by Richard Todd
The sounds of the short battle—the drums, bugles, gunfire, and screams of dying men—had evaporated to silence. The north breeze rattled the leaves of the cottonwood trees. The Grand River lapped lazily against the shore as it flowed past the bodies of thousands of men lying in the morning sun.
South Dakota
September 28, 1890
07:15 hours
Timeline 003
Twenty miles west of the village, Kyle, Padma, and Annika stood with thousands of Lakota tribespeople. They faced east, watching the dawn sun with anxious anticipation as its piercing rays cleared the horizon. They had slipped out of the village after midnight, leaving only Ogaleesha behind to light the barricade fires and detonate the plateau charges.
Kyle held Pegasus’ reins. Hoover sat in front of Kyle.
To the left of the sun, a brilliant flash erupted. The thunderclap of the plateau explosion rattled the plains exodus. As the blast subsided, a roar erupted from the crowd as they realized no one would be pursuing them. A cacophony of cheers, war yells, and songs swelled in the open plain.
Kyle, Padma, and Annika were solemn, a dark island in a sea of celebration. Kyle’s jaw dropped as the shockwave of the blast pounded against his chest, carrying the full impact of the massacre of his design.
“My God,” Kyle gasped.
Padma hugged him.
“Love, you did what you had to do,” Padma said, cradling Kyle’s head.
Kyle tried to reconcile his thoughts and feelings—the rationalization of the need to kill those who would have certainly killed his wife and the Lakota people against the enormity of the massacre.
Annika stood silent with her arms folded, watching the fading fireball in the east. She wrapped her arms tighter, as if to bind the feelings of fear and guilt within her. She turned to Kyle and Padma. Padma could see the pained expression on Annika’s face as she fought to contain her feelings within her. Padma reached out to hug her.
“No!” Annika said as Padma enveloped her in her long arms. Annika kept her arms folded, refusing Padma’s embrace.
“No—don’t,” Annika said.
“It’s OK,” Padma said softly.
Annika suddenly uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around Padma. She sobbed as Padma gently stroked her hair.
“They would have killed us,” Annika cried.
“Yes, they would have,” affirmed Padma. “They would have killed us all.”
“It still hurts,” Annika cried.
“It’s supposed to,” said Padma, kissing Annika on the top of her head.
Padma saw a distant puff of dust rise from the prairie to the east. She patted Annika on the back. “What’s that?”
The trio looked as the dust cloud grew closer. Annika wiped the tears from her face and reached for her binoculars.
“Is it the army?” Padma asked.
The Lakota’s celebration died down as the tribespeople noticed the approaching dust storm. Warriors mounted their horses and galloped to repel the invaders.
Annika focused on the cloud. A warrior on a roan mustang emerged from the dust cloud.
“It’s Ogaleesha,” Annika reported.
“That’s impossible!” Padma said. “Something’s wrong. There’s no way he could have gotten here this fast.”
Padma felt a pang of fear. She looked around the crowd, trying to find Takoda. She had lost track of him during the midnight escape.
“Due-kdayl Takoda?” she asked the tribespeople. They shrugged.
Ogaleesha raised his rifle high in the air to greet the approaching warriors. They raised their rifles in return and turned their horses to flank Ogaleesha as they rode back to the awaiting crowd. Ogaleesha halted his horse in front of Padma.
He reached down from his horse to hand Padma a folded piece of paper. When she took it, he rode away.
Padma unfolded the farewell note from Takoda. After a few moments, she crumpled it in her hand.
“I killed him,” she said.
Kyle hugged her as she cried softly into his shirt.
The tribespeople slowly began to mobilize, turning away from the destruction. Those with horses mounted them. Those on foot continued their slow journey west across the prairie. The brilliant morning sun ascended at their backs, bringing with it a new day.
Deadwood, SD
October 1, 1890
08:30 hours
Timeline 003
It was a beautiful morning in Deadwood. The citizens began their day with their customary routines. Businessmen walked purposefully to work. Shop owners unlocked their doors. Mine workers pulled on their boots and hurried off to another day of hard labor cracking rocks. Bacon sizzled in iron pans in the town’s restaurants and hotels. The warm yeast scent of freshly baked biscuits wafted from ovens. In the saloons, barkeeps wiped their countertops and glasses.
In Chinatown, shops, laundries, and opium dens shook off the night’s slumber and prepared for the day.
Caucasian and Chinese men and women strolled down the Main Street thoroughfare in their suits, bustled dresses, and long Changchun shirts, stopping in their tracks as they heard a sound that did not belong in their routine Deadwood morning. From the hills surrounding the town in the south and east rose a deafening high-pitched roar. They looked to the hills—to their horror, they saw a massive army of Lakota warriors on horseback, lofting rifles, feathered spears, and bows. As the thousands of warriors galloped their horses down the hills, it appeared as though a waterfall of brilliantly colored war paint and feathers was washing over the hills to flood the town.
