For an instant, IP-101 was certain they were about to die. When Deepstar jumped, it was anything but the smooth transition that the vessel had made on its first journey…the craft lunged violently forward like an animal springing from its cage, metal shrieking in protest. At first, it seemed to be the effect of an atmospheric warp jump…in a disconnected part of his mind, 101 realized the scientific precedent they had just set…but then the reality of the situation became apparent. Chadworth Industries had put Deepstar back together, but they could not have been expected to get everything perfect. In fact, they were still very far from it. The impression of imminent death did not disappear…in fact, it grew stronger. The first thing that 101 realized was the lack of artificial gravity. Wrestling with his violently bucking controls, he had drifted up out of his seat before he was even aware of it. Growling a long string of curses, 101 yanked himself down and buckled himself in. He glanced over to check the Captain, finding that SC-80 had already secured his own restraints…but the lack of gravity was only the first problem. The violence of the initial jump remained, Deepstar thrashing about with such force it seemed impossible that the ship should stay together. The polarization of the forward windows had failed, a flood of psychedelic color and blinding light pouring into the cockpit. This combined with the constant screams of protesting metal and a harsh, rumbling vibration that must have been emanating from the Drive…and the result was pure sensory chaos.
101 let out a scream of wordless fury, his own voice lost in the shrieking roar of the ship; realizing the futility of attempting to use thrusters at warp, he relinquished his hold on the controls and let them whip about as they saw fit, wrapping his arms around his head in an attempt to shut out the horrible noise. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, now trapped inside his own head with nothing but the harsh, ragged sound of his breathing…and then, quite suddenly, it was over. Am I dead? The thought was not meant in jest, and 101 slowly opened his eyes, halfway expecting to see…if he was honest with himself, he was not sure what he expected to see, and he did not care to think too hard on it. But when he did look, there was nothing but the inside of the bridge and the endless field of brilliant stars stretching beyond the viewports. For a brief and terrible moment, 101 feared they were truly lost…but then comprehension dawned. We've returned to the exact same point in both space and time. It's just as it was on the first Jump…we've passed Earth. Bringing the ship around, 101 was immediately greeted by the welcome sight of the planet, the world as it had existed decades before.
Compared to the jump, atmospheric reentry was positively pleasant. Granted that was a comparative assessment, and the ship lost several minor pieces of her grafted equipment in the descent. 101 ignored the master systems display, so long as it did not show anything wrong with the drive systems; the ship was slowly but steadily shaking herself to pieces, and she only had to hold together for one final flight. Miraculously, the cloak still worked, at least well enough to hide the ship from the casual observer. As the London of the past spread out below, a shocking change from the glittering metropolis of one possible future, 101 instinctively headed for the same building site where he had set her down the first time. As he eased into a slow descent, however, he was struck by the sudden realization: We're already here. Shifting the filter on the forward viewer just slightly, he could only stare as the computer revealed exactly what he had suspected: another Deepstar Five already crouched on the ground, three tiny figures just exiting from her underbelly. The impact of literally seeing himself in the past, however, was displaced by the inevitable realization: There wasn't much time.
"We need a landing zone, anywhere big enough to set her down," the Captain grunted from his seat. "Just hurry."
"Sir." 101 circled in a widening pattern, searching for a location where he could hope to hide the second Deepstar and still be within walking distance of the street where Charlie Bucket would soon be finding (or not finding) the ten-pound note that would change both his life and that of Willy Wonka. As the minutes dragged on, impatience became panic. And then 101 saw it…a narrow gap beneath a bridge, marking where a road crossed a drainage channel. There was no question. 101 pushed forward on the thrusters, swinging the spacecraft into the tiny gap; metal screeched briefly on concrete, but the paint was the last of 101's worries. Deepstar settled onto her landing struts with a bump, and 101 threw off his restraint harness. He stood up and eased himself over to the Captain's chair, knowing as he did so that the rest of this mission would be up to him. Though lucid, the Captain was pale and weak, and he certainly would not be able to make the distance to where the money had to be placed. SC-80 coughed, blood tricking from one corner of his mouth; with a trembling hand, he reached into the pocket of his vest and withdrew the ten-pound note. 101 fought off a horrible sense of déjà vu, the Captain looking exactly as 48 had just before he died. But, unlike 48, there was no resignation in the Captain's face. He took 101's hand firmly, looking him straight in the eye.
"It's up to you, pilot. Finish it."
101 placed a hand on 80's shoulder. "You hang in there, Captain." Taking the note, 101 moved swiftly to the ladder to the cargo hold and descended. He had no personal cloak, no sound suppression…he had no idea what effect it might have on people to see a tiny man running down the streets of London in a tactical vest, but he did not care. Let them think he was a midget, or a circus performer, or dwarf Royal Marine. It didn't matter. While he was well aware the risk of meddling with the past, he was willing to risk an insane rumor in the tabloids if it would buy back his lost future. All of our lost futures. As he left the ramp, 101 became aware of a large object hanging in the air behind him; the cloak had failed partially, exposing a section of the ship's flank. The pilot shook his head and kept moving. There was nothing to be done for it, and it was not likely that anyone would come wandering around under the bridge during the time he was gone. He scrambled to the top of the channel and found himself on the street…and then he was moving.