by Mark Jeffrey
He also noticed that in the backgrounds of several pictures, great masses of tubes were hoisted above the ground. They were raised by poles, and occupied the place where telephone and power lines would normally hang. A few moments later, he came upon a picture in the crime section of someone smashing one of these tubes open and removing cylindrical items from it. This man was referred to as a “hacker” and “a menace to the PneumaNet’s security.”
Bantam presumed it was some sort of Internet.
Everything was wrong, completely off. This newspaper was like something from an alternate reality, a wrong reality. Dizziness started to grip him.
Had he traveled to a parallel world where electrical objects were never invented?
No, it was more than that. Bantam’s iPad and iPhone, not to mention the time capsule itself, hadn’t worked here. And Dr. Hardin had told him electricity didn’t exist.
A knock sounded as Cleveland’s voice called out, “Mr. Bantam. Are you ready?”
Time for some answers.
THE MACLAREN ARMY base of this world was more like a university campus. Idyllic, bucolic, filled with trees and long rolling lawns, and gardens with spectacular varieties of flowers. The base did not have the spartan, sterile feel that accompanied everything army Bantam had ever known.
The foggy morning reminded Bantam immediately of his basic training. Dew clung to the grass, and yellow shafts of dawn light danced through the leaves. Rosy-cheeked cadets shouted songs as they jogged in formation. Every time they passed Cleveland, their eyes drifted to him in awe and shameless worship. He waved with a broad movie-star grin each time.
“Well aren’t you a proper swell now?” Cleveland had said when he’d first seen him.
“What?”
“Your clothes. You look like a proper swell now.”
“What exactly is a swell, sir?”
“A dandy.”
“Excuse me?”
“A fancier. A toff. With that mitting, those kecks, and shiny crabshells, you’re a fancy lad, sure.”
Bantam gave up.
“Sorry about keeping you close. Security and all. You understand,” Cleveland said.
“It’s alright,” Bantam said, eyeing a dirigible crossing the sky. “But I wouldn’t mind if you explained a few things to me.”
“I love to converse as I stroll. Don’t you?”
“I don’t really stroll. But anyway. I gather America is not at war with Germany?”
“War? Heavens no. Friendly competition, yes. National pride at stake, yes. But not war.”
“Did World War I happen here?”
Cleveland appeared confused. “World War I, you say? No.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “But aren’t you from the future? Shouldn’t you already know this?”
Bantam stopped and furrowed his brow. “You heard about that, huh?”
Cleveland nodded.
“And you don’t believe me?”
Cleveland shrugged and laughed. “I don’t know. But like Dr. Hardin, I can’t resist a good puzzle. And boy, are you ever a puzzle! Your predictions are all horribly wrong. Your glocky little devices don’t work but Hardin says they are made of materials nobody has ever seen before. Then there’s the volcano.”
“Volcano?”
“My pardon. Did I say your predictions were all wrong? You did get one right. Vesuvius erupted right down to the minute you predicted. How could you know that? There is something to you, Mr. Bantam. But I don’t know what it is.”
Bantam sighed. “I did travel back through time. I promise you I’m telling the truth. I arrived on the right day, in the right year. But for some reason, world history here is different than what it should be. Something somewhere went wrong.”
“And then there’s the matter of electricity.”
A sharp pfoot sounded nearby. Bantam started.
Cleveland blinked and then laughed. “You’ve never heard a tube before?” When Bantam shook his head, Cleveland pointed up.
High above the ground, a network of pneumatic tubes branched and forked and twisted and turned high in the air. Exactly like the tubes he had seen in the newspaper. Small cylindrical packages zipped around inside of them.
Bantam mused. “It really is a series of tubes.”
Bantam enjoyed Cleveland’s expression for second and then said: “Listen. Is that the Pneumanet up there?”
Cleveland nodded. Two cadets on bicycles with large front wheels and tiny back wheels whizzed by. They waved at Cleveland, who shouted back, “Vim and vigour, boys! Good for you!”
“Mr. Cleveland. Cliff. Exactly how long has the Pneumanet been around?”
