American Universes, Chapter 1

American Universes

A story of the Chrono Guard

Chapter 1: The Consequences of Alcohol

Joey was having a really bad day. Actually, it had been a bad week. He’d had one job: protect U1776 from interference from Guild, and then he would have a month of vacation awaiting him. He’d planned on visiting “The Ranch,” on U1814 for a few days and see some of his friends, before going to some world with a fantastic tropical paradise. And maybe go visit one of the edgier universes before heading back to active duty again. It should have been a simple job. Track the Guild agents, prevent their hacking into the computer systems on U1776, and everything would be great. The Guard had received the tip days ago, that Guild agents were on U1776 trying to interfere with an election, and so Joey had been dispatched. The problem was, the tip they had received had bad intel. All signs had pointed to the attempted hack happening in Washington, D.C. This made sense, as it was the American election that the Guild was trying to interrupt. He’d scoured the city and surrounding areas, but no temporal signatures could be found. It wasn’t until Tuesday morning that he’d widened the search internationally, and discovered that the Guild wasn’t operating in the US at all. They were in Russia. But it was too late. The damage was already done.

Joey sat in a bar in Georgetown, and he noticed that he wasn’t the only one looking glum. Nearly everyone had a face that said they were either angry, sad, or both. He looked at the screen again. As the news anchor droned on, the tinker at the bottom kept repeating the same news: TRUMP WINS 2016 ELECTION. Joey looked away, downed his glass, and signaled the bartender for another. A guy two stools down did the same.

“Can’t believe this is happening,” said the man, a young, twenty-something in professional attire, light brown hair cut short and in one of the latest fashions Joey had seen since arriving. Likely he was fresh out of college and working at some firm in and around the capital. “After Obama, we are going to have to deal with this neanderthal in the White House for four years?” His speech was definitely slurred. It looked to Joey like this guy had had more to drink than he had.

“Yeah, can’t believe it either,” Joey said, mournfully. He could get fired for this. He couldn’t think of a bigger screw up in the Guard’s operational history since the Oswald Incident, coincidentally also in U1776. Not only had the Guard agent not prevented his Guild adversary from assassinating the US President, he’d then gone rogue and killed the Guild-man in retaliation, in front of civilians. What a mess. At least Joey had more sense than that. He’d finish his drink, rest for the night (what point was there in rushing back to headquarters to face an official inquiry?), and return to the Ranch in the morning. At best, he’d get a long talking to and maybe have to serve as junior agent for awhile, at worst he would be stuck at the Ranch for who knows how long, doing research and paperwork and not allowed out into the field.

The young man next to him downed one more drink, then paid his tab, before clumsily getting up and heading toward the door. The way he swayed back and forth said he’d started drinking as soon as the returns had turned sour hours before the talking heads on TV had called the election. Joey decided he should do the same, so he paid his own bill and headed out. He could see the young man up ahead a bit, slowly making his way somewhere. Joey’s own pace was faster, and so by chance he caught up with him right as he approached the quiet street. Joey stopped to look for traffic before he continued, but the drunk young man just kept going. Out of the corner of his eye Joey saw a car barreling through the street, and the young man was about to step out in front of it. Instinct took over and Joey pulled him back. The young man lost his balance then and fell to the ground, hitting his head and passing out cold. Just then, an alert chimed from Joey’s pocket. His temporal sensor was going off. Then he realized that he’d just interfered where he wasn’t supposed to. This young man was supposed to have been hit by that car. Great, just great. As if tonight couldn’t get any better. Joey sighed and picked the young man up and, with great effort, got him to his car across the street. One more mess to fix.

Sunshine was glaring down on Cade, trying to peek in under his eyelids. He tried to open them, but his head hurt to much. He knew instantly that he had one hell of a hangover, and instantly regretted the last several drinks he’d had. Then he paused. Why had he had so many drinks in the first place? Oh. Crap. That’s why, and he suddenly recalled the talking head declaring Trump the winner of the election. Okay, maybe some of those drinks were worth it. Cade attempted to sit up. The pounding got worse, and he corrected his earlier statement. This was going to be a long day.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he got his eyes open. He blinked. Then he blinked again, and rubbed his eyes for good measure. This was not his living room, and this was not his couch he was waking up on. His heart began to race. Where was he? Just then he heard noises, the sounded like kitchen noises, coming from another room. Absently the thought of “you’re late for work,” registered somewhere in his mind, but was drowned out by the more immediate concerns of safety and well-being. He got up, walked from the living room through a large opening into the adjoining dining room, following the sounds. Off to the right was a smaller opening into a bright white kitchen with some modest accents of color. In the middle stood a man that, by Cade’s guess, had to be in his mid-30s, with blond hair. He looked a bit like a soldier in plain clothes, where it seemed as if the person’s true self longed to be in their proper attire but was unable to do anything about it. The man was cooking eggs in a skillet. Before Cade could say or do anything, the man looked up casually.

