Amy dressed and flew high up over Boston, keeping herself over her apartment building. She hoped Future Girl's GPS could get her there.
Amy considered flying to London as she did before, by going into high orbit, hoping she could pull it off a second time. That's when Future Girl came blasting through the clouds, coming to a sharp stop in front of Amy.
"Hey," Amy said. "I checked out Mirai on Twitter and saw photos of all the damage. Must've been one hell of a fight."
"Followed by one heck of a party. A boy slow-danced with me."
Amy considered the tall leggy teen in front of her and almost asked "only one?" or "only a dance?" but instead just said, "That's nice."
Future Girl pulled out Amy a small device about the size and shape of a pen, and gave it to Amy.
"Hook this onto your boot," Future Girl said. "It'll make it a lot easier for you to cross the ocean this time. It's a Jetstream amplifier. A sophomore girl here came up with them. She wants to eventually build huge ones for commercial airplanes. For us, though, they're just about the right size to get us across the Atlantic. And I have satellite GPS on my phone so we won't get lost."
"Okay." Amy clicked the device to her left boot, just like a ball point pen.
They took off, with Amy flying faster than she ever had.
Hundreds of miles sped under Amy in seconds. In just a few minutes, she and Future Girl were over the ocean, with its surface blasting past.
The roar of the wind was deafening as it raged around Amy, making her worry that the rushing air would tear off her uniform or, worse, her hair. Taking a second to look down at herself. Her cape and hair fluttered behind her as if flying at normal speed.
"It's a wind resistance containment field," Future Girl shouted, flying alongside Amy. "It protects you from damage, but not from the noise."
Amy smiled and nodded.
After about ten minutes, all signs of airplanes, boats, and even birds disappeared from view, leaving only the two of them and the ocean's horizon. Amy worried about getting lost, but Future Girl led the way, pressing her right palm flat out in front of her, as if it acted as a sort of compass or GPS.
After another thirty minutes, Amy spotted land in the horizon. She followed as Future Girl sped toward it.
The two of them followed a river inland for a short while until arriving at a massive city beneath them, cut in half by a snaking river. Amy recognized London's famous Tower Bridge at one end of the city.
They both came to a stop. Future Girl took the device from her boot and switched it off.
"These things are amazing," Amy said, taking hers off her boot. "Imagine if we could go this fast all the time."
"Too bad we can't," Future Girl said. "The Jetstream amplifiers only have enough charge to get us home. We're on our own power as long as we're here."
"Works for me," Amy said, tucking the device into her belt.
Future Girl marveled at the view. "Wow, London. Where do we go?"
"It was nighttime the last time I was at the museum," Amy said. "And I found it by just following the fire and smoke."
With a little bit of trial and error while flying over the city, Amy eventually spotted the British Museum's massive see-through globe and latticed ceiling.
The two flew downward and landed in front of the museum, various pedestrians stepping back and watching them in awe.
"We're early," Amy said.
"Want to look around?" Amy said. "It's free."
"I love a good museum," Future Girl said.
Amy rolled her eyes. "Science girls."
They entered the museum doing their best to avoid Londoners staring at their uniforms. Amy wondered how, or if, her exploits had been on television in England.
Amy was unimpressed at first, as they found themselves in a large brown room with a display asking for donations. A gift shop was off to one side. Then they pressed forward, into the museum's grand concourse, marveling at the glass domed ceiling high above them.
"This must be how people feel when they see us fly," Future Girl said. Being a weekday, the museum was busy but not crowded.
They went farther inside. Patrons and museum staff didn't know what to make of their outfits but maintained a polite distance.
Amy and Future Girl strolled through the museum's bottom floors, checking out sculpture and architecture from ancient kingdoms. Amy was impressed, but she could tell Future Girl was even more impressed, engrossed in every little detail. Amy supposed Future Girl had a unique perspective on the passage of time, and the rise and fall of civilizations.
They walked upstairs, resisting the temptation to fly, to the museum's top attraction, the mummies. Amy was creeped out at first, knowing they were dead bodies under those wraps, but even she could not deny the enormity of history.
There were multiple types on display in glass cases. Some looked like what Amy expected from movies, skeletal shapes in wraps, while others were bundled under so many wraps it was hard to believe there was someone inside.
Then, in the center of the room, there was the Priestess Jhedora.
The mummy was unmistakably feminine, curvy even, with a face mask so finely detailed that Amy got a sense of who this woman might have been, with a long nose, high cheekbones, and an especially pointed chin. The face mask added blue streaks running under each eye and a red streak down her chin, making the face even more sharp and angular.
"The Priestess Jhedora," Amy said. "I wonder who she was."
"Or is," Future Girl said.
There was still no sign of Sam, so Future Girl and Amy walked over to the museum café for lunch. Someone there must have known who Amy was. She and Future Girl got priority seating on a balcony overlooking the museum courtyard.
They ordered a sharable salad and some light appetizers. Amy explained that, even with her super strength, she had the regular diet and appetite of an athlete. Future Girl said she didn't need food when "like this" but could eat if she wanted. Amy was about to ask what "like this" meant when she saw commotion below them.
A man entered, immediately become the center of attention. The museum patrons parted as he walked forward. His black cloak and top had made him a stark silhouette against the gleaming white floor.
Amy put a hand to her chest. This was not Sam Woodstock, out-of-workastronomer. Here, in his element, he truly was the Dreamsmith.
# # # #
Next: We've got ghosts.