[Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club 01.0] Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club: Book I

by Robert McAuley

  “Is Mr. Plimpton in the security business?”

  “No, Mr. Plimpton has an idea for a transportation system that goes on your feet. His design has four wheels, rather than the standard two, and is much, much easier to use than the old style. They will be called roller skates, and believe me, they will catch on, and you and your family will be set for life. He resides in Medford, Massachusetts and should be easy for you to look up.”

  O’Neil made some notes on a small pad then finished his drink and stood up. The men shook hands, and O’Neil asked, “Mr. Scott, will we meet again?”

  Bill answered, “No, Mister O’Neil, I don’t think so, but you never can tell.”

  DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Back in his club’s office in New York, Bill sat at his computer while a snowstorm raged outside. A knock at the Time Portal door grabbed his attention.

  “Prescott?” Bill mumbled as he happily crossed the room, slid the key into the lock and swung the door wide. “Pres . . . ”

  A tall young man in his mid-twenties wearing a one-piece light blue suit stood there. He was a clean-shaven, dark haired man about Bill’s height. He smiled and his blue eyes twinkled as he offered a hand to Bill.

  “Bill Scott, I’m Edmund Scott. I’m from 2066 and very pleased to meet you.”

  Bill was surprised but not shocked. He shook the stranger’s hand and said, “Same here, Mr. Scott. Is it a coincidence that we share the same last name, or are we related?”

  “We are related, Bill, I am your grandson.”

  Now Bill was shocked, but he beamed at meeting his future relative. “Damn! This gets better and better. Did they just recruit you to meet me, or what?”

  “No, I’ve been a part of the Time Watchers program since I was eighteen years old. You can say it runs in the family. After you, it was a natural selection for us Scotts.”

  “Come in . . .err . . . Ed . . . err . . . Edmund. What do I call you?”

  The young man entered the room and answered, “My friends call me Edmund, and I you? Grandpa . . .”

  “Don’t! Stop right there,” Bill interrupted. “It’s obvious that I get married, but I don’t want to know everything. I’d prefer to let it just happen. And call me Bill.” He closed the door behind Edmund. “Would you like a drink, Edmund? Coffee, tea or whatever?”

  “No thanks, Bill. I was selected to be your contact, and I waited until you finished your first mission. You did great. I’m proud to be a Scott.”

  “Lots of credit has to go to Prescott Stevens. It was his call.”

  “Mr. Stevens is a legend in our time and, believe me, you have just gained a lot of respect from the time watcher’s group. You are a perfect successor for him.” Edmund put a hand out to steady himself on the desk. “Whoa . . . little dizzy for a second. The air, you know. I can’t stay long, not used to it. Maybe over time . . . “

  Bill helped him into a chair. “Stay still and breathe slowly. I’ll get you some water.”

  “No, no thanks. They told me the water from this era would upset me. I’ll just sit a second.”

  “Right,” Bill said, “But I’m curious. Are you here to give me an assignment or just to let me see my future family?”

  Edmund smiled as he rubbed his temples. “Just to introduce myself and let you know that we of the future, appreciate your work. As for an assignment, nothing yet.” He took a slow breath, “There is a hint of Theodore Roosevelt swerving off course, but it may be nothing. We are sending a probe back to investigate the possibility and will let you know.”

  He started to stand up, wobbled, and Bill went to help him.

  Edmund said slowly, “I’m okay, Bill. I just have to come for short visits until I become more . . . more, acclimated to your air. But for now . . . “

  They shook hands, and then Bill hugged him. “Do families do that in your time?”

  Edmund smiled. “They do. I’ll see you soon, Grandpa Bill.”

  Bill gave him a good-natured punch on the arm and walked him to the door. “Edmund, let me just ask you this. Is there a Charlene Greene anywhere in your family line?”

  “No,” Edmund said, his face in thought, “never heard that name before. Should I know her?”

  Bill smiled and answered, “No, just wondering. Now, take care of yourself, you young whippersnapper.”

  Bill closed the door, as a tap on the den’s door drew his attention.

  “Come in,” he said.

