Traveller Manifesto
12. Aengland - 11th Century

Aengland – 11th Century

Hunter! Hunter! Please respond!

The small speaker in the pack was barely audible, but was enough to wake Michael and have him immediately alert. Though he had promised himself that he would remove his equipment and place it at the Area of Convergence for collection, he had put it off as a priority. They had been preparing for their departure within two days and had, just the night before, endured a celebration of sorts, though it was somewhat subdued. Most of the villagers were devastated at the pending loss of the monks and Michael and Tatae. Though Michael had carefully explained the reason to Godric and the rest of the village council, it was best the villagers not know the full reason. After all, they would probably welcome a modern military base so close to their home. They had enjoyed the treats the medical visitors had brought and many hoped that they would be like Tatae and visit the strangers’ magical home. One of the village women was pregnant with a visitor’s souvenir and was particularly hopeful of moving to the magical realm, believing the father would one day return to collect his child.

Tatae was immediately awake and Genovefa stirred with a tiny grunt. If she awoke, she would promptly be placed on the breast. Michael was happy to note that she grew quickly and was already happily gumming whatever she could get her hands on. Sometimes it wasn’t pretty, as Tatae had caught her chewing on one of Latis’ stinky bones that had somehow made its way inside.

Michael reached into his bag and extracted the small mouthpiece. For a moment he considered not replying. “This is Hunter,” he responded, immediately concerned that anyone would be making contact. Since his resignation, there had been an ominous silence. Most frightening was the threat of a military camp without him being there. The Generals would not be pleased.

“Hunter, this is Hurley.”

“Hurley, what are you doing calling this time of the night,” he replied. Something suggested the news would not be good.

“No time to talk,” replied Hurley. “Mine is not an official visit.”

Michael felt a chill of concern and realised that Hurley spoke in Saxon, which meant he feared being monitored. “What do you need?” asked Michael.

“Nothing. Listen up. I believe they’re going to try and track you. They want to test something. Not sure if it’s strictly training, Super Soldier processes, or tech. But they look to replace you,” said Hurley.

Michael was silent, but felt a sinking feeling in his gut. “When?”

“Not sure, but advise you leave soon and destroy all, repeat all tech,” replied Hurley.

“Roger. Understood. Was planning on doing so anyway,” sighed Michael.

“Oh, and Hunter. Not sure, but the real tracker might be an implant.”

Michael stopped, stunned.

“Hunter?”

“Understood. What the hell does that mean? Does that mean dental or inside my head? Or what?” he demanded.

“Well, we know the pack modules have a tracker. But by what I’ve overheard there’s something else. Ditch the radio. Burn it. Once you do it will sever all official ties,” explained Hurley.

“Understood.”

“The other is something I believe they’re implanting into all Special Forces, at least our lads,” continued Hurley.

“So, me too?” asked Michael, aghast. Was there no way he could get away? He knew his decision would be unpopular, but to be pursued?

“Unsure,” replied Hurley. “Evaluate. Check to see if anything was injected. Probably with the use of a specialised applicator. The tracker is only the size of a grain of rice and could have been applied when you were unconscious. Most likely after you were injured at the Battle of Giolgrave.”

“Bloody hell! I was barely conscious for days! Where are they applying it, I mean, where could they be inserted in the lads?” asked Michael quietly.

“Not sure,” replied Hurley. “Sorry, but I don’t know everything. In fact I’m here only for a few more minutes and I have to return. Zak Chandler got me here. Seems he doesn’t like the thought of military domination of the Traveller projects either. He and the rest of the owners are taking legal action, but the various militaries look to take control for a while.”

“But why?” asked Michael. “What’s this all about?”

“No idea,” replied Hurley. “You might have some time though. The Transporter is due to be shipped to the USA for the Mississippi Traveller mission, though I understand it will be returned to England once that’s done. Something is going on.” There was silence for a few moments. “Well, gotta go,” continued Hurley.

There was another pause, where neither said anything.

“Thanks mate. Thanks for the warning,” replied Michael. “You took a risk. Be careful they don’t catch you.”

Hurley grunted out a laugh. “Yeah. Well the tracking data for this Transport will be erased by Zak. He’s the guy in control. Just make sure you trash your gear. Do it now. And see if you can remember where there was an unusual injury where they might have inserted the chip. I believe you have a couple of weeks, but be careful.”

Michael gave an exasperated laugh. “Yeah. Will do. Thanks again. And goodbye, I suppose.”

Hurley simply responded, “Goodbye Michael Hunter. My undying love to Genovefa and the beautiful Tatae.” He gave a small cough and, to Michael, his gruff friend sounded particularly emotional.

“Hurley, out.”