Independence Day

by Bob Mayer

  “Yet the Spartan king did not listen, no matter how clear it was,” Scout said. It had been given almost forty years ago to the reigning king in Sparta. He was the one who’d incited the ongoing war with Thebes.

  Scout abruptly halted, her heart rocked with a sudden shock.

  “What is wrong?” Philip asked.

  “Great sorrow,” Scout said. “A parent grieving for her child.”

  “There are many grieving today,” Philip said, anxious to get to Epaminondas. He continued on without her.

  Scout looked to the right, at a clump of low trees and knew Pandora was in there. With Pyrrha.

  Mission first.

  Scout hurried to catch up to the king. As they reached the outskirts of the Theban camp, they were finally challenged by a guard, who leveled his spear and demanded they halt.

  “I come from the Oracle of Delphi,” Scout said. “He is with me,” she indicated Philip.

  Those seemed to be the magic words as the sentry allowed them to pass.

  Philip knew his way about a military camp. A tent had been hastily pitched, blocking out the hot sun. One side was open and a group of men, many splattered in blood, were gathered in a cluster in the partial shade.

  Scout scanned the Sacred Band guards, trying to tell if any of them was Legion, but they all seemed normal; their primary emotions were sadness, anger and a desire for revenge for their wounded leader.

  They were not impressed with where Scout was from or who she was. Two of them crossed their spears and barred the way.

  Philip pulled back his hood. He spoke in a loud voice that carried past the guards to the men gathered around the wounded General. “I come to see my brother. My friend. Great Epaminondas. I am Philip of Macedonia, once of Epaminondas’ household.”

  One of the generals stepped forward. “And of my household.”

  “Pammenes,” Philip said, as the two hugged. “It has been many years.”

  The download informed Scout that Philip had also lived with Pammenes for a while while a captive in Thebes.

  “Come,” Pammenes said, leading Philip toward the man lying on a camp bed.

  Scout followed, ignored among all the manly men.

  Epaminondas was on his back, his head slightly raised by a blue cloak. His armor had been pulled off and a bandage was wrapped around the haft of a spear, the point still buried in his chest. Scout was just behind Philip as he knelt next to his old friend, who’d also been his captor.

  Philip took Epaminondas’ hand. The Theban rallied, opening his eyes, focusing. “Is that you, eromenos?”

  The download had a little bit of difficulty translating that term, but finally settled on beloved.

  “Yes,” Philip said.

  “Who was victorious?” Epaminondas asked.

  Philip looked up at Pammenes, who answered. “We have the field, sir.”

  “Then I die unconquered,” Epaminondas said.

  “You will not die,” Philip said.

  Pammenes knelt next to Philip. “Sir, the Spartans and Athenians have fled. I can order pursuit.”

  Epaminondas shook his head. “No. No pursuit.”

  A grumble of dissatisfaction rolled through the officers in the partial tent, but no one spoke it aloud.

  Scout looked around. No sign or sense of Pandora or Legion.

  “But if you die,” Pammenes said, “you die childless. No heir to take command.”

  “No,” Epaminondas said. “I have two daughters. Leuctra. And now Mantinea. My victories. That is more than any man could hope for as a legacy.”

  Pammenes looked at his fellow generals in dismay.

  Epaminondas gazed past Pammenes and Philip and spotted Scout. “You. You were on the hill.”

  “I was,” Scout said.

  “She is from the Oracle at Delphi,” Philip said.

  “Whatever her prophecy,” Epaminondas said. “It is too late.” His voice firmed up for the moment. “Pammenes.”

  “Sir?”

  “Make peace with Sparta. No more killing.”

  It was obvious from the look on his face that Pammenes was strongly opposed to that course of action, but once more, being king had its advantages. “Yes, sir. We will.”

  Then Epaminondas focused on Philip, who was still holding his hand. “I am happy that you can be the one to send me on my journey. Remove the spear.”

  Such was his love and obedience, that Philip did not protest his lover’s request. He unwrapped the bandage and placed his hands around the haft of the spear. He leaned forward and kissed Epaminondas on the lips. “Farewell.

  “It is time to die,” Epaminondas murmured.

  King Philip II pulled the spear out.

  The Space Between

  “This place stinks,” Lara said. The air was thick and oily, not pleasant at all.

  “That’s it?” Amelia Earhart asked. The aviatrix looked just as she had in her last photos; short brown hair, wearing a one-piece flight suit. There were a half-dozen Japanese men in Samurai armor, wielding Naga staffs, forming a loose perimeter around the two of them.

  Lara shrugged. Her coverall was soaked from her swim ashore. “You’re probably used to it. You been here since, what, forever?”

  “I don’t know,” Earhart said. “A while. But not forever. I had a life once.”

  “Yeah, trip cut short,” Lara said.

  “You’re different.”

  “From what?”

  “From who,” Earhart said. “Just different from others.”

  “You think?” Lara said, with a smile. “Duh. That’s not necessarily a good thing.” She’d stepped through the Gate and into the water here, about thirty feet from shore. Earhart and her samurai had been waiting.

