His passport presented him as Geoff Seymour, a civil engineer in his late thirties from Upstate New York. Her look was the obsession of half the Islamic world. The plane was packed, not with tourists and businesspeople, as it would have been in normal times, but with Americans living overseas who were rushing back home to their friends and families to check that everything was all right.Ĭitizens like Jenny, a feisty woman in her mid-twenties who had run away from her deeply religious parents and their megachurch when she was eighteen and ultimately become a fashion designer in Qatar. Rhodan bent forward to look through the small window as people everywhere in the aging Boeing Dreamliner began to whisper. Her grip caused the artificial skin covering his hands and arms to rub against his own skin. The young woman couldn’t have guessed how uncomfortable the gesture made him. Rhodan suppressed the impulse to brush her hand away. Jenny Luwalski, who had sat next to Perry Rhodan for the past fifteen hours and knew him only by his alias, placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed firmly. Only the very tip, with its giant American flag, jutted out. Thick black smoke rose between the skyscrapers, almost engulfing the Freedom Tower entirely. To the west, in the light of the first rays of the rising sun, the Manhattan skyline stretched into the air. Copyright frontmatter1 Episode 9: Rhodan’s Hope
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