You're visiting a gaming store, enjoying a quick game of Magic the Crack Addiction in the back room.  You're pretty sure you have this guy beat, after all, he's become uber-cautious after your last move where you sacrificed half your forces to nearly annihilate him.  Granted he was able to pull himself from the brink with a regenerative card, but still, its wiped the smirk from his face.

Your large glass of Tropical Surprise, a carbonated fruit punch, is at your right, and your duffel bag to your left.

So, you're annoyed when someone comes and plunks down the latest Xboom, scriff-enabled gimmickry in front of you, and starts to whinge about how its not working right.  You're especially annoyed because you have one at home, and that might mean the whole line is lemoned.

He shows you some pictures, ranting, and before you know it...the drink spills....hits the game...there's a flash of light...and...


================================================================================

You wake up laying on your back surrounded by what looks like a forrest of translucent trees.  Each one is more of a notion of smoke and light than a real tree.  At least the cold black ground under you is solid.

PT

Okay...I have no idea what I am doing in this forest and I don't care. If this is a dream, I'll wake up shortly. If I'm insane...well, life happens.

Anyways, I gather up my things and try to get a handle on the surreality of the situation.

You gather up your stuff, and notice that you're able to step through trees.  You also notice that there seems to be long rows of identical, or nearly so, with one tiny detail different, trees.

And then you see a bunny.  And like a ripple effect, you see that bunny hop over to some grass.  And then five feet on, another bunny, and another, and another until there is a line of bunnies as far as the eye can see.

Each one seems to be doing some slightly very differently.

PT

Alright, this is important somehow. Everything being identical but for the slightest variations. Rabbits and crystal trees...

What am I thinking about?!? I am clearly out of my friggin' mind here!

Okay, okay...get a grip Ed. Getting hysterical will not get you out of this mess. I...hysterical...hmm...

Why haven't I woken up yet? Normally intense emotion forces me out of a dream state?

OOC: This is a hard situation for me to know how to handle, so I know my character is definately having a hard time of it.

You wander for a bit, not sure how long, and a check of your watch reveals that it has stopped.

And then in the distance you see a glimmering line of light that runs to your right and left ahead of you.  It is full of blues, and greens, and it seems gorgeous to your starved for detail and color eyes.

PT

I observe it. I am rather curious to know where all of this delusion is going.

By the way, what kind of variations are we talking about with the rabbits and trees?

Variations in behaviour, and in the time of doing something.  One rabbit bites one piece of grass, another one a different piece of grass.  And yet another hops up a moment later than the first one, and starts eating grass.

The trees look like they are being blown in different winds, but otherwise very similar, although there is some variation at the branch level.

The gleam is attractive.

You see a line of men suddenly.  One man is digging a rectangle in the dirt.  The other man is holding a gun on him.

PT

Finally, a target. Something for me to lock my mind on to.

Dispite the translucscent nature of the trees, they do provide some measure of concealment. I intend to sneak up on the guy holding the gun. Not too close mind you. Just close enough so that I can hear any conversation that might be going on.

Because it looks to me like Digger Man is digging his own grave, and I don't want to share it with him.

The sounds of the voices is thin, attenuated.  There seems to be a little color in the men now.

The Digger stops, and leans on a shovel.  The Gunman waggles his gun.

"Come, come Senator.  You had to know this was a chance.  Now get on with it."

"And if I refuse?"

"I shoot you, in the leg, and do the dig myself."

"Why not just shoot me?"

"Because I'm going to be irritated at having to dig, so I want to hear you scream to keep me entertained. Now DIG!!"

The Digger sighs, and reaches for the shovel again.

PT

Senator? Wow. I thought I was going to be screwing up some repeating pattern akin to the trees and the rabbits. Not that I'd give a crap if I was; life is life to me and screw everything else.

I think I'm going to draw my knife and sneak up on Gunman. I can't say that Moving Quietly is something that I am proficent at, but I have practiced. What I'm really hoping is that Gunman will be so preoccupied with Senator he won't hear me.

Besides, I've been killed once already. What's he going to do, kill me again? Oooohhhhhhh, look at me I am so scared.

There is a repeating pattern of Senators as well, but the one you've chosen is now more vivid than the others.  And the repeating pattern of Senators is much shorter than the others of bunnies which is shorter than the trees.

You put the knife at the Gunman's throat, and feel resistance, like soft jello.  He yips, and spins around.

And then he jumps back in fear, sliding through your fingers.

"A ghost."

The colors are now stronger, and the voice comes to you loud and clear.

PT

Okay, I'm going to guess that he thinks I'm the ghost. That's okay with me. In fact, I may be able to use this to my advantage.

Putting on my best deep evil voice, I say, "Yes, I am a ghost and you have provoked this man into distrubing my rest! I must be appeased!"

"Ummmm." He turns to the Senator. "This is your fault. You summoned the ghost.  Its him you want."

The Senator just chuckles.

"You're the Communist, you're not supposed to believe in ghosts."

For some reason this sends the Gunman into a further frenzy.

"Lets negotiate, Mr. Ghost. You get me out of this, and name your price."

"Shut up! Shut up! He's not real." The Gunman shrieks.

PT

Well, I have a feeling that this is going to get very interesting, very fast.

>"Yes, it is the Senator I want. Leave now, bandit lest you suffer his fate. But leave your weapon, for it is tainted with the grave now. Now go, and don't look back, for the horrors will drive you mad..."

"You'll kill him, yes? Well okay, that works, really sorry to disturb you, I'm going now..." The gunman runs off, starts to look back, and thinks better of it, and keeps running.

You can see the Senator as if he was fully visible now, with full sound and color.

"Well, Mr. Ghost, it seems I'm in your debt."

PT

I drop the scary voice routine. "You owe me nothing...although I can think of a quick way for you to pay me back. You seemed to be more at ease with my incorporeal state then he was. That tells me you understand something about my nature and this place. Tell me what you know, and I'll consider the life-debt settled."

I reach down for the gun and concentrate on grabbing it. It worked in the movie Ghost, so it might work here.

You pick up the gun normally as you would for any object.

There is no more repeating bunnies or trees.  You're in a night forest talking to a Senator.

"Well, my family has owned this property for close on to a hundred fifty years, so I figured you were one of my ancestors, and you wouldn't want to harm me.  I mean that part of the ghost stories always bothered me.  I certainly wouldn't want to cause harm to my descendants if I was a ghost."

He pauses and thinks.

"Okay, a quick briefing.  You're on the McCarthy Manor in Virginia, I'm Tailgunner Joe as they call me.  Its 1957.  April 17th to be exact, and.."  He looks at his expensive watch.

"10:12 PM.  And I still feel like I owe you. You saved my life.  You may have saved the Republic."

PT

McCarthy? Joe...Oh, no. Joesph McCarthy. Of all the good samaritan acts of stupidity I could have done, why, oh why, did my insanity decide I was saving this history book reject?

No matter. I have a hunch that I was viewing parallel time lines. Seeing all possibilities all at once. It's a bit of an imagination stretch for me, but not inconceivable. I'm obviously incapable of trusting my senses. That is way it is very important for me not to kill anyone until I have my head on straight. I have to hold on to the hope that the insanity carries some underlaying truth that will lead me back to my mind. Or more likely, God lends me a hand.

On the other hand, this is just weird enough to be real. On second thought, I'll go with that idea. Play along with the madness.

After I think about my options for a moment, I pocket the weapon in the right coat pocket. I will be needing this, I know it somehow.

"I'm not your ancestor, Senator McCarthy. I'm not exactly sure what I am anymore, but I know for a fact that being your ancestor is not one of them. I pause a moment to consider my next words. "I would like to know why you were digging your own grave so late at night, exactly why he wanted to kill you and how I saved the Republic." I'm presuming America, but with the way this night has been going...

"You mind we have this conversation back at my house?  I had some steak grilling, and a nice wine out for me and my valet.  I don't expect you need it, but my body is tired."

He pauses to see if you're willing to walk with him.  If not, he stays here with you.

