"KILL EDISON"

by Ray Miles

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2009 Ray Miles

Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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# # #

A twig snapped like a note out of tune with the tranquil, cool Colorado night.  The three fur trappers, huddling in their tent, awoke with a start.

“You think we caught something?” one of them whispered.

“That didn't sound like a sprung trap,” the boss said.

“Somebody stealing our stuff?” the other asked.

“Let's hope it ain't Injuns,” the boss replied.

Each man grabbed his loaded rifle.  They peered out into the darkness.  The embers from the campfire were just about gone.  Their furs laid undisturbed, folded and tied up in packs.  They stepped softly out onto the foliage in their socks, eyes scouring the silent trees.

Startled by the clap of metal followed by the pop of broken bone, the boss aimed his rifle to the left.  His partner howled in agony.  “My leg!” he cried.  “That's one of our traps!” the boss said.

He spun to the right at the crack of another trap.  The other man was down on one knee, gasping for breath, blood and marrow coming out of his leg.

An invisible arrow whistled and pierced its target.  The boss turned to see the man on his left collapse, the arrow in his chest.  “They're attacking!” he cried.  He fired a shot into the dark.  Another arrow burrowed into the man on his right.  The boss stepped forward.  The metallic teeth crunched into his leg like a thousand ferocious canines.  He dropped his rifle.

Suddenly, he was on his knees, surrounded by Indians.

“What's wrong, jack?” he heard.  “Feeling crunchy?”

Bewildered by the sight of a scowling, shirtless white man in cut-up jeans and Converse sneakers, the trapper had no idea the man was from the future.  His tattoos of Chinese characters and Rocky & Bullwinkle might as well have been hieroglyphs.  He tried desperately to recall if he knew the man as the ignoble savage drew a samurai sword from a sheath slung over his shoulder.

“Why?” the trapper screeched.

“I've come from the future to protect my furry friends from fascists like you!”

Lance thrust the sword into the poor trapper's heart.  With relish, an Indian warrior grabbed the trapper by the hair and scalped him.  Lance marveled at his efficiency.  “Get the man some Rogaine!” he said.

Chief Hawk studied Lance's expression as he approached.  He accepted Lance's madness as fierce zealotry.  After all, so much of what he said had come true and the advanced weaponry he helped them procure had begun tipping the balance of power in their favor.

Lance's eyes zeroed in on the packs of fur.  “Are those furs?” Lance asked.

“Yes,” Chief Hawk replied.  “Shall we take them?”

“Bury them!” Lance said.  “The Great Spirit is offended by greed and demands we take only what we need.”

“Yes, of course.  You are the Prophet.”

“Brothers,” Lance said, “I'm proud of what we've done today.  And, in just two days, our righteous mission is complete.” He reached into his man purse and pulled out an incandescent light bulb.  “Behold the white man's medicine!”

The posse howled, booed, and hissed.

“Greed created this,” Lance continued, “and greed is the root of all evil.  This wicked medicine will spark a chain of events that will destroy your noble way of life! Death to Edison!”

“Death to Edison!” they responded.

“We'll camp here and gather our strength,” Lance said.

The warriors cheered.  Soon, they transformed the smoldering embers into a crackling bonfire.  Lance began rolling weed into joints.  He offered one to Chief Hawk.

“It is a great honor fighting with you,” the Chief said as he accepted.  Lance lit both of their cigarettes.  “Nah, bro.  The honor's mine,” Lance replied.  “I'm just a kid from Fresno.”

The older men enlivened the evening with their drums and songs.  To Lance, they seemed to bang in rhythm with the Earth's pulse.  The younger men rushed to their feet and tore into their traditional dance.

“Woo!” Lance shouted.  He jumped to his feet and started break dancing.  He danced the moonwalk and the caterpillar.  He spun on his back, jumped to his feet, then stunned everyone with a back flip. 

# # #

Railcars were tossed off the tracks as if they were mere toys.  The stench was a stew of dead Indians and passengers and horses, of coal and metal.

Four horsemen, two men from the present and two men from the future, formed an odd sight as they somberly toured the crime scene.

Cory Frank, regional manager of the Union Pacific, shook his head as if the stock market had just crashed.  “Durant's gonna flip,” he said.  He turned to Major Travis.  “If you're from the future, why didn't you see this coming?”

