The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history

by James S. Peet

  “Thank you.”

  Pulling out the map of Atlanta he had purchased in Memphis, Bill then asked the young man where they would be able to find their destination. “We’ve got an address, but don’t really know how the house numbers compare to the streets.”

  Upon being given the address, the clerk studied the map for several seconds, then pointed to an intersection near the street.

  “Should be right about there.”

  Bill thanked the clerk, folded up the map, and headed toward the front door, leaving the clerk puzzled as to why the stranger would want to visit an industrial park.

  Once outside, they consulted the map, Bill pointing to where they were going. They already knew the airport was fairly close, so they weren’t surprised to find out their destination was less than a mile away.

  “Cab or foot?”

  “Still cool out, so a nice walk seems in order,” Bill responded to Lane’s query. “Besides, it’ll give us some more time to stretch our legs and work some of the kinks out.”

  “And less opportunity to actually interact with the locals. I’m getting a distinctly unfriendly vibe about this place, even if I am a Southerner.”

  Bill had to agree with Matt’s comment, the pistol tucked away in his shoulder holster a reminder of just how unfriendly a place it could be. It would also save some of their dwindling funds.

  “Well, shall we?”

  With a nod, the three began the mile-long walk to the industrial park.

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived at their destination, an industrial-looking building on the outskirts of the small airfield. “Industrial” in the Confederacy was a bit different than industrial on Hayek or places Bill had been to on Earth. Rather than a modern-looking building with large expanses of glass, this was a worn-down brick building with small windows facing the street. A roll-up door was next to a small wooden door, which apparently was the main entrance. A freshly painted sign over the smaller door read Air Confederacy.

  A large crowd of men was standing in a line in front of the building, smoking or chatting. Bill estimated there were over two hundred men lined up. The parking lot was jammed with cars, and more were arriving every minute.

  “Looks like we’re not the only ones interested,” Matt drawled.

  Bill couldn’t agree more. “Should prove interesting.”

  Past the building, Bill could see the airfield, a single concrete runway surrounded by grass. Even on Hayek, airfields, with the exception of Bowman Field, typically had small fences surrounding them to keep people and animals from wandering onto the runways. There wasn’t one around this airfield. Definitely not Hartsfield, he thought.

  Then again, ain’t the US of A I left behind, either. His planet and country of birth had become saturated with security measures after the terrorists had stolen airplanes and crashed them into the financial buildings in New York, Chicago, and San Francisco that fateful October morning. Any airport in his United States had fences topped with concertina wire and guards armed with fully automatic rifles and vicious canines patrolling on foot.

  As the three approached the group of men, Matt called out to them, “Y’all here for the flying car?”

  Most nodded, and a couple responded in the affirmative.

  “Guess we’re in the right place, then.”

  One of the group, an older man with a white mustache stained by tobacco, said, “There’s a sign on the door. Say’s it’ll open up at nine promptly, but the show’ll be out back. Gotta sign in first, though, so y’all might’s well hop in line.”

  Matt nodded, and the three made their way to the back of the long line.

  Bill looked at his watch. Another thirty-five minutes to go. Looking around, he spotted a small café in a building across the street.

  “Anyone want some coffee? I sure could use some.”

  Matt and Lane turned to where Bill was looking. “I’ll get it,” Matt offered. “Less likely to draw attention.”

  The others couldn’t argue with that logic, so while they waited, Matt made his way over to the small café.

  Bill and Lane stood quietly in line, but not without noticing the glances Lane was drawing. Clearly, non-white people who weren’t black were a curiosity in the Confederacy.

  Matt returned less than ten minutes later, carrying a cardboard tray with three paper cups of coffee. By that time, Bill estimated that the line had grown by at least a hundred more men. No women, just all men. Accepting the cup Matt handed him, Bill noticed that styrofoam didn’t seem to have been invented on this timeline. Either that or they just don’t use it for hot drinks, he thought.

  As the three sipped the hot brew, which was quite good, the front door of the office finally opened. A wiry man on the near side of thirty stepped out. Like many in the Confederacy, he was dressed in a business suit, albeit somewhat rumpled. The man looked tired, but also excited.

  “Howdy. Y’all here for the flying auto?”

  A series of nods, grunts, and affirmative responses greeted him.

  “Great. We got it in the back of the building, so come on in, sign in on the sheet we got set up on the front desk, then make your way to the back. You ain’t gonna be disappointed.”

  The man went back into the building, and the line of interested men began snaking their way in after him. The three Explorers had just finished their coffees by the time they arrived at the front door.

  As Matt signed in for the three of them, Bill looked over his shoulder and saw he had written Discovery Corporation as the firm they represented. Bill inwardly approved of the take-off on the Corps of Discovery’s name for their deception.

  After signing in, they were each given a glossy brochure with the company’s name and a picture of a levitated car on the cover. Bill took a glance at it before they followed others into the back of the building, which turned out to be a large warehouse with bench seating surrounding a tarpaulin-covered object on a small stage. Lights from above lit the ivory-colored tarp, and Bill could see a rope attached to the top of the tarp extending to the ceiling, clearly intended to be used to pull it up and out of the way for the unveiling.

