by Mike Parker
“Hi guys,” she began the recording timidly. “I’m okay. As I’m sure you know, the Titanic hit an iceberg and sank. I was fortunate enough to get into one of the lifeboats and be rescued. Nick … Nick,” she paused a moment to calm her emotions. “I’m not sure what happened to Nick. I will teleport in about twenty minutes and try to track him. I estimate we’ve traveled between one hundred and one hundred and fifty miles from the crash site, which means I will likely end up several hundreds of miles away from wherever the Little Bird took him. I will do my best to find him and hope that when I do he is still alive and well. I love you. See you soon…I hope.”
The bright light faded and Ainsley found herself in the corner of a dimly lit room. At first, she was surprised that her arrival had gone unnoticed, but she soon realized where she was and the surprise faded. It was early morning and the reporter was sitting in a dingy old western saloon. The only people present were the bar waitress cleaning up tables, and a number of cowboys who had passed out upon those same tables.
“Howdy, there miss,” a deep voice greeted.
“Umm, hello,” she replied, still a bit disoriented.
“You must be new around these parts,” the tall cowboy said, standing as a silhouette haloed by the bright morning sun in the window behind him.
“Very new,” Ainsley answered with a slight smile.
“Where are my manners,” the cowboy asked rhetorically as he stepped closer to the table and tipped the brim of his hat. “My name is John Henry Holliday, but all my friends just call me Doc.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Doc,” the reporter chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing. I just have a good friend and we like to call him Doc too.”
“Oh, I see,” Doc Holliday replied. “And you are?”
“Beg your pardon, Doc,” Ainsley answered. “My name is Amelia Earhart.”
“And what brings you to Tombstone, Miss Earhart?”
“Well, actually, I’m trying to track down a good friend of mine.”
“And this friend of yours is here in Tombstone?” the cowboy inquired.
“No, I don’t think so,” Ainsley replied. “But perhaps he was here a while back. I was hoping to come across someone who had seen him and would be able to tell me where he went or at least which direction he had headed off in.”
“That sounds like a mighty thin thread you’re pulling on, Miss Earhart.”
“Indeed it is, Doc, but it’s all I have to go on at the moment.”
“Well, I wish you all the best, ma’am,” Doc said, turning to leave.
“Pardon me, Doc,” the reporter called after the cowboy. “It seems I’ve run short on money. Do you know someone who might be interested in buying these,” she said removing the earrings Mrs. Carruthers had supplied with the dress.
“I imagine Mr. Clarke at the General Store would make you an offer on those,” the man replied. “I’d be happy to accompany you, if you like, to ensure you receive a fair price.”
“I would appreciate that very much,” she smiled and stood up from the table.
Doc led the way out of the saloon and down the street of the old west town. They crossed the dirt street and stepped onto the wooden walkway outside the General Store. Mr. Clarke was just opening up shop for the day and greeted them at the door.
“Morning Doc. Who’s your new friend?”
“This is Miss Earhart,” the cowboy answered. “She’s looking to exchange a few items for cash if you’re interested.
“Well, let’s take a little look-see, shall we? What do you have, ma’am?”
“These earrings,” Ainsley offered the jewelry to the shopkeeper. “And the necklace as well I suppose.”
“Mighty fine pieces,” Mr. Clarke observed.
“I told her that you would give her a more than fair price,” Doc Holliday stated giving the shop owner a stern look.
“Of course I will,” he replied nervously. “Are you looking to trade for items or just straight cash?”
“Just cash I suppose,” the reporter answered. “Although,”
“What is it, ma’am?”
“I might like to trade this dress in for something a little more travel-friendly.”
“I think we should be able to do that,” Mr. Clarke said. He disappeared into the back and returned a few moments later with pants, a shirt, and a vest. “Try these on, over there and see what you think,” he suggested nodding toward a trifold screen set up in the corner of the store.
“Thank you, sir,” Ainsley replied. She awkwardly ducked behind the screen and began to wiggle her way out of the dress. It certainly wasn’t as private as the change rooms at Kohl’s, but she could make it work in a pinch. “How do I look?” she asked returning to the front of the store.
“Mighty fine, Miss Earhart. Mighty fine,” Doc smiled. “I’ve negotiated the price with Mr. Clarke. Here is your money. Oh and you’ll be needing a pair of these too,” he said handing her a pair of cowboy boots.
“Why thank you so much, Mr. Holliday.”
“Not a problem, ma’am. I have some rounds to make but I would be happy to meet up with you later.”
“That sounds great,” the reporter said.
“Very well. I will see you then.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Clarke,” Ainsley said once the cowboy had left.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Could you tell me what direction north is?”
“Certainly, ma’am,” the shopkeeper smiled and pointed straight ahead. “Right there. That’s dead north.”
“Thank you kindly,” the reporter said politely and exited the store.
Ainsley returned to her table in the saloon to wait out the morning. She spent about an hour staring at the indicator lights on the Turtle Dove. During that time, the lights did not change which meant that the Little Bird most likely wasn’t moving, or perhaps it was so far away that only movement over a long distance would register. At least she knew what direction she needed to go to find Nick.