“Lance is re-writing history,” Travis replied.  “We're in terra incognita at this point.”

“Are these your Indians, General?” Dexter asked.

“Yes,” General Crook replied, massaging his beard.

“I didn't know you had Indians on your side protecting trains,” Dexter said.

“Of course not,” Travis said.  “Your knowledge of these times is so deficient -- Look at your ridiculous disguise.  There are no Pilgrims in Menlo Park circa 1878.  Even the locals spotted you.”

“They got the Gatling gun,” General Crook said.

“What? Are you sure?” Cory asked.

“I've fought enough Confederate rebels in my time,” the General replied.

One of Cory's Chinese employees rushed over.  “Mr. Frank! Come look! I think I found them!”

He led them to the bodies of J.P. Morgan and George Westinghouse.  On their foreheads were Post-it notes with sayings like, “Biodegradable” and “Recyclable”.

“This is a catastrophe,” Cory said.

“Have you found Mr. Edison?” Travis asked.

“No, sir,” the employee said.  “He's nowhere to be found.”

“Maybe he felt ill and got off at Castle Rock,” Cory said.

“General,” Travis said, looking at his wormhole timer, “our wormhole opens tomorrow at noon.  That will be our last opportunity.  If we fail to eliminate Lance --”

“He's my brother!” Dexter said.  “Don't kill him! I'll get him back home.”

“Do you really think a psychopath will go back willingly?” Travis said.

“Who do you think you are?” Dexter said.  “You're not even bona fide military.  You're a contract killer on the General Electric payroll.”

“That's enough,” General Crook said.  “There's only one way to respond to this.  Total annihilation.”

“Mr. Frank!” said the Chinese employee.  “Mr. Morgan has a letter!”

“Let's see that,” Cory said.  “Looks like Lance lured them all to Colorado Springs by pretending to be a venture capitalist.  They're suppose to meet at the hotel tomorrow at 10 o'clock.”

“Well, now we know where Edison's headed,” Travis said.

“Major,” General Crook said, “this Lance, this rabble-rousing aberration of nature, will go back to his time or die.”

# # #

“Miss Rose, I must say I never had more fun getting beat at cards by a lady,” Thomas Edison said.

“Of course not,” Miss Rose said, taking a swig from her flask of whiskey.  “You've never met a lady like me.”

The Sun was setting as their stagecoach arrived in Colorado Springs.  “I think we just arrived, my dear,” he said, lighting up her cigarette.

The stagecoach came to a halt.  Travis opened the door fully dressed for twenty-first century combat, rifle in hand, night vision goggles on the nose.  He might as well have been an extraterrestrial.  Miss Rose leaped into Edison's lap.  Edison screamed like a little girl.

General Crook pushed Travis out of the way.  “Thomas Edison! Have you taken leave of your senses?” he said.  They abruptly stopped screaming, their expressions frozen in terror.  “I am General Crook.  We are here to protect you.  Come with me.”

They rushed Miss Rose and Edison to the hotel lobby where they met up with Cory and Dexter.  To say the place was heavily guarded would be an understatement.

“Miss Rose!” Cory said.  “What a relief!”

“Who's she?” Travis asked.

“My boss's niece,” Cory replied.  “Why weren't you two on the train?”

“I felt ill,” she replied, blushing.  “So, I got off a stop early and spent the night at Castle Rock.”

“Yes,” Edison corroborated, stammering, “and I wanted to make sure this lovely young lady traveling alone had an escort.  After all, she is Durant's niece.”

“Like a fine gentleman,” she said.

“Hmm,” the General hummed skeptically.

“So, our detour required an army?” Edison asked.

“Listen, who cares about your indiscretions?” Travis said.  “Fact of the matter is, your detour saved your life.  Your train was attacked and derailed by hostile Indians last night.”

“Morgan and Westinghouse are dead,” Cory said.

“We know you were lured here by a man named Lance,” the General said, “and you have a business meeting with him tomorrow.  It's a trap.  He wants to kill you before you acquire a patent for your incandescent light bulb.”

“A competitor?” Edison asked.

“A lunatic,” the General replied.

“My brother,” Dexter interjected.  “I'm sorry, Mr. Edison.  Surely, with an army of this magnitude, you can see he'll be no trouble.  I just want to take him back home in one piece.”