  The three found their way to a bench closer to the back of the room than the center. Fortunately, whatever was under the tarp was big enough that Bill could see it, even over the heads and shoulders of those in front of him. The murmur of subdued but excited conversations filled the room.

  Bill and the others began perusing the brochure. It provided some basic information about the company with information on desired funding and expected sales by year and country. Germany and the United States weren’t included in the report; Bill wondered about that. According to the brochure, the company was keeping the development and manufacturing process a trade secret and wouldn’t be filing for any patents. Good luck with that, Bill thought. Anything that one man can come up with, another could duplicate. Ironically, Bill didn’t even consider the gate that allowed him to pass through to the various Earths in the same category.

  Looking about, Bill noticed the two men sitting behind them were dressed slightly differently than many of the other men here. It wasn’t anything outrageous, just a slightly different cut to their suits and a different material. More like linen and a lighter material. Not trying to pay too much attention to them, Bill continued his perusal of the crowd. It was then he heard one of them speak slightly above the noise of the crowd. The accent was distinctly different than the Southern drawl he had been hearing for days, more of a clipped British twang, but not one he had heard before. It seemed to have a bit of a Germanic harshness to it, but not too hard, almost like a South African accent, but not quite.

  As he continued scanning the crowd, another group caught his interest. Four men in front of him were also dressed slightly differently, but with clothing more suited to a cooler climate. He nudged Matt with his knee and tilted his chin up in the direction of the men. Matt picked up on Bill’s request, and leaned slightly forward. After a couple of minutes, he leaned back a
nd spoke quietly to Bill.

  “Germans, or something similar. They’re talking about how they can get a sample of whatever it is we’re gonna see.”

  Bill nodded. “Guys behind us are probably British subjects. Bet they’ve got the same idea.”

  “A bunch of us do, I’m betting.”

  It couldn’t have been more than another ten minutes before the man who had greeted them hopped up on stage next to the object. Holding up his hands for attention, he waited until the room was quiet. Every eye and ear was trained on him.

  The man dropped his arms.

  “Thank y’all for coming out here this fine morning. My name’s Morton Ford, but you can call me Morty. As you most likely read in the paper and the brochure you picked up on the way in, we’re a small company looking for investors for our little invention.” With a flourish, he waved toward the tarp which rapidly rose, revealing a plain-looking convertible automobile, one that reminded Bill of an old Chevy Corvette from the 1950s. It was a bright red with a white streak down the side.

  “I know, it looks just like a Dixie Flyer. Well, that’s because it is. Well, mostly. What’s different is what we’ve done under the skin.

  “Ain’t no eight-cylinder here. What we’ve got is something we call adjustable repulsive electromagnetic technology, sorta like a super-magnet, but more powerful and with the ability to recharge when degaussed.

  “I’m sure most of you know how magnets work; one pole is attracted to the opposite pole while repulsed by the same pole. Because of that, man’s been looking for a way to trap that repulsive energy into a perpetual motion machine. Well, as we discovered, that ain’t quite easy, and maybe ain’t possible. But what we did discover was a way to increase the repulsive forces with increased input of electrical energy and actually be able to move things more than a couple of inches.

  “And the great thing is, our material is light enough you can put it in a standard automobile and fly about. Try doing that with your typical ferromagnetic metals. I won’t go into the physics behind it, but suffice it to say, it works. So, this here little Dixie Flyer now really lives up to her name.”

  With that, Ford opened the convertible’s driver side door and climbed into the car, closing the door after him. After a minute of looking down at the dashboard and tinkering with something out of sight, the car began to levitate with a slight humming sound. Within seconds, it was several feet above the stage. Bill was suitably impressed. Looking about, he could see the others were, too.

  “Don’t be scared, but I’m gonna circle the room,” Ford called over the more or less loud murmur that had arisen from the crowd of men, many of whom were no longer sitting. “No need to worry, as there ain’t no forces gonna be pushing down on you.”

  With that, the car slowly began a circle around the room, passing several feet over the heads of the standing crowd. Nobody was sitting anymore.

  Bill looked for any signs of cables or ropes holding the car up, but he couldn’t see anything. Damn, this is for real! On the grille, he could see an emblem with the word “Dixie” embossed on it. Apparently, Dixie was the name of the auto manufacturer.

  After a couple of circles around the room, Ford landed the auto back onto the stage and was soon standing on the stage.

  “Okay. Y’all saw a little of what it can do. If you’re interested in becoming an investor, then please take a seat. If y’all think this is a buncha hooey, well then, the door’s that way. Don’t let it hit you on the butt when you leave.” The latter was said with a smile, but Bill could tell Ford was serious.

  Several men got up shaking their heads and made their way out. Bill heard one say to another as they passed his bench, “Gotta be one of them magician things. Ain’t no way, no how that’s for real.” Privately, Bill disagreed.

  When all was said and done, there were still several hundred men in the room, which had begun to warm up as the morning progressed, despite the high ceiling.