"I was putting together my plans for two days hence.  I'm going on the Senate floor, and I'm going to reveal all the names of everyone who has joined the Communist Party or Communist Front organizations.  Especially, I'm going to announce the names of some very prominent people in the State and the CIA who I believe are deliberate traitors to America, may God bless and protect her.  And then this guy knocks on my door, and then crashes in with his gun in hand, and ties up my valet after hitting him over the head."

McCarthy looks up through the trees toward a hill in the distance.

"I hope Jerome is okay. He has a hard skull, but like me, he's not as young as he used to be. Anyways, I believe the man who you chased off is an assassin from the Chicago Mob hired by the CPUSA.  He told me as much when he said 'you've worried the wrong people, important people, and we in the Racket are always willing to do such folk a favor, Senator, so get your shovel.'  As to how you saved the Republic, well you saved my life.  Now, I'm going to pin those traitors to the wall, and see if I can get them hung as the filthy traitors they are."

I am a walking fiend, so of course I walk with him as he talks. Apparently, I've ended up in a world where McCarthy actually had a bead on at least one genuine Commie.

"I am hungry..." I admit. Besides, I need some more information as to what kind of a mess I'm in.

You get up to the patio, and the Senator quickly goes into the house through a set of sliding glass doors.  Two minutes later, he comes out with a tall, balding black man in a vest and tie who is holding an icebag to his head, and the Senator has a shotgun in his off-hand.

He puts it down on a chair, and then helps Jerome to a lawnchair.  From there, he gets some plates, and dishes out steak, potatoes and corn on the cob.

The black man tries to get up to serve the food, but McCarthy waves him down to his seat, and threatens half-jokingly to fire him if he doesn't relax.  Jerome shrugs, and relaxes.

The steak is over-done, but still good.

"I plan on holing up in a hotel, with my shotgun for company for the next two days." McCarthy says.  "Jerome here can start his much deserved Florida vacation for two weeks.  Gets him out of the way."

"Your pardon, sir, but I'd surely love to meet that man that hit me from behind." He doubles up impressive fists. "It may have been a long time since I had my golden gloves, but I still remember most of it."

You feel something familiar out toward the front of the two-story house.

PT

I go investigate the 'familiar' feeling. I have a strange hunch that it's something good.

You walk out front, and the feeling is still ahead of you.  So you cross a rose garden, and out a low gate, and cross a road.

A large field, freshly bush-hogged is bordered by a brush choked ditch.  Once through that, a bit scratched, you head toward an island of green trees in the center of the large field.

Once in it, you hear voices ahead of you.

"I..."
"Miserable incompetent."
"Ghost..."

PT

Suddenly my good vibe has just turned sour.

However, curiosity doesn't just kill cats. I'm going to investigate the grove. I've got a feeling I'm about to get incorporeal again. I've formed the quick theory that forests are some kind of portal by the rules here. Everything, especially fiction, has rules. In fact, fiction is usually more confined than reality.

You slip through the wood and the undergrowth with your basic woodcraft, and come to an open space next to a pond.  There is a green painted, yet flaking picnic table off to the side.

But thats not what catches your attention.

A flying saucer straight out of a 1950's movie, about the same size in length and height as a semi rig, sits on its tripod feet.

Two guys in long trenchcoats with red stars on their shoulders are berating the Gunman who is trying to defend himself.  The hatch walkway to the flying saucer is open.

PT

So much for that theory about fiction.

Apparently, the government is into something very suspicious. Like for example, UFO's really do have aliens on board. I'm going to do what I did last time. I'm going to listen. If I'm not mistaken, the gunman was probably hired by the CIA to kill McCarthy, he botched the job due to a "ghost," and these Federalies are going to sacrifice him to the aliens for use as spare parts.

I could care less about him, though. He's a hired killer and deserves to die in my book. He's got at least three witnesses against him, too. Justice is served by the bad guys if I am lucky.

I hang back in the trees and listen in. I'm also wondering what the hell is giving me the impression of familiarity.

The flying saucer feels familiar.

"I'm sorry."
"Go back, make sure he's dead."
"I, but a..."
A long string of guttural words in a foreign language accompanies one of the trenchcoated men with the red star on his shoulder as he pulls out a short shotgun,  and chambers a shell.

The Gunman pales.

"Look..."

BOOM!

The Gunman falls.  The two guys get out cheap looking cigarrettes, and start smoking them next to the dead body as they talk to each other in a rough language.

PT

Not Federals, but KGB. This is starting to make a little more sense.

I might be able to take these guys. Since I can't understand a word they are saying (I don't speak Russian) I don't need them alive, and it's a safe guess these guys are the middlemen for the McCarthy hit. In addition, the agent with the shotgun did a combat load, which means he's packing an empty weapon. 'Go ahead and try that against a target which can kill you back, tough guy,' I think to myself. I'm going to assume there is a round in the chamber since this weapon was being used on Joe earlier. Which means I don't have to give them the audio warning of a sleigh pulling back. I step out and doubletap Shotgun's partner in the back. That will eliminate any surprises he might represent and leave me an enemy who has already tipped his hand.

OOC: Doubletap is my way of saying I shoot twice very quickly. By the way, I'm presuming I'm holding a semiautomatic pistol. What is this weapon?

You step out from behind the tree, and fire your .38 revolver twice into the back of Shotgun's partner.  The first shot hits him mid-back, and the second shot is helped by the slight kick, and hits in the bottom of his neck.

The other guy starts for his shotgun, and then stops as he sees your cold face.

He rattles off something in Russian, and starts reaching into his pocket.

PT

That is probably a pistol he's reaching for. I'm not in a mood to take chances and I don't think he'll listen if I tell him to freeze. I doubletap him as well. If it turns out to be murder, I'll hate myself later.

Two shots ring out, and the man falls, wriggles about in pain, and expires.

He was reaching for a small semi-automatic pistol you discover after you search his coat pocket.

PT

Excellent. A superior weapon to a .38. I hope.

I field strip Shotgun and his partner, then I search Gunman. I am looking for weapons, ammo, and ID. Anything that gives me information and anything alien in appearance. If I'm lucky, I might get to perform history's first UFOjacking. I've only got two bullets left in my current weapon. so any additional ammo would be appeciated.

This is a European weapon, so its a .28 caliber semi-automatic with seven bullets, one in the pipe to make eight.

You see a newspaper article cut out.

Its from a week in the future.

"McCarthy Commission Indicts Alger Hiss, Steven Dexter Wellington III, and Kevin Parkington for High Treason."

It goes on to say others will be indicted, and that capital punishment is likely.  It has a picture of McCarthy with a red pen arrow drawn on it by the people who cut out the paper article, and some Russian phrase written on the pic.

There is a wallet with a Russian and English ID card.

"Dmitri Ivanov Radicheev. Special Agent of the Committee to Protect Time, Directorate Four. Validated by the authority of the Worldwide Politburo, May 1st, 1995 C.E.  Render all assistance required to the bearer of this card."

There is some money, but its not any you recognize.

The shotgunner has a similar wallet with money, and nine shells for the shotgun in his pocket.  He also carries a ring with a huge flickering gem on the top of it.

PT

Alright, I leave the .38 here and pocket the .28 pistol. I've honestly never heard of one of these, but that's what the casing said it was, so that's what it is. I'm keeping the ID. I may need false identity where I'm going. I'll leave Shotgun's ID right on him, but I'll transfer his money and anything that looks like a credit card over to my new number two wallet. I drop my old wallet in my bag. I'd love to put on Shotgun's coat, but I don't think it would do to walk into 1995 or wherever I'm going wearing a coat that's drenched in blood.

C.E., huh? Apparently I'm going to an atheistic future. I'm taking the shotgun (what gauge and action? and shell types?) and the shells. Until I can think of a place to hide it, I'll just brandish this openly. I load the shotgun with as much ammo as it will carry.

If anyone else is on board that ship, they've had time to prepare for me. I don't know why they wouldn't just leave, but I'm coming on board, shotgun ready. I'm not in a state of mind to appeciate surprises.

12 gauge. Single pump?. Something that looks a tad larger than buckshot.  It carries one shell at a time.