“There you are, miss,” Doc Holliday greeted. “How has your morning been?”
“Just fine, thanks,” the reporter answered. “I found a lead on my friend.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“Yeah, someone told me they saw him headed out of town a while back, headed northeast.”
“Northeast, huh,” the cowboy said thoughtfully. “I reckon he’s headed up to Dodge City.”
“Dodge City?” Ainsley inquired. “What’s the quickest way for me to get there?”
“There is a stagecoach that makes the run. It goes to Albuquerque, stops overnight and then on to Dodge in the morning.”
“Really? When does it leave?”
“Any minute now,” the cowboy stated. “If we hurry we might catch it.”
The pair rushed out of the saloon and down the dirt street. Thankfully the coach was still waiting to leave.
“I’ve got one more passenger for you,” Doc Holliday called out.
“Sorry, Doc. We’re not going today.”
“Why not?” Ainsley cried out.
“You would be our first and only passenger, ma’am and it just ain’t worth it to run the coach with only one passenger.”
“How much would it take to persuade you to go?” the reporter questioned.
“More than you have, little lady,” the coach driver stated.
“I think you can make an exception today, don’t you?” Doc asked, putting his hand on his holstered pistol in a not particularly subtle way.
“Umm, well, I suppose we could, Doc,” the coach driver stated. “Hop in, ma’am.”
“You take care of her,” the cowboy said sternly, “Or I will hear about it.”
“Yes sir, Doc.”
“Good luck, Miss Earhart,” Doc said, smiley warmly as he helped Ainsley into the coach. “I do hope you find your friend. Perhaps if you do, you might make your way back here someday.”
“Perhaps,” Ainsley smiled back.
“I would certainly like that.”
The stagecoach rolled out of town and ran virtually non-stop all the way to Albuquerque. The coach company provided a hot meal and a room overnight as part of the fare. Ainsley wasn’t sure if this was part of the usual treatment or if it was more of Doc’s influence, but she appreciated it either way. The next morning, after a breakfast of eggs, toast, and some rather gamey bacon that she wasn’t entirely sure was pork, the time traveler boarded the stagecoach again and headed off for Dodge City.
The reporter arrived at her destination just prior to sundown. She used what was left of the money Mr. Clarke had given her to secure a hotel room for the night. Although she still had ten hours left until her next teleport, she knew the Little Bird had already relocated Nick two hours previous. There was nothing left for her to do but wait and hope that her next leap left her closer to Nick’s location than the last one had.
– 31 –
A Smocha &
Lemon Juice
“What stinks?” Ainsley thought to herself as she arrived at her new location. Glancing around she discovered she was at a fish market. The sign above the stall in front of her read: Pike’s Place Fish Co.
“Head’s up!” a voice shouted behind her.
The time traveler spun around just in time to duck out of the way of a large Alaskan halibut rocketing towards her. A man nearby wearing hip waders caught the fish and laid it out on an ice cube covered shelf.
“Sorry about that ma’am,” the fish catcher said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“No problem,” Ainsley replied. “I just kind of wandered in.”
The reporter wandered out of the market area and down as side street, eventually ducking into a small Starbucks coffee shop. She was quite relieved to see more familiar sights. Sitting down on one of the small couches inside the shop, she picked up a local newspaper resting on the coffee table in front of her. It was the Seattle Times, but more significantly the paper was dated, Saturday, May 24, 2042. As she considered where and when she was, a friendly looking barista named William - according to his name tag - came over to clear a few mugs that hade been left on the coffee table by previous customers.
“Good afternoon,” William greeted.
“Hi,” Ainsley replied politely.
“That’s quite the outfit you’ve got on.”
“Oh, um, yeah,” she answered, suddenly remember she was still decked out in her western garb. “I’m, umm, in a community theater group and we’re having a dress rehearsal today.”
“Cool,” the barista said. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m actually pretty low on cash,” the reporter explained. “The whole starving actress thing, you know. But if you happen to have to remake a drink for someone because it wasn’t quite right the first time, is there any chance I could claim the original cup?”
“Sure, why not,” William smiled. “What do you like?”
“To be honest, it’s been a long week and I’d take just about anything right now.”
“Okay then. I’m Will, by the way.”
“I’m Ainsley. Nice to meet you.”
The barista moved on to clear other tables and Ainsley began formulating a plan to find Nick sometime within the next day and a half. The sooner the better as far as she was concerned. First and foremost she wanted to make sure he was okay. She was still uncertain whether or not he had survived 1912. It could be that the Little Bird was just teleporting his lifeless body from one time to the next every 36 hours. Of course, in her heart, she believed Nick was alive and well, but she knew that was really nothing more than wishful thinking.
The second factor that added extra urgency to her quest to find Nick was that she had finally arrived in the year that Barry had been predicting they would meet in all of his recordings. That meant she not only had to track down Nick but then they would have to somehow track down this Barry before the Little Bird teleported again.
“Here you go,” Will offered a hot cup of coffee to her with a smile. “On the house,” he added.