  The door opened, and Matt entered. “The guests are seated, sir” Bill nodded as he looked in the full-length mirror and straightened his cravat. “What’s on the menu tonight, Matt?”

  “Roast pork chops, carrots, corn, mashed potatoes, cornbread and brown gravy, sir.”

  “Excellent. Be down in a minute. Thanks, Matt.”

  Bill turned back to his computer and looked at the results of the subject he had punched into Google. The text read, “In the late 1800s, James Plimpton invented what became the modern-day roller skates. His small company received an infusion of cash from John O’Neil, who became a partner in the firm. Both men lived to ripe old ages and saw their company grow to be at the top of the roller skate kingdom and worth millions of dollars.” Along with the text was a black and white photo of O’Neil smiling at Bill from across the years.

  Bill smiled and closed the laptop. He put his jacket on and walked toward the stairs as the storm outside continued to howl. He caught his reflection in a dark window and wondered what his next mission would be. Boy, he thought, I’d love to meet Teddy Roosevelt.

  The Theodore Roosevelt Mission

  DATELINE: 1898 PLACE: CUBA

  A bullet ricocheted off a rock and dug itself into a tree trunk, almost hitting a butterfly. In a foxhole beneath the same tree, an army private noticed that the butterfly didn’t even react to the near miss.

  Guess being scared is only for us humans; he thought and quickly ducked his head as another shot whipped past his ear. He didn’t see as the butterfly flew off and perched itself on another tree close to three uniformed men in a large shell hole. They held an unfolded map, studied it, and looked around as though trying to orient themselves. A slim, gray-haired man wearing U.S. Army Captain’s bars gestured to the group’s right flank.

  “Sir, I think the Spaniards are up that hill,” he said.

  All three ducked in unison as a burst of rifle fire tore through the dirt in front of them.

  “Damn close,” muttered Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, as he wiped the dirt off his glasses. “Damn close.”

  The third man, a lieutenant, shook his head in disagreement and pointed to a spot on the map. “Sirs, with all due respect, I do believe the enemy is on our left flank.”

  The colonel squinted up the hill. “It’s their damned smokeless gunpowder,” he said. “They’re picking us off one by one and we can’t even see where they are. Isn’t fair.”

  Another burst followed by an explosion put the three officers deeper into their makeshift foxhole. Roosevelt looked perplexed, while the two other officers were close to an argument as each expressed his theory of the enemy’s position.

  A runner suddenly jumped into the already-tight hole and breathlessly reported: “Message for you, Colonel Roosevelt. Captain Lewis spotted the Spaniards straight ahead and up on San Juan Hill. He requests your troops take it as soon as possible to relieve the pressure on his flank.”

  Roosevelt looked at his map, then forward to the top of the hill. “Tell Captain Lewis I’ll attack as soon as I can, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir,” the runner said as he crawled out of the hole and scurried off to deliver the message.

  Through the smoke of battle, the three officers tried to make out the hilltop.

  “It’s going to be a tough one, Colonel,” said the captain.

  “That it is,” replied Roosevelt, through tight lips, “that it is.”

  The Lieutenant looked at him. “Sir, if we can get an artillery piece to fire on the hilltop to keep th
eir heads down, we might be able to pull it off.”

  The heavyset colonel brushed dirt off his tan uniform jacket and said with a grimace, “There are no artillery pieces ready in our sector, and to attack straight up the hill would be sheer suicide. No, I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until it gets dark.”

  The Captain sat in the bottom of the hole and lit a cigar. “It won’t be dark for hours yet. But we can’t just go up the hill and attack their front. We’ll be mowed down. I hope Lewis can hold out until nightfall.”

  A butterfly skimmed over their heads and startled the three men.

  “Don’t blame the little critter,” said Roosevelt as he wiped dust off his boots. “If I had wings I might do the same.”

  The two officers looked at their commander and wondered if he really would fly off if he could.

