Birth of the Alliance by Alex Albrinck Page A

A.D.
    The city of Philadelphia had grown steadily since Will’s last visit, and now boasted over twenty-five thousand residents. The humid summer air was thick and stale, and the smell of sweat and equine refuse was powerful. Crowds of people thronged on the streets, dodging carriages and the occasional child intent upon an errand or some outdoor game of tag. Few gave a second thought to the tall man with jet-black hair and spectacles, lost in their own concerns and worries. He glided smoothly through the clouds, his face a disinterested mask, his attentive green eyes missing nothing.
    Will found the building he sought, one he’d last entered three decades earlier. Had it truly been that long? He pushed open the door and entered. The printer, a man in his mid-forties with long, thinning hair, glanced up. “Good day to you, sir. How may I be of service?”
    “I am looking to purchase a copy of Poor Richard’s Almanack. It is my understanding that Mr. Saunders uses your shop to create the books, and hoped I might buy a copy here directly.
    Benjamin Franklin considered Will for a moment, then nodded. “I should have a handful of copies of the Almanack available. I do fear the Mr. Saunders is unavailable to thank you in person.”
    Will nodded. “Please pass along my compliments to Mr. Saunders when you see him again. I find it a valuable resource, full of useful information and bits of wisdom.”
    Franklin nodded before disappearing into a back room. He emerged a moment later with a copy of the Almanack , and collected the appropriate fee from Will. “Many thanks, good sir.” He paused, his gaze narrowing on Will. “Have we met before, sir? You remind me of someone I met long ago.”
    Will looked thoughtful, not because he was trying to remember if he’d met Franklin—he had—but because he was trying to remember if he’d actually erased that memory from Franklin’s mind. “I don't believe so, sir. I certainly hope, though, that the man you met previously, the one I reminded you of, was an agreeable sort.”
    Franklin nodded. “He was.” He gazed at Will again. “My apologies sir, but I am noticing that there is an imperfection in the spectacles you wear. Does it not interfere with your vision, rather than correct it?”
    Will shook his head. “I can angle my head to look above or below it. I will need to get the imperfection fixed in the near future, however.”
    Franklin nodded, looking thoughtful. He tipped an imaginary hat at Will. “I thank you for your business sir, but I fear I must return to mine.”
    Will nodded. “Of course.” He turned and left the printing shop. This time, Franklin wouldn’t remember his face.
    Will walked down the street with his copy of the Almanack folded under his arm. “Did you get that, Charles?” he whispered.
    “I did, Will.” Charles’ voice was audible through the small device in Will's right ear. “How do I sound?”
    “There's a bit of buzzing, but I can understand you.”
    They’d developed the first audio transmission devices—microphones, receivers, and speakers—a decade earlier, and had spent the past ten years reducing the size. As the devices continued to shrink, they’d added small portable batteries to the mix. Tests in the Cavern indicated a range of about two hundred yards. Charles was positioned two blocks away with an earpiece receiver and microphone identical to Will’s. The implications of this technology were immense: they could communicate in a manner reminiscent of telepathy without requiring the use of Energy. It was another tool to help them avoid Aliomenti interference with their work.
    “Did you get the visual as well?” Will asked.
    “Give me a moment. I need to… find a bit more privacy.”
    “Understood.”
    They’d begun a similar project for video capability, with comparable successes. Charles had a traveling bag containing a small viewscreen, much like those found aboard the fleet of submarines. It would display video