You walk into the ship.  Its a circular space about ten feet across dotted with monitors and control mechanisms that seem simple.  Everything is in Russian and English.

There is a pair of tiny cabins, more like horizontal closets, and a bathroom with sink, and a cabinet that holds metal cans with labels printed on the can in Russian on the outside.

Everything has a crude, harsh edge with few colors, but on the plus side it looks to be tough and hard to break.

There's no one else in the machine.

PT

All right. I close the door behind me and start reading the instructions. Normally I don't even like driving cars, but after the things I've been through today, I really don't give a crap. I'm guessing this is a time machine. That's even better than a UFO.

Mmmm...temporal paradox...

Its very simple and durable in design.  You soon realize there are two functions. Flying and temporal travel.  You evidently have to be flying before you can engage temporal travel since the temporal controls only activate a red light that flashes "Activate flight" until you do so and are airborne.

The craft lurches off the ground and into the air, wobbling back and forth as you push at the control levers.  Its actually easier to fly than to play many an Xbox game, and within a couple minutes you have basic control, and are able to fly slow and steady instead of lurching across the sky like a drunken swan.

And the temporal control looks even simpler.

Set a date on a spinning dial from January 1, 1906 to December 30, 2006, and hit the big red "Initiate Transtemporal Transportation" button.

PT

"Mwahahahaha! The world is MINE!!" I yell out for absolutely no reason other than sheer exhileration. I own a flying time machine! Just like in that game Chrono Trigger.

The only question is where do I want to go? The moral thing to do would be to go to 1995 and figure out what Shotgun and his partner were all about. But I can think of so many other things I rather do with my own personal time machine...

Ah, screw it. 1995 here I come! I was a little wussy geek then. Now I'm a wussy geek with a .12 gauge and a flying saucer!

You feel a rush pass through your body, that sense of familiarity, and outside, the screens go wavy and see-through.  Things flash by too fast to identify, and bare minutes have passed inside the time machine when you slow, and arrive.

Suddenly you can see normal daylight on the monitors.  And you can hear the buzz of radio transmissions coming in from several channels.

"My Achy-breaky heart..." blares from one speaker.

"And Nebraska is advancing to the forty yard line against terrific Michigan defense..."

"So the question of the hour for our guest, Dr. Steven Martins, is time travel ethical, and should we really be using it for rich tourists?

Absolutely to both, Ellen, if I may call you Ellen...

Please do, its my name.

We at TimeTourist, Ltd. take the passengers back to see past events, and exercise strict precautions, and really what do you have against rich people? Don't they have dreams too?

I have nothing against rich people. I want to be one myself one day, but still..."

Prince's We are the Champions blares from the last speaker, and then some sort of inner control rotates the radio selection to four new stations.

PT

I set the radio to Manual and change it back to that discussion on time travel. If I hear that dumb song one more time...I'll just change the station. Like I always do.

So time travel is a luxury for rich types and it's monitored. What a bunch of losers. If I can jack their stupid little ship, anyone could do it. Maybe they should consider antitheft measures in the ships.

Anyways, I'm looking for a distinctly federal or international building. I'd really like to meet these Directorate Four morons and ask them why they tried to kill a Senator.

Why do I have a feeling that killing him will end up being the moral thing to do?

It takes a bit of fiddling, and you catch the tail end of the discussion.

"No, we can't take you back to see dinosaurs.  1906 is the earliest.  But there is a lot of fascinating history to be seen in that time.  And our time shuttles are the latest in modern convenience with every feature engineered for maximum comfort and safety.

And all for only twenty thousand dollars a trip, Doctor?

Well, we do have to pay for my grossly inflated salary."

They both laugh, and it turns to an ad for a new car.

You fly on,and the station changes to a discussion by another host of the morality of genetically engineering children to be more intelligent, or more importantly--taller.

You fly about a bit, and while you see a small village below you, you don't see anything that shouts--federal building.  How are you going to go about searching?

PT

All right, I'm going to bring the ship around for a landing. Someone down there has to know where I can find this time travel Protectrate or whatever the hell it is.

It's moments like this I really wish I had a longer coat. Asking questions with a shotgun in hand isn't going to get me any results. With a feeling I'll come to regret this, I leave the shotgun on the ship and prepare to ask some common folk some questions. Shouldn't be to hard. They'll presume I've got some bread to throw around and, looking inside my stolen wallet, they're right.

You land in front of a gas station.  The clerk comes out with mouth a-gape.

"Uh, uh, uh...we only have regular, super, and supreme gasoline...hey, you're not an alien...are you?"

PT

Man, what an idiot. But I suppose I'd have asked the same question myself once, so I can't really be to hard on him.

"Just looking for directions to a Worldwide Politboro. Does that sound familair to you, or have you never heard of it?" I listen very closely to the tone of his reaction. If he knows what I'm talking about, he might lie and I'll probably catch him at it.

To be honest, I haven't answered his question because I really don't know myself.

"Um." He scratches his head. "That sounds like a rock band.  Tutti-Frutti Moody is playing over in Centertown this Friday, and Dexter's Sinister is playing in Valdez tonight, but they're not really rock, more bluesy.  I can't recall any Worldwide Politburo band, dude.  I'm sorry."

You're pretty sure he's not lying.

PT

I believe him, and somehow I'm not surprised that I don't detect a lie. He obviously doesn't have a blasted clue what I'm talking about.

"Thanks, dude. Hey, listen. I know it might be a little difficult to ask but..." I put on a conspiratorial voice. "Could you keep this on the low down? You never know who might be listening in..." *wink wink* "I know you may have customers already, but ask them to keep quiet as possible about this as well."

I go back to my spiffy new ship and turn around before climbing aboard. "Watch the skies, you never know what's up there..." That oughta get the tabloids rolling for a little while. I close the door behind me and take off.

Question to self: Where to now? Russia won't do at all. I'd stand out like a sore thumb and probably get rubbed out very quickly. Russia's supposed to be democratic at this point, but in reality, last I checked the Ruskies didn't have flying time machines, so I can't trust my memory.

Only one thing to do. I fly to Langley, VA. I doubt that it is the real CIA headquarters (probably another deception) but it will certainly get some attention drawn my way. Besides, I'd really like to see what they have to say about this. They would be very interested in learning that KGB were trying to kill McKinley.

Wahh. I'm gonna lose my new toy. Oh well.

I'm assuming you get directions from this guy, and you start following the roads to the interstate, and then up further toward Langley.

About twenty minutes after you take off you're buzzed and rocked by a fighter jet.

"Unknown vehicle, you are targetted.  You will follow me, and land where I direct, or my wingman will shoot you down."

The radio message comes in on a different speaker than the one 'Achy-breaky' used.

PT

I expected something like this would happen. You don't fly unidentified craft over American airspace without being questioned by someone federal.This is a little more direct than the usual questioning, but it does speed things up. It's not quite what I had in mind; this might actually be better. Since I can't radio them back (can I?) and I haven't identified any on-board weaponry (and I wouldn't use it if I had it) I follow them to the airbase.

It will be interesting to see which one. If it's Area 51, that's just round out the day nicely.

They take you to land at a military airbase overlooking a river.  Once you land, two tanks roll out, and train their long cannons on you.

"Please step out of the vehicle. We are aware that it is not a flying saucer despite the looks, so don't play games with us."

The man saying this is standing in front of your ship, and yelling it with a loudspeaker.  He looks trim, fit, and he's wearing a dark green uniform.

PT
OOC: Maybe Paxtuxtent River base?

I step out of the saucer, shotgun not in hand and bag left in saucer. In addition, before I step out, I leave my .28 and knife in the bag.

I step out of the vehicle, just like they ask. I know for a fact that the military hates jokes, but I cannot resist the obvious one that presents itself.

With a smile on my face as I face the tanks, I say, "We come in peace."

"Cute." The Major grimaces.

"You're flying an unliscensed hovercar, pretty expensive, and near national security installations.  I hope you have a good explanation unless you'd like to make a guided visit to one of our nation's many fine correctional institutions."

