“Take one or all. Whatever works best for you.”
In the box were several types of holsters. Extracting them, Bill found a leather shoulder holster with a double magazine pouch on the side opposite the pistol holster. There was also a leather belt holster and a small leather inside-the-waistband holster. A leather belt pouch designed to carry two magazines was at the bottom of the box.
“In case you’re wondering,” Nancy said, “being armed here isn’t just a right, it seems to be a cultural phenomenon. Sorta like on Hayek, but more so. Especially since dueling is pretty much legal everywhere. You’ll see people open carrying, but don’t assume that just because you can’t see a gun that the person’s not armed.”
Bill decided on a shoulder holster to begin with, standing up to take off his vest. “Now I see why vests are considered proper attire here.”
Vest doffed, he placed the shoulder holster on. It was designed to have the pistol point rearward, and both the holster and the ammo pouches were free-hanging. When he was satisfied as to the fit, Bill picked up his pistol and a magazine and inserted the magazine into the pistol’s grip. Keeping the pistol pointed toward the ground, he forcefully pulled the slide back and let it return, chambering a round. He ejected the magazine, and after setting it on the table, grabbed another magazine and inserted that into the pistol. After holstering the now fully-loaded pistol, Bill loaded a final round into the magazine he had just used to charge his gun, and then put the two loaded magazines into the shoulder holster’s magazine pouches.
By the time he had donned his vest, he saw that the others had done the same thing, choosing the shoulder holsters over the other rigs.
Matt pointed to the two holsters still on the table in front of him. “What do we do with the leftovers?”
“Pack ‘em,” Nancy answered. “You’ll want to have them in the event you aren’t wearing a vest.”
With a minor amount of shuffling, the four men packed the spare holsters and ammo pouch into their packs.
“Y’know,” Miles said, “if you’ve never worn a shoulder rig before, you guys just might want to practice drawing a bit before heading out.”
“We actually spent a fair amount of training on similar rigs,” Lane answered for the group. Miles nodded.
Bill took a sip of his coffee and listened while Miles explained some of the local things they needed to know as a final step before beginning their quest. Most of it was common sense stuff, such as looking both ways before crossing the road, don’t start fights, and be polite; but some was a little different, such as be a bit more polite to avoid duels and don’t spend time in bars or saloons, as they were the places most likely to lead to a duel challenge.
“What about the anti-gravity device? Any further info on that?” Bill asked.
Miles shook his head. “Nothing new. As far as we can tell, it’s still in the Confederacy.”
“I’ve got something on it,” Nancy said. Opening a drawer in the desk that was at one end of the cabinet, she pulled out a periodical and handed it to Bill.
The periodical focused on military matters on North America. Bill noticed one of the pages was dog-eared, so he opened to it. There was a brief article describing the Confederacy’s possible application of anti-gravity to air transport in Atlanta, with concerns about its potential military applications.
After reading the article, Bill passed it to Lane. While Lane read, the rest remained silent.
After everyone had read it, Bill said, “Looks like we’re Peach state bound.”
Nancy produced railroad time schedules and the four men pored over them. Eventually, they chose a route. The first leg would take them into Deseret, then the United States of America. Getting into Franklin, and finally, into the Confederacy, there was a toss-up between trains or taking a boat down the Mississippi. Bill decided to hold off on that decision until the last minute, just before leaving the U.S.
“Train leaves in an hour,” Nancy said, looking at their itinerary.
Bill looked at his fellow travelers. “Guess we better be on our way.”
Standing, the foursome made ready to leave the cabin.
“C’mon, I’ve got room in the cab for one, and the rest of you can ride in the bed,” Miles said, stepping out the door.
The four Explorers grabbed their packs and headed for the door.
When Bill stepped out of the cabin, he was taken aback at the same scenery he had seen on Hayek earlier that morning. Mt. Tahoma (or Mt. Rainier, as it was known on Earth) was in the same position, just to the west, while the Yakima River was visible to the east. You’d think I’d get used to this by now, Bill thought, taking in the landscape. After all, this IS my fifth planet Earth in the multiverse.