“At least twenty years. Parts of it were up and running before that but the serious construction started around the Day of the Red Sun.”
“Wait, what?” Bantam said. “What’s the Day of the Red Sun?”
Cleveland whistled. “That’s why I almost believe you, saying something crazy like that. The Day of the Red Sun happened in 1881. The sun went crazy. It bulged and swelled, red as blood. Then it spat out a massive coronal ejection aimed straight at the earth.”
Bantam started to sweat thinking about this phenomenon occurring.
“It hit like a ton of bricks in Europe mostly. Burned people alive. Destroyed whole forests and crops and buildings. If you weren’t underground, you got cooked. Afterward, a lot more people died from radiation and starvation.”
“Germany was hit the hardest. They were right smack dab at the center. They’ve struggled to recover ever since, which is why this space race is so important to them.
“There were a lot of rough decades after that. But the world rebuilt. One good thing that happened from the disaster of that day: a lot of good men took it as a challenge. Men of vision. Men of progress. They toiled and labored and pushed themselves to the edge and invented all kinds of modern technologies: liquiputers, material sciences, medicine, and of course the Net itself.”
“But no electricity,” Bantam interrupted. “That’s the one big difference between my world and yours. Are you sure there is no electricity here?”
“People wrote of it in ancient times but it’s mythical. Like Greek fire. Or lodestones. Or dowsing rods.”
“No lodestones either? You mean you don’t have compasses?”
Cleveland guffawed. “No. Nobody believes the old reports of sailors. They talk of mermaids and sea monsters as well. Who believes in those things today in this Age of Reason?”
Bantam chewed on this for a moment.
“But none of that is why I brought you out here, Ben Bantam.” Cleveland grinned. “You see I must confess to a slight prevarication. I have a question I want to ask. And it is a singular species of question that can only be asked in person.”
“What’s that?”
“This.” Cleveland slugged him clean across the jaw. The punch turned him around like a top.
But Bantam was not about to take that. He lurched to his feet and smacked Cleveland square in his lantern-jaw. Cleveland fell down laughing.
“Ho! Is that uppermost limit of your physical prowess?”
Bantam snarled.
Cleveland rose and began dancing around with his fists curled back in a boxing stance. “Let’s see what your made of, Bantam.”
A full-out brawl ensued. Bantam leaned away from Cleveland’s punches. Cleveland swung at air, and not connecting clearly began irritating him. “Whatcha standing so far away for?” Cleveland growled.
Cleveland’s irritation got the better of him and he began leaning in, trying desperately to land a punch. Bantam launched a roundhouse kick as his over-extended head. Cleveland instantly crumpled to the ground with a groan.
“Oy! What was that?” Cleveland said.
“Tae Kwon Do,” Bantam responded. “Want to see some more?”
Cleveland shook it off and bounced to his feet. He threw another punch; Bantam sidestepped and placed his leg behind Cleveland’s and swept him to the ground with his free arm. Cleveland landed
with a thud, again befuddled.
Bantam reached out to help him to his feet. Cleveland took the hand and sucker-punched Bantam as he rose. Bantam flew backwards.
He was about to snarl when he landed at the feet of an angel. A gorgeous brunette.
Covered head to toe in a conservative dress, she carried an open parasol. Frills spilled from her neckline and the ends of her sleeves. Her hair was pulled up into a bun with a clip at the top, like a cartoon schoolteacher. She was clearly annoyed. Bantam coughed a laugh.
Bantam rose to his feet. “Hi,” he said with an outstretched hand. “Benjamin Bantam.”
The woman examined his hand with a raised eyebrow. Bantam realized she was wearing white gloves while he was covered in dirt. Self-consciously, he wiped his hands on his trousers.
Her eyes are as bright as lasers, Bantam thought. Stunning.
“The prisoner,” she replied. “We have made acquaintance but you would scarce remember.”
“This is Dr. Rachelle Archenstone,” Cleveland said, wiping dirt from his own mouth. “She’s the one to thank for fixing you up.” As she surveyed Bantam, Cleveland made the same mock-frown he’d made back in the room. “Dr. Archenstone, a pleasure to see you.”
