A Song of Rice and Interdimensional Gyres
"Steady," he yelled, "aim, fire!!!"
The copper cannons boomed and clouds of smoke foamed from their openings. In the distance, iron projectiles crashed to earth and smote all around.
A tall man in slacks and a black hat stood on his horse, looking forth across the land, scanning the distance for a sign of his foe.
The warm western breeze blew softly over the fields of ash, hellishly strewn with human remains, and the armies of the North waited there, near Gettysburg, waiting for the South to arrive.
"It is not to say that I do not commiserate with you, cousin, but I see no reason to keep smoting this little patch of land! The South should be here any minute now, and the cannons shall only attract their negative attention" said Drextel Writly, who was not really related to Lincoln. He was, however, there for some purpose that had been lost long ago, and Lincoln did not have the heart to ask him why he had been hired at all.
Feeling compelled, as usual, to reply to the polite man, Lincoln decided to explain what happened. "Writly," said Lincoln, sitting back comfortably in his arm-chair, "you do not know what happened to me this morning."
"Well, sir, please inform me," said the pitiful little man.
Lincoln would explain what happened that morning, but he would not dare tell the little man the truth of the time traveling.
Part I
I woke up this morning, and I went about writing letters and preparing the generals to move South to Gettysburg. And then... I..." Abraham was not used to lying, "heard the voice of a man behind me. He said, 'Lincoln...Lincoln, I hate you!?' I turned around, and, to my astonishment, it was a...crazy...vagabond, and I asked him why he was there, and he started making threats." Lincoln paused for a moment, not sure if would make up the threats or just leave the matter be.
In truth, it was an elder General Grant who had come through the same interdimensional rift as he, and the old General explained that he had been sent by TIMEZONE to stop Jefferson Davis and Lincoln from their time-traveling battles. Lincoln was skeptical as to the existence of this TIMEZONE, and so he ignored the General's pleas. When he asked the intruder to leave, Grant took out his saber and charged at Lincoln. Lincoln, always prepared for saber charges, took out his plasmotronomic-ray gun and, pulling the trigger, blasted a hole in the space-time fabric on the far end of the room among a set of books and letters.
Pages and papers twisted and twirled, and within a second, an indescribable vortex thwapped open with a blinding flash of darkness, and Grant, unprepared for the temporo-dynamic suction of the time-gyres, was pulled, soul and all, through the portal. Lincoln managed to narrowly escape through a rift in the caelo-selium lining of the tent, a material that would only hold the rift for a matter of minutes. He remembered dashing up to the artilliary and ordering open fire on his own camp in a mad bid to close the time-gyres before they consumed the nearby river.
And so, four hours later, the artillery were still firing, and by now it seemed that the gyres were closed. Abraham had had to make an excuse for his commands, namely that the cannons were firing on the camp for "practice." Everyone believed him, except for Writly, who was constantly asking far too many questions.
"Anyways," Lincoln continued, "I ordered the cannons to fire on the camp in order to deal with this...this lunatic who invaded my tent."
Writly did not look skeptical, nor did he look convinced. "He must have been one frightening vagabond," said the little man, "and I thought that you were afraid of nothing."
Eager to retain his good reputation, Lincoln continued, "oh, I...I'm not scared of anything. In fact, I killed the vagabond, but...he had the...leprosy... so I wanted to get ride of the disease with cannons.
The little man nodded with what might have been exaggerated understanding, "ah, I see, that makes sense."
When he finally ordered the cannons to stop, the South was nowhere in sight. Lincoln was beginning to worry. He had only led his troops here, 300 miles from where they were supposed to be, on the basis of "historical experience." He had fought Gettysburg some 23 times, and never before had the South turned up late. One of his favorite things about time travel was that everything was so predictable. And, for that reason, Lincoln had never passed the day of April 14th, 1865, the very day that he had been walking into a theater one moment and, in the next, had found himself on a podium the moment before 1861.
This was one of the few flukes that he had ever seen in the time-travel. The only others were when, perhaps during the 18th time around, Jefferson Davis had prepared a time-machine and switched back to a few days before the war ended. Davis had been at it ever since, always trying to stop the flooding of the South by Sherman, but Lincoln always killed the poor "president" first with his electeroid ray gun. But now, this appearance of Grant seemed a new portent, a new development that he could not understand.
Part II
A man on a horse's back came running over the hills toward the Northern Armies. He was a messenger, and his tattered clothing spoke of a recent battle. The horse and man came along side Lincoln and his generals.
