A New Destination, With Old Desolation
Alright so introductions are in order I suppose.
I am James Kent. I am -or was- a captain in The United States Marine Corps. I was fighting the good fight in beautiful Vietnam, getting a checkup with the corpsman after a Charlie took a slash at my face with some funky blade, when a near death experience caused by an allergic reaction from some crazy meds sent me spiralling into an infinite plane of reality.
Or at least that's what my good buddy, myself from an alternate universe, told me happened.
You see, My sorry ass has kinda been shifting in between dimensions for close to fifty years now, give or take, considering my memory. I was kinda just shot out of my own reality in late '68. The weird thing? I didn't age a day since then! I've been to a place where the rebels won the civil war, a reality where everyone was the opposite gender of their own (I, by the way, am a very good lookin' lady.) One where china nuked the entire world, and the US was diminished to an irradiated wasteland, one where I traveled the country killing demons with a couple of boys named Winchester, one filled with these crazy aliens who called themselves "trolls", one with a teenaged hacker named Matt, a real tech-wiz, that kid. Basically everywhere.
This, however, was different.
Meet Alex Robertson, the antagonist in my current universe. Part time stockbroker, full time nut job. Poor sap thinks he's Odin.
"Puny human! I, king Odin, shall rain down death and destruction! It shall be Ragnarök on this sacred Wednesday! Fire and brimstone shall fall from the skies as-"
Bla bla bla, is this jackass still talking? I thought to myself as the self proclaimed "God" spoke on and on, as all villans do.
"Yadda yadda. I've heard this song and dance before buddy, but in all honesty, I've seen starfish scarier than you." I told him, loading my M4 carbine. "I mean, if you wanna end the world, why tell someone as 'puny' and 'insignificant' as me? Just do it! Oh, and you might wanna lose the look, too. Make it a bit more intimidating. You look like Clint Fuckin' Eastwood."
I racked the bolt back as he started shouting some type of Norse type language at me, I looked him in the eye one final time as I leveled my iron sights at his face and said:
"I like your cape though."
What the hell is an iPod?
I awoke the morning after killing that freak with an ear splitting headache. Usually the byproduct of a recent dimensional jump. I looked around, finding myself in a particularly gloomy forest during the dead of night. Usually the setting of a zombie movie. I heaved myself up and took a trial step, testing the ground around me.
snap
Yeah... That was a bone.
I stifled a gasp as I shone my fulton light upon the ground before me, hundreds of skeletons from litterally every era littering the ground. I saw romans, still in their bloody armor, elizibethan aristocrats, some in the tattered remains of their clothes, and weird neck thingies. Scots with clubs and kilts, patriots and red coats, confederate rebels and union officers, first and second world war soldiers of both sides, modern day adventurers and explorers, all dead and laid out reaching for an intricately carved stone pedestal, holding an equally intricate book.
I felt drawn towards it, yet the ones who'd fallen before me... I decided to investigate like that one fella, sherlock holmes.
"Hey pal, might wanna watch your step next time." An ominous voice called out from behind me. I whipped around, pointing my M4 towards the source of the voice.
"Whoa, calm down Charlie Brown! I'm on your side!" The speaker came out from behind a willow tree, hands in the air. He was a glowing man, about 6'3" with pale skin, and long black hair, brushed to one side, and oddly enough, shaved on the other. He was wearing combat boots, worn black jeans, a grateful dead shirt and a denim vest.
"What in the sam hell..." I started, lowering my rifle.
"Look, I know I'm offensively gorgeous, but no need to shoot me! I'm your guardian angel after all." He said, lowering his hands and giving me a 'take the bait' look.
"Guardian... Angel." I incredulously repeated as my weapon dropped to my side.
"Yep, you can call me Gabe." He said, whipping out a bussiness card and handing it to me.
Gabriel Peterson
Guardian angel
(Part time iPod repairman)
...
"What the Hell is an iPod?"
"...and that's why you shouldn't touch that book under any circumstances." Gabe finished.
"Run that by me one more time pal, the author wasn't listening." I replied.
"Wh- you know what, just don't move the book from it's peda-"
click
"Oh don't move it? Shit, is that what happened to these guys?" I asked cheekily.
"Sometimes, I should just let you get hit by a bus..." My so called 'Guardian Angel' said while pinching his forhead.
A spear shot from the ground, just barely grazing by me. Then another, and another. Pretty soon I was dancing the bird with a bunch of instruments of death.
I ran out of the ante-chamber, Angel in tow, through the terrifying forest.
"Okay." I said in between breaths. "So who were those dead guys? Why were they after this thing?" I asked, holding aloft the ancient tome.
"Well, other than a major plot device, that thing is basically 'The Jumper's Guide to the Multiverse: UnAbridged'. It holds the secrets of jumping and how to control it, Lord knows what it's doing here. And the bodies you saw were those of previous Jumpers, Matter of fact there's about five every thousand years or so, so that means there's, like, four more of you idiots running around this place." Gabe explained.
"Why here? My jumps seem pretty random, so they could be anywhere from Istanbul to Constantinople. Now." I asked.
"One thing at a time here Cowboy, every dimensional hopper ends up here eventually, with his or her band of jumpers as it were. Now, I'm not allowed to tell you why, but there are some very important things you need to know here before you go frolicking off. A: this is an extremely dangerous forest, so you need to get out as soon as possible. 2: The... Beings here are anything but accustomed to violence, so be wary. And mustard: you must find the other four, they are already well aquainted with eachother, and are expecting your arrival." He explained. Counting off er... 'A, 2, and mustard' on his fingers.