It seemed no matter how many times he had crossed over, most times in the same location, it always struck him as odd. Even the odor was similar, a heavy dose of pine and sagebrush, with a dry, dusty taste. The temperature was also identical, something Bill had noticed on his first crossover from Earth to Hayek. It was warm without being too hot.
Parked in the yard was a black pick-up truck looking like something from the 1940s. The grill was large, with wheel wells covered with large, curved fenders. The hood looked more like the prow of a boat than what he was used to a truck hood looking like. The windshield had a distinct curve on the sides, and there were vent windows on the doors, just in front of the door window. Bill could see that the driver’s vent window was cracked open and pointed to deflect wind into the passenger cab.
“Forgot to mention, AC here is two-forty,” Miles said as they approached the truck.
Jordan looked askance at Miles. “Two-forty?”
“Yep. Two windows down, forty miles an hour, if you’re lucky.”
Bill set his pack in the bed of the truck. “All gear in the back.”
“Who rides up front?” Matt asked, setting his pack in the bed.
“Well, being as I’m supposed to be in charge of this motley crew, that would be me,” Bill said with a grin, walking around the front of the truck.
As Miles got into the driver’s side, Bill got in on his side. The truck was just starting to get warm in the June sunshine. The truck swayed as the other three climbed into the back.
“Don’t bother looking for no seatbelt. Ain’t got one.”
Bill stopped his groping about. The driver’s side didn’t have one either.
“Don’t think there’s a government mandate here.” Miles started the engine, then stuck his head out of the window. “Everyone settled back there?”
A chorus of “yeahs” responded.
Giving Nancy a wave, Miles set the truck in motion.
“Be safe out there,” Bill heard as they drove away from the cabin.
The ride into Yakima was relatively short, over a combination of gravel and macadam roads. As they approached the small city, Bill remembered his last trip on his Earth, before he crossed over to Hayek. The drive into the small town of Selah, just north of Yakima, had been on a four-lane interstate highway. That didn’t exist here. Instead, the drive into Yakima was on a two-lane macadam highway, nowhere near as populated as it was on his Earth.
Many of the small businesses bordering the road catered mainly to the farming community. Passing a lone fly-fishing shop, Bill smiled to himself, remembering his first “date” with Meri: a fly-fishing trip on the Yakima River.
Soon, they entered the city. It was a lot different than the Yakima of Bill’s Earth. It wasn’t just the lack of freeways, but the city was smaller, and still mostly agricultural. The houses were small, just like on Hayek, and Bill noticed a fair number of Asians on the street. Several stores they passed had Chinese or Japanese writing on them.
“I’m betting they didn’t have any Japanese internment camps here,” Bill said to Miles.
“You’d be right. No World War II, so no attack by the Empire of Japan on Pearl Harbor, and no internment of the Japanese. Lots of things here they never had.” Miles glanced over to Bill as
he pulled up to a stoplight. “Prohibition’s one of ‘em. No Prohibition, no gang wars. No gang wars, no need to pass gun control laws. So, if you want any type of gun, just swing by the local hardware store.” Miles grinned. “Sorta like on Hayek.”
Once the light turned green, Miles put the truck in gear and accelerated, barely missing a small boy hawking a newspaper in the street.
Bill watched the boy disappear in the side view mirror. “Hey, next time we stop, let’s get a paper.”
“Okay,” Miles said. “Forgot to mention, but there isn’t anywhere the amount of automation here as you’re used to. You’ll need to go to a ticket window to buy your train tickets. Also, if you need to contact us, it’s best to send a telegram. Long-distance telephone calls aren’t quite what we’re used to, and sometimes you can’t get through. And if you can, I hear it’s quite expensive.”
“Where would I send one?”
