Chapter I

The Wright Brothers Mission

DATELINE: JULY 6, 1907 PLACE: DAYTON, OHIO

On a warm summer evening, a butterfly fluttered gently across a garden lush with summer greenery and alighted on a swing that hung on a small white porch. It shared the wooden porch with three men and a woman. Warm light from the living room gently fell onto the porch’s floor and the butterfly watched as one of the men got up and poured lemonade for the four of them. He put the pitcher down and joined the others as they looked up at the stars. He sighed and said, “It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?”

The woman answered for them all. “Yes, a wonderful way to end a nice weekend. Family, friends, lemonade and the stars shining brightly in the sky.”

The screen door opened and a small, thin man put his head out and said, “Good night, children. Good night, Mr. Osloe.”

Two of the men answered in unison, “Good night, Father.”

From the doorway, the man wagged a finger at his two sons. “Orville, Wilbur, don’t forget you have to finish Reverend Pots’ bicycle tomorrow. I gave him my word at this morning’s service.”

The young, dark-haired woman went over and kissed the man on the cheek. “Good night, Father. I won’t be late.”

One of the brothers turned to the other and said, “Orville, how much time do you figure it’ll take to finish the reverend’s bicycle?”

The tall, balding man looked up at the stars again, thought and answered, “Should be finished and ready for a test ride by lunchtime.”

The third man on the porch was short, only five feet tall, and as he stood next to the brothers he made them look even taller than their six-foot height. He smiled at the woman and spoke quietly as he held up his empty glass.

“Miss Katharine, may I have some more lemonade?”

She brushed back a wisp of hair from her face and reached for his empty glass. “Of course, Mr. Osloe. Did you enjoy it?”

He smiled as he wiped his baldhead. “I do enjoy it, and I find it keeps me cool.” Both men smiled at their friend.

“Do they not have lemonade in your native land, Mr. Osloe?” asked Wilbur.

He sipped the frosty drink and said, “Not as tangy, Wilbur. I find this lemonade very agreeable.”

When they were finished, Katharine picked up the empty glasses and put them on a tray along with the pitcher. “Good night, gentlemen,” she said. She walked toward the door as Wilbur held it open for her. He pecked her cheek.

“Good night, sweet Sister. See you for breakfast.”

She looked back through the screen door, “Good night, Orville. And you boys remember what Father said. He gave his word.”

At that moment, a streak of light flew across the sky, and the brothers became visibly excited. “Wilbur! Did you see that? A shooting star!” Both scanned the heavens.

Wilbur responded, “Yes! Yes! It was a shooting star, and there could be more. Remember the night we counted three in one hour?”

“Yes,” Orville answered, “that was a wonderful evening. I propose we stay up a little later and watch. Mr. Osloe, will you watch with us?”

The little man smiled and joined them on the top wooden step. “Yes, my friends, I will enjoy it very much.”

Orville kept his eyes on the sky as he said to his brother, “To fly, Wilbur, to fly. Would that not be great?”

“Yes,” said his sibling, “and we got so close, then . . . well . . .”

Orville looked at his brother and patted his arm. “Don’t fret, Brother. We’ll get it right soon. Watch and see. Right, Mr. Osloe?”

Their guest nodded and the butterfly-probe flew off into the night.

 

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

Alexis Shuntly ran the meeting. She stood at the head of a long, highly polished mahogany table. Seated around it were the other members of the Time Watchers Group, four men and another woman. They stared at a hologram in the middle of the table and the scene that was unfolding. The realistic moving pictures were the product of the Time Probing Butterfly that now sat on a shelf with other probes. After some minutes in which no one spoke, Alexis sat down and ran her fingers through her long, black hair as she looked around at her colleagues through her thick glasses.

She squinted and said, “It’s 1907. They were supposed to be flying in 1903. What could have gone wrong?”

Joseph Sergi stood momentarily and said, as he pushed back the thick black hair that continually fell in front of his eye, “Their first flight was December 3, 1903.”

