Authors: T.A. Uner
“Damn punk.” The officer recovered quickly, and tried fastening his arms around Johnny’s torso like a harness. Instead of taking off like a rabbit, Johnny felt like a snail stuck in mud when he felt the cop’s arms clamp down on him.
He lost his balance and tumbled to the asphalt road. His knee catching the surface of the road. It felt like a hornet sting. And now the cop’s weight was on top of him. There’d be no escaping this.
An hour later he was laying on a bunk inside a cell. It smelled of stale alcohol and unwashed clothes. His lone roommate a sleeping man with a wrinkled forehead wearing a threadbare raincoat with brown stains plastered across it.
He stood up from his bunk and called out to the guards. But there was no answer, except grunts and four-letter words from the occupants of neighboring cells.
He sighed and slumped back onto his bunk. His jeep was probably impounded and getting it out would cost more money than he had in his dwindling savings account. Worse, he wondered how he would face his mother, who had likely been alerted of his incarceration. This was beyond embarrassing, and contradictory to how he was raised. The only good thing was his father wasn’t around to see him now. It would’ve saddened Scott Veto’s noble heart.
After Johnny finished his story, Argos rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Sounds like you contributed to your own calamity Johnny. Look, I know losing your pops had a lot to do with it but it’s how we deal with problems that defines us. Just giving up and embracing mediocrity doesn’t solve anything.
“Happiness isn’t something you pick up at the grocery store, nor is it something that comes to you at a certain age. It’s a trait that lives within all of us, and it flourishes when you begin appreciating the things in life we take for granted.” He smiled and patted Johnny on the back. “Ok. End of lecture.”
Johnny nodded, but said nothing.
Inside TimeBoss Chamber
After Argos left, Patrice had remained behind. TimeBoss was a high-maintenance piece of technology that required careful supervision when it was scanning for timeline changes. Despite its need for human interaction, TimeBoss’ internal monitoring was efficient at keeping its operating systems nominal during intervals when it was not scanning for timeline discrepancies, and, in the event of a catastrophic event, it would alert AL Command promptly.
While occupied with her task, Patrice struggled with the idea that perhaps she’d met someone close to her age who could challenge her intellectually.
As Johnny’s trainer, she was well-versed with his file. His middle and high school grades were mediocre at best. Nor had he ever been perceived as being gifted in any manner. But Patrice found these facts superficial. After all, Einstein had been a poor student and barely graduated from college.
Still, Argos was very high on Veto. But was that because he had been a close friend of Johnny’s father? Or, did Veto indeed possess some hidden aptitude which was equal or greater than hers? If that was the case, then she and he should be getting along quite well, yet, her conscience reminded her of how coarsely she had been treating him ever since they’d met. A part of her found this thought disturbing, so she stopped monitoring data to take a short break.
She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, and decided to leave the chamber to get a drink of water. Right before she reached the door an alarm sounded.
“Detecting timeline alteration,” TimeBoss said in its calm, yet commanding voice. “Current timeline results in seventy-two percent change from original timeline.”
“Seventy-two percent? Shit!” Patrice raced back to her station, nearly tripping over her high heels in the process. Anything close to twenty-five percent was cause for alarm, but seventy-two percent? AL headquarters was protected from any alteration in the timeline, since it existed within an artificially-generated field that was outside normal spacetime, that way any change in the timeline wouldn’t affect its existence, thus allowing AL operatives to correct altered or corrupted times.
Not knowing what to expect from the altered timeline, Patrice’s heart raced like a gazelle. Eying the monitor, she noticed that the altered map of the United States was vastly different from the one she’d known all her life—the southeastern seaboard, from Virginia to Florida, as well as all deep south states, was called The Confederate States of America, while Texas had reverted back to an independent republic.
“Locate origin of timeline change,” she ordered TimeBoss.
“1861 AD; North America; Baltimore, Maryland; United States of America; Earth. Death of sixteenth American President Abraham Lincoln. Cause of death, unknown virus.”
Patrice thought hard. Abraham Lincoln had died in 1865, after being shot in Ford’s Theater by a disgruntled southern sympathizer named John Wilkes. A virus was never involved. How had this happened?
