I stood back from the group of men as they looked down on
the Mississippi River. The 13 men had stood in a circle, joined in prayer, for sometime now.
I had arrived sometime mid-morning, June 27, 1844, to the small city of Nauvoo, Illinois. Last evening a mob of 200 men with blackened faces had stormed the jail at nearby Carthage, Illinois. They were there to kill the leaders of the controversial ‘Mormon’ Church. They succeeded. The prophet of the church, one Joseph Smith, and his brother, Hyrum, fell in the early evening, having been struck by bullets from the assailant’s guns.
It was a sad morning there at the thriving little city perched on the banks of the mother of rivers in America. The populace was in morning, and in shock. Confusion reigned. Their leader was dead.
My assignment was to watch the next few days and see how a new leader would be chosen.
It didn’t take long. Almost within hours, the remaining members of what was known to the Mormons as ‘The First Presidency’ claimed title to lead the church, and its integrated community. His name was Sidney Rigdon. In a meeting of the ‘Saints’, another rose to contest his right. His name was Brigham Young. Brigham stood at the head of Quorum of the 12 Apostles. Quoting a recent Revelation of Smith’s that stated that the 12 had an equal power or responsibility to the First Presidency, he stated that he had inherited that right of leadership. Some of the members said of that meeting that Brigham took on the appearance of Smith as he spoke. I did not witness that.
But what I did witness was a powerful, charismatic, and intelligent man that was about to take on a task that would leave a legacy that would last through the centuries. I wanted to see that, and record the history of it. Only small pockets of religion still remain in 2518. I entra-ported to old Salt Lake City the day before starting my assignment for a day of studying their archives. The Mormons are a record keeping people, although I am sure they would admit that they keep their own slant on their history.
But Brother Brigham, as he was often called, still stood tall in the birth of the west and the colonialization of the old American West.
I decided that I would introduce myself. I had been successful with Ben Franklin; no tears in time. I would try again.
I waited until I figured out Brigham’s schedule, watching him over several weeks of his life; a couple of hours of mine. Finally, I figured out what times of the day and when he went to the Temple to pray. I followed him to the Temple on a late fall day in 1845. Today would be the day. The situation in Nauvoo was deteriorating rapidly. The non-Mormon population of the surrounding area had become jealous of, and a bit more fearful of, the ‘Saints’. They hated that the Mormon’s said that their Church was the one and only Church recognized by God. You can kind of understand that, but the Mormon’s shouted it to the hilltops, and their opponents seethed.
I found Brigham in a private room in the upper stories of the Temple. I didn’t want him praying when I appeared. He was just taking off his coat when I appeared.
He looked at me and fell to his knees. He said “I am so blessed! Will you identify yourself?”
“Well, first of all, Mr. Young, I am not deity. So it is not necessary for you to kneel.”
“Then if thou be not deity, thou must be a follower of Lucifer, that Fallen Angel.”
“No, not that either, Sir. I am from the future, from the early 26th century.”
Brigham looked around him, looking at doors and windows. “What manner of nonsense is this, Sir? Be this a jest? If it is, thou hast no business in this holy building!”
“It is no joke, Sir. I wanted to be in a place when I exposed myself to you that we would not be discovered.”
“For what purpose do you appear to me?”
“For guidenance, if you so wish. And, if you wish, I can show you something of the future.”
“You resemble, quite accurately, Brother Joseph’s description of the Father and the Son and also the Prophet Moroni.”
“I assure you, I am not one of them.”
“Very well, then, what have you to show me?”
“Well, first of all, I well tell you that I can show you things, but cannot tell you how or where, or who will make them happen. Those things will change history, and cannot be done under any circumstances.”
“If you are from our future, Sir, then you must know our history.”
“What history there is, Sir. Your organization is only a few years old.”
“True. We are going to be forced from our beautiful city. Will we survive?”
“That I can show you. But I will show you your people a hundred and fifty years into their future.”
I flashed a hologram of the Great Salt City in Utah, circa about 2000 A.D. Brigham leaned forward, reaching his hand into the visual, staring intently. As it faded he said “What manner of deviltry is this? That land where that city lies, it looks like no place I have ever seen before. Yet you say that will be our people’s future. How?”
“I cannot tell you that. But if you lead your people and use good judgment, this is their future. I would encourage you to not tell of this or of me. This is only to give you hope. I will visit you again, with your permission, every few years. But I cannot stay long at a time. Will this help you Sir?”
“Yes. Ah, do you have a name? It gives me a bolster to my faith.”
“My friends call me Jamie, and you will need your faith and all your strength. You have bad times ahead of you but also many rewards, Brigham. I suggest that you study as you have never done before, and pick people to help you lead. Now, I must go. I will see you again.”
Something Brigham said stuck with me. He remarked that I had the appearance of the men that Joseph Smith saw in his vision in 1820 who he related were God and his son Jesus. It would be easy enough to check out. So I tried several times to dial in the exact time of the event. Its place is fixed, so that was easy. Finally, I was able to spot young Joseph on his way to the Sacred Grove. I followed at a distance. It went somewhat as the story has been told. But when the shining personages appeared I knew right away it was pure bunko. The two were travelers, from a bit earlier than myself. I recorded what I saw. Now, what to do? I felt I had to report it. I went back to my base and checked in. I went to my supervisor and told him what had happened.
“Wow, Jamie, this is world class tampering with time.”
“I know that. What do we do?”