The 5,000 Lakota warriors descending on Deadwood were more than double the town’s population. As the warriors bore down on the town, hundreds fired their rifles. Screams and shouts erupted from the men and women on the thoroughfare as they panicked and ran north up Main Street, away from the galloping horde.
People in shops and cafes heard the gunfire and watched as hundreds of terrified citizens ran past the glass windows. Some joined the Main Street exodus, some exited out back doors and ran away. Some, frozen in fear, hid behind bars, desks, and counters.
Seth Bullock grabbed his rifle and bounded out of his sheriff’s office, where three of his deputies serpentined through the fleeing mob to meet him.
A man in his thirties, with a brown beard and brown felt hat, looked up from the street at the sheriff. “What do we do?” he asked.
Sheriff Bullock looked down Main Street at the approaching army. The warriors were less than 30 seconds away from the downtown. He knew there was nothing a handful of men could do in the face of the painted tsunami.
He shook his head at the impossible options. “You men save your families. I’ll tend to mine.”
The deputies tipped their hats to the sheriff and disappeared, swept downstream in the rushing mob.
Those cowering inside Main Street businesses peeked from behind their hiding places to see the first of the warriors as they passed by the front glass. The warriors and their horses were spectacularly decorated. The men’s faces were painted with streaks of red, yellow, and blue. They wore feathers in their hair—the chiefs wore feather bonnets. Most were bare-chested—some wore bone breastplates. Their pants were fringed deerskin. Their horses also wore feathers in their manes and tails. Painted handprints blazed from their horses’ hindquarters.
From his hiding place on the cherry wood floor of his bank, Daniel Dickinson raised his head above his desktop to glimpse the scene on Main Street. Through the bank’s front window, he watched with combined terror and awe as a chief, wearing a full feather bonnet, bone breastplate, and fringed leather pants, reared his painted black and white mustang high in the air.
Chief Gall waved a feathered spear. After years of humiliation in the shadow of the whites, the chief burst with enormous pride. He shou
ted and pumped his spear, extolling his troops as his horse reared back and struck at the air with his front legs.
When the warriors arrived, they scanned Main Street for people—the street was empty. Chief Gall held up his hand. The thousands of Lakota tribesmen who packed the street went silent. Kyle and Padma sat astride Pegasus at the front of the army. Annika rode her black mustang next to them. Kyle noticed they stood in front of the Gem, where he had said goodbye to Margaret days before.
Padma stood up on Pegasus’ back, steadying herself by placing her hands on Kyle’s shoulders.
“People of Deadwood,” Padma shouted. “The Lakota people reclaim the land that was stolen from them. We have killed your army. No one is coming to save you.
“You have five minutes to leave town. Anyone remaining in five minutes will be killed. Leave now or die.”
Kyle set the timer on his watch. The warriors scanned the Main Street businesses for activity.
The saloon doors of the Gem swung open. Al Sweringen walked out. He glared at Kyle.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Sweringen said.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” replied Padma, patting Kyle’s shoulders.
Sweringen spat at Pegasus’ feet and turned away, joining the diaspora as Deadwood’s remaining inhabitants, their worlds inverted, walked north on Main Street on their way out of town. The army of warriors roared in their wake.
Kyle turned Pegasus. Padma looked out upon a sea of painted faces. The warriors went silent.
Padma began to recite a Lakota prayer Takoda had taught her.
“O’ Wakan Tanka…
Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the wind, whose breath gives life to all the world.
Hear me; I need your strength and wisdom.
Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people.
Help me to remain calm and strong in the face of all that comes towards me.
Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock.
Help me seek pure thoughts and act with the intention of helping others.
Help me find compassion without empathy overwhelming me.
I seek strength, not to be greater than my brother, but to fight my greatest enemy—myself.
Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes.
So when life fades, as the fading sunset, my spirit may come to you without shame.”
Padma paused. Tears flowed down her face. She saw that some of the warriors wept as well.
“Wakan oyate wan waniyang u ktelo!” Padma shouted. “A sacred nation is appearing!”
“Wakan Tanka!” roared the warriors. They began walking their horses in procession on both sides of Pegasus, reaching for Padma as they passed. She extended her arms. Hundreds touched her hands and her doeskin dress. She beamed as they rode past. As the last warrior walked by, Padma turned to Kyle.
“Help me down, love,” she said.
Kyle eased her off Pegasus, then dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the Gem. Annika slid off her horse and joined them. Many of the warriors rode out of town to collect their families waiting in the hills. Others began to explore the town.
Padma looked at Kyle and Annika with a lost look on her face.
“I don’t know what to do now,” Padma said.
“I don’t know about the two of you, but I could use a drink,” said Annika, turning toward the Gem.
Padma shrugged at Kyle. “Good idea.”
Annika blew through the swinging bar doors into the empty saloon. A smile lit up her face as she surveyed the Wild West bar. Half full glasses of whiskey and beer sat on the bar and tables. A smoke trail rose from a cigar resting on the edge of the bar. Four poker hands lay on a table, surrounding a pile of coins and crumpled paper bills—abandoned by the players who had fled without their stakes. One of the game table chairs was knocked on its back on the floor.
