“Can I help you?”
“Sure can. Our party of four just arrived in town and we’re looking for accommodations.”
“Certainly, sir. We can fit you in.”
“One of our party is black.”
“Black?”
“Yes. African-American.”
“African-American? Is that like colored?”
“We’re from the Republic of California, so it might be we use different terminology. Somebody of African descent.”
“Yep, that’s colored, or Negro. Never heard ‘em called black or African-American, though.”
Bill shrugged. “Regardless, can we find accommodations for him?”
“Oh, sure. We got a colored section in the rear. More like a bunkhouse, but it’ll do.”
“Could he share a room with us?”
The clerk looked aghast.
“Sir, we are not that type of establishment!”
Then he picked up on Bill’s visible puzzlement.
“Let me explain. There are different types of establishments that cater to whites and coloreds. The first is this type: a respectable hotel. The second is basically a house of ill repute.”
A light dawned in Bill’s head. “Ah, I see. So, there’s basically no place where the four of us could share a couple of rooms.”
“I don’t know what it’s like in California, but there ain’t no place in the Confederacy that’ll let a colored and white stay in the same room. Hell, most places won’t even let a colored stay in the same building. We do because we get a lot of trade from all over, and some people like to bring their servants. “If you look behind you, you’ll see the colored reception area.”
Turning, Bill saw a small desk, similar to the one he was standing at, manned by an older black man, his hair almost snow white. A white mustache covered his upper lip, accenting the darkness of his skin. The man looked half dead, that’s how old he was.
“Just have your boy check in with Uncle Joe over there. He’ll get your boy squared away.”
Turning back to the clerk, Bill asked if they had a room that could fit three. He was told one was available, and the cost was one dollar per person per night, except for their colored boy, who would only cost a quarter.
Bill pulled out a Republic of California silver dollar. “Will this work?”
The clerk took the coin from Bill, inspected it carefully, then nodded. “Yep, should be fine.”
“All right, then.” Bill took the coin back from the clerk. “Let me find out what the others want to do, but I’m pretty sure we’ll be staying here.”
When Bill stepped out of the hotel, he saw the others leaning against the front railings of the hotel’s porch, packs resting on the porch floor. He walked over to them, slinging his pack off his back and setting it next to him. “Here’s the situation. Blacks can’t stay in the main hotel; they’ve got to stay in a bunkhouse at the back.”
Bill looked directly at Jordan.
“If we want to share rooms, we’ll have to find a place that caters to mixed crowds, and from what I gather, those are all places of ill repute.”
“Well, that sucks,” Jordan said, low enough for the others to hear, but not too loud that it carried beyond their small group.
“Agreed. So, what do you want to do?”
“I can suck it up. Something tells, me, though, it’s gonna suck like this for some time.”
“Afraid you’re right. And somehow, I don’t think leaving for home by yourself right now would be a good move.”
“I’m thinking the same thing, Kemosabe. Way these people are, they’d shoot me just on general principle.”
The others just nodded.
“You might want to use your sleep sack. I’m betting the beds aren’t the best.”
Another groan escaped Jordan’s lips. “Why the hell did I ever agree to this?”
“Because you’re the strong, silent type,” Matt said, giving Jordan a grin of encouragement. “On a serious note, though, we can certainly use you. The Commandant was right. Other than the issue with the customs agent, nobody’s even paying attention to you, while I saw several people staring at us.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re funny looking.” This said with a soft grin.
While Jordan went to the Colored side of the hotel, Bill and the other two went inside to the White side and got registered. As the hotel was only three stories tall, there was no elevator. Luckily, their room was on the second floor. It consisted of a pair of queen-size beds and came with its own bathroom. As with the hotel room in St. Louis, there was no television.
Matt set his pack on the bed and inspected the sparse bathroom. “At least we don’t have to wander down the hall in the middle of the night.”
“So, what’s the plan for supper?” Lane asked as he began unpacking.
“Don’t know. We could eat downstairs, but Jordan wouldn’t be able to join us, or we could try to find a place that will serve all four of us.”
Matt was taking in the conversation between the other two from the bathroom door. “Yeah, good luck with that. This place is worse than the South on our Earth, and I thought that was bad enough. There’s a reason I left there as soon as I could.”
“Yeah, I spent some time in the South when my dad was flying F-16s, stationed in South Carolina. I thought they were pretty bad there, too, even with the moderating influence of the Air Force, but that’s nothing compared to this.” Bill shook his head remembering his time there.
“Regardless, we’ve gotta eat and learn some more. Matt, I want you to find out from the desk clerk about trains to Atlanta. Be sure to find out where Jordan can sit. I don’t want us separated too much. And besides, he’s supposed to be operating as our silent ears.”
Matt nodded. “Will do.”
“I’m going to head down to the bar downstairs to try to find out some more about the customs and cultures. No need for anyone getting hurt because we did something stupid. Last thing I need is a repeat of St. Louis.”
Finished with his unpacking, Lane, book in hand, sat down in one of the stuffed chairs near the window. “Think I’ll stay inside and read a bit. Less of me people see, the happier I think we’ll all be.”