He pauses about five feet from you, and waits.  In the distance, you can see a Humvee driving up.

"The General is even less enthused about trespassers who think having lots of money means they can break into restricted airspace than I am. So talk fast unless you want to meet a man who makes small countries tremble for breakfast."

PT

Well, that's pretty bold. I'd actually like to meet a man who makes small countries tremble for breakfast. But I'll dispense with the humor and the smart aleck replies. I'm just wishing I had thought to throw up a Vulcan hand gesture when I said what I did.

"Sir, the situation is very straightforward. I stole this ship from a Worldwide Politboro. Does that mean anything to you?"

He starts to say something, thinks it over, and nods to himself as if he agreed with himself.

"Sir, there is no Worldwide Politboro that I am aware of.  Now there was a Politboro with ambitions to rule the world in Russia, but the Soviets collapsed back in 75 after the Red Fleet Mutiny spread to the Red Army. I also can disclose this much, I know of no terrorist or guerrilla movement or political party group by that name.  Where are these people located?"

PT

I flash the stolen ID past him. "I got this and the ship from agents hailing from this time period." I explain. I'm just going to wait for him to ask me about the choice of words. I swallow the urge to ask him if he doesn't know anything more. I wouldn't be surprised either way.

"Time period." He blinkss.  " I would not mind if you explained further."  He's suddenly a lot more polite.

When the Humvee comes up, a cold-eyed, and white-haired man jumps out, and prepares to unleash Jove's thunderbolts on you, but the Major rushes up to him and forestalls that most urgently.  You hear only a few words.

"....fear we...have a Case Delta Event."

The General all of a sudden stiffens and regards you with the utmost seriousness.

He steps over to you after making several phone calls.

PT

I'm willing to indulge his questions. "It's like this: I don't know how all this started. One minute I was relaxing, the next something explodes and I wake up in some kind of time fold, watching Senator Joesph McCarthy dig his own grave. Yeah, THE McCarthy from 1950. Anyways, I save his life by driving off the gunman, and then I stumbled across two Russian guys who waste the gunman. I figure they're not legitimate and they are a security hazard to our nation, so I waste both of them. Ambushing gave me an edge. Then I discovered how this thing works and I've pretty much been flying it since. I'm gonna miss this, but I figured my country deserved to know that someone was trying to screw up American history. And it was so-called allies doing it."

It has just dawned on me while I'm telling them this story that everything that has just happened to me, incredible though it may be, is in fact real. If so, then I just killed two people and not felt a shred of remorse for it.

'Is that a bad thing?' is the question rolling through my mind right now.

"Former President McCarthy died ten years ago," The Major mutters. "Heart attack while watching a football game, and yelling at the referee, so the story goes."

The General puts up a quelling hand.

"There was a story, I never credited it, that McCarthy had survived an assasin attempt way back due to a family ghost."  He pauses.  "Its not in the official histories, but some of the fringe, nut histories have it."

He looks at you, in detail, and comes to a decision, and speaks quietly.

"We're assuming this is a Case Delta Event. Execute the Protocols."

The Major picks up a walkie-talkie he retrieves from the Hum-vee, and speaks into it.

"Case Delta is in effect. I say again, Case Delta."

Thirty seconds later, you see search lights click on, and jets being pulled out of hangers, and men getting rousted out of barracks.  You hear the howl of disturbed guard dogs being woken up.

"Very shortly, I'm going to have several physicists and linguists, and a member of the Time Tourist company in front of me.  Anything you want to tell me, or need before then?"  The General says with focused intensity.

PT

"I'd be the 'family ghost' the nuts are referring to." I tell him. He can decide for himself whether or not I'm lying. "Exactly why do you need a linguist? And what the hell is a Case Delta? I think I can be trusted with that."

"Linguist is part of the Case Delta Protocols. It helps to determine exactly where and perhaps when you came from.  I've got a guy on retainer who can frequently enough tell you what street you were born on.  I've seen him do it."

He pauses, and thinks.

"Yeah, its not like you're out of the loop.  Its more, you are the loop. You and your machine are the Event.  Case Delta was created after Time Tourist sent their patents in, and the security groups got their eyes on it.  We always wondered if there would be some unexplained temporal event.  Time Tourist assured us that this was impossible, but, well, we're paid to be paranoid.  So, we need to figure out what to do with you, and right now, we're locking down the base, and putting up a no-flyzone over most of Eastern Virginia,a nd calling in some very bright guys to form the Case Delta task force to figure out what to do, and how to do it."

PT

I don't have a reason to be worried about anything these guys will ask of me, unless post-Soviet Russia is identical to an American country town.

"Ready when you are, sir."

Your time machine gets towed into a hanger, and about an hour later professorial types start to arrive.

The linguist just stands next to you, and listens as you talk to the professors who look perplexed.

And then someone arrives in a red Jaguar convertible which screeches to a halt outside the hanger.  An obviously rich guy, permed hair, nice watch, tanned and fit, hops out of the car, and starts yelling.

"This is absurd.  How many times do I have to tell you morons, that Case Delta is impossible.  You dragged me from a sound sleep, flew me in a jet fighter with no leg room, all so I could see another hoax..."  He comes up to you, full of bouncing energy and rage, and jabs you in the chest with a pointed finger.  "Is this the joker?"  He hollers at the General.

PT

I really have issues with people touching me like that.

"Do you like that finger?" I growl at him. "And I fail to see the joke, dumbass. I just got blown up and shot two people graveyard dead. I am not in the mood to take any crap from some spoiled punk like you."

If he pokes me again, I'm going to hurt him.

He almost reflexively pokes you again, like a guy who doesn't know how to back down, or never saw the need too.

"Don't look blown up to me, pal."  He chuckles, and begins to continue his rant....

PT

He just doesn't know what kind of mood I'm in. Being interrogated by the miltiary and being called a liar by someone who probably pays people to wipe his butt for him doesn't bring out the best in me. And this day has been weird enough that I am going to do something I normally would NOT do.

I grab his finger hard, wrench it back against his wrist (intent:pain) and bring it behind his back along with his arm, putting him in a classic chicken wing. (At least that's what I'm hoping to do. This guy might be a very good fighter and leave me feeling very stupid...)

He's quick and athletic, but then so are you, and you have the initiative.  He dodges back, and you advance, and get him in a chicken wing, and force him to his knees since he's not all that strong.

He's sputtering curses at you, and demanding help from the others in a verbal mix at high-speed.

"All right, you made your point, let our pet Nobel prize laureate and all around loud mouth up."  The General says with a small smile at you.

"I demand this man be brought up on charges."

"Funny, I thought I heard you say 'demand' to me.  I'm sure you didn't."  The General's voice turns icy, and everyone in the room freezes like a bird in front of a snake.

PT

I'll let Richie Rich go, partly because I'm in a good mood about one thing. It's because of this one thing that I keep any trace of a smile off of my face: I understand military etiquette, while this poor guy obviously does not.

I simply remain quiet, and maintain an at ease position. I am not in the military, and as a result I will not stand in that attention position unless I absolutely have to.

Let's hear what the General has to say.

"Now gentlemen, and ladies," The General nods calmly at the two lady professors.  "You all signed a contract which gave me the right to interrupt your life at any point at my whim.  You were paid very good money for this, and you helped serve the people of this great nation as well.  Perhaps, you did not read all the way to Page 34, section D, subsection M, where it states that 'in the event of non-compliance with the supervising officer' that would be me, 'you may be detained at his discretion until the problem is resolved, the situation is restored to normal,'" And suddenly he's projecting very loudly. "Or until the supervisory officer sees fit!' In other words, annoy me, and I can toss you into Leavenworth for ten to twenty."  He pauses, and gently smiles.  "Now, I hope we won't have further issues that need clarifying."

"Now this gentleman before you claims to be a time traveller.  He also claims to have come in a vehicle which we don't have on our records, and claims he stole it from a 'Worldwide Politburo' which sounds like a Communist One World State to me.  I know this is impossible according to your theories, but figure it out, and quickly, please."

