The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862

by T. L. B. Wood

"I got you a Kindle," I replied. "You like to read and turning pages is a problem, so you can download books on this and use this stylus to progress the pages." Since I lacked a home computer, I'd given it to Peter to set up an account and begin to download books. There was already a sizeable history collection available. "You can adjust the font as you get older and need bigger type," I said, laughing. Also, I'd ordered a nifty cover from a company in England that made one that looked and felt like an actual bound book. I'd chosen "The Hound of the Baskervilles" cover and also had Peter download the entire Sherlock Holmes library, knowing Kipp would enjoy having his brain challenged by a good mystery.

  He hopped over the discarded wrapping paper and jumped up to put his massive paws on my shoulders, as I struggled to keep my balance. The next thing I knew, I got a sloppy, wet, lupine kiss all over my right cheek.

  "Gee, a thank you would have been enough," I said, trying to dry my face with the sleeve of my robe.

  Lily was next, and in her impatience, she managed to snag my right forefinger with her claw as she grabbed the catnip mouse from my hand. The last we saw of her, she was low crawling, slinking along the baseboards, mouse in her jaws, before she disappeared down the dark hallway to the rear of the house.

  "And not a word of thanks," I muttered. "What an ingrate."

  Fitzhugh waited patiently, smiling as I put a box in his lap. I crossed over to my wing chair, now vacated by Lily, sat and curled my feet beneath me. The old symbiont raised his eyebrows and stared at me for a moment.

  "I didn't get you anything," he said.

  "I know," I answered. "But I wanted you to have something I found that had you written all over it."

  He almost seemed like he was trying to preserve the paper, considering the care with which he removed and creased it as if he might reuse it later. Kipp became impatient and was almost dancing up and down as he eyed Fitzhugh's slow fingers. Finally, the box was revealed as Fitzhugh pried open the top. I could tell from the look on his face that he was pleased.

  "It is an Irish sweater," he said, holding it up.

  I'd picked a tweedy looking cardigan, brown with flecks of navy and olive, with leather patches on the elbows. It seemed perfect for a librarian, and I thought he could use it when he resumed work.

  "Is this my return to work sweater?" he asked, as if he was reading my thoughts even though I knew he was not inside my head.

  "Yes," I answered simply. Philo had told him that he was to be at Technicorps on the first work day after New Year 's Day. "You have about another week to loaf around and then you will be earning an honest living again," I added, smiling at him.

  He nodded his head. Standing, he removed his robe and pushed his arms through the sleeves of the sweater. "A perfect fit," he announced, turning so that we might view him in his magnificence.

  Chapter 11

  "Peggy has done a wonderful job of organizing things while I've been gone," Fitzhugh remarked as he settled in my small car. Somehow, he, Juno, Kipp and I all managed to squeeze in and ride the short distance home. I'd cranked the heater up to full blast and was gratified to hear it roar in response. There was a dusting of ice on the road, lingering from the previous night, and I slowed down as I felt the rear wheels slide a little in some left over slush. Kipp, who thought he was my copilot despite no license, poked his cold nose up against my neck. It was a mild chastisement.

  I admit it was totally childish on my part, but I felt a little hurt... just a tiny bee sting of something that didn't quite feel like jealousy... but I was confident it was a feeling lacking in nobility. After all, I'd been there, too, working with her, so it wasn't as if she had come in and conquered the library on her own. And even Peter had been reassigned to help her become adjusted to Technicorps and the filing systems we used.

  "I was thinking, if you don't mind, Petra, we might have her over for dinner one night?" Fitzhugh asked. He was wearing the cardigan I'd given him beneath his heavier coat. I don't think he'd missed wearing it one day since he opened the box.

  "Yeah, whatever you want to do," I responded in a lackluster way.