“Well, I will take it up the ladder. But I believe it has gone too far to fix, it will probably have to stand. If it was anything other than religion then, well…..I don’t know.”
April 4, 1847. I stood to the side of a large crowd of a Mormon gathering at a place they had named Winter Quarters. Years later it would be called Omaha, Nebraska. Brigham, with others of the leadership, were speaking to their followers. As he spoke, Brigham whitened and stammered for only a moment when he caught sight of me. I listened quietly to his words. He spoke of the prayer he had offered, and the study he had put into their move. He said that a vision had been opened to him of their Zion to the West. And that tomorrow he and the lead party would set out on the journey.
I looked around. Whatever one must think of the Mormons, one must admire their creativity, their resolve, their knack for development. In just over a year, they had abandoned their city on the Mississippi, traveled across the state of Iowa, built homes of sorts, built a city full of various trades, amassed a huge herd of cattle, and stood ready at the doorway to the American West. I was a bit astonished as to what they had done with such a small primitive amount of technology.
Brigham finished speaking. I walked to a corral of cattle and oxen nearby and leaned over the top rail. It was just a minute later that Mormon leader joined me.
“Master Jamie, I presume.”
“Yes Sir. How are you, Mr. Young?”
“I am well, in both body and spirit. And stand on the brink of a great endeavor, I believe.”
“Yes you are. And, if you might be wondering, you are on course.”
“Bless you, young man. That means a lot to me. After our last short meeting, I studied in my mind the picture you showed me. I read of stories brought back from the great wilderness by the fur trappers and decided that it was most logical. From the picture you showed me, I knew it could not be anywhere to the East. The mountains were unlike any I had seen on this continent. I believe that this is the course to take, and if you are who you pretend to be, and agree, then I am at Peace. Thank you.”
I bid him goodbye and safe travels and set my coordinates for June 27th, 1847 for southwest Wyoming, or is now Wyoming. Then it belonged to Spain, then later to Utah. But that is another story. I camped just a bit away from Old Fort Bridger for two mornings for several hours each morning. I knew, or rather thought, that Brigham and his party should arrive on the 28th. And they did. I made myself into a trapper of sorts, and watched from a dark corner as Young and Jim Bridger met for the first time. It was evident that Bridger was contemptuous of Young, and when the Mormon leader mentioned settling the basin of the Great Salt Lake with a few thousand people, Bridger remarked it was insanity, and that he would pay a thousand dollars for the first bushel of corn that was harvested there.
Young retorted, “Give us a little time and you will see.”
Young and his troop were not in very good shape by this time. Bad food and the exertions of the journey had left its toll. In the days left, it would be one of the 12 who would see the Salt Lake first. His name was Parley Pratt.
Near the end of July, a quite ill Brigham finally entered the valley. I met with him a few days afterward. He was quite sober with me; he looked at me with a new curiosity. We had rode out into the country and stood on a rise looking at the Great Salt Lake. He stood for a moment, then turned and looked back at the towering Wasatch Range to the east, rising up like might sentinels, watchful of his persecutors from the east.
“Jamie, I am a humbled man. When first meeting you, I felt that I was in the same situation that Jesus found himself in while in the desert, being tempted by Lucifer. But you asked not of me, you never told me not what course to take, but only one of my choosing, giving me total agency unto myself. Even after meeting in Winter Quarters and our talk, then seeing you again at Bridger’s, I was still plagued by doubt, and cast about a wary eye for the serpents tongue. But when we drove down that mountain yonder, into this most sublime valley, and I gazed upon yon lofty peaks, I knew most assuredly that your words were true. I then set about making plans for a mighty kingdom to be based in this valley of the mountains. I have started work on a Temple to our God. We have laid out the plans for our city, and other outlying towns and villages. We are turning the sod and planting crops. I have sent parties out in exploration. Next year more of our flock will arrive, then each year we will grow. I embarked upon this venture mostly on faith, but now that it is proven. There is no stopping us.”
“Brigham, it is true, you will flourish. But never forget, there will be adversity, and a lot of it. Keep yourself prepared, and surround yourself with good leaders and strong people.”
I waved a farewell and vanished from his sight. He turned away, and fixed his vision on the setting sun, at my last sight.
I visited Brigham several times over the next few days, following him into the sundown of his life. I watched his huge families, his wives numbering near half a hundred, his countless children. Some of those wives were just to stabilize their families after husbands died or were killed serving the church. Many never saw his countenance in their private quarters.
He did deeds to keep his church alive that were not always done in the sunlight, some of them quite dark. He never faltered.
I listened in 1874 when he preached at a funeral of a friend about the mysteries of death, and his faith in his religion that would be his companion during that dark journey. I admired that, his strength of resolve I mean. And in a few years, unbeknown to him, he would make that journey. At the end of August 1877 he fell into great pain in his right side, and the poison of a ruptured appendix took his life. I was able to speak with him for a few moments before he passed. He asked me if I knew if Joseph’s vision was true, or did I appear to Joseph, with a friend. I told him I did not, and that his great faith had taken him through a great journey, let it be there to take him through that valley of death and to not worry himself.
It was only a short time later he was heard to cry out for his friend.
“Joseph, Joseph, Joseph…..” and the Lion was dead, to this world.