"Perhaps we could resolve this by taking the vehicle for a spin?" One of the ladies suggests,a nd several other professors look enthused by the idea.  The general shrugs and looks at you.

PT

Damn, these ladies are telepathic. "General, if I may," I begin, and before he can tell me no, I continue. "Given how I'm the one who got the craft here in the first place, I thiink that would make me the best qualified to resolve the situation. After all, if you send  good American soldiers out, and they happen not to return, people here will start asking question. On the other hand, I don't even legally exist. My loss will mean nothing. And finally, I am probably the one with the most experience flying this particular craft." One last thing occurs to me. "And the Russians won't see me coming due to my non-entity status."

I think that's a well constructed arguement. The only question will be if he sees things from my point of view.

"Well, but I need an observer.  You could claim to travel through time, and not, and who would know?  Why don't I send Dr. Helen Carmine here, astrophysics and um..."

"Fluid hyrdraulics, sir." The doctor with the curly, dark red almost brown hair says with a small smile.  She looks faintly Hispanic.

"Right, right." The General returns.  He then looks at you with a waiting glance.

PT

Interesting blend of feilds, considering how as far as I know, the two are not related in any but the the field of Physics. Still, the brain could be quite useful. I'm willing to pass tasks on to people who know what they are doing...except this time travel. I really want to do this.

"Sure." The fact that she's an easy looker eases the situation a bit, although she is government. That implies a certain level of professionalism, which is fine by me. Makes this easier. I think to add more, but I'll just let events unfold how they will.

New theory: Appearantly, that explosion shot me though a fold in space and time. That is the only rational explaination. I'm unwilling to accept madness. This is too consistant, too real. Normally, that violent action I perform on Richie Retard would cause me to wake up in a dream. And most crazies drift in and out, especially considering I'd have received medication by now which would have returned me to reality briefly. No, I feel too...real, for this to be anything else.

A fold in the fabric of reality. That is so cool!

You realize that you are feeling a sense of familiarity which seems strange.  Its almost like deja vu.

Shrugging, you clamber into the time machine, and warm it up.

Doctor Carmine takes the co-pilot chair.

"Wow." She stares at the controls.  "This looks so....real."

And then you take it into time, and as things began to fade to white you notice the General just disappears.  Then Richie Retard as you name him.

There is a blinking red light on the control board off up and out of the way.  Under it is written "Parasynchronous Wave Effect Monitor" and then in magic marker, black and hardly legible against the brown metal of the dash and very small is "bye-bye button".

PT

Okay, I'll just write one of those off as a button I won't push until I have more information, and the other as a button I absolutely will not push for any reason. Doctor Carmine might be able to tell me more about this situation.

As for the feeling of deja vu, I'll just attribute that to a side effect of changing the past. Because I've already changed the past by travelling into it. At least I know my arrival is insured. I just don't know how I caused the General and the rich guy to vanish like that. Apparantly, I'm doing something very wrong.

"Hey, Doc." I turn to her. "Assuming this IS real, why did the General and Dumbass vanish, while everything else is slowly fading to white?"

They are the same button.  One script is the official wording, and the other is the crews' wording.

"Well, the fade to white is a relic of temporal travel.  We have to be largely unhooked, as it were, from the timeframe, and so we get less energy, less light to us." She pauses, and screws up her face.  "I think there's more to it than that, but I'M NOT A TEMPORAL PHYSICIST!"  She shouts the last bit with a catch of fear in her throat.  She breathes in and out a bit, gulping air.

"As to the General and, err, the Nobel guy, who is a jerk, um, I don't know."

Outside you see the 'white fog' get very thick and obscure everything.

PT

"Right. Astrophysics and Hydrolics. An unlikily combination of fields. And one I'll be asking about later." I pause after that. "I just figured you would know more about this than me." Undoubtably the world is fading out more and more as we talk. "I just got this thing a day ago. For me, anyways."

I look at the dials and switches. "So, which year were we going towards again? You haven't told me yet." I really don't have any leads except, of course, the era I happen to be leaving behind. But I'm getting the impression that's not the world/time I need to be visiting. Apparently, this came from an alternate time, with a Worldwide Politboro.

Man, I am really getting to hate time travel. It's so confusing.

"Hmm, well I picked May 5th, 1955.  Lots of fives.  Easy to remember."

And shortly you arrive.

You're looking out on a golf course with men dressed in kilts.  There is only a few of them, but all of them are staring at your ship with mouths open.

"This is a problem.  Because on May 5,1955, this was part of Paxtuxtent Airbase.  We should be sitting on a runway."  She's rather enthusiastically chewing her fingernails by now.

"So did those alternate timeliners, which is like forbidden by all known temporal theory, did they wear kilts?"

PT

I am undoubtably wearing a very retarded smile on my face. Born of total, abject surprise. "Nooooo..." I say. "Nooo, they weren't wearing anything even vaguely resembling a kilt. Except the agents with the trench coats. And I don't think those count." I come to the realization that I'm rambling and bring myself back to the present. Or the past. Whenever I happen to be right now, I return there.

"I think that I was supposed to push that 'bye-bye button' while we were traveling. Or right now. Let's push this button. And look on the bright side. If we go boom, history's only disruption is an uncounted UFO detonation. Like Roswell." I smile at this idea, shrug, and push the 'bye-bye button, ready to meet God as a result of my own stupidity. 'I always knew I was going to check out like this...' are my thoughts right now...

You push it.

"Asynchronous Event Recorded Negative 3 minutes, 22 seconds ago in the local or temporal vehicle past.  No Temporal flux currently on the horizon.  Time line stable."

It then repeats that in Russian.  In both languages it sounds stiff and recorded.

PT

"Well, that was anticlimatic." Inwardly breathing a sigh of relief as I say that. "So we travel three and a half minutes into the past, and our problems are solved. I hope." I make the adjustments (if I can) and go.

The device is not that fine-tuned.  Its smallest increment of travel is one day.

Doctor Carmine points out that three minutes ago, local time, would be three minutes in yours and hers personal pasts, or about the time that weirdness with dissappearing people occurred.

"Perhaps its a sensor.  Tells when, I don't know, time hurricanes occur. Wonder if there is a weather station we can tune into."  She giggles a bit at the last, but with a small note of hysteria in her voice.

PT

I take a bit of a deep breath myself. "Relax, Doctor." I'm going to try to go easy on her right now. Especially considering how I had pretty much gone through the same thing myself a few hours (days? it feels like forever) ago. "I don't know what's going on, so I'll go back to the point we left in the first place. I haven't found anything resembling communication, and the best theory I've formed is that their are an infinate number of possiblities, and we might have gone slightly of course."

I let out a sigh at this point. "I'm feeling really retarded right about now. They probably will wonder what, if anything, just happened, and let me know how much of the goverment's time I've just wasted."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:06, Mon 29 Jan 2007.

She breathes in and out, and starts reciting the Periodic Table of Elements under her breath as her pretty hands slowly stop trembling.

"That makes sense, and believe me, I'll back up your story."  She sounds most convinced that she will be able to convince them.

You take it back upstream.

And re-emerge.

Outside, its night.  Its the same golf course.  Only around the edges of it are ten and twenty story apartment buildings.

Highlighted by spotlights on the tallest building is a Union Jack flag.  Britain's flag.

PT

"Ohhhh, what the hell is this blasphemy?" At this point I'm ready for anything. Except seeing a British flag domitating American soil. "That's it! No more time travel for me, until I can figure out just what in the hell is going on."

I turn to the doctor. "I'm at a loss. No matter what I do, I seem to steer this thing into a new time zone. And not the kind where you have to readjust your watch by an hour or two when you land." I paused for a moment to think about what I just said. "I just got an insane idea. I'm going to go for one more jump, and wherever we end up, that's where I'm going to explore. Since I can't get us back, we might as well go on an expediation." I look at the flag behind me. "But not here. Even seeing that gives me the creeps."

I fire up the machine for one last jump. I figure third time's the charm, and whatever trial God has in mind for me, this is where I will meet it.