“Are there any records remaining from the alternate 1861 pertaining Lincoln’s death?” Patrice asked.
“Affirmative. Processing visual information for analysis.” A second later a digital 3D image appeared in the center of the room and Patrice watched with interest as archived information readouts flashed beneath a computer-generated image of Abraham Lincoln. “Apparently the physicians at the time chalked it up as smallpox.” She watched as an ancient picture taken during Lincoln’s autopsy was displayed. It depicted lesions and sores across his face and arms. But the poor photo quality made it difficult to get a better look at the deceased president’s condition.
“TimeBoss please display a picture of a patient with smallpox.”
A second later a more recent picture of a smallpox victim appeared next to Lincoln’s. The picture of a little girl from 1980 in Angola. At first glance Patrice didn’t notice any difference, but she had a hunch and decided to dig deeper. “Feed these readouts into the main computer and cross reference to see if these two infections match.”
TimeBoss fed the results into the main computer and Patrice eyed the results on a computer terminal monitor. Her eyebrows rose sharply and she shook her head. “This is so damn weird. Lincoln died of an
Ebola
infection?”
Inside the AL conference room, Argos and Johnny looked generally disconcerted by the news. She could imagine Argos’ dismay as a black American, as Abraham Lincoln had been the catalyst for freeing his ancestors from slavery on January 1
st
, 1863.
“Ebola didn’t exist back then,” said an Indian woman who introduced herself as Dr. Salvi, AL’s resident medical expert who briefed operatives pertaining medical related issues. “It was first discovered in 1976 in two simultaneous outbreaks in Sudan and Zaire.”
“This is messed up,” Johnny said.
Patrice felt like snapping at Johnny but kept her nerve. “Yes, it
is
‘messed up’ as you put it, Agent Veto, but this is what AL deals with. Someone has assassinated America’s greatest President in his prime, thus affecting the course of American history, which has drastically affected Earth’s timeline.”
“How bad is it, Patrice?” Argos asked. “I mean, what does the rest of the planet look like? Don’t tell me those damn Nazis won World War II.”
“I can do better than that, Argos, I can show you.” Patrice activated a 3D projection which showed Earth’s solar system. There were red flashing dots surrounding Jupiter.
“What are those red dots?” Johnny asked.
“Space outposts, Mr. Veto. They belong to the Lycarian Solar Empire. They were annexed in 2003.”
“Damn! So, the Lycarians
are
after Earth!”
Patrice nodded in agreement. “It would appear so. It is logical to assume that they’ve altered our timeline in order to manipulate Earth’s history to their advantage by destabilizing human development. But…I’m afraid there’s even
more
disturbing news.”
Argos scratched his cheek. “Let’s hear it.”
“There’s no easy way to say it. Black Americans still do not have civil rights in the United States. Lincoln’s death culminated in the nullification of 1964 Civil Rights Bill—thus, it was never created because no Civil Rights movement was ever started. And worse, since Director Otis wasn’t inside AL headquarters he wasn’t protected by the timeline change. According to the computer, our current Director is Robert Mills.” She activated a monitor, which depicted a Caucasian man in his late 40s. “Mills is currently on Penal One, overseeing computer upgrades.”
“So we’re the only ones with any memory of Director Mitchell?” Johnny chimed in.
“I’m afraid so.”
Argos collected his composure and turned towards Johnny. “This is what you were trained for; now it’s time for a time-healing expedition. We have to stop Lincoln’s killer in 1861 Baltimore.”
Patrice nodded. “In the original timeline, the assassination attempt was called the Baltimore Plot, but it was never carried out. You must pinpoint the exact location in 1861 Baltimore, and prevent Lincoln’s assassin from carrying out the Ebola threat.”
Johnny looked frustrated. “That’s like trying to find a penny in a sand dune.”
Patrice fed information into the computer which appeared on every attendee’s table monitor. “Fortunately, there are some existing records from that time period, so we have an approximate location of where the Ebola attack might’ve occurred. This data should give you something to work with.”
“Still won’t be easy,” Johnny added as he eyed the data on his console.
“You didn’t join AL for an easy time Johnny,” Argos said curtly. “So you better get used to hardships from now on.” He stood up and stomped out of the conference room before stopping and whirling around. “Meet me in the hangar bay when you’re done here.”
