Might as Well Jump

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.