"Well this could be the same world as the kilted men.  Same golf course.  Kilts are British aren't they?"

And then your radio clicks on.

"Vehicle Fourteen of the Worldwide Politburo.  This is Vehicle Seven. All glory to the Progressive People's Party, and the Committee for the Preservation of Temporality. Vive La Revolucion!  Do you have any data to share on when the temporal alteration took place?  Have you linked up with any other temporal vehicles on our side?  Do you have any data to share on the current timeline?"

PT

"Vehicle Seven of the Worldwide Politboro. This is Vehicle Fourteen." Screw the dumb chant. I didn't catch it, and it will probably cost me. Damn my defective memory. "No data as of yet, we are still searching."

I cup my hand over the radio. I can only hope that they have just started listening in on the conversation in here. I try to shut the radio off myself. If that is not possible, I'm going to stab the speaker with my knife. I will not have a bug in here with us. (Paranoid? If these are Commies, I have every right to be.)

You hear something mumbled in reply about letting the teachings of Marx guide you, and then a shout of fear in Russian.  You feel a sense of familiarity again.

"We're bracketed!  Local timeline temporal craft. Two of them." Another Russian curse.

And yes, it seems to have a means of turning off the radio.

PT

I check the impluse to panic, and then it occurs to me that we are not the ones being targeted, unless they have counted the crew and happen to know somehow they are not Russian. I don't think I'll be turning off the radio, though. Information works both ways.

"We are going to go ally hunting." I tell Dr. Carmine cheerfully. I am going to try and follow my sense of familiarity to its source. I suspect that this "familairity" I keep sensing happens every time someone distorts time. I want to follow it.

If it is us, I'm going to feel really stupid.

You follow that sense across the sky, and see two triangular shaped craft struggling to keep pinned in the air space between them a flying saucer like yours.

"Be a good laddie, and land. We've got you, and I see no purpose in shooting you down."

"How do I know you won't kill me?"

There's a shocked gasp.

"My word as an Englishman and an agent of the Royal Temporal Commission!!"

PT

I discreetly hide my craft behind a cloud or an embankment. Anything to keep this bulky craft out of sight of the others. I'm not sure who's winning and if I even need to intervene. I'm in a stolen Russian craft. If the British have one prisoner, I fail to see where this would harm me in the slightest. But if they see me, they will draw the conculsion that I am an enemy. For now, I'm back to observation mode. Patience and a keen ear will solve most of my problems.

You slip behind a cloud and listen.

Its like listening to the radio for a football game.

"What is that? The Royal Temporal..."

"We police the timeline.  We insure vandals and looters are dealt with.  Now we don't have a record of you, so ...."

"Okay, I'll land."

"Follow him in...he's swerving.  No! Lord Joshua!....you filthy lying....I'll get...."

"Stupid fools." Followed by some heavy breathing as someone recovers from fear.  "Stupid.  They actually believed me."

PT

I need to locate that craft. But I don't need to be confused for the enemy any longer. That's right, I'm choosing sides.

I turn on the radio and say, "I'm coming out from behind this cloud. Don't attack me, because I'm not your enemy." I turn to Dr. Carmine. "Either this is really smart, or really stupid."

I slowly drift out from behind the cloud.

You see the flying saucer #7, and two burning smoke waterfalls in the sky.  Your 'bud' in the Worldwide Politburo smoked two agents of the Royal Temporal Commission.

Doctor Carmine makes a sound like she is gagging, but then stops.

"Fourteen, I thought I told you to jump to safety, find some data.  Lucky those RTC whatevers were stupider than a bunch of newborn lambs.  They actually believed I would keep a promise.  Hah!"

PT

Does this craft have onboard weapons? It never occured to me, because I should have noticed something along those lines if they had been clearly marked. I start looking for such weaponry, but if I can't find it, I'm not going to worry. I'll simply follow this guy for as long as I can.

"Don't worry, Doc. This guy will either end up helping us out, or he's going to be answering for those pilots he just killed."

There is a pull mechanism just like the one on a pinball machine for loading the steel ball under the dashboard, next to your right knee.  Its out of the way, and out of the line of sight unless you're looking around and below for it.  And from the center of the cabin, the back of the chair would mostly hide it.

Next to it is a red handle which appears to be able to wobble a bit with a trigger on the inside of it.

Carmine pulls the 'pull' and you both hear a ka-chunk, and "Missile One is armed."

PT

"Thank you." This directed towards Carmine, of course. I fire the missile at my unsuspecting target.

While this goes on my brain goes into Intorspection Mode. I've noticed that everyone I've attacked with the intent to kill has been attacked from ambush. Admittedly ruthless on my part, but what's victory if it kills you? In addition, for all I know, the British deserved this attack. But I've already made my choice, and the missile is away.

So much for being subtle.

You fire at him, dead on, and certain that he can't escape.  He flops to the left on his side, and then in what surely has to be an inspired piece of dementia, he flips his saucer so that its falling backwards and spiralling downwards on its tail.

Its the kind of move no one would plan to do, and just insane enough to escape most of the blast of your weapon which scythes through the space he was in, and explodes but forty feet from his current location.

He's falling madly, I'd say like a drunken brick, except faster, and he's trailing a small stream of white smoke.

PT

"This is your captain speaking," I say to Dr. Carmine as my target weaves like a drunkard. "Please remain in your designated passanger seats. We will be experiencing a little turbulence."

I dive at him to close the distance and fire a second missile. If he dies, I now want my presence known to the British; if he survives, I'll only get everyone on this ship killed by holding still. My element of surprise is lost, but I still have the initiative and I plan to use it.

You dive and he continues to weave like a loom set on overdrive, and your second missile misses.  He starts to pull out, forced by the low height, and as he slows, you catch him with a third missile dead center.

<Fwooommh>

And then its time for you to try to pull out.  Its complicated by the cloud of debris  which you end up flying lower and to the right of and as you level out you hear a 'tink' and than a 'chunk' and the saucer shudders a bit.  You're getting rained on.

"Only four more, and I'm an ace!" Doctor Carmine exults with a pumped fist. "Um, that was really tacky.  I used to play Dawn Patrol with my brothers. I forgot this is not a game."

PT

"That's okay. I have been forgetting that myself lately." I than think for a moment. I've never heard of Dawn Patrol. And I fancied myself a gamer geek.

I'm trying to pull up and out of this shrapnel storm. Slowing down is also on my list of things to do. This vessel does have hover capabilities, last I checked. I don't have to maintain air speed velocity to avoid a stallout.

You slew to a stop, and wait.  There is one more tink on the roof, and then the shrapnel storm is over.  But you hear a faint roughness in the engine.

"Okay, facts.  One, we're in a flying saucer that has some sort of engine I'm not familiar with.  It seems be low-performace, but quite small.  I mean, one of the jet fighters from my time could kill this thing, but the jets are larger, and not as maneuverable."

She counts off on one hand.

"Two. Alternate time lines.  You say two.  One the Worldwide Politburo who I think we both agree are nasty, treacherous scum.  Two, the Royal Temporal Commission which was British and aristocratic."

You nod.

"But there is more.  In  my original timeline, we had Time Tourist, Inc.  It took rich folk back in time for them to snoop on their ancestors.  And I suspect there is the timeline you originally came from.  So thats four."

PT

"Sounds right to me." I'm really not sure, but her theory sounds better than anything I've thought up so far. But one thing puzzles me. "Not to confuse the issue further, but I didn't travel through a time machine to begin with. It really doesn't explain my presence here. Maybe I got blown through some kind of hole in time?"

Listening to the engine, I start bringing the craft down. If the British fight like I do, they'll probably shoot a Russian craft first and ask questions later.

I'm going to see if the radio still works. If it does (I have a hunch it will), I say the following:

"Excuse me, Royal British Guys. As you can tell from my distinctly Yankee accent, I'm not Russian. Around me are three destroyed craft, two of them are yours and one is Russian. The craft I am in is a stolen Russian craft with some light damage sustained. Don't kill me, over." At least now they'll ask questions first.