“To Dean Worster, Dean of Students at St. James’ University, Yakima, Washington, Republic of California. You probably have most of that already memorized, but just remember, Dean of Students. He’ll relay on to us anything you send. But don’t send anything unless it’s really important.”
It was a couple of more traffic lights before the truck came to a stop again. Miles waved over a paperboy, gave him a coin, and took the offered paper.
“Here you go,” he said, passing it over to Bill.
Bill took a quick glance at it, then folded it up and set it on the seat next to him.
“What, don’t wanna read it?”
“It’ll give me something to do on the train. Right now I want to take in everything I can. Get a more intimate feel of the place.”
The two drove along silently after that, Miles watching traffic and Bill watching everything else. He could hear occasional snippets of conversation coming from the truck’s bed, but couldn’t make out what all was being said.
Eventually, they wound up in front of a train station, with a sign in front stating “Yakima Train Depot.”
Miles pulled into a parking space in front of the depot and shut off the engine. “Here you go.”
Bill extended his hand. “Thanks, Miles. Keep an eye out for us in about three or so months. Maybe sooner if we’re lucky.”
“Stay safe out there.”
Bill opened the door and stepped out of the truck, just as the others were bailing out of the bed. Grabbing his pack, he looked around at the small group of Hayekers. “No time like the present. Let’s do this.”
The three nodded, shouldering their packs. Each man shook Miles’s hand, and each man got the same Explorer farewell.
As a group, they trouped into the train depot.
Bill was surprised to find the depot nothing like he had imagined. While obviously aged and well used, it was clean, airy, and busy.
Wooden benches, just like the ones he had seen in old movies, were occupied by families and traveling businessmen. There was nobody sleeping on a bench and no smelly homeless person as would have been seen on a similar station on his Earth. It was apparent that the culture was a bit different here.
Bill also noticed that many of the men wore either vests, short jackets, or openly carried handguns. He didn’t see the same evidence on the women. Of course, they could be packing in a purse, for all I know.
He was shocked to see people smoking in the building. While allowed on Hayek, most people didn’t smoke. His Earth had practically banned smoking in public, at least in the part where he had lived.
He started toward the ticket counters at one end of the building, the others following like baby ducks to a mama duck.
The line was short and moved relatively rapidly. Soon, Bill was facing his first “Discordian.” She was a harried-looking forty-somethingish with horn-rimmed glasses and her hair tied up in a rather severe bun.
“How may I help you?”
“We’re hoping to get tickets on the Prairie Express all the way through to St. Louis if that’s possible.”
“Let me check. How many?”
“Four. And, if there’s a student discount, we’ll be more than happy to take it,” Bill said with a smile that wasn’t acknowledged.
“You want seats or a stateroom?”
“Seats, please.”
“I’m betting you probably don’t want first class?”
“We’d love first class, but our budgets won’t.”
“All right then, four student tickets, coach class. Got your student IDs?”
Bill nodded. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out his wallet with his fake but not-fake university identification card. Not sure how well it would pass muster, he showed it to the ticket agent with a bit of trepidation. She barely glanced at it, then looked over his shoulder. The others had their cards out and were holding them up, too.
“Got your passports?”
Bill nodded, hoping not to have to pull that out, too.
“Good. In case you haven’t made the trip before, Deseret’s not too concerned about passports from the Republic, but the U.S. is.”
“First time,” Bill said, eliciting a monosyllabic grunt of acknowledgment.
“Okay. I can get you all the way through to St. Louis. Tickets are fifty dollars each. Smoking or non-smoking?”
“Non-smoking, please.” Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of small coins. Man, am I glad they had us practice with this currency before coming over, he thought, deftly handing over the correct change to the ticket agent.
She reciprocated by handing him a ticket.
“Board at Track Two in a half-hour.”
Nodding, he stepped aside and the other went through the same exchange, with only Jordan getting a strange look.
