She awoke to find herself trapped in the past - facing mirror images that were not her own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. Her only guide on this journey is Brax, an observer from her own time who appears in the form of a hologram that only Benny can see and hear.

 And so Professor Summerfield finds herself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time that her next...

 "Oh, Professor, you're awake." Raiph yawned. "Good rest?"

 "I do hope this isn't your idea of a subtle come-on."

 "What? Oh! No, no, of course not. It's just..."

 Benny arched an eyebrow at him. "It's just...?"

 "I normally sleep on the top bunk and I thought I was being gracious letting you sleep up here. But I couldn't sleep on the lower bunk and I thought it wouldn't do any harm to come up here and try and get some rest..."

 Benny nodded. "I see. That's OK then. But it's morning now." She pushed her host out of bed. A moment later, he landed awkwardly on the floor with a clang.

 Behind it, two sleeker, slimmer, speedier skimmers closed in. Each was carefully tracking Raiph's craft, plotting a suitable intercept course. Each contained a man paid to...intervene in other people's lives. Each was equipped with the latest in anti-attack shielding that had the (sometimes undesirable) effect of making a ship's entire exterior opaque. Each had the best onboard computer technology available. Neither noticed the other was there.

 One docked on the port side of Raiph's ship. The other, fortuitously, clamped itself on the starboard side.

 Their respective pilots began their forced entries of the larger craft.

 "Do you know how bad that was?" she screeched.

 Arthur, alone in his cell, shrugged. "We said it needed a top tenor line, but did you want to join in? No."

 "Absolutely," Robin put in. "Just because *you* don't want to contribute to our small community here doesn't mean you should stop everyone else from enjoying themselves."

 "What?" Fiera squealed, pulling harder at the straps that restrained her. "You can't be enjoying this!"

 George joined in as confidently as he could muster. "Now, now, miss, there's no need to be so mean spirited. Perhaps a chorus of 'Kum Ba Yah' will cheer you up?"

 Fiera screamed again and broke free of her bonds. "I'll shut you up myself you irritating little idiots!" She began trying to bash down her cell door.

 "Where is this skimmer headed?" He had dodged her question the previous night at dinner; it seemed only fair to bring it up again.

 "To a small moon that my employers terraformed around Beccalev. Don't worry, we're only going a few light years."

 "Do they want the Sacrificial Dagger of the Cult of the Mutation of Phun-Ta-La the Eighty-third?"

 Mr Raiph chuckled. Benny noticed him drop grease on his tie. Raiph didn't. "Very shrewd, Professor. No, they and I seek the Sacrificial Dagger of the Cult of the Resurrection of Phu-Tan-La."

 "Go on."

 "Hmm? Oh, yes: the Eighty-third."

 Benny cringed over a mouthful of tasteless cereal before saying, "I imagine that you know that I have the dagger?"

 Mr Raiph's eyes bulged. "You have it? My word!"

 "Oh. You *didn't* know."

 "May I see it?" Raiph put his knife and fork tidily on his plate and looked encouragingly at Bernice. She sighed and reached into her pocket.

 "It's gone!"

 Raiph grinned and reached inside his suit. "I couldn't sleep on the lower bunk," he said, sticking out his lower lip, mimicking his earlier apologetic tone, and holding up the Sacrificial Dagger of the Cult of the Resurrection of Phu-Tan-La the Eighty-third.

 "I do hope," Arthur said reasonably, "that we have struck a happy medium."

 "What do you mean?"

 "You know, a compromise, a..."

 "We know what a happy medium is, Arthur!"

 Arthur pictured their expressions and smiled. "What I mean is this: I hope that she is sufficiently enraged to break her door down and free us, but at the same time..."

 "Not so violent she treats us in the same way," George concluded.

 "Quite."

 Hey, Benny told herself, there was no precedent for him not actually wanting to shag her.

 "Professor?"

 "Huh?" Benny turned her attention back to breakfast. "You've got the dagger, you've got every right to be smug - what do you want now?"

 "Professor, what's that noise?"

 Bernice opened her mouth to tell him that there was no bloody noise and if he thought that he could fool her again he had another thing coming. However, she noticed the approaching guitar sounds and just said, "Yes..."