What ever contention arises in this world about Brigham and the Church that he guided one simply must look past the religion, and look at the people and admire their diversity, their hard work, their diligence. You must look at their creativity. Their love of beauty, their admiration of skill and talent. Some will say it is their religion that has given birth to that. I leave that to others to decide. They showed great prejudice for the black man, calling him a child of Cain, but they acknowledged him a man at least. Many southern slaveholders didn’t acknowledge that. He was, and they were, people of their time, no more no less. Those of us who would judge, if put to the same tasks, might fall quite short. Each thing happens in its own time, and most can never cross those boundaries. But those of us that do travel though time learn tolerance. We become aware of those differences, we respect those abilities, and develop great admiration for our citizens of the past.
I took a week off with Misha, and I spent most of my time trying to tell her what I was doing with my interactions, without compromising her security, I am not sure it ever became clear to her. Maybe that is for the best. I now see how a simple act of the past can affect millions of lives into the future. I will be so very watchful. Can you imagine what could have happened to the descendents of those people, called Mormons, if Joseph Smith had never had those visits? What might they be doing today?
Yes, we still celebrate that semi-heathen holiday of Christmas, in 2518.
We probably look at it a bit differently than they did in the 20th and 21st century, but hell, it is too much fun to not have Christmas! Even our children are too smart to believe in the fat old elf. They are too well informed, too aware, to believe in that nonsense. And yes, religion has almost become a strange ritual we read about. We still find tiny pools of civilization that fall back on those old myths. I suppose they are searching for something, although why, I have no clue. It has always been that way in the world though. People need a god, or something of that sort to hold onto, to protect them, to lean on because they have not enough confidence in themselves. So be it.
But anyway, I was studying my new assignment just after the Christmas holiday, a new thing for me. I had gotten into some trouble for not knowing my topic. It had settled me down. I was still a maverick (ancient term, had to look up its meaning), but now I would be an informed maverick.
My next assignment was to be a heroic character of the late 18th century, -one of the founding fathers of the old United States of America. His name was Benjamin Franklin. As I sat and read and watched old documentaries of this old man, a character slightly ahead of his time emerged, stepped out into the light and looked around. You know, I think I like this guy. I decided to step into his life about the same time of the year as I am not enjoying, but of the year 1732, the night before the first day of 1733, and three days after he had published the first edition of his celebrated Poor Richard’s Almanac.
I reported back to my duty station on the evening of the Dec 31st. It had been a bit of a lonely holiday. Misha had only been there a few days of it. Her mother was not well, and she kept flitting back from our place, near Vail, Colorado, to a small village in New Zealand every few hours. She finally just kissed me, said she was sorry, and left for a week. So it was okay to go back to work on New Years Eve. Wouldn’t have been much of a party anyway.
I set my time on my computer for the address given for Franklin’s shop, for 11 PM. I wanted just a short bit of time to take a look at what he was doing before I met him, so a bit of night-time scouting. It took me an hour to get into these ridiculous clothes of this period. It was easy to understand why everyone of this period seemed so cranky all the time. So I signaled the controller I was ready, and he just disappeared and the room with it. I don’t care how many times you do this, it is rather disconcerting. I had gotten to closing my eyes as I departed.
This time when I opened my eyes there was, about six feet in front of me, stood a stocky gentlemen, with long hair, looking quite shocked at my sudden arrival.
He spoke, “And who, or rather what are you, good Sir? And what are you doing in my place of business at this odd hour?”
OMG. What to do now? What is he doing here is a better question. But I can’t ask that, no. Well, hell, he was Benjamin Franklin, wasn’t he? One of the most unusual men of the century – brilliant writer, thinker, inventor. Ok, I am going to get into deep shit for this. This isn’t going to be a tear in the fabric of time, this is going to be a gigantic rip.
“Mr. Franklin, I presume?”
“Yes, I am Benjamin Franklin. And who are you, Sir?”
“Well, a name would be of no use to you, as I really do not exist in your time. I am a friend though, and I came here to meet you, personally.”
“Came from where?”
“Came from when, would be the better question. Because the where would be meaningless to you at this point.”
“What do you mean, came from when? I am not much for religion, per se. I do believe in God, but not much in spirits, or such the like.”
“Mr. Franklin, Sir, sit down there. Okay, Sir, I am from the year 2518 A.D.”
He smiled and his look at me said You are daft, but instead he politely said, “Of course you are. I was wondering what century you are from. I see fashion has not advanced to any great degree.”
“Sir,” I felt strange calling a man about my own age sir, “Sir, I can see you don’t quite believe me. In order for our discourse to advance, you must.”
I stood up from the bench I had been sitting upon. “Here, Sir, shake my hand.”
I extended my hand to him and he immediately reached to grasp it. Instead, his hand passed through mine. I saw the look of realization pass through his face.
“What is your purpose here? Am I about to die?”
“No Sir, not for a good while. My purpose is simply to suggest direction for you. You will soon stand in very important places, and I think it wise to let you know this. Few have little time in life to prepare themselves for important work. I cannot do anything that changes history myself, that can have disastrous results on the future. I am probably going to get in trouble over this anyway, but, here goes.”
“What do you mean, you cannot do anything to change history? And when am I going to die, if you are privy to that?”
I laughed, “Sir, I am not going to tell you that. It really would not be good for you to know right now. I will tell you though, that you should continue simply as you are at the moment. Fame will follow you, but you can not let it change you. Be the same man that you are, and always trust your judgment.”
“What may I call you, Sir?”
I smiled. “My friends call me Jamie.”
Franklin shifted back in the chair he was sitting in and threw his leg over the padded arm and leaned back, a smirk crossed his lips.
“Well, Jamie, what can you tell me about us in, what did you say, 2518? What are we going to be then?”