Patrice had never seen Argos this short with anyone. Let alone Johnny. After he had left Johnny looked a bit addled. His gruff attitude was understandable but for once, her heart went out to Johnny. “He didn’t mean to act dour towards you; we’re all a bit stunned with this major timeline deviation. It's never been this high before. The previous record was twenty-nine percent, and that’s considered pretty bad.”
“That’s fine, Patrice.” Johnny stood up. “I need to get going anyway. Thanks for the presentation.” He turned towards Dr. Salvi and thanked her too before leaving.
Johnny reported to the medical bay for a final physical scan from the medical computer, which cleared him for duty. He gathered his supplies and visited the quartermaster’s office to request standard clothing for a time-healing mission, circa early 1860s. There were many selections available, and Johnny chose a few white wing-tip dress shirts, a pair of black cotton trousers with a matching bow-tie, and a wool frock coat for the cold weather they’d be encountering in February 1861. Standard AL mission gloves and socks were designed to blend in for this era, so there was no problem there. He changed into his disguise, thanked the quartermaster, and headed towards the hangar to meet Argos.
He thought of his mother, and what she was doing. He missed her terribly and hoped she was alright. He wondered if there was another Johnny Veto, from this altered timeline, that was walking the streets of Phoenix, Arizona. He found this whole time distortion topic confusing and decided to leave this scientific stuff to the physicists.
In the hangar bay he saw Argos and an AL technician going over a few final details before launch. Argos wore a brown fedora with matching jacket, waistcoat and trousers with leather boots completing his costume. Jessie and Studs, upon seeing Johnny rushed up to him and barked at him playfully. “Hey there,” he said before loading his knapsack filled with supplies into Gina’s trunk.
“I’m ready Argos,” he said. Johnny was looking forward to the time-incursion. It was kinda scary going back in time, to an era that was vastly different than his own, but the sense of excitement caused by his adrenaline calmed his jitters. He was an AL operative now, and, he had to act like one.
“Get inside Gina,” Argos said. Johnny complied and allowed Jessie and Studs to hop into the back seat before riding shotgun. Gina’s monitor began blinking red, indicating an AL transmission and he switched it on. It was Patrice. “Good luck Johnny,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll do fine on your first mission.”
Johnny was surprised by her friendly demeanor, yet he managed a smile. “Thanks, Patrice.”
Argos took his place behind the steering wheel before Patrice repeated her well-wishes to him. He thanked her in return and deactivated the monitor before turning towards Johnny. “Hope you can overlook my little explosion in the conference room.”
“It’s forgotten Argos.”
Argos’ face assumed an abashed look. “Here I am lecturing you on maturity and I go and act like a hothead.”
“Like I said, man,” Johnny replied, “It’s cool.”
Jessie and Studs barked in unison, apparently they thought it was cool too.
“Not trying to make any excuses for my bad behavior, but when you find out the man who freed your people never got the chance to do so, and your race still hasn’t achieved civil rights, well, that’s an awful kick in the gut.”
“One thing I need to ask you,” Johnny said.
“Sure, Johnny, ask away.”
“Why is AL called American Legends?”
Argos smiled. “I feel so stupid. I’ve recruited you into AL and you’ve learned the reason of our existence and what we do, yet I never bothered to tell you the story of why we’re called AL. When the time-healing missions began, AL was known as NTSA, which stood for National Spacetime incursion Agency. But after a while that didn’t sound right so our first director decided to change it due to the nature of our missions. He chose American Legends because often that’s who our extraterrestrial enemies would target. Usually plots to kill important Americans from the past: Dwight Eisenhower during World War II, George Washington during the Revolutionary War, and Andrew Jackson during the War of 1812.”
“Makes sense, man.”
Argos looked back at the Dobermans. “You ready, Jessie and Studs?”
Both dogs wagged their tails.
“Let’s do this Johnny. First, start with a Class One diagnostic—check on all of Gina’s life support systems: oxygen, water, energy consumption. Then, follow that up with a Class Two diagnostic on the defensive systems: cloak, smokescreen, oil slick, holographic beams and inhibitor.”