Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club, BOOK I
Page 4
took me down a flight of stairs and opened a second door that led to a garden surrounded by a high stonewall outside of which was a well-lighted street. No cobblestone street was this, nor was it asphalt as you are used to. Rather, it was a light blue, plastic-like substance, which glowed, giving off enough illumination that no gaslights were needed. The first thing I noticed was the smell, or rather the lack of smell. No horse manure! I never realized how one became so used to the stench. Why, in my time it was just there! Always there! And now, well it was truly a breath of fresh air. But here was the bad part. The people of the future had cleaned up their atmosphere so well that there was no pollution. Why the air was so clean that I had a hard time breathing it. It was as though I were on top of Mount Everest. Of course I was never on the mountain, but they assured me that the air they breathed was so clean that I couldn’t stay there long nor could they stay in my time for too long a spell. An automobile glided soundlessly by, borne not on wheels nor powered by a pollution producing engine, but on shafts of compressed air. People were walking casually around, not in a so-called ‘New York Minute,’ but leisurely. They wore close fitting, one-piece suits with shoes. It was fantastic to say the very least! I was overwhelmed, and seeing this, he smiled and escorted me back inside where my breathing was much improved. He assured me that I was now back in the 1800s, and proved it by opening the front door through which we had entered. It was a dark night of 1863 lighted only by gas lamps with horse-drawn carriages rumbling by on cobblestones and the familiar smells of my time. He gave me a brandy, and we sat by his fireplace as he explained all.”
Prescott took a sip of his drink, and Bill reached for his. Not a bad story, he thought. Wonder where it’s going?
The club’s president rested his drink on the desk. “It seems that overall; the 1800s were in many ways a key to the future . . . the future as we know it now. He told me that this time period saw many inventions that would shape the world all the way up to 2060 and beyond. He showed me points in history that were crucial to the development of the human race.
”Bill interrupted him. “Tell me a few.”
Prescott started ticking off on his fingers, “Cotton gin, use of peanuts, steel-hulled ships, development of steam power, development of the railroads, ending slavery . . .”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Bill said.
“As I was saying,” Prescott went on, “it was a period that was important to the world. And at times it needed help.”
“Help? Help from whom?” Bill asked.
“Help from the people of 2060, that’s who. There were times when history needed a hand because it veered off course.”
“But if it was helped when it was veering off course, wasn’t that sort of changing history? And if you were changing . . . oh boy, you got me. I’m starting to react as though your story is for real.” Bill looked at his watch. “I really have to go. It’s getting late and I have a deadline tomorrow.”
Prescott shook his head. “Tomorrow may never come. I believe you are as ready as I was to take a glimpse back.” He gestured toward the door as he stood up. “Shall we?”
Bill smiled and, with some reluctance, followed him to the large mahogany door on the far side of the den. Prescott took out the gold chain, and Bill saw that a second key was on it. Prescott turned that key in the lock and opened the door a crack.
“Ready, Bill?”
“Sure, but I hope you don’t have any skeletons in your closet,” he joked.
The door was opened wider, revealing a flight of descending stairs.
“Allow me to go first, Bill?” Prescott asked.
“Please do, Prescott,” Bill replied.
They went down the stone stairs flanked on either side by a red brick wall that was illuminated by hissing gas lamps. The stairs ended in front of a large steel door. Prescott unlocked this door with the same key but before opening it, he turned to Bill and asked, “Set, sir? Set to walk the streets of 1863?”
DATELINE: 1863 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK
Bill nodded, and Prescott pushed the door open onto a high-walled courtyard filled with singing birds, flowers, butterflies and sunshine. A small waterfall that fed a Water Lilly-filled pond was in the corner with goldfish breaking the surface. Bill could hear a horse-drawn carriage clattering by on cobblestones. He slowly followed Prescott toward a high gate across the courtyard. Prescott opened that gate with the same key, and then flung his arms wide and proclaimed, “Voila! Welcome to 1863, Mr. Bill Scott.”