  DATELINE: 2066 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

  As the person in charge of this mission, John Hyder sat at the head of a long, mahogany table. The mid-thirties, blond-haired man scratched his long, gray-flecked sideburns nervously as he activated the hologram brought back by the butterfly probe. The rest of the time watchers team sat waiting to see why he had summoned the group meeting. Hyder mentally checked the group in: Joseph Sergi, tall at six-feet six-inches with long dark hair that was always in his eyes and made all think he was much younger than his 40 years of age sat on Hyder’s left and white-haired Maryellen Muldey sat next to him. She was the eldest of the group and proud of her sixty-two years. At Hyder’s right sat raven-haired Alexis Shuntly whose green eyes peered at him through thick glasses that made her look older than her forty-five years of age. Finally, there was Jerry Sullivan, who perpetually smiled and cleaned his spotless eyeglasses. Sullivan still had his thick, curly brown hair even though most people in their mid-fifties had gone gray.

  All watched as he placed the hologram at the center of the table, and the Battle of San Juan Hill started all over again. Projecting it was the very same butterfly, time-probe that had just avoided being destroyed by a Spaniard’s bullet during its intelligence-gathering mission, more than one hundred years earlier.

  “He’s definitely straying,” Alexis Shuntly said.

  Joseph Sergi agreed, “Definitely. He’s been showing little signs for a few months now, but this is the clincher. He seems reluctant to charge up San Juan Hill.”

  Hyder nodded. “I agree. All in favor of going to the next level raise your hands.” All raised their hands and Hyder declared: “Agreed. We have to do a trip. Got to find out what made Roosevelt lose his . . . his . . .”

  “Aggressiveness,” asserted Maryellen Muldey.

  They all looked at Muldey and nodded their heads.

  “Yes, his aggressiveness,” said Hyder. He pressed a button on the table, the door opened and a young man entered. Hyder smiled at him. “Ted, we have to send someone back to the 1800 Club in New York City, time frame 2011. Who’s handling that period?”

  Ted turned the pages in a small notebook, stopped and ran his finger down a list and said, “That’d be Edmund Scott. He is a direct descendant of Bill Scott, the current president of the 1800 Club for that time frame.”

  Hyder nodded and turned to the people seated at the table. “Bill Scott handled the Lincoln mission,” he said, with satisfaction. “He did an outstanding job of delivering the Gettysburg Address when President Lincoln was incapacitated for a short period. He then went on and stopped a takeover of the White House, which our probes completely missed. He took over Mr. Prescott Stevens’ place when he retired. As I said, he did an outstanding job. Especially since it was his first time travel mission. He took to it like a duck to water.” Hyder looked around the table at the others. They nodded their heads in agreement. “So, a show of hands if we agree that Bill Scott should handle this case.”

  They all raised their hands.

  DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Bill Scott was reading Jack Finney’s book, Time and Again. Although he had read it twice before he found the subject of time travel, thrilling. The first two times he had read it, it was pure fiction. But now, it was reality. Bill knew how the author felt when his hero stepped back into an early New York City. He knew because he had done the same thing. Oh, not the same way as Finney’s hero did, but by opening the 1800 Club’s time travel portal, set up by Hyder’s group.

  He sat back, put the book down and sipped hot cocoa from his favorite cup, a Donald Duck mug, as he gazed out the window of his midtown New York, Townhouse apartment. It was on the top floor of the 1800 Club and the view was spectacular. He gazed at the fire roaring in the huge wood, brick and stone fireplace with the painting of Prescott Stevens over it. Prescott had run the club for twenty-five years while Bill had been a member for only two years, when Stevens picked him to be his successor. That was just five weeks ago!

  It’s been a wild five weeks, Bill thought, taking a sip of his drink.

  One of the club’s rules was to keep a record of any trip back, and Bill must have read and reread all previous trips plus his own exploit a dozen times or more. Boy, he thought, Jack Finney would have loved to have had the club at his disposal when he wrote ‘Time And Again.’

  He finished his cocoa and as he peered into the large, ornate 1802 mirror over the washbasin to straighten his cravat, the grandfather clock struck seven-thirty. Almost eight. Got to get ready for dinner, he thought as he went to his desk and looked at the evening’s menu: ‘Steak and potatoes with carrots and baby onions, all smothered in brown gravy.’ Man, Bill thought, as he patted his stomach. I’ll have to watch it or I’ll grow into this job in more ways than one.