“What is this?”
“It’s my own creation,” the barista explained. “It’s a s’more flavored mochaccino. I call it a ‘smocha’”
“Thank you, Will,” Ainsley smiled back warmly. “Say, what time do you get off work?”
“In about ten minutes,” the barista answered, “But I should tell you upfront, I have a girlfriend up in Vancouver.”
“Oh, no,” the reporter said, blushing a little. “It’s not that. I just need some help and for some reason, you seem like a guy I could trust.”
“Okay,” Will replied uncertainly. “I guess I’ll see you in ten minutes then.”
Ainsley wasn’t sure if she could trust Will or not. All she knew was she had to find Nick as quickly as possible and her chances of doing so would greatly improve if she had some local help since she didn’t know the area or time, she had no valid money and was dressed like Annie Oakley. The only question was: What story should she give her new friend that might persuade him to help without making him think she was right off her rocker. When the barista returned a few minutes later, Ainsley offered an explanation that surprised even herself.
“Okay, Will,” Ainsley began. “You seem like a decent guy so I’m going to ask you for a favor, but I would really appreciate it if you would do your very best to not think I’m completely nuts.”
“You sure know how to kick off a conversation!” Will chuckled. “Go ahead, I promise to try not to question your sanity.”
“Ok, here goes,” she took a deep breath. “I’m a time traveler.”
“From the wild west?” the barista asked incredulously.
“No,” Ainsley smiled. “More like 2017, but my last stop was the wild west.” She paused a moment to let her answer sink in. “To make a long story short I was traveling through time with my friend, Nick, but we got separated. I’ve tracked him to this time and somewhere north of here, but I only have a little over one day to find him. I have no money, no normal clothes and I don’t know anything about how things work in this time period. I need your help.”
Will listened intently and then thought for a moment. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”
“I did warn you it would sound crazy.”
“Do you have any proof that you’re not?”
“All I have is this,” she said rolling up her sleeve and exposing the Turtle Dove. “This is what helps me travel through time and this little green light is what tells me that my friend Nick is somewhere north of here.”
“Whoa,” the barista said, examining the device closely. “That does look pretty cool. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, I did believe you. What do you think I can do? I’m a barista, not a temporal physicist.”
“I need a ride,” the time traveler began. “I don’t know how far away Nick is, but the faster I can find him the better. I could also use some less conspicuous clothes and a good meal. I would love a hot shower too, but that’s going to have to wait.”
“I don’t know,” Will replied hesitantly. “I feel like I’m on You’ve Been Duped.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where people play jokes on their friends and record it.”
“Oh, like a TV show or something.”
“Ha! TV show! Maybe if you were staying at my grandma’s house. It’s a streamed show, just like everything else.” Will chuckled. “You certainly pull off the whole ‘I’m from twenty-five years ago’ act pretty well.”
“Trust me, Will,” Ainsley said earnestly, “I can’t act.”
“Okay Time Girl,” Will said with a grin. “I’ll give you a ride, but if you turn out to be some kind of ax murderer, I’m going to be really disappointed.”
“Thanks so much,” the reporter beamed. “We need to go north, but can we hit like a Walmart or Target or something on the way out of town.”
“Nope,” the barista said very definitely. “Walmart and Target merged like ten or twelve years ago. Now t
here’s just Ultra-Mart or as we all like to call it, Monopolymart. There’s one on the way out of town. My car is out back and should be fully charged up.”
“I really appreciate this!”
“I have tomorrow off and was thinking of going up to Vancouver to visit my girlfriend anyways,” Will explained. “Why not chauffeur a time traveler while I’m at it!”
The new friends hopped in Will’s car and headed to Ultra-Mart to find Ainsley some new clothes. She quickly picked out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a light jacket and most importantly to her, new underwear. The pair went up to the automated cashier. They swiped each item and then Will paid by scanning the infrared chip in his wrist.
“That’s cool,” Ainsley said. “Does everyone have that now?”
“Pretty much,” Will answered. “It links to bank accounts and essential medical information.”
“Aren’t you guys worried about identity theft and all that?”
“Ha, some were at first, I guess. You’d occasionally see someone walking around with tinfoil around their wrist. Eventually, companies made more stylish wristbands with aluminum built inside, but hey, they were still wristbands so they didn’t really catch on.” Suddenly a look of embarrassment appeared on the young man’s face as he glanced down at the Turtle Dove peaking out of his companion’s sleeve. “No offense.”
“Ha, ha. None taken,” she chuckled. “What keeps someone from walking past you on the street and stealing all your info?” the reporter probed.
“They implant neural sensors here and here,” the barista explained indicating his thumb and middle finger. “The chip is only activated when I touch them together like so. If I’m not doing this, no scanner can get any info off my chip.”
Feeling adequately enlightened, the reporter quickly slipped into the washroom to change into her newly purchased clothes. She kept the boots that Doc had given her but put the rest of her old west clothes into a shopping bag which she tossed in the car’s trunk when they returned to the parking lot. After running through the drive-thru at Jack-In-the-Box they got on the I-5 Express heading north.
