Melody regarded the document in her hands keeping her new face neutral.
If these writings were what they thought she was, she was facing someone
who knew her every last trick and gambit. She was good at what she did,
but not arrogant. Even a ninety-pound weakling with no combat
experience and thick glasses could defeat her if they knew her well
enough and this Daria Morgenwhatever was showing a greater understanding
of Melody Powers than any number of communist psycho-strategist units.
Just how the hell did some misery chick teenager know all this?
Melody Powers knew she'd skipped a few years here and there in her
endless quest to fight the threat of international communism. Her
paymasters had realized she was simply too damn important an asset to
allow old age to claim her as the years went by. When her body finally
started to lose the edge, they had managed to transfer her living
consciousness into a fresh body. Tactically speaking, getting hold of an
enemy agent was the best - Melody had spent enough time among the
Ruskies she could mingle with those spineless corrupt dogs in her sleep.
Five times now she had woken up in a body she hadn't been born in, five
times she'd looked into the mirror and seen a stranger. Three times it
had been a woman, which was two left than she'd preferred. Thankfully
these corrupt commie bastards swung enough in different directions she'd
managed to find some comfort before removing any and all of the
witnesses. But this time? This was different.
At first she'd assumed she'd been lucky enough to infiltrate an enemy
agent before chaos unfurled at some apple pie high school - but her new
body wasn't a commie agent. The body's decadent and effete parents might
have had leanings to Mother Russia's so-called bolshevistic chaos, but
the most dangerous thing about this body was its combat boots. There had
been a screw up at HQ. Was some proper American teen now sacrificed
needlessly? Or was there more to this than she'd thought?
Melody had been certain it was some screw up with her superiors - until she met her body's best friend.
Daria. A girl who just happened to have written a dozen stories
completely breaching any secrecy Melody had one possessed about her
actions back in 57. The details, the descriptions, Melody couldn't have
done better herself. How the hell did this Daria girl know all that? And
why was she calling it fiction?
There was only one possible explanation - Daria was the body now being
used by one of her oldest enemies, who had been "reincarnated" (stupid
hippy expression) by the Russians using the same translocation
technology that the US of A had pioneered after WW2. Daria was as yet
unaware that "Jane" was onto her, which was good because Melody was well
aware of how fragile her state was at present. It took months before
the transplant took hold and Melody stopped being a dream in Jane's head
and actually her. She would normally have kept her distance, waited
until she was secure.
No time.
Melody stalked across the high school towards "Daria", ready to snap her neck and then run for it.
And then football flew out of the sky and struck her sharply on the head. She dropped face-first into the grass.
"Whoa," shouted the quarterback. "Sorry, Jane! Are you okay?"
Jane lifted her head, feeling incredibly groggy and unsure what year it
was. The knucklehead Kevin gave her something to focus on. "Not
concussed enough to fall for your naked testosterone, Kevin. Hit me
harder next time, huh?" she grumbled, getting to her feet and stumbling
over to Daria.
"You'll have to get your skull dented on the other side now, to even it up," she advised.
Jane rubbed the back of her head. "Might be a good idea. I had this
crazy flash of being some commie-hating spy. Weird. Maybe I should lay
off the schoolwork for a while..."
Natasha Ivanovich-Oblimov regarded the girl beside her thoughtfully. She
had been sure Melody Powers had been translocated into Jane Lane to try
and stop her work for Mother Russia, but it seemed that it was wrong.
This was good. Jane Lane would be a true asset to the Party when the
time was right, but in the meantime "Daria Morgendorffer" had to bide
her time until the time was right to begin the uprising.
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