  A knock at the door got his attention. He opened it as he put on his dinner jacket. Standing in the doorway was Matt, the right-hand man to his predecessor who Bill now inherited. Matt was helping to break him in.

  “Good evening, Matt,” Bill said. “Almost time?”

  Matt gave a hint of a bow. “Yes, sir. Dinner will be ready at eight o’clock.”

  “Did you get a head count, Matt?”

  “Yes, sir. Twenty-four members this evening.”

  “Mmmm, should be a nice evening.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll check on the food.”

  “Fine. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Matt walked away, and Bill closed the door. He went over to a turn-of-the-century armoire and took out a white handkerchief. Bill deftly placed it in his breast pocket as he looked in a full-length mirror, and noted that the white stood out crisply against the black, three-piece suit he wore. He fixed the dark red cravat at his neck then bent over and gave a fast swipe to the polished, high-buttoned shoes he wore.

  A knock at the door at the back of his office stopped him. Bill stared at the dark mahogany door with its brass handle and lock, his eyebrows raised.

  “Prescott?”

  He walked quickly toward the time portal. Can he be visiting from back then? Bill thought as he grabbed the key that hung from a gold chain around his neck and quickly unlocked the door. He flung it open and saw his contact from the future, his grandson Edmund Scott, smiling at him.

  “Grandp . . .”

  Bill quickly put a finger to the time traveler’s lips before the young man could finish his sentence. “Hush! Don’t say it. I’m not even married yet so you can’t call me grand-anything. Not yet anyhow.” They hugged and Bill said, “Come in, Edmund, come in.”

  Scott’s future grandson walked slowly into the office. Bill quickly remembered that the air of the twenty-first century was a thick, polluted atmosphere that future people could handle for only short periods of time. He pulled out a chair.

  “Sit, Ed, sit down.”

  The tall, slim man did as he was told. “Whew, Gran . . . err . . . Bill, I mean. I know the air in this period is heavy with pollutants, but a guy forgets until he breathes it again.” He shook his head. “So, how are you?”

  Bill answered with a smile, “I’m fine.
What about you? How are you doing? Can I get you anything to drink?”

  Edmund shook his head. “No thanks, Bill. Since we cleaned up our water, your water is like a super-bad case of Montezuma’s Revenge.”

  Bill cringed. “Sorry. So, what brings you here?”

  “Remember what I said the last time I was here? About Theodore Roosevelt? It looked as if he was losing the daring edge we all know he had?”

  A knock at the other door got both men’s attention. Bill got up and stopped Edmund as he started to rise. “Stay seated. It’s Matt letting me know dinner is being served.” He opened the door, and Matt saw Edmund.

  Addressing Bill, Matt said, “Excuse me, sir, I see you have company. Shall I have another place set?” Bill looked at Edmund questioningly.

  “Not for me,” Edmund said. “Actually, I’ll be on my way in a few minutes.”

  Bill turned to Matt. “I’ll be a little late, Matt. Have dinner started, and I’ll catch up.”

  “Very well, sir,” Matt said calmly and closed the door behind him.

  “You’re welcome to join us, Edmund. I’m sure you’ll fit in, and none would be the wiser.”

  “I’m . . . I’m having a hard time breathing and I’d probably pass out in the middle of dinner,” the younger man said. He looked at Bill and asked, “Will you have to try and explain to Matt how I entered this room without ringing the front doorbell?”

  Bill shook his head. “No. Matt knows all about the club’s time travel capability. In fact, he has been going back in time for years and bringing back staples that have been gone from the grocery stores for a long time.”

  Edmund nodded as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “Edmund, maybe the next time we meet, I’ll come up to your time. I’ve never been there.”

  “I can arrange that. But you do realize it’ll be like you breathing rarefied air on a high mountain.”

  “I’ll try anything once. Now, what about Roosevelt?” Bill asked.

  “Well, we had indications of things starting to go differently than they were supposed too. Little things, but changes nonetheless.”