  Fitzhugh glanced over at me, but I doggedly focused on the road in front of me. I think I was afraid if he saw the expression on my face that he might recognize what a child I was being and how silly I was to feel I was left out of this new, special relationship. After all, I'd worked for years to get to this place of mutual respect and unexpected affection, and it'd only taken Peggy, an upstart, about four minutes. Looking in the rearview mirror, I caught Kipp's eyes staring back at mine.

  "What is wrong?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. He knew only I could hear him when he spoke thus to me and felt emboldened to push the issue. "You sound like you are jealous of Peggy, or something."

  I pretended to ignore him and acted as if my sole concentration was required to negotiate the slippery road which really wasn't that bad. With a twist of the knob, I turned off the loudly slapping windshield wipers, since the glass was long since clear. Looking up, I saw Kipp's eyes still looking at me. Well, great, I thought. I couldn't even wallow in self pity or have a private moment and just get away with it by lying and brushing it aside. I had a persistent symbiont prying into my brain, and there was nowhere I could tuck those thoughts and feelings away from his nagging enquiries.

  "I guess it was nice feeling special," I said lamely in response to Kipp.

  "And you still are special," he answered. "Peggy will never have the kind of closeness you have with Fitzhugh. But aren't you glad he likes her? Would you rather he detest her and that would somehow make you more important while he was miserable?"

  Well, darn it. There was just no lying to a symbiont. Maybe I did need to return to London, marry Harrow and disappear.

  "No, you don't need to do that," Kipp replied. "Anyway, you like sweat pants and being a slob, and you'd have to dress up all the time in those fancy long skirts. And you can't pour a decent cup of tea for the life of you."

  "It would be nice to have Peggy over for dinner, Fitzhugh," I said aloud, responding to the old symbiont's enquiry, after having made the decision to act like a well-adjusted adult for a change. "I've only seen her at work, and she probably has few friends in the area." Glancing at him I smiled across the small expanse that separated us in the car. "Just pick a day, and I'll make vegetarian chili, since it's so cold out."

  He smiled back and began to prattle on about a new project they had tackled together. He seemed to forget that I'd been in the library, too, working all day. I tried not to grit my teeth and glanced at Kipp again in the mirror.

  "We need to get on with our job, Petra," he said. "Fitzhugh is okay, and it's time we resume our work with Peter and Elani. Once you get some distance from this, you'll feel better."

  I wasn't sure where he got his degree in counseling, but he was right. I needed to return to my purpose in life.

  * * *

  "Philo," I began, after having taken a seat in his office, "I need move ahead with Peter and Elani. It's time, and Fitzhugh is doing great, medically speaking."

  "How's it going, you guys all living together?" Philo asked. Reaching up, he removed the reading glasses that were a relatively new adornment and massaged the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. He was aging, in the slow manner of our kind, as was I. Kipp, who knew of my plans to meet with Philo, was downstairs in the learning lab with the juvenile lupines. I'd started my day in the library with the usual pile of translations. It was much too easy to get comfortable there, even though I grumbled at the tedium of the work.

  "Surprisingly well," I responded. Glancing down, I saw a big mud clod that had inexplicably been attached to the toe of my right boot all morning. From the back of my head, I heard Kipp giggle; he'd known about my nasty boot but said nothing, thinking it was amusing. He was right in that I was not fussy enough to survive on Harrow's elegant arm at some high brow soiree. "In fact, he can stay as long as he likes," I added. "Juno is a dear, and Fitzhugh reads a lot or just putters a
round. He's not critical of my sloppy housekeeping and actually cooks on occasion."

  Philo's dark eyebrows scooted up almost out of sight on his high forehead. It was clear he was surprised at my passive surrender at having lost my privacy. "I think your Whitechapel trip changed you in more ways than you might have counted," he said. At my look of surprise, he remarked, "I can't imagine you would have been this resigned in the past to having three new, uh, bodies, invade your space."

  Well, there was probably some truth in what he said. I'd lived in Harrow's home for months and came to enjoy his companionship as well as that of Mac and the household staff. And then there were the boys at the school who tugged at my heartstrings with their winsome and mischievous ways.