Bill and Matt made their way down the stairs.
“I’m getting the feeling that the Commandant didn’t quite know what we were getting into,” Matt said. Bill had to agree with him.
“I mean, I expected Jordan to get the cold shoulder, but I don’t think this is what he signed up for. Christ, it’s as bad, or worse, than what the South was like before the War Between the States.”
Matt stopped talking as they entered the lobby and the two men split up.
Bill entered the dining area, which, fortunately, didn’t have any diners at the moment. A young black man approached him.
“Seating for one, sir?”
“No, thanks. Just wanted to get a drink at the bar.”
“Certainly, sir. You just let me know if you want dinner, and I can either seat you or bring it to the bar.”
“Thanks.”
Bill made his way to the bar and ordered a whiskey from an old black man who physically looked like the epitome of Uncle Remus, his full white beard wrapping from temple to temple, attached to the fringe of hair surrounding a balding pate, and clean-shaven above the upper lip.
“Any particular brand, sir?” the old man asked.
“Not really. Whatever you recommend works for me.”
“Very well, sir. Jack Daniel’s is always a good sipping whiskey, made right here in Tennessee.”
Bill grinned slightly. “Yeah, that’ll do.”
As the man set his drink on the bar, Bill said, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
The man looked back suspiciously.
“Certainly, sir.”
“I’m not from around here. Matter of fact, I’m from out West, traveling with a bunch of other guys, one of whom’s black. I mean, colored. So, I’m not too familiar with the customs d
own here. What can you tell me so I don’t get me or my friends in trouble?”
“Whooo, you askin’ a lot, sir. Where to begin?”
For the next hour and two drinks, the old man told him just about everything he needed to know to stay alive in the Confederacy. More importantly, he told Bill everything he needed to know to keep Jordan alive. He also agreed to spend some time with Jordan after he got off work to fill him in.
Shortly before finishing his second drink, Bill was joined by Matt and Lane. The bartender looked askance at Lane, but didn’t say anything, just served him the whiskey Lane asked for.
Bill took a sip of his whiskey. “So, things are a bit different than we learned.”
“Looks that way,” Lane said, setting his glass down.
“I’ll fill you in after supper. Meanwhile, Angus here,” Bill nodded in the direction of the bartender, “said he’ll get Jordan up to speed.”
Matt, about to take a sip of his own whiskey, stopped the glass in midair. “If I know Jordan, he’s already on top of that. Probably talking with some of the others in the bunkhouse.”
Lane’s gaze swept across the empty dining room. “So, when’s supper or dinner or whatever it’s called?”
“We call the evening meal supper down here, sir,” Angus told Lane. “And it’s usually served starting at five, but most people like to eat later. Dinner is the big midday meal. Unless, of course, you’re from up north — they call the midday meal lunch and the evening meal dinner.”
Lane nodded.
Bill had noticed the front porch had a number of seats on it and asked Angus if one could take a drink out there.
“Certainly, sir. Don’t even need to buy it from the hotel, although they do prefer you do.”
“Can our companion join us out there?”
“Well, he’d have to sit in the Colored section, but it’s definitely allowed.”
Bill thanked Angus and suggested to the others that they get in touch with Jordan and have him join them on the porch.
The four gathered on the porch, whiskeys in hand, and rather than sit and watch the show passing by on the street below, they leaned their butts up against the rails, facing toward the hotel. Jordan made sure he was on the side designated for Coloreds.
“How you hangin’?” Bill asked.
“Doing okay. Bunkhouse is nothing to brag about, but I do believe it’s somewhat cleaner than that dump in St. Louis. Added bonus, the bathrooms are clean, too. Gotta say, though. This place sucks, big time.”
“You getting any intel on what to expect and how to act?”
“Yep. Keep my mouth shut, stay away from weapons, and most definitely don’t ask where the white women at,” the latter said with a slight grin.
“Always with the wisecracks,” Matt said.
“Hey, if you were in my situation, what would you do? You got any idea what it’s like to be black in this white supremacists’ wet dream?”
Bill was slightly taken aback by the outburst, as were the others.
“I was talking with the bartender, Angus, and he gave me some pretty useful info,” he said, interrupting the unexpected heated byplay between the two friends. “Seems like the safest way for you to travel is if we pretend you’re the servant of one of us. Less chance that somebody will do something, like shoot or whip you.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. To take it a step further, I’m gonna recommend that the unreconstructed reb here be my new massa.”
“Why him?”
“Yeah, why me.”
“Simple, chucklehead, you’re the only one here with a real Southern accent. The others can’t even fake it well. Besides, it wouldn’t seem fitting to have Californians or Hawaiians having servants.”
Bill and the others had to agree to the logic behind that statement, despite the rather harsh delivery.
“Okay, it’s settled. You’re Matt’s servant until we get out of this place. Matt, your new priority is protecting him. Got that?”
Matt nodded. “Sure do.”
Turning back to Jordan, he said, “Y’know, I’m gonna have to say some shit to stay in character here, such as calling you “boy” and such. You gonna be okay with that?”