He stepped off his horse and read a letter:
Greetings, Lincoln, my old friend, it appears as though your arrogant presumptions and foolish tom-foolery have finally failed you! I shall have you know that the Confederate Armies have just sacked and burned Washington D.C. to the ground, and we are now marching on New York.
As Lincoln read this, he felt as though there was a boulder in his stomach, and he shivered as a sickly feeling spread throughout his body as his muscles contracted in terror
Yes, fool, did you think that those myriad deaths of mine were simply repeated trials in agony and foolishness?! No! I died to mislead you into a false sense of security, so that you might become comfortable in this "predictable" world of time travel. But no longer will you live in ease and peace. No no, Mr. Lincoln, your next years will be a living HELL!
Best wishes,
Jefferson Davis
Lincoln was silent for a moment. He then looked at his generals, who were sort of sheepishly gazing at the grass was an intense interest. Was Writly grinning a bit? In a haze of shock and profound horror, Lincoln gave the commands to march North to New York. Lincoln mounted his horse and moved to the front of the column, a mass of men and horses and artillery. Looking back, he noticed something weird about the hills near the pack... were there quaking and moaning? Was that...were they...the temporal-gyres!? In all of the excitement, Lincoln had forgotten about them...they must have remained active, sucking up dirt and rock in the hill-sides where they have been pushed by the cannon fire.
Suddenly, there was an explosion on one of the cliffs, and a massive gyre broke forth, the vague shape of an octopoid entity five stories tall. Then there were four of them. He realized that these were no normal gyre-vortices, but that, by horrible misfortune, he had left his plasmotronomic-ray gun on the "YOGSOTHOTH" setting. The things, those black voids of emptiness were constantly absorbing materials around themselves into an intra-dimensional void of complexicity matter. They starting to scoop up troops and horses by the hundreds, and the Northern Armies began to dissolve as terrified soldiers fled the monstrosities. In the stampede, thousands of heavy feet pounding the Earth, Lincoln struggled to aim his anti-YOGSOTHOTH ray at the things, but as he lifted his gun, he was knocked off his feet and the wind was expelled from his lungs.
Part III
The next thing he knew, Lincoln was lying on a bed in what seemed to be a small cabin. There was a homely woman standing nearby as he opened his eyes. And then, as he lifted his head, he saw a figure in the corner of the room...it was Grant...
(OP: Ben, March 8 2008)
"Steady," he yelled, "aim, fire!!!"
The copper cannons boomed and clouds of smoke foamed from their openings. In the distance, iron projectiles crashed to earth and smote all around.
A tall man in slacks and a black hat stood on his horse, looking forth across the land, scanning the distance for a sign of his foe.
The warm western breeze blew softly over the fields of ash, hellishly strewn with human remains, and the armies of the North waited there, near Gettysburg, waiting for the South to arrive.
"It is not to say that I do not commiserate with you, cousin, but I see no reason to keep smoting this little patch of land! The South should be here any minute now, and the cannons shall only attract their negative attention" said Drextel Writly, who was not really related to Lincoln. He was, however, there for some purpose that had been lost long ago, and Lincoln did not have the heart to ask him why he had been hired at all.
Feeling compelled, as usual, to reply to the polite man, Lincoln decided to explain what happened. "Writly," said Lincoln, sitting back comfortably in his arm-chair, "you do not know what happened to me this morning."
"Well, sir, please inform me," said the pitiful little man.
Lincoln would explain what happened that morning, but he would not dare tell the little man the truth of the time traveling.
Part I
I woke up this morning, and I went about writing letters and preparing the generals to move South to Gettysburg. And then... I..." Abraham was not used to lying, "heard the voice of a man behind me. He said, 'Lincoln...Lincoln, I hate you!?' I turned around, and, to my astonishment, it was a...crazy...vagabond, and I asked him why he was there, and he started making threats." Lincoln paused for a moment, not sure if would make up the threats or just leave the matter be.
In truth, it was an elder General Grant who had come through the same interdimensional rift as he, and the old General explained that he had been sent by TIMEZONE to stop Jefferson Davis and Lincoln from their time-traveling battles. Lincoln was skeptical as to the existence of this TIMEZONE, and so he ignored the General's pleas. When he asked the intruder to leave, Grant took out his saber and charged at Lincoln. Lincoln, always prepared for saber charges, took out his plasmotronomic-ray gun and, pulling the trigger, blasted a hole in the space-time fabric on the far end of the room among a set of books and letters.
