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Callie looks between Ishaq and Robert for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the implication of the former. “I did say that I’ve got attacking capabilities too.” She picks up her copy of the briefing notes, holding them up to the other two; with her other hand she plucks Charter out of the air and, with a moment’s focus, forms and then dismisses a tiny portal with either end inside the corner of the sheets, trifurcating it in an instant. Callie grins. “Specifically surgical, silent attacking capabilities. Charter’s portals can cut through anything – walls, barricades, equipment – so long as I know where it is and what it looks like. Against enemy personnel, meanwhile…” She turns to the commanding officer again. “If we have any holding cells, could I see them after this? With your permission, I’ll memorise them and drop people through – weapons disabled, obviously.”

Callie turns back to the other two. “Beyond that – jets or sheets of ultra-pressurised water from the Marianas Trench; heat and fire from Kilauea; I can even bring in lightning from Lake Maracaibo on a good day by cutting the distance from the stormclouds there to wherever I want. Path of least resistance. Charter also allows me to see as far as the Earth’s curvature and the terrain allows, so I can do all of this at range or just scout. And there’s transportation too.” She smiles to Ishaq. “If you want, you can focus on keeping us alive and I can handle moving us around. You know your Arm better than I do.”
“Thank you, Ma’am; that will not be a problem for me,” Callie answers, with a respectful nod towards their commanding officer. She then turns to Robert and Ishaq, offering a winning smile. “Sapper Callie Lidmann, Reconnaissance, Mobility and Damage-type Arms Master, formerly of the Royal Engineers. Good to meet you both.”

She looks back to the woman in charge, her expression turning serious again. “Ma’am, I share Alkhawaja’s concern. Charter can’t see into deep water; I’m sure I can clear mines if I know what their surroundings look like but I can’t do that on my own. Do we have minehunting drones aboard that we could use?”
Larnaca International Airport

The fair-skinned, grey-eyed woman with shining blonde hair cut far above the neck is hardly a startling sight among the British tourists making their way out of passport checks at Larnaca International Airport, what with her grey tank top, camouflage trousers and skin glistening with sun cream; the only thing that she perhaps lacks to complete the picture would be a pair of sunglasses.

Upon closer inspection, however, an observer might notice certain things to mark her out. Her stride is remarkably assured, even as her fingers rapidly tap at her thighs in ever more complex patterns; she scans her surroundings, pupils focussing and dilating as she does so.

Of course, after a few minutes idling irritably at the baggage claim, the great pack and metal case that she plucks from the conveyor belt separate her further.

Stepping into the sunlight at the airport’s exit, she leans back, feeling the warm air and the Sun’s radiance on her face. For half a second, the sensation consumes her – the light shining through the skin of her eyelids, the heat running across her cheeks and brow like a caressing hand of flame.

It is only a half-second. After all, unlike those others on the plane, her primary goal isn’t enjoying herself.

Slinging her pack up onto her shoulders, she flicks through the case’s combination lock, which opens with a satisfying click. Opening it, she reaches past the assault rifle with the strange-looking rail to take hold of a cylinder of brass, glass and ivory, the button in its compartment released as she does so.

A pain but no point in trying to get around it. Security’s security.

Nonetheless, she smiles as if to an old and familiar friend as she looks upon the spyglass again. Then, purposeful, she flicks it open, holding it at the far end and raising the other to her face, wedging it between her nose and cheekbone as she looks towards the hills above Larnaca.

Yep, they’ll more than do.

In one moment, she is by the airport, checking the left and right to make sure she won’t bifurcate anyone by mistake. In the next, she is adjacent to one such hill. And, in the moment after that, with a quick step forward, she is atop them.

The smile becomes a grin.

Looking back, she pulls and unfolds the printed map from her pocket, eyes drawn immediately to her pen circle marked ‘Dock’ in tidy, efficient scrawl. Gaze skimming between it and the coast before her, aligning the two, she finds her true target. Dropping the case, she takes the spyglass in both hands now, adjusting it.

There she looks upon glorious opportunity.

Callie Lidmann steps forward once again.
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