Bill looked around in disbelief. “But, but how can the sun be up? It’s after eleven at night!” He shook his head as he looked around. “It’s true! My God, man, it’s true! You did it . . . I can’t believe it.” The flowers feebly masked the smell that finally reached Bill.
“Horse manure! My God, it stinks!” He looked around and tried to breathe through his mouth as his eyes filled with tears. Prescott offered him a handkerchief.
“It takes time Bill. Breathe slowly.”
Bill wiped his eyes and did as Prescott said; took slow deliberate breaths. It’s mind over matter, he thought.
He saw two women walking slowly by, arm in arm. Prescott gave a hint of a bow. Both were about ten years younger than Bills’ thirty-two years.
“Good day, Miss Davenport, Miss Jenkins. Nice day for a walk, is it not?”
Both answered, “Good day, Mr. Stevens.”
Miss Davenport said, “Yes, it’s a beautiful day for a walk.”
Prescott turned to Bill. “A colleague of mine, Mr. Scott. He just came from a long trip. A very long trip.”
The young lady smiled at Bill. “Did you come by boat, Mr. Scott?”
“Uh . . . no, I took the train,” Bill answered, trying to collect himself. “Best way to travel these days, I would say.”
The women nodded in unison and began to wander off. “Good day, gentlemen,” they said, with Miss Jenkins adding, “Enjoy our fair town, Mr. Scott.”
“I will, ma’am, I will,” Bill replied. He was still wide-eyed as he watched them cross the street. They picked up their long skirts a tiny bit and stepped gingerly over and around the horse manure, which literally covered the street. He turned to Prescott and said, “How . . . I mean . . . well, I guess I do mean, how . . . how did it happen? How did we go from 2011 to 1863 just by walking out a door?”
“Not just a door, Bill. A time-changing portal! Let’s go back upstairs while I explain as much as I can to you.”
He closed and locked the gate.
Bill was still awed by the sights . . . and the smell. “This is utterly fantastic!” he exclaimed as he wiped his eyes.
DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY
They sat in the club’s den. Coffee had been served, and they were once again in front of the fireplace.
Bill was still incredulous as he wiped his watery eyes. “Please explain, Prescott. This is beyond my wildest dreams. Has anyone else from the club gone back?”
“Just a few: three men and one woman.
“Are they still in the club?”
“No, unfortunately one was killed in an auto accident, the woman left New York when her husband’s job was moved, and the others just got too elderly for the trips.”
Prescott sat back and looked at the fire. “The club is a place that has been set up to be able to find people who have no problem traveling to and from the past. It is a continuous job interview so to speak.”
Scott asked, “So, did I pass the interview?”
“With flying colors,” came the answer.
Bill pressed him, saying, “I really need more information about this. I mean, is the government behind this?”
“No! And they must never know of it,” Stevens said with alarm. “I’ve been directed to keep this just between any chosen traveler and myself. My Lord, why, if the government knew of this, we’d have troops stationed in ancient Rome!”
Bill laughed. “I’m ex-Navy SEAL so I know where you’re
coming from. They mean well, but it just seems to go bad when they meddle in things. So who’s the big honcho? There has to be a top guy. Right?”
“Well, not so much a top guy as a top group. Tell me, Bill, do you believe in alternate worlds?”
“You mean another world just like ours but where history took a different course? Heck, yesterday I would have said no, but today I think anything is possible.”
Prescott smiled. “Well, not only is it possible, but I’ve seen it. And that’s the mission of the club. You see, when the group first invented the time exchanger and started sending probes back, they saw that at times a few of the key historic people didn’t do what our history books said they did. So they realized that someone was either writing the history books wrong, or someone was going back and helping those key historic people do as they were supposed to do. The group concluded that the history books were not wrong, so the people somehow were being persuaded to do as our history books said they did. Therefore, a time traveler who knew of our present history books, helped out. Understand?”
“Yes, sort of . . . but what if the ‘helping hand’ person got sick or something, and he didn’t get the chance to do the ‘helping hand’ thing, what then?”
“Oh, it has happened. And then they have to send someone else. The problem is that if historical people are interfered with too many times, they get suspicious of strangers and that causes other troubles. It tends to change them.”
“How so?” Bill