“What would you like to know?”
“This country, America. What will it be like? Will we cross the mountains to the west?”
“Let me show you, Ben, if I may be so familiar.”
“Please do. You know my death date, I suppose that grants you leniency.“
I turned my ring sideways and pulled up a holographic map of the United States in the 21st Century. He gasped and leaned forward, his face almost white in the glow of the hologram.
“Please, please! Explain! What am I seeing? And how do you do this?”
“This is what we call a hologram. It is just a projection. The map is what the country you call America will be like 250 years from your time. You can see the boundaries of the states, and the cities. I, likewise, am a projection of this same nature. My basic job is to record history as it is happening, so that the future will have it archived. History has been written usually by the victors or the wealthy powerful elements. I usually never allow anyone to see me this well, or to know my purpose.”
Franklin pulled his leg almost absent mindedly back in front of him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Good God, my friend, this is so hard to absorb! Nor do I think I can for some time to come. But if what you say is true, then, Oh My! What a future! It is so exciting!”
“Yes, Sir, exciting. But know you this, it doesn’t happen without blood being spilt, lives being lost. The very fabric of the country’s existence being rent from end to end sometimes. It will experience adversity, contention from within but, if history remains true, will prevail. And you, Sir, will play a huge part in it.”
Out side I heard a cock crow, and then small street noises.
“Ben, this is all I have time for at the moment. With your permission, Sir, I will show up in your life from time to time. It may be two years, or 20. But you will see me again. Goodbye, Mr. Franklin, it has been my honor.” I touched my ring.
The next day I spent reading Ben Franklin’s history, knowing full well that what I was doing was playing with fire. Still, it was a worthy effort. I had not been discovered yet, so there was evidently no tears in time. At about 11 PM I set my computer for Mr. Franklin’s residence. I watched from outside for almost an hour, he was alone in his study/laboratory. Finally, I projected into his room.
“Oh My God, Man, can you not announce yourself? I shall die of heart failure!”
“Good evening, Mr. Franklin.” It was easier this time to address him thus, as he was a man in his late forties at present time.
“Ah, good evening Jamie. If my memory serves me well…”
“It does, Sir. I have been following in your progress. You have been a busy man. How is your health, Sir?”
“It seems, young man, that you would know that better than I. However, I am well, with some exception. I have suffered a bout with gout, but at present, it is at rest. But enough of that. I want to know more of what we are to accomplish as a country, I would like to see more of the future. What you showed me the first visit has cost me many hours of sleep. I have conversed with men who have been over the mountains, to the great river Ohio. I have read materials from the French and Spanish and their endeavors. How did we attain these lands? Was it war?”
“Ben, I can’t tell you how any of this happens, that would endanger time and history. But I came more prepared this time, to show you achievements that have been made. But first, are we alone? Is there any chance of discovery?”
“No, we are free this evening. My family is away.”
“Very well. First of all, this is what we use to light our homes and businesses.” I had glanced around and notice the room was lighted by four large candles sitting in a glass and metal lantern type devices. I showed him light bulbs of different types, then fixtures, and great spotlights that threw beams of light for great distances. I showed him scenes of homes where the room was as light as day itself. Then I showed him lasers. I explained they were all cousins to each other. I knew he had experimented with lightening, and had proved that lightening was electricity. I told him these were only a few things that were done with his new discovery.
He turned and looked at me for what seemed like half a minute. “Ah-ha! Electricity! I knew it! I knew it! This is most gratifying! I had no idea how important it would be. I felt that it meant something at the time, but this is….” his voice trailed off. Then he smiled and exclaimed, “But how? Oh, never mind, it will have to be invented in due course, right?”
I smiled and nodded. I proceeded to show him bits of history: early aircraft, automobiles, trains. Then some more modern technology. I spent about 3 hours that evening explaining the world that was to come, the world he would never see for himself. I finished about 2 in the morning, then we sat and visited. In was such an astute man, wise far beyond his years, he seemed almost naturally to see the proper course in almost every situation. I felt more secure in what I was doing. I made a promise to myself to never go beyond the limits of what was correct to tell him. At the close of the evening he automatically reached for my hand, then laughed when he couldn’t grasp it.
I went back over the next few days and visited him about every 10 or 15
years of his life. He was always overjoyed to see me and as responsibility was heaped on his shoulders, especially after the beginning of the birth pains of the Revolution, he would ask if he was acting in the best manner. Of course, I could not advise him.
After the treaty with Great Britain was signed, he came home from France. France had become his home, the people loved him. I visited him there on occasion. When he left it was almost as if the village outside of Paris was having a funeral for a favorite dignitary, he was so revered.
The last time I saw him was just before his death in 1790. Late one night I appeared to him, expecting to find him asleep. He wasn’t.
“Ah, Jamie, lad. I was just thinking of you.”
“How are you, Ben?”
“Ah, well. I am on my way out of this life, my young friend. I know this.
But I am well with it. I have had such a rich part of my life given to me, much of it in the glimpses you have given me. But I am ready to step through that curtain that separates us from life, and see what the next great adventure brings. My body has given out on me and I am in constant pain. It is time to give it up and I am willing. One of the worst parts is I can’t enjoy the ladies anymore. That is reason enough to die!” He laughed, then seemed to choke, and coughed into his handkerchief.
“Jamie, you don’t seem to have aged a day since the first time I saw you. Then we were about the same age. How long as it been in your life that you have spent with me?”
