[ WP ] You are the Historian , a shapeshifting , immortal being that gives historical figures a push in the right direction .

I slide into the Russian's lanky form midstride, grimacing as I feel my body liquefying and reforming. It's not uncomfortable exactly; just a bit disconcerting. You never really get used to it. 
 
 I take a moment to collect myself, smooth out my facial expression, then I step out of the alley and into the street. I scan back and forth, waiting for my target to arrive. 
 
 There he is, stepping out of the car and walking briskly toward me. Richard von Kuhlmann, German Foreign Minister. I take a deep breath and step forward. 
 
 `` Cast off your chains!'' I shout, my German overlaid with a heavy Russian accent. `` Cast off the shackles of the bourgeoisie, and strike back against the oppressors! The people of Germany are not Russia's enemy!'' A curious crowd is beginning to gather; they're rubberneckers, not Russian expats, but Von Kuhlmann does n't know that. `` Russia's true enemies are those who perpetrate the inequalities of classes -- the czarists! Germany is a friend in our battle!'' 
 
 I can feel Von Kuhlmann's attention on me as he opens the door and steps out of view. My crowd is quickly losing interest and dispersing, but that's fine. They've done their job. As long as Lenin is released and the revolution proceeds, I get what I want. I slink back into the shadows and disappear. 
 
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 I frown, feeling my beetling brows contract heavily over my eyes. This Hungarian form is clunky, unwieldy; and its vocal cords are much the same way. I hate to mangle the words I speak, even in the guttural human tongues, but in this case I must to preserve my disguise. 
 
 `` Have you heard about Heisenberg's fascinating research?'' I ask, shuddering inwardly at the harm I'm inflicting on the English language. 
 
 `` Heisenberg is always doing fascinating research,'' Einstein replies jovially. `` What is he up to now?'' 
 
 `` Why, he's been working for Herr Hitler on a most unusual weapon,'' I say, keeping my voice casual. `` He seems to think these nuclear reactions of Hahn's and Meitner's could be used to power a sort of bomb.'' 
 
 Einstein seems discomforted. Good. `` A weapon?'' he questions. 
 
 `` Indeed,'' I say. `` Doctor Szilard has all sorts of thoughts about it, you two should talk.'' 
 
 Einstein grunts thoughtfully. It's enough. He and Szilard will get the ball rolling on the Manhattan Project, and that's all I needed. I'll wrap this conversation up and get out of here. 
 
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 I stride onto the submarine's bridge. It took no small effort to get here, but it will be worth it. Captain Ellison turns to me. `` Commander,'' she says expectantly. 
 
 I draw closer. `` Sir,'' I say confidentially, `` new orders. It's urgent.'' 
 
 She nods. I hand her the papers, and watch her face go pale. 
 
 `` Come with me,'' she says. 
 
 It only takes a few minutes to authenticate the orders. They're fake, of course, but I've been quite thorough. They look absolutely like the genuine article, and in what seems like just a moment we're standing at opposite sides of the launch room with keys in our hands. 
 
 `` Ready, Commander,'' Ellison barks. 
 
 `` Ready, sir,'' I reply. 
 
 We turn the keys, and the missiles launch. 
 
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 It's been six weeks, as the humans used to reckon it, since they destroyed themselves. And more importantly, irradiated their planet. Or should I say terraformed? My clients will be very pleased; Earth ( or New Velaar, as it will be called from now on ) looks very like their lost homeworld. The exact balance of atmospheric radioisotopes will take some tinkering, but they can handle that. What's important is that it's habitable for Velaarans and the local wildlife has been exterminated -- and at a fraction of the cost of an orbital bombardment. 
 
 I'm surprised to feel a bit of regret at that second point. I almost grew fond of the creatures over the last hundred-odd years, irritating though they were. I actually wish I'd downloaded some of their histories before they died -- pity. 
 
 I shake my head in bemusement. I've barely been here a century, and I'm already going native. How repellent. I resolve to get out of here after this last geological survey; a few decades on D'Lari'A ought to cure me of any nostalgia for this rock and its now-extinct vermin. With all those Velaaran ducats in my pocket, I can well afford it.