"Hole in time. Great. This just keeps getting more and more confusing."  She gripes, biting her fingernails, and then pulls out a small notepad, and begins to make notes.

There is a pause of a minute, and then you hear over the radio.

"If you give your parole, we are bound to accept it, but be aware that I know your kind to be unscupulous dogs unworthy of the title of gentlemen.  And so I shall not hesitate to use lethal force."

A single RTC craft appears with a feeling attending it.

"Very polite." Carmine says making a note.  "Hope you're up on your bowing, and thee's and thou's"

PT

I'm not sure if he just lumped Yankees in with Russians or what. I can't say I really care either. "Sure," I say, not entirely certain what he's asking for. "Parole given." Apparently I'm being taken prisoner.

That familiar feeling again. I still haven't narrowed down what it means, but it seems to cling to these temporal breaches and devices. That sounds like a good theory.

Turning to Dr. Carmine, I add, "No, I'm not educated in courtesy, but I know enough to know that thee or thou will offend them. Don't use it, no matter how tempting it might be. It implies intimacy or inferiority. And if they use it, yes, they are being rude. But I am getting the impression we might be prisoners, so I doubt they'll really care." I step outside of the ship and await the arrival of the RTC craft. I'm armed, of course. They get to carry weapons, so do I. Mine are just lightly concealed. I've got my pack on too, and remind myself of the shotgun within.

The flying wedge lands with its front facing your back.  A man in a kilt and red jacket and pistol gets out of the vehicle.

"I am Lord Arthur Montgomery, and you two are my prisoners.  If you will put any weapons down on the ground so that my valet may pick them up, I will then take you to Pranzil House where you will be detained until we sort out your status."

A small robot rolls out past him, and up to you.  It extends a silver tray for you to put your weapons on.

PT

What the heck. I'm in a good mood. I put both of my projectile weapons and the dagger on the tray. "Robot valet." I observe. "Is he programmed to gripe about the lousy paycheck?"

He quirks a smile.

"Only an American would think like that.  You Yankees ought to be grateful the British Navy protects you from the world, or else they would surely have invaded you by now to stifle the jokes."

Doctor Carmine whispers to you.

"Ok, now I'm weirded out.  Last I checked Britain was a second rank power like Japan and Australia and Russia."

PT

"Guess we lost the Revolutionary War." I shrug. "Bummer." Man, what kind of deranged history is this? I liked America. Sure, the legal system needed a little tweaking ($1,000,000 lawsuit over hot coffee you spilled on yourself?) but the chaos was actually interesting at times.

"So...now what?" Turning back to the British guy. "Since when did England get conquered by the Scots?" I guess Braveheart has a slightly different spin in this timeline.

"Never." He says, and then follows your gaze to the kilt.  "Ah, well its in fashion to remember our ancient roots.  I rather like it, myself in the mix of the Anglospherice homogenization one needs to remember that a subject of the Queen from Australia is not the same thing as a subject of the Queen from Japan, eh?  And no, you Yankees did not lose your War, but with the growing power of the Commonwealth it made sense for you lot to allow us to have naval bases along your Eastern Coast.  People just naturally gravitate toward the mightiest nation in the world, and ask for its protection.  But you two seem to be talking as if you don' tcome from this timeline? Where are you from?"

PT

Oh, the Scotch would loooove this. Knowing that of the subcultures in England, theirs came out on top. This future is still terrible, though.

"No, we are not from your timeline. Never mind the specifics," crushing an urge to tell him how his nation owes two WW victories to our involvement. "The point is that we have a Russian craft, and I just quashed a serious attempt to alter American history. Now can we get a move on or are we going to stand here all day while our enemy figures out why two of their craft have disappeared?"

"Right then."  He pulls out a long stick of something wrapped in cardboard, and snaps it.  Then he tosses it into your vehicle.

"Come along." He waves to his vehicle.  "I apologize, but I'll have to confine you sir.  The lady doesn't need cuffs, of course."

You see sparks, and then small burning metal from inside your time machine.

Once inside, he hands you a pair of cuffs, waits until you put them on, and then turns to start his vehicle downtime.

"It will take a couple hours to reach Pranzil House in 1906 where Lord Eli Pranzil invented the first time machine."

PT

I really don't like the idea of being confined. I especially don't like having done it to myself. At least my hands are in front of me. That way if some horrific stroke of fortune occurs, I still have a fighting chance.

A shame about the time machine, too. I suppose it needed to be done, but I would have preferred using the enemies' technology against them. And the idea of not restraining women? Apparently the James Bond movies never came into existance in this timeline, otherwise they might have some different ideas about that subject. These guys are begging for Russian infilteration.

I'm hoping the KJB is just as predicatable and stupid as their British counterparts.

Carmine quizzes him, and he lets slip something about thinking you two are Temporal Cops before apologizing, and shutting his mouth.

Carmine looks at you and mouths "Five?"

You arrive over a pastoral estate, and land in a barn at the far edge of the complex.

"You cannot leave this barn as you might interfere with earlier time."  He opens the hatch and you hear "Ride of the Valkyries" blaring forth from some loudspeakers outside the barn.

"Strange. Let me go investigate, sir and madam."  He pulls his pistol out....

PT

Oh, now this is wonderful. Trouble might be occuring, but my hands are confined. I won't be able to reach a weapon quicly enough for me to counterattack. I'll have to resort to a retreat if trouble occurs. And I hope the Doc would have sense enough to follow me, because if she doesn't, I'll probably die doing some heroic (and therefore, stupid) action trying to buy her time to flee.

"More." I mouth back to her. I recall my arrival here. I saw a lot more than five possiblities, enough to have convinced me that I was in some kind of cosmic house of mirrors. I quietly go for cover and try to encourage her to do the same. No point being caught out in the open during a firefight.

The Doctor and you slip off the timecraft, and walk into a huge barn with horse stalls on the right, and a break room on the left.  Its a bizarre mix of normal farm and organization.  In fact, the break room is very nice.  Its got antique tables, and....you wrench your attention back to the task at hand.

You slip into an empty stall, and plop down on some fresh hay.  The horse next to you kicks the stall walls.

And through the air, from multiple sources you hear really loud opera, and the occasional crump of heavy weaponry.

PT

Man, I am glad I decided to leave. Heavy weaponry is a little beyond my current scope. I'm probably in the base of operations for a secret group of some kind, so it's time to start searching for weaponry. Discretely. I ask Carmine to watch the door and make sure no one surprises us.

I haven't slept in a while, nor have I eaten. Fatigue is probably setting in. But survival demands that I push on. I need a weapon. Melee or ranged, whatever my eye notices, I'll take it as long as I don't think it would be noticed without a search. If I find it, I return to the stall, cover myself in hay in a corner and wait. I'm not sleepy now, as I'm probably running on what I call "manic energy," although tonight I'll probably be out for a good twelve hours or so.

You spot an axe in a stack of tools against one wall.  It looks like it would not be missed even if there was a search.  You also see a scythe, and a ten pound sledgehammer, and a chisel.

There is also several 'wedge' craft in the barn, and one assumes they have on-board weapons.

PT

Wedge craft... I think to myself with a smile. So much for the ambush tactics. The problem with that idea would be insuring that I didn't get myself confused for the emeny and subsequently killed. I second guess myself and decide to keep things ground level. I take the axe (I know how to split wood, and with a few mental adjustments for moving targets...) and move myself to a concealed area. Hopefully, whoever comes in here will want to occupy it. Because if they decide to blow up the barn instead of coming in here I'm going to feel retarded.

An octogon about five foot tall of metal on four spindly legs eight feet tall steps delicately into the room.  From it blares opera.

A port in the side opens. Its about one foot square.

There is something inhuman about the vehicle/device/whatever.

PT

'What the (insert preferred four letter word) is that thing?' I think to myself. 'So much for the ax' is the other thought following it. I remain hidden. This is an unexpected turn of events and I don't know what side this thing is on, if any. I hope Dr. Carmine has the sense to keep her head down and her wits about her.

A cannon rolls out of the port.

Bwhaoomm!

Fire and smoke roll out of the octogon, and one of the wedge craft explodes.  Burning pieces fly everywhere.