Pages and papers twisted and twirled, and within a second, an indescribable vortex thwapped open with a blinding flash of darkness, and Grant, unprepared for the temporo-dynamic suction of the time-gyres, was pulled, soul and all, through the portal. Lincoln managed to narrowly escape through a rift in the caelo-selium lining of the tent, a material that would only hold the rift for a matter of minutes. He remembered dashing up to the artilliary and ordering open fire on his own camp in a mad bid to close the time-gyres before they consumed the nearby river.
And so, four hours later, the artillery were still firing, and by now it seemed that the gyres were closed. Abraham had had to make an excuse for his commands, namely that the cannons were firing on the camp for "practice." Everyone believed him, except for Writly, who was constantly asking far too many questions.
"Anyways," Lincoln continued, "I ordered the cannons to fire on the camp in order to deal with this...this lunatic who invaded my tent."
Writly did not look skeptical, nor did he look convinced. "He must have been one frightening vagabond," said the little man, "and I thought that you were afraid of nothing."
Eager to retain his good reputation, Lincoln continued, "oh, I...I'm not scared of anything. In fact, I killed the vagabond, but...he had the...leprosy... so I wanted to get ride of the disease with cannons.
The little man nodded with what might have been exaggerated understanding, "ah, I see, that makes sense."
When he finally ordered the cannons to stop, the South was nowhere in sight. Lincoln was beginning to worry. He had only led his troops here, 300 miles from where they were supposed to be, on the basis of "historical experience." He had fought Gettysburg some 23 times, and never before had the South turned up late. One of his favorite things about time travel was that everything was so predictable. And, for that reason, Lincoln had never passed the day of April 14th, 1865, the very day that he had been walking into a theater one moment and, in the next, had found himself on a podium the moment before 1861.
This was one of the few flukes that he had ever seen in the time-travel. The only others were when, perhaps during the 18th time around, Jefferson Davis had prepared a time-machine and switched back to a few days before the war ended. Davis had been at it ever since, always trying to stop the flooding of the South by Sherman, but Lincoln always killed the poor "president" first with his electeroid ray gun. But now, this appearance of Grant seemed a new portent, a new development that he could not understand.
Part II
A man on a horse's back came running over the hills toward the Northern Armies. He was a messenger, and his tattered clothing spoke of a recent battle. The horse and man came along side Lincoln and his generals.
He stepped off his horse and read a letter:
Greetings, Lincoln, my old friend, it appears as though your arrogant presumptions and foolish tom-foolery have finally failed you! I shall have you know that the Confederate Armies have just sacked and burned Washington D.C. to the ground, and we are now marching on New York.
As Lincoln read this, he felt as though there was a boulder in his stomach, and he shivered as a sickly feeling spread throughout his body as his muscles contracted in terror
Yes, fool, did you think that those myriad deaths of mine were simply repeated trials in agony and foolishness?! No! I died to mislead you into a false sense of security, so that you might become comfortable in this "predictable" world of time travel. But no longer will you live in ease and peace. No no, Mr. Lincoln, your next years will be a living HELL!
Best wishes,
Jefferson Davis
Lincoln was silent for a moment. He then looked at his generals, who were sort of sheepishly gazing at the grass was an intense interest. Was Writly grinning a bit? In a haze of shock and profound horror, Lincoln gave the commands to march North to New York. Lincoln mounted his horse and moved to the front of the column, a mass of men and horses and artillery. Looking back, he noticed something weird about the hills near the pack... were there quaking and moaning? Was that...were they...the temporal-gyres!? In all of the excitement, Lincoln had forgotten about them...they must have remained active, sucking up dirt and rock in the hill-sides where they have been pushed by the cannon fire.
Suddenly, there was an explosion on one of the cliffs, and a massive gyre broke forth, the vague shape of an octopoid entity five stories tall. Then there were four of them. He realized that these were no normal gyre-vortices, but that, by horrible misfortune, he had left his plasmotronomic-ray gun on the "YOGSOTHOTH" setting. The things, those black voids of emptiness were constantly absorbing materials around themselves into an intra-dimensional void of complexicity matter. They starting to scoop up troops and horses by the hundreds, and the Northern Armies began to dissolve as terrified soldiers fled the monstrosities. In the stampede, thousands of heavy feet pounding the Earth, Lincoln struggled to aim his anti-YOGSOTHOTH ray at the things, but as he lifted his gun, he was knocked off his feet and the wind was expelled from his lungs.
Part III
The next thing he knew, Lincoln was lying on a bed in what seemed to be a small cabin. There was a homely woman standing nearby as he opened his eyes. And then, as he lifted his head, he saw a figure in the corner of the room...it was Grant...
(OP: Ben, March 8 2008)
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