TIME-ZONE! Civil War Kronicles, Part 7

Lincoln tried to lift his head, but a jolt of pain shot through his temple, and he stopped trying after a short while. "Grant," he said, with a tone laced with both gratitude and suspicion, "what is all of this? Why..."

Grant twirled his black mustache and bore a contemplative gaze, "Lincoln, your greatest flaw is that you always have too much self-confidence, and you are always to blind to the threats you overlook that you never see them...until they are right behind you with a gun...

Lincoln gave Grant a queer look after noticing the knowing pity in the younger man's eyes.

"But, I ought to answer your question. When the time-gyres escaped from the hills near your army, TIMEZONE gave me one last chance to save the world from your meddling, and so I pulled you through a vortex safely to this old cottage on the Potomac."

Lincoln did not know whether to thank or to damn Grant. If it had not been for him, the gyres would never have been a problem, and, yet, he saved his life. And so he gave neither gratitude nor curses. "But why have I time traveled again and again back in time, and how did Jefferson Davis manage to defeat me?"

Grant continued, "From the moment that Alexander Hamilton was born, the world would never be the same. His scheming and manipulating and evil has been the driving force in the history of the World."

Lincoln looked doubtful, "Grant, this is absurd. Hamilton was a mere man...and neuronal parasite...nothing more than that."

Grant paid no attention to Lincoln's doubts, "In March 1776, during the Yuletide of Spring, Hamilton briefly disappeared from America. In October of that same year, during the Volpurgischnocte, a massive tablet was found in ancient Sumer. By the end of the Revolutionary War, a man by the name of Lord Ashton had created a system of textual interpretation for this tablet, known as "The Red System." And, when American finally won the war, Hamilton reappeared in Salem during Saturnalia.

When Britain humiliatingly lost the war against the Colonies, they were more than willing to embrace the Red System, a system that would cover up the humiliation with prototypicaly British academic aristocratic jargon by binding America into a vale of uncertainty and mystery. The Red America was certainly never a British colony, and the Red America was the salvation of English Honor."

Lincoln was getting antsy in his medical cot, "Okay, okay, I understand, Hamilton was a bit creepier than I thought, and I didn't know that he was actually Lord Ashton, you win. But everyone knows that England has been torn over the issue of America's existence for a century."

Grant smiled. "You have not heard all that I have to say."
Sitting down in an arm chair, he continued, "on April 13, 1865, a man by the name of Greyson Partington presented evidence to the Maximilian Society, with which you are familiar, proving that the Red System was flawed and that American did not really exist. Of course, he was mistaken on his second point. The Red System was wrong, but America does exist, and, according to the Civil War Theory (CWT), "Presitent" Lincoln was supposed to live a long and happy life after winning the War against the Southern rebels. The Maximilian Council was convinced that it could prove America's existence by bringing a group of observers to the US and demonstrating the Lincoln did, in fact, exist and did, in fact, live a long and healthy life."

Lincoln looked confused, "Grant, why would they need to prove America's existence if they could travel there in the first place?"

"You need to understand better the British mindset. They need to prove America on theoretical grounds before it can be accepted on empirical grounds, not the other way around. And so, while most of the Aristocracy could in fact go to America and visit it, its actual existence could not be demonstrated without the completion of the theory! If the CWT were correct on the last detail of your life, then the Red System could be redeemed! This theory required that you live into old age and, at the very least, complete your... Presidency..."

The was a brief silence as both men calculated what to say next. Both started speaking, but Lincoln prevailed, "but why is that so strange? I will complete my term and live to old age when the time gyre stops..."

Grant bore a frozen expression, "no, my friend, no. It is your fate to die by the assassin's bullet in that same theatre which you have never entered on April 14th, 1865. I am so very sorry."

There was another silence, so long that Grant suspected that Lincoln might have gone to sleep or not heard the shocking revelation of truth. After nearly five minutes, Grant spoke again, "Hamilton could not afford for the Red System to be undermined. When Hamilton made his nefarious pact with the crinoid beings beneath the Earth, he also made a pact with Lord Yog-Sothoth, the one between the spheres. Yog-Sothoth promised Hamilton eternal life in the starry nether-void between the 3rd and 5th dimensions so long as Hamilton would act as the messenger and representative of Yog-Sothoth on Earth. In effect, Hamilton was given a control over the structure of time itself.

He has used this power over time to prevent your assassination, each time hoping that your assassination might become an impossibility. Hamilton cannot directly interfere in the passage of time, and so he simply must wait until enough changes accumulate. However, Hamilton barely graduated from high school, much less obtain a degree in cumulative-transspaciotemporal-calculus, as is necessary to run TIME effectively. Thus, his misuse of time is becoming a terrible problem, as the very fabric is becoming stretched too thin, and, in some places, has become ripped asunder.

Yog-Sothoth and Hamilton have an ancient enemy, TIMEZONE, the summation of all that is just, good, and bright in the world. It was He, who is the true keeper of time, who has been fighting a cosmic battle against Hamilton, dark maesenger of the Lord Sothoth. He is trying to prevent the irreparable damage of time, and he sent me as his messenger. I may be no Hamilton, but I have guts."

Suddenly, Lincoln spoke, "Grant, you are telling me that you are an agent of an force that is trying to stop the "insidious" man who saved my life? Do you expect me to help you? No! I for one care not for your moral quest to save the space-time continuum, I want to win this war!"

"Lincoln...it may be that easy," said Grant with a heavy sigh laced with triumph, "your assassin-to-be was killed in the burning of Washington. Hamilton will not give you a second chance. Unless we can stop him, you are stuck in this time forever, an enemy leader with no army convicted of Treason by the President of the Confederacy."

Lincoln grimaced, "I see. Well then, I suppose that I must follow you in order to save my name and my honor and my duty."