“Dexter,” Travis said, “the only reason why my team reluctantly agreed to join forces with you was because we were running out of time.”

“Precisely,” Dexter said.  “Without me, your mission's kaput.  I help you track Lance and, in return, you promise not to harm him.  Lance and I are black belt martial artists.  I could've handled him on my own.”

“Oh, really?” Travis said.  “Except for the fact that you stick out like a sore thumb, have no survival skills, and need my protection.”

“That's enough,” General Crook said.  “Travis, lock this dimwit upstairs and keep him out of my sight.” Travis's men took Dexter away.

“So, what's the plan?” Edison asked.

“We wait here for them to show up,” Travis said, “then we ambush them.”

“Well, Miss Rose,” Edison said, “looks like you found your adventure.”

# # #

It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning yet Main Street was empty.  Travis and company were lying in wait in the hotel lobby.  A sniper was stationed in the clock tower.

Dexter was locked in a room on the second floor.  He paced the room, his arms crossed, shaking his head.  He made eye contact with a sharpshooter in the window across the street.  Ssh, the shooter signaled.  

Dexter looked down.  Lance, Hawk, and a small band of Indians all dressed in business casual made their way down Main Street.  They're gonna kill him, Dexter thought.  He doesn't stand a chance.

Dexter grabbed the night table and tossed it at the window with all his might.  Broken glass shattered the silence.  “It's a trap!” Dexter shouted.  “Run, Lance!”

Instantly, bullets hailed from all directions.  Dexter dropped to the floor.  The door was bust open by stray bullets.  Dexter crawled out the room and down the stairs.

He could hear the thunder of hooves and the cries of Indian warriors.  Boom! What was that? Dexter thought.  He looked out a window.  They took out the clock tower.  The Indians got cannons, he concluded.

The lobby looked like it had dropped into a paper shredder.  Lance was on the floor, moaning, smeared with blood.  “Waste him!” Travis ordered.

Dexter came from behind, grabbed Travis by the neck, and pulled his gun out of its holster.  “No!” Dexter cried.  “He's my brother!”  He shot the other soldiers, taking them down.  Travis passed out and fell to the floor.

Dexter found a pair of handcuffs and cuffed his brother's hands behind his back.  “Let's go,” he said, dragging Lance out the back entrance.  

He discovered Cory Frank and Miss Rose mounting a stagecoach.  There were two soldiers assisting them.  “You best hurry out of here, Mr. Frank,” one of them said.  “There's a thousand of them and they're armed better than a Confederate army.”

“Freeze!” Dexter said.  “Drop your weapons.” He approached Cory and put the gun to his head.  “You two, put my brother in the coach or I put a bullet in Cory's head.”

They put Lance in the stagecoach and Dexter climbed aboard with his hostage.  “Get this coach moving! Go!” Dexter demanded.  

The driver jerked the stagecoach into motion like an amateur coming out of first gear for the first time.  Miss Rose let out a startled yelp.

“You realize some of Crook's men are escorting us all the way to Castle Rock, don't you?” Cory asked.

“I noticed,” Dexter replied, keeping his head away from the windows.

“Dexter?” Lance said, regaining consciousness.  “Where are we going? Where's Edison?”

“Forget Edison,” Dexter said, looking at his timer.  “Wormhole in thirty minutes.  We're going home.”

“Untie me,” Lance said.  “Not cool.”

“You're not escaping me this time.”

“You're selfish.”

“Killing Edison is not my way to make a difference.  So, shut your mouth.”

“Do you really think you're getting away with this?” Cory asked.  “This man's a maniac! What are you thinking?”

“This is Operation Reverse Manifest Destiny,” Lance declared.  “I don't expect you to understand.  Men like Edison and Crook never stop to think about the repercussions of their actions.  They must be stopped.  The future of Mama Earth depends on it.”

“You're making no sense,” Cory said.

“Dexter, can you give the man a Q-tip?” Lance said.  “Listen, I got no beef with you.  You're a railroad man, right? Tell your boss, Durant, to go magnetic levitation all the way.  Tell him Henry Ford must be stopped at all costs.”

“Shut up, Lance,” Dexter said.

“Do you realize our bodies are seventy percent water?” Lance said.  “In the future, they will pollute the air, they will poison the water, and contaminate the food.  It's all part of a greater conspiracy to defile our precious bodily fluids.”

