He thumbs the comlink off, pockets it, and heads into the shuttle. His jitters are only partly calmed by being on his way to action at last; only on the final approach, as the aircar makes a circling pass over the Thames Tidal Barrier, does he settle down fully at last.
The Barrier looms like a miniature mountain range over the starry expanse of old London below, running off out of sight in either direction, with the black sea lapping calmly at its outward side, decorated with a scant sparkle of nighttime navigation lights. Section Six is a deserted stretch of synthacrete, spiderwebbed with catwalks and access ports in a complex geometric arrangement, containing nothing more exciting than auxiliary pumping stations.
"So what happens at 0207?" wonders Miles as the aircar alights in a nearly empty parking area. "It's such an exact time..."
"High tide, sir," the driver supplies.
"Ah..." He rubs his face. "Highly suggestive. Ivan is likely to be nearby, and likely to be below the high waterline. Chained to a rock like Andromeda, or something equally horrifying... have the air patrol make a pass, check the external side of the barrier."
He glances at his chrono and suppresses some more jittering. Eight minutes left.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-09-10 04:54 pm (UTC)He thumbs the comlink off, pockets it, and heads into the shuttle. His jitters are only partly calmed by being on his way to action at last; only on the final approach, as the aircar makes a circling pass over the Thames Tidal Barrier, does he settle down fully at last.
The Barrier looms like a miniature mountain range over the starry expanse of old London below, running off out of sight in either direction, with the black sea lapping calmly at its outward side, decorated with a scant sparkle of nighttime navigation lights. Section Six is a deserted stretch of synthacrete, spiderwebbed with catwalks and access ports in a complex geometric arrangement, containing nothing more exciting than auxiliary pumping stations.
"So what happens at 0207?" wonders Miles as the aircar alights in a nearly empty parking area. "It's such an exact time..."
"High tide, sir," the driver supplies.
"Ah..." He rubs his face. "Highly suggestive. Ivan is likely to be nearby, and likely to be below the high waterline. Chained to a rock like Andromeda, or something equally horrifying... have the air patrol make a pass, check the external side of the barrier."
He glances at his chrono and suppresses some more jittering. Eight minutes left.