  "But I agree; it's time for you and Kipp to return to your job of tutoring Peter and Elani. I'll make the necessary reservations in Chattanooga, and you can leave by the end of the week, if that's okay."

  A few days later, I was standing at the front door of my house waiting for Peter to arrive. It remained harshly cold outside–that kind of cold weather that makes one's skin hurt—since we were only in the third week of January; the glass storm door was covered with frost as I stood with my nose almost pressed against it. Peggy had volunteered to pick up Fitzhugh and Juno each morning since he didn't drive, but it was still early for her arrival. In some ways, I was grateful to her and hoped she might continue this practice when spring arrived. It was time for me to begin walking to work with Kipp as I'd done before the arrival of Fitzhugh. I heard soft steps behind me and turned. Fitzhugh was dressed for the day, Irish sweater in place and neatly buttoned.

  "Be careful," he said, avoiding eye contact with me.

  "I will," I replied, avoiding eye contact with him. Tenderness between the two of us was a fleeting thing, tenuous and unpredictable.

  Thankfully Peter arrived, and I was in the SUV, Kipp safely in the back with Elani, in less than two minutes. Peter was warmly dressed even to the point of a knit hat covering his dark hair, which still managed to curl loosely around his ears and neck.

  "We're going a different route," he said. "There was snow last night in the Smokies, and I'm sure the roads are a mess or even closed."

  I admit it was pleasant to be on the road again with him. Kipp appeared to be more relaxed with Elani as I listened in at their playful banter from the back of the SUV. There was no need to rush, and Peter didn't drive with his normal excessive acceleration. He, as usual, insisted upon driving, so I stared out the window and enjoyed the scenery. Since it was mid January, the landscape was dry and withered; a gray starkness hovered over the physical world in vivid contrast to a cloudless blue sky above.

  "I hope Peggy is enjoying working in the library more than I did," Peter remarked, darting a glance at me from beneath his dark forelock of hair.

  "Seems to," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. I didn't really think Peter was trying to gossip but decided to take the high road nonetheless.

  "I've been wondering about something related to time shifts," Peter said, managing to change the conversation nicely. "Why don't we actively look for other symbionts or colonies when we travel back in time?"

  "We're not actually prohibited, but it's not advisable for the very reasons we don't reveal ourselves to humans. Our species can't take a chance on altering history, and it would be hazardous to go back and inadvertently let things slip about the future to our own kind. And the mere dynamics are mind boggling... sort of like trying to figure out when time started or where outer space stops. Let's say I travel back to the time when I was ten years old and encounter myself and my family of origin." I looked over at Peter who diligently kept his eyes on the road. "You can see where that would be unwise. I have met other symbionts during time trips, and it is tricky. We typically can "ping" one another from a distance and probably need to keep our contacts brief if they occur at all."

  It had been considered indisputable fact that symbionts lacked the ability to travel into the future. Our existence was linear, and we could only return to the date of departure plus the amount of time actually gone. With skill and experience, I could come fairly close to hitting that mark within a few days or a week. That sort of precision was an asset and the mark of the efforts of a disciplined team. Kipp's achievement of having progressed in the timeline when he joined with me to travel was, in itself, remarkable. To date, no researcher at Technicorps had been able to explain that little anomaly. Kipp effortlessly avoided their attempts to define his existence.

  Lookout Mountain was located to the south and west of Chattanooga; Chickamauga stretched over the rolling landscape just a little farther west. Peter bypassed the city since our accommodations were on the outskirts of the town proper. We located the hotel where we had reservations and stowed our meager gear.

  "What game have you brought?" Elani asked, her tail wagging slightly with excitement.

  "Clue," I answered, laughing. "You'll like this one."

  We decided to drive through the park to get a sense of the topography and general layout and return on the following day for a time shift exercise. Since we were still at the point of Peter and Elani just learning to make the coordinated shift, we really had no particular destination and wouldn't remain for any measurable time. But as Peter slowly drove through the park, he began to plan our most ambitious journey, if we could convince the Twelve to issue an approval.