Jordan gave Matt a serious look. “Matt, I’ve known you for two years. If there’s one good ole Southern white boy that ain’t got a racist bone in his body, it’s you. I’m cool.”
“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, on to other stuff. Matt, what’d you find out about the trains?”
Matt took a sip of whiskey. “Well, trains suck here, but they’re cheap. I’m gonna have to go down to the train station tomorrow and find out the schedules, but it looks like we’re gonna have to catch at least two separate trains. One from here to Birmingham, then from Birmingham to Atlanta. You want me to try and get a sleeper car?”
“No. If Jordan’s gonna have to ride in the Colored section, there probably isn’t a sleeper car available for him. Wouldn’t be right if we were in one and he wasn’t. Besides, how long a trip can it be? It shouldn’t take all day. Heck, if I recall, it’s only about a six- or seven-hour drive.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it took us a week.” Matt gestured around. “Look at this place. No automation, the infrastructure, at least what we can see, is falling apart. And after talking with the hotel clerk, it sounds like this is pretty much the norm in the Confederacy. At least, ever since the British Dominion decided to get into cotton production. Seems once they did, it took away a lot of the South’s market share, causing an economic slump.”
“Well, find out and book us tickets early tomorrow morning. The sooner we get out of here, the better I’ll feel.”
Matt touched his hand to his forehead, a mock imitation of a salute. “You got it, boss.”
Bill turned around and looked at the city street, watching the pedestrians and traffic pass by. He took a sip of his whiskey and continued to stare. “So, anyone got any thoughts on how we’re gonna find this anti-gravity device.”
“I’ve got an idea.”
All heads turned toward Lane.
“Look, if it’s a military thing, it’ll be at a military base. If it’s not, it’ll be at a research or manufacturing facility. From what little I’ve read, it seems to point toward non-military. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The others nodded.
“Then, what we should probably do when we get to Atlanta is investigate research or manufacturing facilities, specifically air transport type businesses. There shouldn’t be that many of them.”
“Especially since air transport isn’t that big here,” Bill said. “Anyone seen an airplane yet?”
“I saw some when we were crossing Deseret,” Jordan answered. “Looked sorta like an old Ford tri-motor.”
Matt chimed in. “Me, too, along with a couple of blimps or dirigibles or whatever those things are called.”
“Anyone see any jets?”
The other three just shook their heads.
“So, there’s an air industry here, but sorta stuck back in the days of prop jobs and airships.”
A taxi pulled up and a white couple got out of the car. Immediately, a black bellhop, previously unseen by the four Hayekers, exited the hotel and approached the couple. They spoke briefly while the taxi driver got out of the cab and opened the trunk. Extracting two suitcases, he handed them to the bellhop, who proceeded to follow the couple into the hotel.
The four just watched the action, not saying a word. None of them had seen the bellhop before.
Bill said, in a low voice, “I wonder how much he heard.”
Jordan responded. “Won’t matter much. I don’t think he’ll tell a white person?”
“Good point.”
Matt and Jordan left for the train station early the next morning after a quick breakfast. Bill decided he wanted some maps of Atlanta, so he asked the front desk clerk where he could get them. The clerk directed him to a service station a couple of blocks away.
“Most service stati
ons carry maps of the states and the larger cities. If you can’t find what you’re looking for there, you should be able to get one at the train station or at your final destination.”
Bill thanked the clerk, returned to his room, and told Lane where he was going.
“Hang on. I’ll come with you.”
Bill waited until Lane put on his shoulder holster, verified his pistol was loaded, then put on his vest. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
The walk to the service station was relatively brief. Once again, Bill was struck by the apparent poverty and crumbling infrastructure. At one point, he could see down to the river onto one of the commercial docks. It was stocked high with large bales of what he could only assume was cotton.
The service station looked like something out of the past, with gas pumps that reminded Bill of the 1930s. The red fuel pumps had a circular sign above them advertising “Gulf Petrol.” He wasn’t surprised to see that the fuel measurement meter was an old-fashioned analog wheel type. I doubt that they even know the word “digital” here. The station was manned by several white men wearing white coveralls. Two were sitting on chairs outside the station’s entrance, so Bill approached them and asked about maps.
“Y’all ain’t from around here, are you?” the older of the two asked.
“I guess my accent gave it away, huh?”
“Yep. Where y’all from?”
Bill explained about being from the Republic of California and needing some maps for their journeys throughout the South. He had no desire to let them know their specific destination.
“Should have some maps of those places inside. If y’all don’t find what y’all are looking for, let me know.”
Bill thanked the man and went inside. It looked like just about any service station with a convenience store. Maps were in racks on the counter, cigarette packs occupied racks behind the clerk, and there were several small aisles with shelves stuffed with all sorts of local snack foods. There was even a small row of glass-doored refrigerators containing beverages and some food. Bill smiled when he saw the familiar red-and-white labeled bottles of Coca-Cola.
Flipping through the map rack, Bill found one of Atlanta. He wasn’t sure, but the city looked like it was smaller than his Earth’s Atlanta. He picked out another identical map, along with maps of several other cities, and paid for them once the attendant returned inside.
The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history Page 68