Bullets burst into the cabin.  “Dear God, help us!” Miss Rose cried, hiding her face in Cory's chest.  “The savages are attacking!” Cory said.

“Woo!” Lance cheered.  “Friendly fire! Those my boys! My Red Hot Chili Peppers!”

The horses began galloping faster and faster.  The ride became unbearably violent.  Each bounce was a back spasm.  Dexter almost bit off his tongue.  They were plowing through trees.  It seemed the wheels had come off.

“We're out of control!” Dexter said.

“The driver!” Cory said.  “I think he's dead!”

Suddenly, the wagon flipped like a hydroplaning sports utility vehicle on a hard turn.  Everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs.

Dexter regained consciousness.  The Sun was beaming on his face.  His half of the stagecoach was in a ditch with a stream.  Miss Rose screamed at the sight of Cory impaled by a branch.  Their half of the stagecoach hung from the tree.

“Help!” Miss Rose cried.  Her dress tore off as Dexter helped her down.

“I'm sorry,” Dexter said, “where we're going, you can't come.”

“Don't leave me to the savages,” she protested, dressed only in her undergarments.

“Chillax.  My boys won't hurt you,” Lance said.  “Besides, being a squaw ain't so bad.  Little blue-eyed Indian babies should be real exotic.”

They left her behind and took off into the woods.

“Stop.  Please,” Lance pleaded, looking at his leg.  “It hurts.  I know a hideout.”

“What hideout?”

“It's real close.  That way.  Please.”

“Okay.”

They hiked to a clearing.  The hideout looked like a hangar for a small airplane.  They entered through the double doors.  Inside, there was a large cylindrical device with a sphere on top and tall copper coils standing in every corner.

“What's this?” Dexter asked.

“It's a lab,” Lance replied.

Warrior cries erupted from outside.  “Whoa!” Dexter said, his skin breaking out in goosebumps.

“Great Prophet,” Hawk's voice bellowed, “are you in there?”

“Yes,” Lance replied, “my brother rescued me.  Come in.”

Hawk and his warriors poured into the lab.  “Why are you tied?” Hawk asked, looking at Dexter with suspicion.

“We were in a hurry,” Lance said.  They cut him loose.

“How did you find us here?” Dexter asked.

Lance and Hawk pulled out their walkie-talkies.  “Morse code, baby,” Lance replied.  “I was in contact with Chief Hawk this whole time.  Why do you always underestimate me?”

“Unbelievable,” Dexter said.

“I brought you a gift,” Hawk said to Lance.  One of Hawk's warriors gave Lance his samurai sword.

“You found it!” Lance said.

“But that's not the gift,” Hawk said, motioning to his men.  “I thought you might want the honor for yourself.”

They dragged Edison into the lab and onto his knees.  “Unhand me, you savages!”

“Excellent!” Lance said.

“Don't do it!” Dexter exclaimed.

The sound of bullets and battle cries exploded from outside.  Travis and a mixed crowd of mercenaries and soldiers were muscling their way into the room.  “You're a dead man, Dexter!”

“Dexter, follow me! Hurry!” Lance raced to a door in the large device.  Dexter rushed after him into what seemed like a cramped control room.  There was a skinny young man inside wearing a lab coat.  Lance slammed the door shut.

The young man jumped to attention.  “Is there trouble, sir?” he asked with a thick Serbian accent.

“Quick, Nick!” Lance said.  “Fire it up!”

“Right away, sir!”

“Tesla?” Dexter said incredulously.

The room was dark, hot, and stuffy.  Tesla hastily punched some buttons on his control panel.  A million firecrackers seemed to go off outside.  It sounded like the Chinese New Year except for all the startled shrieking.  Then came the reverberating clamor of banging pipes.  Then everything outside fell silent.

“That should do it,” Tesla said.  Lance opened the door.

The men were like drunks trying to recover their bearings.  Their clothes smelled like smoke.  All firearms, present and future, were magnetically glued to the tall coils and rendered useless.

Lance brandished his sword.  “Hawk, get up!” he said.  “It's mano a mano! Major, let's see how bad you sissies are now!”

They broke out in hand-to-hand combat.  Travis and company were outnumbered.  Lance sliced and stabbed like a swordfish in a frenzy.  “Eat your heart out, Jet Li!” he said.