Bill spotted the sign identifying Tracks One and Two and nudged the others. They headed toward it, tickets in hand.
The cultural geographer in Bill kicked in again, and he started paying more attention to his surroundings, not just watching out for threats. Besides, I’ve got Lane along for that.
It was strange to see how technologically backward the planet was. Used to tablets, WiFi, and all the advances of a twenty-first century Earth and Hayek, it appeared he was now stuck in a more early to mid-twentieth century America.
Amazing what happens when you don’t have wars to push progress.
Even glancing at a nearby man’s wrist, he saw the watch was an analog type. No cell phones were in view, nor did he see any tablets or even laptop computers. Come to think of it, I don’t think I saw a cell phone tower the entire way.
Security consisted of a couple of police officers walking around. No metal detectors. No body scanners, no “take off your shoes and belts” lines. Just a couple of beat cops walking around.
The four passed through the large opening to the tracks and saw even more people. It was obvious that travel by train was pretty common.
The train pulled in shortly after they stepped out onto the platform. To Bill’s mind, it looked like one of the streamlined trains from the 1940s with a touch of modern. Closed windows indicated it was air-conditioned, but the overall look was one he associated with the Art Deco movement.
Boarding was a relatively simple process. Once the train arrived and disgorged its Yakima-bound passengers, a voice over the loudspeaker announced “Now boarding, at Platform 2, the Prairie Schooner, bound for Spokane, Coeur d’Alene, and points east. Please have your tickets ready.”
Bill looked down at his ticket and saw he was on Seat 8, Coach 4. Looking up at the train, he saw a number indicating that he was in front of Coach 5.
Jordan, doing the same, said, “I’m betting Coach 4 is closer to the engine.”
“You’re probably right,” Matt said in his fake accent. Bill still found it jarring.
“Well, let’s head that way and see if you’re right,” Bill said.
It turned out Jordan was. As each man entered the train, a conductor, clearly of Asian heritage, looked at their ticket, hole punched it, handed it back, and
pointed forward with a muttered, “Welcome aboard.”
Compared to the station, the interior of the train looked positively modern, with the exception of the lack of television screens or power outlets necessary for traveler’s laptops, smartphones, and other modern implements of electronic life. Cool air blasted down on them as they found their seats. After putting his pack in the luggage rack above the seats, Bill sat. He elected to face toward the rear but still managed to snag a window seat. Lane took the opposite window seat.
Jordan plopped down next to Bill and said, in his best John Wayne accent, “Well, Pilgrim. Looks like we’re really on our way.”
Naturally, that elicited a groan from the other Explorers, who had had to live with his lame John Wayne imitations since they’d first arrived on Hayek two years ago. Lane just chuckled.
“So, we’ve got, what, four days on this train ‘til we hit St. Louis?” Matt asked. “Anyone see a bathroom or shower?”
“I’m thinking showers are out,” Lane said. “Sponge bath city, sweetheart.”
“Man, this is gonna suck,” Jordan said.
“What, you get used to bathing regularly?” Matt joked.
“Unlike some of my odoriferous brethren, I truly do believe that cleanliness is next to godliness,” Jordan said with an air of haughtiness. “You should try it sometime.” While the two bantered, Bill took a look around at their new accommodations. Well upholstered seats that reclined, a folding table that came out of the wall, and there was even a call button for the conductor or porter. Bill wasn’t sure what the proper terminology was. Other than the lack of power outlets and flat-screen televisions, it could have been a train on Earth. Definitely not an evac tube or maglev on Hayek, though. He decided to take some pictures of the inside of the train. Not many, because their supply of film was limited, and they may need it further down the line. He took a couple, making sure Matt and Jordan were in some, then stashed his camera away.
Below the window was a small rack containing a couple of magazines and pamphlets. Pulling them out, he discovered that one was a basic diagram of the train.
“Hey, turns out the dining car is number five, just behind us,” he told the group.
The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history Page 64