  “Listen up. We’ve got another Dixie Flyer converted and waiting outside, so those of you who still think what I did was some sorta magic trick, we’re willing to disabuse you of that notion by taking you up in one. Mind you, we ain’t gonna go too high or for too long, ‘cause it looks like a bunch of you are interested. But, before we head out to see them, you gotta hear my sales pitch.” The last was said with a genuine smile.

  “Simply put, we need six million dollars to get this thing off the ground.” A short pause, and then he amended his statement. “Well, not off the ground. We already did that. But we do need the money to set up production. If you read the brochure we handed y’all, you’ll see we need new facilities and manufacturing equipment. We’re also gonna need employees. We figure, once we start production, the sky’s the limit on sales. Literally!”

  That brought a chuckle to those remaining.

  “Our company is currently set up with two million shares. We figure we’ll start off selling a million of these shares at six dollars a share. Mind you, that’s Confederate dollars, not paper dollars from the U.S., Franklin, or any of those other places. We’re also open to taking gold and silver, but at the same price. Our accountant calls this ‘par’. For those of you that ain’t accountants, that means what we currently value the stock at, and what we’re willing to sell it for. So, all shares sold today go for par.

  “We won’t be going to PeachTree Plaza, Wall Street, Frankfurt, or Bond Street for any financing until we’ve got our factory up and running and customers coming. That means that if things go the way we expect, y’all will be rich.” A quick shrug, “and if they don’t, well, we all lose.

  “So, before we talk about how many shares you want, let’s head out to the loading dock so you can actually experience what we’re selling up close and personal like. If you want a ride, line up in front of the table. You’ll need to sign a waiver, ‘cause ain’t no way, no how, we’re gonna want y’all or y’alls next of kin suing us if’n you fall out when we’re up there.”

  The crowd was already moving. Fortunately for the three Explorers, the seats they had found were near the door, so they were among the first in line to sign the waivers. Considering their background in aviation, it was no wonder all three were lined up. About twenty meters behind the table were two Dixie Flyers, the red one, and another painted powder blue. After Bill had signed his waiver, he looked around and saw a larger group of men standing by, not in line. Most of the men in line were young, around Bill’s age, with some probably over thirty. Very few of those wanting a ride were in their forties or older. Bill’s initial thought was What are they waiting for? and then it dawned on him — most of them had probably never been in the air before. Most travel on this planet was by car, train, or boat. Travel by air was not only unusual but probably unlikely by many. I’ll have to be suitably awed when I go up.

  “Discovery Corporation? Where’s that out of?”

  Bill turned back to the table and saw Ford holding three papers, which he assumed were the waivers that the three Explorers had signed.

  Before Bill could say anything, Matt chimed in.

  “Yeah, we’re a California Republic-based company, always on the lookout for new ideas.”

  Ford looked at Matt somewhat suspiciously.

  “But you’re a Southerner. Memphis area, if I’m correct.”

  “Yeah, but there’s money and jobs in California.”

  Ford nodded. “That there is. Wish it were so here.” He brightened and gestured to the Dixie Flyer parked behind him. “So, you guys ready to go up?”

  The three men nodded.

  “Okay, so, who’s first?”

  “That’ll be me,” Matt answered.

  “Well, let’s go.”

  As the two men walked toward the powder blue Dixie Flyer, Bill could overhear Ford asking Matt, “You ain’t afraid of heights, are you.” If only you knew. Bill smiled inwardly.

  A second man, about the same age as Morty, but beanstalk tall and thin, approached Bill and Lane. “Y’all Clark and We
st?” They nodded.

  “Which one of y’all want to go up first?”

  Bill was surprised when he heard Lane answer, “I can wait.”

  “Well, then. Let’s go.”

  Bill and the new man, who introduced himself as Chuck Hill, headed toward the bright cherry red Dixie Flyer.

  As they got into the car, Bill realized it was his first time actually sitting in a car on this planet, other than the truck he’d rode in when they first started out in Yakima. This one was a lot nicer than the truck, the white leather seats being unscratched and smelling like new. It didn’t have quite the same new car smell Bill had experienced before leaving Earth, though. There was no smell of newly formed plastic, rather just leather and polished wood and hot steel.

  “Ever been in a Dixie Flyer?”

  Bill shook his head while looking for a seatbelt.

  “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

  “Seatbelt,” Bill replied, just as he realized there wasn’t one.

  “Ain’t one, yet. Good point, though. We’re thinkin’ of putting them in, sorta prevent customers from falling out. So, don’t do something stupid, like jump or fall out. I’ll try not to flip us.”

  Bill chuckled at the man’s joke. At least, he presumed it was a joke.

  Watching carefully while trying not to appear to do so, Bill took mental notes of the start-up procedure as the car first made the humming sound and then slowly lifted off the ground. Turn switch to “On”, pull on dashboard lever. Okay, that’s pretty easy.

  The car started moving forward toward the airfield, first slowly and then with greater speed. Bill tried to see how Hill was accelerating, but couldn’t see. Looks like the steering wheel’s controlling direction.

  Bill saw the Dixie Flyer with Matt head out onto the space above the airfield’s runway. “Uh, are we going out onto the airfield?”

  “Yeah, the controllers gave us permission. Probably a lot safer than just flying around downtown Atlanta, don’t ya think?”