“I wish I could say the same for you, Mr. Cleveland. Brawling? Mere weeks before your mission?”
Bantam liked the way her nose crinkled when she scolded.
Cleveland said, “We astronauts are crazy. You know that, ma’am. I’m pleased to say Bantam is every bit as crazy as I am.”
“Oh? And this is a boon?”
“Why, yes it is. He says he’s a chrononaut. You’d have to be crazy to do that. What I’m saying is, I believe his story now.”
Rachelle looked between them, unsure what to say next. Then: “So you injure one another to adjudicate veracity?”
“That’s the short of it,” Cleveland replied with a shrug.
Bantam said, “Rachelle, is it? I suppose I should thank you for—”
“Dr. Archenstone,” Rachelle snapped with a twirl of her parasol.
“Dr. Archenstone,” Bantam repeated slowly. “Thank you for fixing me up. I guess it was you who had me moved to that nice room and put that I.V. in my arm.”
Rachelle blushed. “You’re welcome. I see that your constitution has improved remarkably and my ministrations are no longer required.”
Bantam smiled. “‘Your ministrations. I love the way all you people talk.”
Rachelle cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? What provokes such mirth?”
“I feel like you all popped out of a Jane Austen novel,” Bantam replied.
“You’ve read Jane Austen?”
“My speed’s more Steve Austin.” Bantam grinned broadly at his clever joke and then his smile fell. “Never mind.”
Rachelle nodded politely. “I suppose I shall endeavor to acquire one of his works.”
“I do like to read though,” he said.
Amused, Rachelle said, “Oh? What do you think of A Poor Boy’s Hat?” she asked.
Bantam turned to Cleveland for help. Cleveland let a low chuckle escape his lips.
“Have you not read A Poor Boy’s Hat?” Rachelle asked incredulously.
Bantam shook his head. “It’s the most widely read novel in the world right now. You remind me a bit of Willoughby Willoughby, the main character.”
Bantam cocked an eyebrow. “Willow what? Why didn’t the author name him Repetitively Redundant?”
Rachelle laughed lightly. Gayly, Bantam corrected himself. One laughed gayly in this time and place.
“You are tinsel-tongued. But you are a rake.”
“A what?” Bantam asked. “Is that like a thief?”
“A thief of hearts.”
Bantam grinned.
“I do not mean it as a compliment, Mr. Bantam. Quite the contrary.”
“You think I’m a player?”
“Yes,” she agreed, with a touch of horror.
“You have me all wrong,” Bantam insisted.
With great power comes great fun in abusing that great power.
“Do I?”
“Absolutely.”
“Very well then. What was the name of your last female acquaintance?”
Bantam snapped his fingers. “Beth.”
“I see. And how long did you court?”
“Three months?”
“Before that, who? Quickly!”
Bantam panicked inwardly. Then: “Angela!”
“You’re lying.”
“No. I’m definitely not.”
“You glanced up and to the left. When you prevaricate, that is your mannerism.”
“No it isn’t.”
“I’m afraid you did it again, just there.”
Bantam became conscious of his gaze. It was filled with the sky. Quickly, he snapped it back down and met Rachelle’s.
“Quite,” she said, smiling smugly.
Cliff Cleveland guffawed heartily. “You are poorly matched in wits here, my friend. This will be a sore hour for you.”
Rachelle turned to Cliff. “At least Mr. Bantam has the courage to engage. I believe this is the first time we’ve spoken in months?”
Cleveland’s face fell. “Given your situation I figured—”
“I speak only of polite hellos, Mr. Cleveland. If the moon itself is within your grasp, surely such a pleasantry is not beyond your seemingly boundless abilities?”
“No, ma’am,” Cleveland stammered, tipping an imaginary cap.
Bantam goggled the decoration in Rachelle’s hair. “Is that a fascinator?”
Rachelle turned white as salt. “Why, yes it is.”
“A sapphire, right? Goes well with the blue feather. From an ostrich, I’d guess?”
Rachelle could only nod, mute.