 Raiph rose to his feet and Benny was swallowing the last of her breakfast and joining him when the door slid open and a man in a flamenco dancing costume trotted in. The door closed behind him as his feet danced rapidly around, his arms flying around his head with frightening randomness, all the time avoiding hitting the guitar hanging from his shoulder.

 Suddenly, the impromptu performance ended with a stamped foot and a pose.

 "Staff?" Benny asked.

 "I think I'd remember him."

 The man approached them, played a couple of chords, and then burst into song:

 #I'm here to bring some happiness
I'm here to make you blue
I'm here to touch emotions
Singing songs both old and new
I'm also here for something else
What follows is a clue:
I'm the Lonely Gunman
Now assassinating you.#

 The end of the guitar slid open and a series of energy blasts emerged, killing Raiph where he stood.

 Benny stared for a moment. "Do you know what you've just done?" she asked, examining Raiph's motionless form.

 The man bowed.

 "No," he said in a Spanish accent, "but if you hum it, I'll try and play along."

 "You've killed him!"

 "That's what I was paid for. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to visit the..." He produced a notebook and flicked through it. "The... Does that say Vacuum? Anyway, I'm supposed to be killing... I can't read my own handwriting. Pepe?"

 Benny watched, agog, as the assassin headed off into the ship.

 Then, momentarily chiding herself for stooping as low as to rob a dead man, she unclenched Mr Raiph's clammy hand and removed the Sacrificial Dagger of the Cult of the Resurrection of Phu-Tan-La the Eighty-third.

 He also had medium-sized feet in medium-sized boots (with Martian socks in between) which stomped off with his body in tow to find his prey. Which wasn't so much a medium man as a tall woman with short, dark hair and cool hooped earrings.

 She turned a corner and collided with a materialising man in a blue and red suit.

 "Excuse me," she muttered, trying to squeeze past him.

 "Ms Summerfield?"

 Benny stopped in her tracks, wondered what *else* was going to happen before the week was out, and smiled pleasantly.

 "Yes, Professor Bernice Surprise Summerfield. Can I help you?"

 The man nodded. "My name is Smithers. I work for the Royal Mail."

 "I see." Bernice started to do a brief spot of mental arithmetic but gave up. "Didn't you disband years ago?"

 "In all but one respect, Professor. You see, we had one package left to deliver. One person has remained employed by the company entrusted with delivering said package."

 "You?"

 He nodded. "My father before me, his aunt before him, etc."

 "I see," she said again and pointed to the package in his hand.

 "For me?"

 "Yes." He passed her a clipboard. "Please sign this."

 "There's no form."

 "They don't print them anymore. Just sign the clipboard. There's a pen at the top." Bernice did as requested and Smithers handed her the package. The envelope was large and yellow - whether or not that was its original colour, Benny couldn't tell. On the front of it, it had her name, her location, and the exact time the man had appeared. And one first class stamp.

 "I don't need to pay anything on this, do I?"

 Smithers shrugged. "I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore." He started crying.

 Benny was taken aback. "What's the matter?" she asked, unsure whether to hug him or leave him be.

 "The company is gone," he sobbed. "For the first time in my life, I'm unemployed." With which, he vanished and Benny continued on her way.

 "Where are you, you rats!"

 "In here, dear," Robin called nervously. Fiera began knocking on his door...

 Bernice let out a sigh that lasted several seconds. "Yes? Will this take long? I *am* trying to rescue some...acquaintances." At that moment, George, Arthur, and Robin ran into the room.

 "Oh. Hello." Bernice turned back to the man who had stopped her. "Sorry, go ahead."

 "I am the Deadly Assassin," he said.

 George snorted. "That's a tautology! Surely all assassins are deadly."

 Benny shrugged. "None of the others you hired have been. Er, I assume he *is* one of yours."

 George, Arthur, and Robin nodded simultaneously. At the same time, the Deadly Assassin produced a weapon from his medium-length coat and shot Bernice in the chest.

 "Yes, what is it?" Pause. "Ah, hello Fiera..."

 TO BE CONTINUED...