I smiled at him, “Ben, it has been only about a week.”
He smiled weakly, “What a marvelous thing.” There was a stirring in the next room. He lifted his head. “Thank you, Jamie, and goodbye. What you have given me bears no price. Remember me, please.”
“Mr. Franklin, the entire world will remember you and your efforts for centuries. Go rest now. It is for sure I will never forget you.”
There was a voice outside, “Mr. Franklin! Are you alright? I thought I heard voices.“
“Oh, yes, I am alright. You probably just heard an angel, coming to keep me company.”
As he faded from sight, and I returned to my own time, I did it with tears running down my cheeks. I had experienced greatness.
July 12th, 1967. Monsoon takes on a whole different meeting in Viet Nam. The rain had been coming down all morning. I had infiltrated a platoon just a bit east of the central highlands this morning, posing as a replacement that was lost, looking for Charlie Company. Wasn’t difficult, most of the guys didn’t really give a shit, as long as you had round eyes and weren’t carrying an AK.
I watched them trying to slog in the mud. It seemed it was raining both directions, up and down, and maybe sometimes sideways if you got a breeze. I know it was miserable. I really couldn’t feel the heat and the moisture, but I could see despair and frustration written on their tired faces.
The heat caused a misty fog to rise up to meet the down pour. The sounds of the jungle were muted, for a while, as if those creatures were trying to find a shelter, too. The smells were mixed, rotting vegetation, wet earth, sweat from the men, and the lingering smell of exploded ordnance that hung heavy in the air. They had just fought a short battle. No one killed, but a few wounded. The Huey’s had just lifted off about the time I showed up. I stepped back into the jungle, my ‘16 slung over my left arm, my right hand wrapped around the stock. I smiled. The ‘16 was a hologram too, it would never hurt anyone.
I had walked about 20 feet past the perimeter, and leaned against a large mahogany tree. I fixed my eyes on my surroundings. I had been bouncing around the country, from about 1960 thru 1973, trying to get a feel about this most controversial war that America had been involved in in the 20th century. I had even followed some family history of a 10th generation uncle who had fought here. During the earlier years, it seemed like the US was doing some good, then it just fell apart. So many reasons why, but we don’t want to get into that.
There, to my left, a flicker of movement. A small bird, flying from one bush to another. No, there was something else. I watched intently. There! Just a bit closer. Oh, a conical straw hat emerges from the undergrowth. Then a head and shoulders, dressed in black pajama type material, belted, with an ammo belt, a young Vietnamese lady, maybe 25. Hard to tell for sure. Sometimes the women seemed ageless. She moved forward slowly, I turned to face her.
I watched as her weapon came up, a bit of surprise on her face. Go ahead, dear, you are going to be more surprised and it will warn the platoon. She fired at me, not more than 20 feet away. I smiled, then touched my ring, and faded from sight, reappearing about 30 feet to her left. She had a shocked look on her face, couldn’t believe her eyes! When she pulled the AK around, I smiled again, and disappeared again, back in the bush behind her. She turned and retraced her steps, retreating from the sounds of gunfire coming from the camp. Wonder if she will tell anyone that she saw a GI ghost? Probably not. I moved back to the other side of the camp, and appeared beside a stack of boxes that had been unloaded from the choppers. No surprise attack this time.
Two beeps inside my head and Misha said, “Jamie, don’t do that. That is a potential tear, you can’t interrupt the flow of events.”
“I know. But these guys have been hit once today, they look so stressed, and worn to the bone.”
“Still, dear, you cannot interfere at all.”
“Ok. This is hard, you know.”
“I know. Think up something interesting to do when you get back, We will take your mind off of it.”
“We will, hmmmm? Okay, later.”
“Oh, by the way, there is another angel near you there. Maybe you can hook up.”
“Gotcha. I will scan for him.”
I scanned the area for a hundred yard radius. 57 warm bodies, no electric blips. She must have been mistaken. I widened to 200 yards. Still none. I decided to jump, as my shift was about over.
Back at the center I ran some video trying to find a good spot to record. Later that evening I found it, some pictures taken by correspondent Joseph Galloway. The pictures were of a battle that took place in 1965, near the Drang River, the “Ia Drang Valley. I had mentioned a 10th generation uncle, well, he was there. A member of the 7th Cavalry. Family history had perked my interest many times about him. I had seen pictures before, I had even stalked an old ‘movie’ called “We Were Soldiers”. That is, with our technology we can step into a movie and interact with it. But this would be different. This time I would be actually in the bloody battle.
I talked to my supervisor, and told him what I wanted to do.
“Jamie, of course we want this recorded. But after what you did yesterday, we can’t risk having a tear in time. I dunno, many of these people from this battle went on to have important positions, influential positions. I understand it is personal to you, but you screwed up yesterday.”
“I understand, Sir. I could, you know, just remain invisible the whole time. Maybe I would have to miss out on dialogue with the soldiers, miss out on that interaction. It would be better than nothing, and I really want to do it!”
Well, needless to say, I won the battle. But I had to make the jump with another recorder, Ron Clark. Ron was one of the oldest recorders that I knew, he was about 42. Yeah, I know, that isn’t really old. Hardly more than a teenager in 2518. Men now can live to about 130, women, 10 or 15 years longer. And, for the most part, remain active.
Ron and I decided to make our jump about mid after noon on November 14th, 1965. By then, Lt. Col Hal Moore and his troopers would have made contact with the Vietnamese, and hell would have broken loose.