Grant stepped over to a closet and pulled out of it a long device made of swirling and interlocking metal parts. He walked over to Lincoln, "let's god see TIMEZONE," he said as he jammed the thing into Lincoln's ear.

Part IV

In the celestial Hall of Paoluo-tiaede, TIMEZONE sat on his golden throne of sapphires. In the middle of the hall, a gleaming light shone forth, and, after a matter of seconds, the soul of Grant itself stood there. It was not as old as Grant the man, and it had a gleam and vitality about it that spoke of Grant's strength and courage.

He looked about himself, wondering where Lincoln was. "Greetings TIMEZONE," he said politely.

"Greetings, Grant," said TIMEZONE, munching on a bag of Cheeze-O-Puffs.
"TIMEZONE, have you seen Lincoln here, I sent him up with the metallipine-vorto-sphere just seconds ago..."
"Why no Grant, I have not.."
"That is odd."
Timezone got out his map and pointed to the Potomac and then focused in on the cottage. He took off the roof and looked inside. He gasped,
"GRANT! You killed him!" yelled the enraged theomorph.
"What!?" cried Grant, "he disappeared when I fired the metallipine-vorto-sphere into his ear!"
"Well, you screwed the whole damn deal! You...you must have jabbed his inner ear! Without that, his transportation through spacetime to Paoluo-tiaede would have been impossible, and so he was shot back to his bed. But no man can survive a rejection! You killed him!"
The situation was getting worse every second.

"Well...well maybe this could be good," suggested Grant, desperately trying to appease the raging Thing he called a God. "Maybe," continued, his voice quivering just noticeably enough, "maybe this means that Hamilton looses for good! be...because Lincoln is dead!"

"NO!" shouted TIMEZONE, "NO! Now you have tampered with time itself, and therefore his SOUL goes to the dark lord Yog-Sothoth!"

Suddenly a shadowy presence established itself in the center of the hall, and, as it formed, Grant recognized the image of none other than Dextrel Writly, Lincoln's "cousin."

"Greetings," he said in a high-pitched and otherworldly voice, "I have come to bargain for Lincoln's soul"
TIMEZONE smirked broadly, "So, Hamilton, you have some new disguise?"
"Very good, you always were the one for meeting face to face," said Dextrel as his face morphed into that of Hamilton in his youth, "I longed to meet you again, TIMEZONE, or, should I say, Jefferson!.

Grant gasped, "TIMEZONE, Jefferson!"
TIMEZONE let out a big yawn, "I suppose it is time that you know, Grant, that I am, in fact, the soul of Jefferson. I became TIMEZONE by a unanimous vote of the Council of Angels in Heaven, but that is a long story."
"Yes," said Hamilton, "it appears as though we have both two risen through the ranks of heaven and hell. However, if you are not willing to talk, Jefferson, then I will be going[u]."
"[u]STOP RIGHT THERE" boomed the voice of JeffersonTIMEZONE, "Let us settle this here and now, once and for all. For too long have we two battled, first in the Caribbean during the sugar wars, then during the revolution, and in congress, and in the cabinet, and in New York with the spawn of Cthulhu! Now is the time to finish our great contest!"
Hamilton nodded curtly, "Yes, I...I have become rather bored with it all..."

"Wait," said Grant, "tell me first, Hamilton, why you made the Red System at all, why try to preserve it so?"
"Grant, you little flea of a President, I made the Red System to rule England [cf. "The Tale of the New Presitent"], and England to reinvade America. Yes, the proof and memory of America would shock England into action, and the Maximilian Society would take back what England lost. You, Jefferson, always knew that I was a loyalist in truth, but you were too afraid to tell Washington directly. It's too bad, really, he would have executed YOU for the treason of accusing me."
"It is time to put this to rest," said Jefferson, "Let us fight!"

Jefferson drew out a massive broad sword and Hamilton drew a thin but long foil. The two circled each other for a while, but suddenly Jefferson lunged forward with a great sweeping action. Hamilton, ever agile, ducked and swung away with ease. That same instant, he flickered his foil forth like the tongue of a snake, jabbing at least three times in what seemed like a second. Jefferson parried the strikes, but his balance faltered and he lurched back. Hamilton continued circling, striking lightning strikes everywhere, jumping forward and falling back. Jefferson swung and struck, but to no avail. Then Hamilton struck low, and it was parried, then high, and it was parried, then to the side, and he hit. Jefferson roared in pain and anger, and he slashed wildly at in the air, desperately trying to hit his opponent. Hamilton chuckled and struck at the waist, arms, legs, and torso. He hit in two places, and Jefferson fell to the ground, covered in the deep red mist of ethereal blood. Hamilton walked forth, hardly sweating or breathing more than normal, and stood over his ancient foe.

"It was time, and you knew it," said the agent of the Lord of Darkness, "I enjoyed the competition, while it lasted." And with that, he raised his foil above Jefferson's eye and jabbed down.

In the last instant the dying soul kicked at Hamilton's leg, and the attacker slipped and fell, his foil clanging harmlessly on the ground near the two. Jefferson, the one of truth and light, grabbed Hamilton, the one of darkness and deceit, and the two seemed to twirl into a sphere of vapor and mist, struggling black and white, light and dark. And then, with a violent blast, the orb exploded and ripped through time and years and space and miles. The skies burned and roared with flame, and then, it was all silent.

Part V

Lincoln was feeling pretty good about himself. He had won the war, he had implemented the first steps of reconstruction, and he would live a long a prosperous life as a respectable former President. "I am great," he thought, while he walked into the Ford's Theatre on April 14th 1865. He opened the door, and walked right into the antechamber with his wife and friend. They walked up the stairs and to their booth.

(OP: Ben, March 23 2008)