This may be harder than I expected.
Well, I managed to squeeze more out of that angel than I thought I would. Apparently the dominant species here is -hold your breath-
miniature horses.
Sentient miniature HORSES.
IN TECHNICOLOR.
This is not what I was expecting, but I can live with it. I've encountered an alternate version of myself that actually watched a weekly serial play revolving around these things. Not a bad show, as far as television goes. But that aside, I need to get to this particular country's rulers, two Princesses, both looked upon as deities. Not that I usually converse with the local gods, but this is my last jump, and apperantly, I need to find some group of human jumpers. At least Gabriel gave me one of these heavenly 'iPod Touch' things, now at least I had decent walking music in this scary ass excuse for a forest.
I ended up pitching my tent near a calm river. That meant clean water, good fish, and giant flamboyant sea serpents.
Wait... What in the mother of fuck is that.
"Oh dear, just look at that ghastly excuse for clothing, oh and that unkempt mane, it looks like you haven't gotten a shave in fifty-odd years! Oh we'll just have to take care of that.
"Actually I got it cut a few months back, and I haven't exactly had a chance t- wait a cotton picking second, you're a sea monster!" I started panicking, reaching for my trusty colt.
"Monster? Hardly! I am Steven Magnets, just your average serpentine fashion critic." He said with a flourish.
great, gay sea monsters. Goodnight, folks.
"C'mon, Steve, he's obviously one of us." A voice said from behind him.
The Serpentine metrosexual turned his head to look at a shadowy humanoid figure.
"You... are a jumper, aren't you?" He asked, turning to me.
I nodded, slowly, holding up the ancient tome, as if in a show of peace, and the figure stepped forth, he was a tall, slim man, with dark, windswept hair, and stubble of a few days age upon his chin. He was dressed in some sort of strange red uniform jacket, and a white turtleneck underneath.
"Well, I'll be damned. You managed to get it. I bet Gabriel set you up for that one, didn't he?" The strange man asked me.
"You know Gabriel?" I asked the man, bewildered.
"Heh. Gabe might make you feel unique at first, but really he's not just your guardien angel, he's all of ours." He chuckled. He crossed the serpent's back, to my side of the shallow stream, and held his hand out. "Commander Jeffrey Sims, age 22, U.S.S. Enterprise. Year 2263 A.D."
I shook his outstretched hand with my own, still confused as ever. "Captain James Kent, age 29, Echo 3-11 company, United States Marine Corps. Year 1968 A.D." I stated. "Nice year you've got there."
He chuckled, as if he knew something I didn't. "Boy, you've got a lot to learn, Captain."
We walked for a while, through the ever-creepy forest, to what appeared to be the ruins of a once great castle.
"Well, home sweet home." The Commander said, crossing a rope bridge, and beckoning me to follow.
We came to the partially rotten doors of the ancient structure, where he knocked three times. As if on queue, the doors opened, to reveal what I had to admit, was a pretty nice set-up. Five seats, fashioned from upright logs, around the embers of a bon-fire in the centre, to the near left was a jumble of terminals, futuristic looking computers, wires and diodes, with a rather nerdy fellow working on one of the consoles, in the far left corner was a card table, with a man in a cut-off jean jacket, and a blonde girl with blue and red highlights arm wrestling on it, and to the right was a young man, in a spike-shouldered leather jacket, trying to repair a toaster oven.
The Commander clapped to get their attention, and they all stopped what they were doing, and looked up.
"Everyone," He started, in a rather cheery tone, "our final member has arrived."
All eyes were now on me, I just sort of stood there and awkwardly waved, when they all came up to greet me.
"Matthew Coyle." The punk in the leather said. "Age 18, year 2017 A.D. You're a bit late to the party, mon Capitaine." He wore his dyed-white hair slicked back, similar to Jeffrey's, and had a bit of a scruffy goatee coming in. He wore a Leather jacket, a black undershirt, black skinny jeans, and black, scuffed-up combat boots.
"David Johnson." The male arm wrestler stated, playfully slapping me on the shoulder. "Age 23, Royal Air Force, year 1998 A.D." He wore his hair in a crew cut, and was very well built, he was clean shaven, wore BDU bottoms, and a sleveless jean jacket over his Beatles T-shirt.
"Harley Johnson, age 23. Dave's sister." The female said, chewing her gum obnoxiously, looking me up and down. "Don't fuck with me, and we won't have a problem." She turned and left, disappearing somewhere. She had a plaid skirt, blonde hair with dual blue and red pony-tails, and a button up white blouse. She flipped me the bird on the way out.
"YOU die first." I mentally noted, still not trusting anyone.
"Carter Watson!" The computer nerd stated excitedly. "Age 29, Central Inteligence Agency. Year 2078 A.D. An honour, sir." He shook my hand vigorously and went straight back to work. He had his brown hair combed to the right, falling in one curly bang, and wore clothing typical of a paper-pusher.
"Uhhhhh...." I started, trying to comprehend all the years I needed to catch up on.
"Hey, Jim?" Jeffrey asked, snapping his fingers to get my attention. "Car, I think I broke him!" He called out to Carter, but I still stood, dumbfounded.
"Did you try turning him off, and turning him back on again?" Carter quipped.
"And to think you're my predecessors..." The Commander sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