Ron would be visible and I would not. Punishment for being ‘too creative’ the day before in the jungle. Now, understand, Ron can see me, but the soldiers can’t. I found a patch of trees and told Ron to lock in on me, seconds later he was standing by me. It was sounds of battle all around me.
Within a few minutes I had 3 bullets pass through me. I could not see where the fire was coming from, but it seemed all around me. We had appeared at LZ X-Ray. The battle went on sometime after dark. Helicopters were bringing supplies, and taking out wounded. Heroic men flying into certain death, then miraculously flying back out again. Sometime that evening I knew that the man who had taken the pictures I had seen, Joe Galloway, would be arriving. But I missed him. Later in the next morning I saw him, when napalm was dropped close by, he rushed out and pulled another soldier out of danger. The thing that struck me, was all the famous people I was to read about were here, just behaving like men, fighting, struggling to stay alive. Yeah, they got medals, but not near enough. I wondered where my dear old uncle might have been. But in a meleè of this sorts, is not the time for a family reunion. Besides, that is forbidden, to contact a predecessor, at any time. On November 16th, parts of the men marched out, on the 17th,a group broke off for LZ Albany. As they entered a clearing near to the LZ, they were ambushed, the casualties were high. They were finally all pulled , but the NVA would be back, and the war would go on for about 8 more years and about 55,000 young American men would never see their home again. And countless thousands would visit Viet Nam nightly, in their dreams. The nightmare would be saddled up for the rest of their lives, for some.
I was, myself, touched by this visit in history. Ron and I both recorded different parts. Another recorder, of Vietnamese descent, recorded it from the other side. Now students can go to the archives and they can step into the battle and witness the horror, and the heroism, of those two days. Perhaps, if this type of deterrent had been available earlier, wars would not have been so easily entered into. Instead, the public was shielded from war scenes. Hal Moore, Basil Plumley, Joe Galloway, the heroic pilots, and others will find their place in history. I will never forget them, myself.
Now, I have some days off, before looking for more history. I have seen many wars, that seems to be what is most demanded. Maybe next time I will find another place in history, a peaceful place.
Yeah, or not.
I stood against the wall, near the foot of St. Philip Street, watching the vendors setting up in Market. It was just after 7 AM on Friday, October 24, 1811. Across the way a small, dark man, wearing a dark jacket and a vest the color of dark wine, gazed back at me from under a tall conical hat with a wide brim tilted over his right eye. In his hands he held several bottles. Small bottles, the kind in which perfumes would be found.
It had to be him. I had inquired at a warehouse on Bourbon Street. They said he would be here. A lady, a fine lady, approached him. She curtsied, he bowed. He said something to her, she smiled. He took one of the bottles and held it out to her. She smiled again. She took the bottle and held it just a little bit in front of her nose. As the recognition of scent reached her olfactory nerves, her hand went to her heart. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, nor him either. He reacted to the pleasure in her voice, and his posture and bearing took a different mode. Yes, it was him. Yes, this was Jean Lafitte, the Privateer/Pirate/trader/smuggler. He was in his late 20’s obviously. But you could see an image, even now, that of a man that will have fame and adventure. I watched. I wanted to get closer…..
The morning was busy. I watched casks of different sizes and kinds wheeled out by slaves, black men, sometimes shabbily dressed, sometimes barefoot on the brick and cobblestone. They went about their tasks, emotionless, mechanical, almost thoughtless. You could see the resignation stamped in to their faces. The smells became stronger, as more and more goods were brought out and stacked.
Never in my world could you dream of a melody of scents that could resemble what was here today. There were spices, boxes of onions, and garlic. There were two other men there displaying scented oils, some clearly for perfume, others for flavors, and baskets of spices and seasonings. There were barrels of coffee, great horns of sugar, casks of salt. As well as chickens, turkeys, pigs, cows, and cheeses. Bread could be smelled baking somewhere nearby. I instantly became hungry. I know, don’t eat the food. Your system might not be able to handle it. Damn, this wouldn’t be easy! I wouldn’t be able to get close to him, not in this crowd, and not be able to remain un-noticed, Maybe later.
I turned to go back up St. Phillip Street some where to find an ally to step into and disappear, just a step or two into the future.
“Mon cherie! You, with the beautiful cloak, come back!”
I turned and looked behind me.
“Here, mon cherie, up here.”
I looked up. Oh. My. God. There really were angels, and they have halos and everything, at least I thought.
“Cherie, did you loose your tongue? Where did you find the beautiful cloak? My, it is bon! I would bet that it would keep two warm as well as one.”
Aw, I bought it in Carondelet, up the great river.”
“Oh, you are an American boy. I like American boys. Come up and see me.”
All the while I am looking up at this goddess. Slightly dark, almost olive skin, wearing a white gown of sorts. It hid nothing. Her breast didn’t need it, the rest of her didn’t need it. Long legs, her long hair hanging over the rail. Looking up, it was astounding. My mouth would not form words. I could not help but to stare. Oh My…..
“I am so sorry lass, I have not the time. Perhaps a rain check?”
“Perhaps.” She pouted, and stuck her leg through the railing of the balcony and wiggled her toe.
“Perhaps, for you, American Boy.”
I continued on down St. Phillip’s to Royal and made a left turn. No one was looking. I stepped into the doorway of what looked like a blacksmith shop, but was void of man and beast. I touched my ring.