Cliff Cleveland watched, stunned. He’d never seen Rachelle mute.
“Can I hold it?” Bantam said. “Do you mind?”
Rachelle removed the gold-encrusted sapphire from her hair and handed it to him.
“Here it is,” Bantam said, displaying it clearly. “Now it’s gone!” Bantam opened both palms to reveal the jewel had vanished.
Cleveland grabbed Bantam’s hands violently and turned them over. Then, he thrust his hands into his sleeves. “Prisoner! You will return to object to the lady immediately!”
Bantam only laughed. “Settle down, Beavis. Look at her hair.”
Rachelle’s hand flew to her head as Cleveland’s eyes did the same. Sure enough, the sapphire was in the fascinator, as though it had never left.
“I am not so lucky as to have jewels in my hair,” Bantam said, his eyes burning into Rachelle’s. “I have only the stars above. A Poor Boy’s Hat.”
Rachelle gasped. “That is—that is the general—you have read it, have you not?”
Bantam shook his head with a grin. “I haven’t. I’m kind of an e-book snob, and you don’t have those here. But I figured that was the gist of it.”
“Good day to you both,” Rachelle said nervously and walked away.
“Good day,” Cleveland and Bantam said.
As she walked up the path and over the stone bridge just ahead of them, the dappled sunlight wiggling through the leafy canopy above framed her form in the soft dewy light of morning.
She turned and looked directly at Bantam for a second.
To Bantam it seemed like perfect moment, rehearsed or meant to be, burned into the fabric of reality from the beginning of time itself like a movie moment you never forget: when Rita Hayworth threw back her hair or Raquel Welch emerged from the ocean, except more subtle, more Jane Austen-ish.
A physical zing ran through him, along with an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu.
Then, she turned away, and continued on her way.
Cleveland poked him in the shoulder. “You can get that out of your head right now. She’s engaged to none other than General Veerspike. She’s an Archenstone, he’s a Veerspike. It was always to be.”
“An arranged marriage?
You actually do that here?”
“The old-money does. She’s old-money and so is he.”
Damn.
He was a prisoner in twirled moustache-times. He had no chance with Victorian prom-queen Rachelle Archenstone.
The Day of the Red Sun
BANTAM AND CLEVELAND continued their walk. As the tree cover thinned and opened to clear sky, Bantam could barely stifle a gasp. The massive black-diamond pole reached like a laser-thin line of obsidian into the forever blue above.
Cleveland smiled as he following the line of his gaze. “Ah, yes. ‘The Great Endeavor’. The bold challenge. All the best pencils in America came here to answer it.”
He turned to Bantam. “You seriously don’t know about this.”
Bantam shook his head. “In my world—” He stopped himself short of a longer explanation and said simply, “We used rockets.”
Cleveland’s eyes raised. “Rockets? You mean projectiles?”
Bantam nodded.
“Men sit inside these projectiles?”
Bantam nodded again.
Cleveland burst out laughing. “Huzzah! Your astronauts truly are mad!”
Bantam folded his arms. “How does yours work?”
“Very simple: my Starcraft is raised the Volzstrang pin beyond the upper atmosphere.”
“Wait. What did you say?” Bantam asked, eyes stabbing Cleveland. “Did you say Volzstrang?”
“Why, yes. That’s what the black diamond tower is called. It’s named for the man who invented the interwoven molecular lattices that gives it such perfect structure, enabling it to reach the edge of the sky.”
“Cleveland,” Bantam said, grabbing him by the shoulders urgently. “This is important. Is Hoermann Volzstrang actually here at MacLaren?”
“Of course he is.” Cleveland said. “Other than Hardin, he’s the top pencil.”
“Can I talk to him?”
BANTAM WAS led into a massive building. Inside, a single corridor led to a great cylindrical room in the middle. Strange noises filled the air, like the roaring of a river punctuated by hisses of steam.
“Hydrologic circuitry,” Cleveland yelled. “State-of-the-art Neptune aetherics. Loud as hell, I know. But it’s a lot quieter than what they had before! Not nearly as dangerous either.”