  There was no sun in the Space Between. Just a dim light pushing through a gray, misty haze above, obviously not from a single source.

  Lara was taking it all in. “There’s a roof up there?”

  “I think so,” Earhart said. “We’ve never seen it though. Nothing changes. No weather. Just this. All the time.”

  “No night?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good,” Lara said. “No night. That would be good. Night is when the nightmares come.”

  “We still sleep,” Earhart said. “That’s when the nightmares come.”

  “You got a point, lady.” Behind her was a body of water, extending as far as one could see before fading out in the haze. Black water, the surface a mirror, unruffled. There were several black columns extending up, out of the water into the haze above. Their surfaces were shimmering with power, indicating they weren’t solid.

  The land was composed of a black granular material, similar to sand, but there was something off about.

  “Pretty wild,” Lara said, taking in all the derelict craft that littered the shoreline of the inner sea.

  “I’d take you on a tour,” Earhart said, “but—”

  “Clock’s ticking,” Lara said, “even though you don’t keep time here, right?”

  “Right.”

  Within sight was a rusting freighter, the Cyclops, and on the other side of it, five warplanes, the infamous Flight 19. There were ships ranging from ancient times to a modern yacht. Other aircraft, even a dirigible was beached in the distance.

  Earhart waited.

  Lara retrieved the piece of bronze from a pocket in her robe. “This is supposed to connect me to where and when I’m supposed to do whatever. I got no clue what I’m supposed to do with it. Or here.”

  “Come with me,” Earhart said. “I have an idea.”

  They walked along the black beach, skirting the various vessels, the samurai a protective cordon facing inland.

  “You have enemies here?” Lara asked, noting how alert they were.

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Valkyries,” Earhart said. “Travelers from other timelines. Refugees from other timelines. It’s a strange place.”

  “Really?” Lara said. “Didn’t notice.
”

  They passed a B-29 bomber in mint condition, the metal as shiny as the day it had flown its last mission.

  “That’s different,” Lara said as they came to a long, slim ship. A hundred meters in length by five at its beam. The hull was smooth black metal. There was no deck. A single, thin mast that didn’t look capable of supporting much of a sail extended upward twenty meters. At the rear of the boat was a raised platform with a black box centered on it. The box was two meters cubed.

  “Where is this from?” Lara asked. “Or should I ask when?”

  “Both questions are applicable,” Earhart said. There was a set of stairs cobbled together from wood leading over one of the gunwales.

  Inside the boat were rows of seats in front of the raised platform. Earhart led the way to that.

  Behind the black cube was a semi-circular panel with levers and buttons and what appeared to be computer displays.

  “Pretty high tech for a sailing ship,” Lara said. She leaned over and looked at the faint markings. “Hieroglyphics?”

  “Yes. Can you read them?”

  “I barely passed freshman English,” Lara said. She straightened and looked about. “Okay. What now? Why is this boat important?”

  “Because of the questions you asked,” Earhart said. “Where and when its from. It’s the oldest vessel in here. It’s over ten thousand years old and comes from Atlantis.”

  Preamble: The Constitution of the United States. 1789 (Maybe, if all goes well)

  We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

  The Missions Phase V

  Entebbe, Uganda, 4 July 1976 A.D.

  “I SHOULD NOT BE HERE,” Avi said. “Should I?”

  “No,” Eagle said.

  Avi put the rifle down. He turned to look at Eagle, who pulled the pistol back, but kept it aimed at him. “Will the hostages be safe?”

  “Yes,” Eagle said, without getting into the details. All the terrorist hijackers were dead or going to die shortly. Three hostages would be killed. Forty-five Ugandan soldiers. A small footnote, barely recorded by history, indicated that after this hundreds of Kenyans in Uganda would be rounded up by Idi Amin and killed because Kenya had allowed the Israeli planes to refuel in their country.

  The math of history was almost always recorded disproportionately. 102 hostages rescued at the cost of hundreds of lives.

  A victory.

  “My men’s names will be on the wall in the team room,” Avi said. “Will mine?”

  “Yes.”

  Avi took a deep breath. He turned back toward the old terminal. He picked up the rifle. “Then I will fight until my last breath.” He aimed at the Ugandans in the tower who would kill Yoni Netanyahu in just a few seconds. “We each must do what we have to do.” His finger curled around the trigger.

  With tears in his eyes, Eagle fired.

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 4 July 1776 A.D.

  The arguing in the room ceased as Doc walked in.

  “Gentlemen,” Doc said. “I suggest a compromise.”

  Livingston rose, his hand up. “Sir, this is a private—”

  “You cannot present the Declaration of Emancipation to Congress in conjunction with the Declaration of Independence as you intend,” Doc said.

  “Who are you?” Livingston demanded. “Why do—”

  Doc kept talking. “This is about the vision Mister Franklin, and Mister Jefferson and Mister Adams, had. It was a vision of possibilities, not actualities.”

  “How dare you eavesdrop!” Livingston exclaimed.

  He moved toward Doc, but Franklin’s voice stopped him. “Let us hear this, Chancellor. The man seems to know something we don’t. We are already over the precipice.” Franklin lifted his cane and pointed at Doc. “You have the floor, sir. But perhaps introduce yourself as a polite gentleman would?”