December 14, 1814. I had no idea where, but history said that Andrew Jackson had a meeting with Lafitte. Jackson had been here since Dec 1st. Some said he was fighting mad. The city was without defenses. Others said he was despondent, worried, desperate to be ready for an eminent attack by the British. What ever, he was about the city. I had checked in for a few hours everyday, following him, then skipping time, and following Lafitte. It kept me busy everyday. In the midst of these excursions I studied all the records. So many versions of stories, so many stories themselves. Some things written about him were simply not true. I gained experience by simply watching him. He was a faithful friend, he bonded with his people. He was a man of the times. He loved to drink, he had no qualms about slavery, yet his own slaves were treated with the utmost respect and care. He had little regard for the rule of law. In the 20th century he would have best been described by using one of the terms from the Star Trek Series. He was a Ferengi, making wealth was what drove him. I’m sure he must have born in poverty, to have such an obsession. I stood in the doorway of a warehouse in the 200 block of Bourbon Street. It was getting dark. Lafitte and two of his cronies exited the building and turned up toward Canal Street. I followed back far enough to stay out of sight. At Canal he turned right for one, two, three blocks, then entering a tavern. I stood watching. Shortly, from across the street, came three men. One tall, wearing a dark cloak. Another in buckskin, with a coonskin cap. Another in homespun. They crossed the street, walking rapidly. Then I saw maybe a dozen more move from the shadows.
I need to get inside. I walked to the batwing doors, but when I went to push the door and step inside, a burly man in deerskins stepped in front of me.
“Sorry, stranger, tavern’s closed. Ye’ll need to go some ‘ers else to slack yer thirst. Go’on now, thas’ a good lad.”
I looked across the room as I turned. It was Jackson and Lafitte sitting at a table in the back of the room. The strong hand pushed me out and stood blocking the door. I moved away, back about a block, and found a doorway to step into. Minutes went by, then an hour, then two. Then I heard conversation coming toward me. I stepped back into the darkness, they passed me. I took a moment, then followed. As I turned on Bourbon, I was grasped by the arms. Lafitte stepped in front of me.
“Mon Ami, you are everywhere I look. And have been for weeks. What business of mine interests you so much?”
“Aw, M’suier Lafitte, you are a legend. I would like to be a part of your crew, if I may?”
“Hmmm, and why did you not come and ask me at first instead of standing in my shadows?”
“I was…. I was afraid you would say no to an American.”
“Nonsense, mon ami. I like the Americans. You come and see me tomorrow at my warehouse at the corner of Rue de St. Philip and Bourbon. But a warning, if you are seen in the shadows anymore, it will be, well, like this…..!” He pulled his dagger and pretended to draw it across my throat. “Do you understand?”
And he was gone. In the darkness I touched my ring, and I was at the relief station, my heart still thumping.
My friend Randy looked up as I materialized. “Damn man, you look as if you had seen a ghost!”
“I think I almost was one.” I related the circumstances of the evening.
“Yeah, well, you need to be careful. I am sure I don’t have to tell you, the men of those periods played for real, and violence was a part of life.”
“Yeah, I usually have a shield up. But it was just too crowded tonight.”
Well, now my cover was blown. I had verified that Jackson and Lafitte had met, so someone else would pick up the story. I would take a few days off, go see my girl, and look forward to my next assignment. I know he and his men helped the Americans defeat the British, and then he went back to his old pursuits. Then, sometime about 1823, he got into a sea battle and was rumored to have been killed. I will check back later and see what really happened. History is wonderful. Over the centuries you see the same mistakes made over and over again. I hope now we have evolved to a point we can rise above that kind of ignorance.
Well, end of my journal tonight. I need to focus on the beautiful lady with me. We lay here on this beautiful lake, with tall, lush mountains to our rear. Our Sun has set for the evening. Now, one moon appears, to our north, and the glow of the second moon appears to the east. It is just an awesome place. Gravity is at such a low level that as the moons reach their zenith, we will be made to float in our transparent pod and will spend the evening making love, wrapped in each other arms, floating in the moonlight next to a beautiful lake that will almost float with us.
Life is good.
The General had his dander up, he was hell bent on destroying the Native Americans. I found him just as flamboyant and colorful as the history books described him. His horse was lathered and more animated than any of the others around him. I knew it was because, he was simply feeding off Custer’s energy. Horses are rather like that.
I glanced down at the stout bay that was standing under me. I usually didn’t get this close to that part of history I was recording. I just had to get this right, so many different versions of that fateful day.
The scout charged back up to where the officers were gathered.
“There are thousands of them, Gen’rl! I mean thousands! I din’t know they were that many red devils on earth!”
“Calm down, man. Draw me a picture of where they are, we will surprise them.”
I couldn’t help chuckle at that. The trooper beside me spat tobacco juice out and said, “Whut’s so funny? Hey, you new? Don’t remember seein’ yuh.” I was about to answer when
“Listen up! Gen’rls got a few words!”
I had taken three days off and spent most of it with my best girl. We had gone to the beach, and rode the wave skimmers. I loved it, to be able to ride at any speed reasonable or to stop, a foot off the water, to look at fish or other things beneath the waves. I always secretly wish I had invented that little device. We spent an evening stalking recent movies. They had found a way to enable you to enter a holo-projection, literally step into a play, completely interactive, then leave whenever you wish. They did that way back when I was just a kid, but wow, they had gotten so much better,. Now you could actually think that you felt a character when you touched them.