“Retreat!” Travis shouted.  Only he and a few soldiers managed to fight their way out of the bottleneck and escape the slaughter.

“Where's Edison?” Lance asked.

The warriors found Edison cowering in a corner and brought him over.

“Why?” Edison cried.

“Because your light bulb is a weapon of mass consumption!”

“But I haven't even perfected it yet!” he protested.

Lance raised his sword.  “Farewell, highlander.  There can be only … none, actually.”

“No!” Dexter exclaimed.  The warriors pinned him down.

Lance sliced off Edison's head.

“You idiot!” Dexter cried.  “Now we'll never be born! Mom sold Dad a light bulb at Home Depot! That's how they met! You just committed suicide!”

“You know the difference between you and me, bro?” Lance asked.  “I'm willing to make the ultimate sacrifices.  All in the name of protecting Mama Earth.”

Dexter began to feel the room spin.  He felt weightless.  He lifted his hand.  It was dematerializing.  The frightened warriors loosened their grip on him.

“Back to the Great Spirit, bro!” Lance cried.

Hawk and the warriors began to cheer, bidding him farewell.

“You idiot!” Dexter shouted just before he vanished into thin air.

A confused Tesla approached the spot where Dexter disappeared.  “What does this mean?” he asked.

“Behold the Wizard of Oz!” Lance declared.

The warriors aimed their arrows at him.

“Wait!” Tesla said.  “I thought we had an understanding.  You said I would discover alternating current.  You said Edison was my nemesis.”

“Whatever,” Lance said.  “Don't you understand American humor?”

The warriors whacked him with three dozen arrows.

“Woo!” Lance cheered like a Viking in victory.  “Mission accomplished!”

“Will you go to the Great Spirit now?” Hawk asked.

“No doubt, brother,” Lance replied.  “It's been an honor.”  They embraced.  “Remember what I told you.  It's up to you now to hold the line against Manifest Destiny.  You are a great Chief.”

“Until we meet again in the happy hunting grounds,” Hawk said.

# # #

Lance raced out of the woods and into an open meadow.  He rolled over on his shoulders and skipped about.  He spread out his arms and spun like a top.  “Woo! I'm the king of the world! The hills are alive! The hills are alive!”

He got down on his knees and kissed the earth.  He wallowed in the mud.  Tears of joy streamed down his face.  “I love you, Mama Earth!”  He spread the mud on his face like a lover's caress.  “Mama Earth, I love you!”  He laid down on his back and flapped his arms and legs to make an angel in the mud.

A strange sensation came over him.  His body felt weightless.  He thought he felt the full speed of the Earth spinning on its axis.  “Whoa,” he said.  His hands were dematerializing.  “Back to the mother ship? So be it.  Anything for you, Mama Earth.”

Then he faded away.

# # #

Travis stumbled out of the wormhole and back into the twenty-first century, landing in a military base in San Diego.  The paramedics rushed him to an emergency room and jerked the arrows out of his back.

As he lay in bed, he felt comforted by the fluorescent light.  Did Edison survive? he thought.

He strained his eyes until he could focus on the doctor and the officer standing over him.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.

“Like trash,” he replied.

“What kind of device is this?” the officer asked, holding up the wormhole timer.

“That's classified,” Travis replied.

“Okay.  What flag is this, soldier?” the officer asked, grasping the flag patched onto Travis's uniform.

Is this a trick question? Travis thought.  “The stars and stripes.”

“Clarify,” the officer said.

“The flag of the United States of America.”

“I see,” the officer said.  “You're a political agitator.”

“What?” Travis said.

“See that flag?” The officer pointed over his shoulder.  The flag on the wall was red with a big yellow star served by more than two dozen smaller stars.  “This is the United Socialist States of America which I swore to defend with my life.  And Hu Jintao is my president.”

“What?” Travis said.  “Where am I?”

“San Diego,” the doctor replied.

Travis searched anxiously around the room with his eyes for signs of familiarity.

“There's a misunderstanding,” Travis said.  “I'm confused.  Do you know General Electric?”

“Who's General Electric?” the officer asked.

“Who invented the light bulb?” Travis snapped.

“Shanghai Lighting Company,” the doctor replied.

“Oh, no,” Travis said, his hands over his eyes.

END