“Good morning Cade. Hope that hangover isn’t too awful. I didn’t have time to go get the stuff to make my granddad’s old cureall. Here’s a glass of water. Go have a seat, breakfast is almost ready.”

The matter-of-factness of the man’s statement, and the use of his name, left him momentarily speechless. He started to turn around and do as he’d been told before he snapped out of it.

“Wait, what? Who are you? How do you know my name? Where are..” the man in the kitchen cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“All in good time, my friend. I’ll answer it all. Have a seat.”

Annoyed, Cade did follow the instructions this time. The medium sized square table took up most of the space in the dining room. They were definitely in some apartment or townhouse in the DC area. The rooms he had seen had elements that stated that the place was in a better part of town by Cade’s estimation. Crown molding. Painted, clean walls. Furniture that, while not looking outrageously expensive, also appeared to be well built and all in similar, thoughtfully chosen style. That was some relief. Kitchen-man likely wouldn’t be a common thief or anything like that. His thoughts continued to race, despite this assurance he’d given himself. This was Washington, afterall. Maybe this guy wanted to use him to get to his boss, or recruit him into some secret espionage. Cade tried to reign it in. He needed to lay off watching House of Cards. Too many wild ideas. Just then, the mystery cook came in and interrupted his woolgathering.

“Hope you like scrambled eggs and bacon. Real stuff, not the fancy substitutes and all-organic things you are probably used to from Whole Foods or where ever you probably shop.”

“Um..these look fine.” Cade picked up a fork and picked at the food for a minute, before deciding he was hungry and took a bite.

“Ok, so here’s the long and short of what’s going on. There’s no real easy way to explain this, so I’m going to rip off the band-aide. I’m a time agent. Yes, like time travel and stuff. My colleagues and I travel through, and across time. Like to alternate universes. Follow?”

Cade just stared. He gulped the bite of food he had in his mouth. Before he could even muster a response, the guy continued.

“I was on assignment in your universe last night. We happened to be at the same bar in Georgetown. You left before I did, apparently quite drunk. You were about to walk in front of an oncoming car. I’d walked out of the bar at that point and saw what was about to happen and I pulled you back out of instinct. Unfortunately, you were supposed to get hit. Die, actually. Sorry about that.”

Cade continued to stare. This guy was nuts, obviously.

“I even checked our records. You were supposed to die regardless of who won the election. I guess if Clinton had pulled out a win you would have gotten tipsy celebrating instead of commiserating and still walked out in front of that car. Doesn’t matter at this point. What does matter is, you’re alive, and my organization is going to move you to a new timeline where your continued status of ‘alive and well’ won’t mess with anything. So, welcome home!”

At this point, Cade realized he was expected to say something.

“Well, that is quite a story. I think I’ll just finish up these eggs and be on my way, I’m late for work and all. And uh...thanks for saving my life, I guess.” That part actually rang somewhat true. His memory recalled a honking horn and a jerk backwards before everything faded out, so maybe this whackjob actually had saved him.

“The story is true Cade. This isn’t the world you were born in. Heck, it’s not even the same year. It’s 1962. But don’t worry, you’ll love it. I saw that you’re a history grad student at Georgetown right? You’ll have a field day here.”

He ate the last of the eggs, quickly, and stood up to leave. This guy had to be certifiable.

“Look, I really appreciate you helping me out last night, but I’m going to go now.” And with that, he went as quickly as he could to the front door, which stood on the other side of the living room. The crazy man stood and moved to stop him.

“Cade, you can’t go out there, not yet. I’ve got to brief you first and show you around.”

“Back up man!” Cade raised his voice and threw his hands up defensively, signalling Mr. Insane to stay back. “You’re nuts, no offense. 1962? Another dimension? Time Travel? Thanks, but no thanks. I didn’t sign up to attend Comic-Con. I’ll just go hail a cab, and be out of your hair.” By this point, he’d backed up close to the door. He turned quickly, undid the deadbolt, and practically leaped out the door.

Townhouse, Cade’s mind filled in as he walked down the steps of the street. He didn’t recognize the neighborhood, but he’d only been in DC for a couple of years and as the creepy stalker had pointed out, he spent most of his time on the university campus or at one of the plethora of archives scattered across the DC Metro. And what luck, a taxi was coming up the street! He flagged it down, hopped in, and the driver pulled away. A sigh of relief escaped as Cade settled into the seat.

“Where to pal?” Asked the cabby. Cade paused for a minute, debating if he wanted to head to work or go home first. A quick whiff of himself settled the debate. He rattled off his home address.

“You trying to be funny or something?” The cabby asked, obviously annoyed.

“What do you mean?” Cade felt confused. And his head was hurting again.