  "I'd like to visit the time in history when the General was stolen," Peter announced.

  "That's pretty specific," I replied, raising my eyebrows. With effort, I stopped myself from making any other negative remarks.

  He glanced at me, and I knew he was trying to figure out the best way to convince me of his wish. Elani and Kipp crowded together and poked their heads between the seats so that all four of us were jammed in the front of the SUV.

  "I figured it would be low risk," Peter began. "There was no fighting in Atlanta at that point in history; the actual combat wouldn't take place until later. We could travel south after we leave here and visit the General which is housed in a museum in Marietta. I thought that experience would help ground us and tie us to it."

  "Go on," I said. So far he was thinking logically about the trip.

  "Then we could ride on down to Atlanta and find the general location where the train station, or Car Shed as it was called, would have been. This will further give us an attachment point. My thought was that we would time shift to 1882 Atlanta, ride on the General to its stopping point where it was hijacked and witness the event. Then we could return home."

  Considering some of the things I'd done, this one seemed to have a mild risk element involved. There was no actual warfare in the area, although there were troops–both formal and informal militia groups—and there was no loss of life during the actual theft of the General. Our main issue would be to get the timing down, and we would only hit the correct date through sheer luck and the influence of Kipp's superior talents. At best, we'd be a few days off, but that was typical. For a timing exercise, it would prove to be a good test.

  "We'll run it by the Twelve," I answered. "They will either approve it or not."

  We completed a drive through Chickamauga and decided to return the next day, if the weather held. In less than an hour, we were at our hotel with bags full of food we'd ordered. We gathered in my room, where there was a small table with a couple of chairs. I had a Greek salad while the others ate hamburgers. After Kipp finished his third large burger, he sighed and stretched out on the floor.

  "I'm good," he announced with satisfaction. "Glad they left the onions off." He saw me eyeing his unfinished portion of French fries. "Help yourself." I got down on the floor next to him and shared fries drenched in ketchup while Peter chatted about the General and events of the time.

  "The South was at a disadvantage, strategically. It was limited by the number of main railroad lines moving into and within the region. There was only one trunk line running from Chattanooga to Atlanta, and both of those citi
es were important rail centers. So, in order to move goods, troops, ammunition, anything, that main line—the Western & Atlantic Railroad or the W&ARR, as it was called–was critical. The North realized the strategic importance of disrupting the railroad services and even more so recognized that those lines utilized a large number of wooden bridges to cross rivers and other natural barriers. Any spy or soldier found burning a bridge to disrupt the rail lines was executed, sometimes on the spot.

  "James Andrews, the leader of the raiders, was a mystery man. He'd been smuggling goods into the South and developed contacts who trusted him. However, he took information gained back to the Federals for their use in the war effort."

  I had long been interested in the Civil War and had made many time shifts to that period and met various people whose names resonated in history. Of course, having been born in 1604, I was alive during the war but didn't live in the States at that time and didn't experience any of it firsthand.

  "Andrews wanted to steal the General, take it north to Chattanooga on that critical trunk line, burning bridges behind him as he went. None of it transpired as planned, mostly due to the stubbornness of the conductor of the General, Bill Fuller."

  Peter continued on for a while with the enthusiasm of a young fanatic who was consumed with obtaining knowledge about a specific event. I leaned back on Kipp and enjoyed listening to Peter as well as allowing Kipp and Elani to process the information. After all, Kipp and Elani would have to agree to this time shift, too. It was not purely Peter's call.

  "Peter, if I remember correctly, wasn't it raining constantly during that whole episode?" I asked, my voice couched in innocence.

  "Yes," he replied, his face screwed up over the strangeness of my query.

  "Well, then, we'll have to contend with the smell of wet dog the whole time," I replied, digging Kipp in the ribs with my elbow. Kipp, growling playfully, grabbed my braid in his mouth and threatened to pull me across the floor by my hair until I begged for mercy.