As Kyle and Padma entered the Gem, Annika put a hand on the bar and leapt over it effortlessly with a scissor kick. Padma marveled at the tiny woman’s ability to defy gravity with such a simple motion. Kyle unslung his back and set it on the bar.
Annika reached under the bar and produced three shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
“Belly up!” she said. Annika uncorked the bottle and began to pour.
“Well, I guess they’re going to have to find another place to put Mount Rushmore,” she said.
The trio held up their glasses.
“What shall we drink to?” Annika asked.
“To the new world,” Padma said.
Annika flashed a bright smile. “To the new world!”
The clinked their glasses and downed the whiskey. All three mangled their faces as the ragged-edged whiskey went down.
“That is horrible!” exclaimed Annika.
All three laughed.
Annika turned to the door behind the bar that led to a storeroom. “I’m gonna see if they’ve hidden the good stuff in the back.”
As Annika disappeared into the storeroom, Kyle and Padma heard the creaking of the swinging saloon doors. They turned to see Sitting Bull. He was wearing fringed buckskin from head to toe, brilliantly beaded in blue, red, and yellow. Unlike the other chiefs, he did not wear a feather bonnet. Instead, a sole eagle feather rose from a knot in his hair.
As he approached Padma, he reached for the feather and pulled it out of his hair. He extended it to her.
“Oh no,” Padma said. “I can’t. It’s too much! Hiya.”
Sitting Bull shook the feather at Padma, insistently. She took it, reluctantly.
“Thank you very much,” Padma said. “Pee-lah-mah-yah-yea.”
Sitting Bull did not acknowledge Padma’s thanks. Instead, he stared at her. His expression was one of expectation.
“I don’t understand,” said Padma, looking to Kyle for guidance. “What does he want?”
Kyle mirrored Padma’s confusion, “Maybe a trade?”
Padma reached into her backpack slung around her shoulder. The only meaningful item she could find was her small blue Krishna figurine—the one that had enshrined Kyle’s death years before. Somehow, the little blue ceramic deity had survived the war. She extended it to the chief, hoping he would find it an acceptable trade.
Sitting Bull slapped her hand away. The Krishna figurine shattered on the floor. The chief seemed insulted. Kyle took a step forward—Lakota legend or not, no one was going to slap his wife.
At that moment, Kyle felt the floor vibrate. A low hum began to rise with the vibration. Kyle reached into his pocket, pulling out his transponder. While he had hidden Annika’s transponder as he had claimed, his own transponder had never left him. He flipped it open. The red light was on. On the display, a single word appeared.
“ACTIVE”
Kyle grabbed Padma by the waist and pulled her close. He grabbed Hoover by the scruff of his neck. As the light began to rise with the hum, they saw Sitting Bull nod affirmatively. The moment before the light washed out the scene, they saw Annika explode through the storeroom door.
“NO!” she screamed.
Annika’s scream and panicked face faded into the blinding light and teeth-rattling hum of the Time Tunnel.
As the light and vibration faded away, Kyle and Padma found themselves in the Time Tunnel’s glass sphere. The vault door to the chamber opened. Technicians and a dozen armed soldiers rushed in. The soldiers pointed their assault rifles at Kyle and Padma as the technicians moved the stairs into place.
“Oh my God!” Pad
ma shouted, covering her face.
Kyle knew it was pointless to reach for his holstered MP7.
Hoover gnashed his teeth, barking wildly at his new world.
A technician in white clean-room garb climbed the stairs to the glass sphere and opened the hatch, gesturing for Kyle and Padma to come out. As they did, one of the soldiers shouted at the couple.
“Put your fucking hands on your head—right now!”
Kyle and Padma obeyed, putting their hands on their heads as they descended the stairs. The technician slammed the door on the glass chamber, locking Hoover inside.
The soldiers grabbed Kyle and Padma and threw them both to the floor, pulling their arms behind their backs as they locked their wrists in handcuffs. Padma clutched Sitting Bull’s eagle feather in her shackled hand. A soldier pulled it away and tossed it aside.
“No!” she screamed.
The soldier grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her head off the cement floor, straining her neck.
“You do what we tell you to do!” the soldier shouted.
“Kyle!” Padma screamed.
Kyle fought to get up. A soldier smacked him on the back of his head with the butt of his rifle.
The soldiers disarmed Kyle and patted down every inch of both their bodies. Hoover jumped against the glass walls of the Time Tunnel chamber, barking and snarling. One of the soldiers climbed the steps to the chamber. He unholstered his pistol and put his hand on the chamber latch. Kyle could see he was about to shoot Hoover.
A deep voice spoke over the PA system, “Don’t hurt the dog.” Kyle recognized the voice as General Craig’s.
The soldier holstered his pistol and trotted down the steps to Kyle and Padma. The two were hoisted to their feet. A soldier poked Kyle hard in the back with his rifle barrel.
“Move!”
The couple was escorted at gunpoint to mission control. The vault door swung open to reveal General Craig, wearing his uniform.
The general’s eyes went wide in reaction to Padma’s native dress.