“What I mean is, we just left that address. That’s the house you walked out of for crying out loud!”

The head hurting increased. He could hear Time Traveler Tim (Cade decided that was his new permanent name) muttering about different universes. Brushing that aside, he gave his work address instead. When not in class or doing research, Cade put in some hours at a local book shop a few blocks from the White House. He didn’t really need the money (scholarships plus trust money from his deceased parents), but he enjoyed the environment and the owner.

This still didn’t set well with the owner. “No such street in Georgetown pal. Give me some place I can go or I’m going to let you out here.” The driver actually pulled over.

“Just take me as close as you can get to the White House?”

“What? Do you know how many houses in this city are white?”

Cade looked incredulous. “Come on! The White House? You know, where the President lives?” Despite himself (or perhaps because of himself, in this hungover condition), the statement had been laced with a “were you born yesterday” attitude that the cabby did not appreciate.

“Where the President lives? You mean 400 miles from here, even if she refuses to actually live where she’s supposed to? Ohhhh wait. You mean where the President used to live. I’ll get you there sit tight.”

Cade was utterly confused by this conversation (and categorically refused to entertain the notions planted in his head by Time Traveler Tim). He closed his eyes and rested while the car moved in and out of traffic.

In maybe 15 minutes or less, the car slowed again, and Cade looked up, and then out the window. He didn’t recognize anything. His heart started to race. Had he been kidnapped by another crazy person? What were the chances of that, twice in one day? The car pulled up to a curb and stopped.

“We are here. That’ll be 12 bits.” Cade stared at the cabby, showing total incomprehension. “A dollar fifty, good grief. You need to wake up kid.” Fumbling, he took out his wallet. He wasn’t sure he had cash on him, but he didn’t see a card reader in the car, so he crossed his fingers as he opened. Sure enough, several bills were inside. He paused and stared. He didn’t recognize any of the money. Seeing the cabby’s impatient look out of the corner of his eye, he quickly glanced around until he found two “one dollar banknotes,” pulled them out, and handed them to the cabby.
“Keep the change, sorry for the trouble.” He said as he opened the door and stepped out of the cab. Again, Time Traveler Time kept repeating those words in his head. “1962. Time Travel. Other universes.” With all his might, Cade tried to silence the voice, but couldn’t quite succeed before his eyes read the sign, “First Capital Federal Park”, next to what looked like the entrance of a national park. People were lined up to enter. There was fencing and hedges behind that, so he couldn’t get a clear view of the park itself. For no exact reason he could name, he decided to get in line and go visit the park himself. He wasn’t sure how much it would cost to enter, but he had noticed at least one bill in his wallet marked with “50,” so surely he wouldn’t have any trouble.

“Hello! Welcome to First Capital Federal Park! I’m Captain Goldman. How many are in your party?” The overly-friendly voice of the park rang..er...captain? rang in Cade’s ear. Still hungover.

“Just one please.”

“That will be a Washington and a Fiver.” Captain Goldman said, again using that overly-friendly voice of someone who liked their job more than they should. Cade had no idea what she was talking about. He just grabbed the note with a “50” on it and handed it to her. She then handed him a ticket and three bills, marked “5”, “10,” and “20.” He recognized none of their markings or portraits.

“Enjoy your visit sir!” and with that, the park captain motioned for the next customer in line. Cade walked on into the park itself. Past the entrance and the line of hedges and trees that ran along the perimeter, and across a decent-sized grassy lawn, stood a low, one story modern glass, concrete, and steel structure. Clearly some sort of visitor’s center or museum for the park. And beyond that stood…..

“Oh. My. God.” Cade muttered, as he stared at what was clearly the White House, standing behind the museum. Except, it wasn’t the White House. The front portico that faced Pennsylvania Avenue looked was missing. Some of the windows were in the wrong place. There were no attached east or west wings. And there was clearly no third floor that served as the private residence. He stood their gaping for far too long. Someone, another visitor, came up to him.

“Pretty crazy huh? Hard to believe this little place was supposed to be the President’s house. Washington House in Franklin is over four times the size of this place.”

This brought Cade out of his daze, or at least partially out of it. He mumbled a “is that so?” to the fellow patron, who continued.

“Sure is! My wife’s family live out that way, and we went and visited last year when President Lincoln opened it as a museum after moving her family to that little town house. Now there’s a crazy move. Have that big ol’ mansion at her disposal and she settles for a regular old house.”