  “My name isn’t important,” Doc said. “I was sent here on a mission. In your vision you saw a war that will happen. Has to happen, as all of you know. The country will not do away with slavery without a war. If you present the Declaration of Emancipation as is,” Doc said, “it will either mean that neither Declaration is signed, or war among the colonies, and you are already at war with the Crown. Either path leads to disaster.”

  “How do you know this?” Adams demanded. “Who are you? By your skin, you come from some other country, but you do not appear Negro. I mean no disrespect but we know neither your name nor your background.”

  “I’m a scientist,” Doc said. “I’m an American. My ancestors did come from another country, as did all of yours. Once more, my name, who I am, is not important. You can judge what I say on the merits of its logic.”

  “We have enough logic in this room,” Sherman said, with a hard look at Franklin. “We hardly need any from a stranger.”

  Doc pulled out the tube Edith had given him. He slid the copy of the Declaration out, gingerly placed it on the table, among the parchments they all handled so easily.

  Jefferson took it, frowned. “How can this be? It is already signed.”

  “I brought that so you would listen to me,” Doc said.

  Jefferson looked at the others. “The signatures are there. But they cannot be. I don’t see how this can be.”

  “You don’t know how three of you received the same vision,” Doc pointed out. “I brought it to prove to you that I am a serious man. That I have access to information. So that you will at least listen to me.”

  Jefferson was scanning the document. “The changes are already implemented. My name is signed. Yours, Mister Franklin. And you, Mister Adams. And Mister Sherman.” He looked across the table. “But not you, Mister Livingston. You will not sign?”

  Livingston’s jaw dropped in surprise. “How—“ he didn’t know what to say.”

  Doc spoke, “Will you at least listen?”

  One by one, the Five nodded.

  “You have worked long and hard on the Declaration of Independence. The second Declaration is a spur-of-the-moment thing, flying in the face of what Congress dictated be cut from the first just yesterday. It makes no sense for men as intelligent as you are to do this. It makes no sense to present it as it is.” He emphasized the last word.

  Sherman seized on that. “You entered saying there could be a compromise. Your words indicate something should be changed?”

  Doc nodded. “I have a suggestion, one that fits with both sides of the argument. It allows you to take action now, yet prevent disaster now.”

  Franklin tapped the tip of his cane on the floor. “Let us hear it, sir.”

  “You present the Declaration of Independence as all have agreed upon,” Doc said. “It is signed by those delegates present, just as you see there, so it might be forwarded as a fair copy to be published, printed and disseminated. When the signing is done, you present the Declaration of Emancipation.”

  “That is not any—” Livingston began, but Franklin thumped his cane hard on the floor, silencing him.

  “Let the man finish.”

  “Then, with the most important matter completed, you present the Declaration of Emancipation,” Doc said, “with a clause of compromise. A clause of time.”

  “Intriguing,” Jefferson murmured. “A delayed implementation?”

  “Indeed,” Doc said.

  “How long?” Adams asked. “We have no idea how long this war will last with the Crown. Or if we will even be victorious.”

  “If you aren’t,” Doc noted, “then none of this matters. Let us work on the assumption that the Colonies win the independence you have already proclaimed. A United States is formed. It will take time for that formation to gel, for a working government to be established. Probably longer than most anticipate.” Doc knew he was getting into uncert
ain terrain choosing how much to reveal of what was to come.

  “It will take time,” Franklin agreed. “Declaring Independence is one thing. Winning it is another. And then what to do after we win it, without the urgency of war pressing upon our heads, will most likely take longer than we anticipate. What amount of delay do you suggest?”

  Doc laid it out. “One that allows those opposed to Emancipation a way out of bearing responsibility or even having to report it back to their state legislatures.”

  “Explain,” Sherman said, leaning forward.

  “The signing of the Declaration of Emancipation,” Doc said, “would be kept a secret. No one would speak of it or write of it after it is done later today.”

  “What good does a secret Declaration do?” Adams asked.

  “A secret for only so long,” Doc replied. “The document,” he nodded toward the parchments in front of Jefferson, “is to be amended so that it will go into effect exactly fifty years from today.”

  The five men exchanged glances.

  “That is a long time,” Jefferson murmured.

  “You could free your slaves today if it bothers you so much,” Adams said. “She would not have to wait.”

  Jefferson ignored him.

  Doc pressed the point. “Even those opposed to it believe the institution will fade away. Perhaps in fifty years, there will be no need for a Declaration of Emancipation.”

  “This is true,” Sherman said.

  “At the very least,” Doc lied, “slavery will diminish in importance. Many states will end it. The country will expand without it.”

  “Yes,” Livingston agreed. “That is already in the works.”

  It was not, Doc knew, but he added, “It also gives those who sign it the urge to work toward diminishing the institution, knowing there is a ticking clock on it. But most importantly it will-”

  Franklin cut through to the core. “--not be on our heads, because we’ll be dead. At least most of us. There are a few young bucks in the Congress who might last that long. I certainly will not. So the Declaration will have my signature but not be my onus.”