a city.

Hudson pulled back on the throttles, monitored his progress on the HUD, and saw a road appear. Ruts suggested regular use. The navcomp beeped, and the light swept over a man. He held onto a bicycle with one hand and waved with the other.

Hudson made a wide, sweeping turn, saw no signs of an ambush, and came in for a landing. The skids hit with a thump. The pilot put the transport's systems on standby, released his harness, and made for the back.

The ship rated a copilot and a load master, but he had left both of them behind. After all, why risk more people than was necessary? Not that they had thanked him.

The wireless interface was subject to certain types of interference, which explained why many pilots preferred to use head jacks. But Hudson felt different and was glad he could monitor the ship's sensors as he hit the door release and lowered the alloy stairs.

Doug Douglas waited for the lowest step to hit the ground, made his way upward, and offered the bicycle. "Good morning. Do you have room for this?"

Hudson was supposed to ask for a recognition code but forgot to do so. If the Confederacy's first President had been famous at the beginning of the last war, his fame had doubled by the end.

The pilot hadn't even been born on the day that the industrialist had taken up residence in his current body, but he had seen pictures of the original Doug Douglas, hundreds of them, and knew this was the man. More than that, he felt it, which might have seemed stupid, but wasn't. He hurried to accept the bicycle. "Yes, sir! Welcome aboard".

Doug Douglas nodded politely. "Thank you. Do you want the recognition code?"

Hudson grimaced at his omission. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir".

"Mongol redux".

The pilot nodded. "Yes, sir. What does it mean?"

Doug Douglas smiled. "It means that I'm alive".