“Yeah, that sounds crazy, alright.” He had no idea what the man was going on about. He politely broke off the conversation and walked towards the modern building. As he approached, he saw the words “President’s House Museum,” engraved in the concrete side of the building near the glass entrance. He walked in and began to look around. There was a theater playing an explanatory video, but it was already in session or Cade might have stepped in. Instead, he wandered over to the center of the entrance hall that ran the width of the building, with a mirror class entrange on the opposite side, facing the White House. At its center stood a scale model of the park. The “you are here” pin indicated that the museum was indeed in front of what it called the President’s House. The park went at a diagonal towards some building he could not immediately see. He moved over a bit to read the label. “Ruins of the first Capitol Building,” it read. The park seemed to run the route of what should have been Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House to Capitol Hill. Cade looked up again, and decided to cross to the east side of the building, where an exhibition hall was housed. He walked in, and saw that the exhibit followed a timeline that had been painted on the wall. It started in 1800, and mentioned President John Adams moving in as the first President to live in “President’s House,” and then moved on to 1814, when the British burned Washington. This was all stuff that he knew. He’d learned it in grade school and again in undergrad. Nothing new. But from there, things went awry quickly.

“1817: Congress votes to abandon the District of Columbia and build a new capital.” “1819: Hiram Claymore buys the ruins of the President’s House to convert it into his private plantation home.” “1885: Claymore plantation folds. Roosevelts buy the building, converted to a hotel.” “1920: Roosevelts loose hotel amid the Financial Crisis.” “1929: Building purchased by state of Maryland, added to First Capital Park.” “1953: Creation of the First Capital Federal Park.” “1959-1961: Restoration of the President’s House to its pre-1814 state.”

The words alone were enough to make Cade’s head spin. But then the pictures! The White House very clearly as a private plantation home, slaves working in the foreground, dates somewhere in the 1840s. Construction turning it into a hotel in the 1880s. An aerial view from 1915, showing the expanded wings which contained more hotel rooms (later torn down, according to caption, after the hotel closed in 1920). He also could see that neither the North or South Portico had ever been added, making the structure look almost naked. The gutting of the building in the 1950s as it was restored (those looked strangely familiar, mirroring the Truman restoration that had occured in his own history). And then a ribbon cutting ceremony with what the caption said was President Georgina Lincoln in 1961. Cade swore to himself. Time Traveler Tim was right. The realization of this hit him hard, and he had to sit down. How was this possible? Why had he been brought here? What was he supposed to do now?

He had an answer for the last question. He had to go back to the time traveler and find out how to get home. He stood up and started heading back towards the entrance he’d used earlier, but then paused. Curiosity gnawed at him, despite his elevated heart beat. He walked across to the south entrance that faced the old executive mansion. Through the glass wall he could see steps leading up to the front door of the “President’s House.” It felt wrong to call this the White House. It looked too different, now that he stared up at the building. The center of the facade had a triangular shape and four columns coming down, looking as though the North Portico had just receded into the front of the building. The historian in him engaged at this point, and he realized this would have been the basic look that Presidents Adams, Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe would have all found familiar. Not knowing if he would come back here (he wouldn’t, not if he could convince Time Traveler Tim to take him home where he belonged), so he decided to go in. He walked up the simple steps to a small porch before proceeding inside.

Cade had been in the White House before on tours, and the space he entered here, the Entrance Hall, felt both familiar and strangely foreign. It took a moment before he identified what it was. This felt exactly like an old mansion-turned museum that he’d visited many times before, mostly the big antebellum plantation manors of the Old South. Something that hadn’t been lived in or used properly in generations. The furnishings were more plain, although the architectural details looked grand. Apparently the recent restoration the museum boasted about had been well funded. He opted out of having a guided tour, and just wandered through the first floor of the residence. The cross hall lead him first to what he thought of as the East Room (though the sign called it “The Presidential Audience Chamber,” a room that, according to the same sign, had never been finished before the 1814 fire). The largest room in the building, Cade knew already, it contained several displays and artifacts set up in typical museum fashion, not overloading the space but making use of it. He absentmindedly approved. No sense letting the big room sit empty if it was a museum.

Next came the Green Room. Or it should have been. Here, it was the Private Dining Room, where Presidents Jefferson and Madison would have had their family meals when not entertaining. This led him back out into the Cross Hall, which he followed westward, before entering the famous oval Blue Room. The Oval Salon, here. It was still impressive, though it looked naked without the signature blue carpet and accents that Cade had seen on his visits. The Red Room came next, labeled the Cabinet Room. It had a table set up in the middle, set to look like it was ready for a meeting of the President and his advisors. A door on the west wall opened up into the President’s Office, lined with bookshelves and a large desk, as it would have been in President Jefferson’s time. Cade knew it as the State Dining room. As he entered an open space that went up into the second story, apparently where a staircase had been planned but never completed (used by the museum to display various works of art that he did not recognize), he heard a clock chime in the Cross Hall. Upon investigation, he realized he’d been at the park for over 2 hours. He decided he better get back to the house where he’d left the time traveler, and see if he couldn’t get back where he belonged.

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This is the first part of a story I'm working on, set in a timeline I've been building for the past year. More to follow soon.