The last night home we did an adult one. Not quite porn, but lots of nudity and sex. We left pretty quickly, came home and destroyed our bedroom, table knocked over, mattress in the floor, shower curtain pulled down. When we awoke next morning and looked around, we had a good laugh and wound up in each others arms again.
The General had moved us out toward the river. He seemed to be unsure of his distance He kept stopping as if to ascertain where the north side of the village was Finally he decided and we charged for the river But as we arrived, a heavy fire erupted, and the charge was halted. The fight continues as we make out way back to the little hill behind us. We were attacked from all sides, then finally, with no place to go and not totally surrounded, but still unable to retreat, everyone dismounted. Men were falling around me. I sensed bullets going through me, and saw them going through the bay.
Such horror. No way to describe it. Almost everyone dead, only a few left.
Now a warrior coming for me, tomahawk upraised, fury in his eyes, painted with blood covering his painted body and face. I touched the Bola, holding my neckerchief in place, and faded from sight, along with the bay. I moved back to where Benteen would be, and joined the rear of the formation and reappeared. The fighting went on for sometime, till reinforcements arrived.
I was so very touched. I touched my bolas, “Audio report, please scan my feed and see if it is complete. I wish to leave here and not return. Reply to be silent message.”
A few minutes later came series of clicks against my chest that released me. I rode the bay out to small bush, as if I intend to relieve myself. I look around, no one is looking my way. I touch my bolas, and I’m gone. I now find myself in a large tree above the Cheyenne village, across the river. I will remain here for some time and watch the after battle activity. One thing for sure, the valor of the men, on both sides, was something. Both horrible and inspiring. The troopers, knowing they will die but, still standing, still fighting. What is the thing inside a human that drives it? I want another assignment away from battle for a while.
The whole thing took less than a half hour.
I didn’t know what day it was. For sure, I had set the computer for 10 a.m. Friday, May 23, 1863, but one could tell it was later than that. I hadn’t been walking that long and I was losing light fast. The northeast Mississippi foothills along a little river. I started to step across the rusty colored branch to the flat rock when, damn, it moved! I saw the triangular head drawn back to strike. Quickly, totally by reflex, I swung my staff. My aim was deadly. He was dead.
It was at that moment I felt the bump. What the fuck? I had only killed a snake. The orders were to not kill or injure any creature big or small while on detached duty. Our jobs was simple – to correct history. From almost as far back as there was a record the dominant class wrote the history. It was written to benefit them. Facts were only part of the equation. Finally, after several wars and bad administrations, the councils decided that we would send back teams to observe history, and correct the errors. Then we would have sound guidelines for society. I mashed the little Cannon on my ring, and the 12” holographic image sprang up. The very attractive image of my fiancé, Misha, smiled back at me.
“Can I help you Gabe?”
“Yes,” I said, “A moment ago I was a bit forceful with a serpent. I am afraid it is destroyed. I got a bump. Can you bring it up and see what I affected? It was a rather large copperhead. You have my 20 and timestop, right?”
“Roger, OK. Give me a minute.”
I watched the pretty face, with all those delicious expressions. She shook her head, causing the long blonde waves to fall away from her face. “Here you go. Yep, that is a kinda serious tear. It will have to be repaired sometime in the near… my future, not yours. It seems he was to bite someone really important, changing the course of a battle here in this place, about two years into your future.”
“Well, maybe we can scab that, and get another serpent to do it.”
“Don’t worry about it for now, it will have to go to committee.”
“Yeah, just what I didn’t want to hear.”
“Gabe, we are finding out that almost everything in the past links with lots of other things, it doesn’t leave you much space for error. Anyway, that Union Uniform looks great on you. A really good look for you. When will you return?”
“Day after tomorrow, mid-afternoon. I have been craving Vietnamese food, wanna go out? Hmm, on second thought, after sitting here watching you, I think I would just as soon eat in. And you had better crawl back in my ring quickly, I hear voices.”
“Oooh, that sounds like fun! Luv ya babe, I’m gone gone!”
The two men were dressed like him, Union Army Infantrymen. I turned and said, “Hey, you men know the whereabouts of the 3rd Ohio?”
One of the men shook his head and said, “Nope, where ya coming from?”
I said, “Down river from Pittsburg Landing. Been on leave up at my Pa’s and Ma’s in Vincennes, Indiana.”
The other man said, “Probably down here closer to Corinth. You can walk with us.”
I thought, No, not gonna do that. He would wait for the right moment. And that moment appeared, as about 200 Union Cavalry came at a gallop out of the trees. The two men turned and were transfixed by the sight. I stepped back and touched the side of the ring with my left forefinger, and was immediately 20 miles south.
I stood looking down on the breastworks of the town of Corinth Mississippi. I smiled. Those two boys were probably still scratching there heads, wondering how I could have gotten away that fast. I wondered if I would ever see them again. So far, I had always been able to skip when no one was looking. That was the directive, but I knew plenty that had not, and history was full of those stories. Some had sworn they had seen angels, others swore sorcery or witchcraft. Totally depends on your perspective. The History Search was about 50 years old now. The first 5 years they had made so many tears that it took the next 5 years to scab them. But continued improvements and better training had decreased the tears at all levels. #1 Tears were almost unheard of now, #2’s less, and on down the line to his level 5 today. I had a good record, and I wanted to keep it that way. I watched as the Cavalry I had observed earlier make a charge on the Rebel forces. Lots of noise, lots of yelling, then they withdraw. Just a harassment, that’s all. One week from today, those Reb’s are going to abandon their fort, that is what I was there to observe.