You can see that the cannon is reloading for the other craft.

PT

Okay, I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I'm presuming it is an ally, unless this is an invasion and the Russians have brought portable artillery to the party. In that case, I die in the crossfire, and that's that. I think. This potential enemy is beyond my current ability to fight, especially since I know nothing about it. On the other hand...

I just got one of my really bad feelings thinking about it. While it is reloading, I choose this time to strike. I strike at the machine's spindly legs while it is locking on to the other craft and pray this thing is built like a B-movie robot. I'm aiming for a knee joint and preparing for the thing to turn its attention to me. I hope this thing doesn't have a Hand-to-Hand program.

If its an ally, I think they will understand the mix-up. If its an enemy, while then, this position is compromised and I'm dead anyways.

You slice the control cable in its leg. It wobbles, tries to stand,a nd then flops over.

"Human. You will be destroyed the Singer is the next stage in Cosmic Evolution. Silicon will replace Carbon!"

And then you hear a chant outside.

"Silicon will replace Carbon. I come to your aid, brother."

Meanwhile the Ride of the Valkyrires keeps playing...
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:14, Sat 02 June 2007.

'This is bullcrap.' I think to myself.

"Replace this." I raise my axe and attempt to smash the unit's top open. I can't call Carmine for support, as that would make her a target. If I kill this unit, I'm moving for the surviving wedge craft. I need bigger weapons and I'm apparently outnumbered by a lot of religiously fanatical robots.

You smash in the top as it squeals, and sparks fly.  You sprint to the nearest wedge craft and are just entering it when the next Silicon Brother enters the broad door of the barn.

PT

I throw my axe at it, not having much time for any other action and get in. Screw seat belts and other safety, I shut the hatch and gun it straight for this metallic bug, intent on running him and anything else in my way over. If I survive, I plan to double back and strafe their survivors with the onboard weaponry. Anything I can can't pancake or shoot I'll take them out hand-to-hand. Carmine has trusted my judgement so far and I'm not going to shortchange her by fleeing.

<CRUNCH>

You flatten the bot, and soar out of the barn, and over a battlefield of WW1 English troops (a bit more gaudy than what you're used too, though), and Singer robots attacking them.  The robots seem to have the upper hand.

You start strafing, and one, then two are out of it, and things are turning the defenders way, and then fire slashes past your window from the right and above.

PT

This is NOT my day. A stray bombshell or heavy artillery piece could level that barn and kill Carmine. It's occurred to me that she thinks I've left her to die. Not much I can do about that misconception from here except to shoot as many of the Singers close to the barn.

Still, I can't help anyone if I am dead. In addition, I'm flying Russian craft if I had to guess, so they will think I am the enemy. Wonderful.

I engage in evasive manuevers, putting distance between myself and my assailants, then I plan to double back and take out more of them. An aircraft can engage in this kind of energy war against ground troops with an astounding rate of success. Sadly for me, the Singers have the right response in mind: stand ground and shoot back.

'I'll do my best.' I think to myself.

You're flying a British craft.

You circle back around, and see on the ground a large mother ship with Singer robots trudging out of it.  Its just over the hill.  Over the next hill, you see a gent and a lady on a narrow road driving a horse and buggy.  The black-coated guy is pointing up at you with utter astonishment on his face.

PT

I go over my options. Now I'm presuming there is a good reason aside from the difficulties involved in dealing with aircraft that the Singers were trying to destroy these. I look at the crafts controls and try to figure out what this thing can do, and how I'm going to turn around at high speeds without blacking out or killing myself from the G-forces involved in such a maneuver.

(I'm trying to learn on short notice if I have any weapons other than 'machine gun' and how to fly this craft.)

There is a ripple flare of unguided rockets as well.  Push a button and eight rockets fire in sequence and take off heading in the general direction of where you pointed them.

You sideslip, and half-roll the craft as you get a bit more confident in your skills.  Still haven't done a loop, and definitely not an Immelman loop, or a barrel roll.

PT
OOC: Add @1 to Flying Repulsor Field Aircraft.

Eh...good enough. All I really needed to now was whether I had the capacity to do some real damage. (Bwahahaha!) Apparently this represented technology applied to make the pilot capable of ignoring G-forces to a point. Those shmucks on the ground won't don't what hit them.

This battlefield is way too hectic for anything but a plan of "kill as many of them as you can and try not to die." Before I reenter the combat, if I can play my own loud music (preferably Megadeth's Symphony of Destruction, me being culterally sensitive, but any known rock tune will do), I'll blare it from my own sound system to rally the troops below.

I wave out the window to the people below me, turn around and fly back into the fray. I aim for the entrance of the Singer's carrier and launch a volley at it when I think I'm close enough to hit it. Hopefully that will shut down the stream of reinforcements and maybe do some real damage to the interior. I'll strafe any other enemy in the vicinity, with the exception of those close to British positions. I don't want to kill my allies on accident.

The rock song blares out forming a counter to the larger volume put out by the Singer bots, and the occasional trumpet blowing of the British troops.  You wave, and the flag bearer flips his Union Jack in return salute.

The rockets ripple fire.  One heads straight in.  The second does too, and then dives straight down with no warning to blow up a tree.  The third and fourth get in the general area of the hatch.  The fifth takes off for the stratosphere.  The sixth drops early and plows into a dense formation of bots blowing up four and wounding one more.  The seventh and eighth run straight in with one of them actually going into the open hatch.

There is dust and destruction and machine parts flying, but it does not seem to have slowed them down much although you did cost them between fiften and twenty bots, and a damaged ramp.

The tip of your left wing disintegrates as flame stabs from the ground.

PT

That will throw off my movements a bit until I can get used to the idea that my wing is somewhat damaged. I'm not sure what was throwing of the missile signals quite like that, but I have a feeling this isn't going to be as easy as I would like. Still, I haven't seen any enemy aircraft, which is a good sign. I haven't seen any allied aircraft either, which is a very bad sign.

I continue as planned. I fire a second volley towards the mothership, this time aiming for the ramp itself, and then veer off to the side so as not to make myself vulnerable, and to avoid crashing into my intended target. I've already considered the worth of a kamikaze. I'd rather have a victory I'm around to celebrate. My goal is to slow them down and buy my allies time.

UNGUIDED Rockets--think really large bottle rockets.

And you have one ripple.  Push the button and thats it.  Quite crude technology actually.  The modern day equivalent is the infantry MLRS although they are probably guided.  This is WW2 tech for rocketry.

PT

Okay, I'm out of ammo when it comes to explosives. Unless there's something I've overlooked, time for unconventional tactics. Retreat. I return to the barn and cut down any Singers in the area. I need to secure a landing zone and get Carmine and myself out of here. This area has become too dangerous for civilians, and I lack the weaponry or simply the creativity to do more damage to the Singer's invasion force. But I have an escape route, and I plan to take it.

You dive down, and open the hatch, and wave Dr. Carmine over.  She runs over to join you, and dashes inside.

"This is insane." She says as she belts up.

You grunt, and launch into the sky leaving the Singers and the British far behind.

PT

"Insane isn't the word I would use. I don't know what the hell is going on any more." I follow this with a silent prayer to God that their was enough room in this vessel for both of us and that I escaped with my life. "We can't get answers from the British it seems, as they have problems enough of their own. We'd get bogged down in months of bureaucracy and by that time it might be to late to get anything worthwhile done. We don't have a time travel ship, so that pretty much leaves us stranded here unless there is something I've overlooked."

I sigh out of sheer weariness. "If you have any ideas of your own, I would appreciate them greatly. I'm running out of ideas that extend beyond 'live to fight another day.'"

Carmine looks over at you, and weariness etches her features.  However, just beyond her face you can see a missile heading your way.

Over the loudspeakers you hear.

"Silicon will replace Carbon!"

You frantically twist the craft out of the way, and get a sight of an octopoid flying craft firing another missile at you....your craft shudders....a pause....

KABOOM!!

PT

=====================================================================

And we'll continue with Mentat and Dr. Carmine in another world....