John Hyder, seated on her right, asked, “Did we get the computer projections on this? How bad is it if they aren’t the inventors of flight?”

“They were not the inventors of flight,” said a woman’s voice. All eyes focused on Maryellen Muldey, seated across from Hyder. “They didn’t invent flight,” said the gray haired woman, “what they did was become the first to fly a heavier-than-air machine that had direction controllability. They were the first to be able to fly in any direction they wanted.”

Alexis Shuntly opened a notebook and looked at Hyder. “The computer projects that if the Wright brothers don’t show the world that flight is possible, the French became the first to have controlled flight. They were content to just fly about and sell their aircraft to other countries. The British were broke with the recession and didn’t see the need for aviation. History shows that an American, Bill Cody, was the first to fly in England and that influenced them to push aviation forward. But if the Wright brothers hadn’t shown the way, Cody wouldn’t have gotten into flying, and British aviation wouldn’t have been ready for World War One.” She paused to let that sink in then continued in a low voice.

“The Germans, on the other hand, would have put their money and resources into the aircraft Anthony Fokker was designing. He had some real winners and once World War One started, the Germans and their allies would have been unstoppable. France would have fallen and the Germans would have invaded and occupied Britain. The Americas, too, would have been targets.”

She put down the notebook and looked at the others. “Dear friends and fellow Time Watchers, if this is not corrected, we are all in great danger. Not just us but the world as we know it today. I don’t know why the Wrights didn’t make that historic flight, but it has to be remedied. Do we all agree that we must send someone back and guide the brothers? May I see a show of hands for a trip?”

Every hand was raised in agreement. Alexis pressed a button, the door opened and a tall man entered carrying a small notebook. He smiled at them and said, “You rang, Miss Shuntly?”

Alexis nodded. “Yes, Ted. We need a Time Trip back to 1903.” She held up a hand and said, “Wait, no, make that 1902.” She glanced at the others. “If they achieved their first flight in 1903, what year would they have started? I mean, when would they have first shown interest in flight?”

Jerry Sullivan looked up from his laptop computer and said, “They were making toy helicopters when they were little boys, but they started flying large gliders in 1900 at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. I think our traveler would have to be present about 1901.” Murmurs of approval came from around the table.

Alexis ran her fingers through her short, brown hair and sighed. “Fine then,” she said and turned to give instructions to the young man. “Ted, will you contact our liaison to the head of The 1800 Club who handles that period and set it up?”

Ted consulted his notebook, then looked at her and said, “That’d be Edmund Scott from our time period contacting Bill Scott of the 2011 period.”

She looked at the others and seeing no disagreement, said to him, “Fine. Will you set up a meeting with Edmund Scott as soon as possible? I’ll brief him on the situation. Shall we call this meeting over for now?”

Anthony Landi raised his hand. “I propose the meeting over.”

“Fine. I’ll get some more information and let you all know when we meet again.” She stood, and the meeting was over.

 

DATELINE: AUGUST 6, 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

Bill Scott smoked a cigar with his afternoon coffee as he sat with his MacBook Pro laptop. He was reading about the two friends he had made on his last trip, Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp.

They don’t make them like that anymore, he thought. As he blew a large smoke ring, there was a knock at the door at the rear of his office, the door that led to the Time Exchanger. He went quickly and opened it. Standing there was his future grandson, Edmund Scott, smiling broadly. The young man was the emissary from the Time Watchers of the future. Bill knew that when he showed up at the time portal door, there was a new mission for him.

Bill wrapped his arms around him and said, “Come on in, Edmund. Come in and sit down.”

The young man walked in slowly with Bill holding his arm. “Don’t exert yourself, Ed, take it easy, I know our atmosphere is tough on you.” He helped the young man over to one of the overstuffed easy chairs chair and sat down across from him.

Edmund smiled. “Bill, as you know I can’t stay in this time too long. The pollution makes it so hard for me to get a breath. Would you accompany me up-time to my period?”

Bill sat forward eagerly and exclaimed, “Would I? You bet I would! When?”

“Now. We have a pressing mission, and the group has never met you. They’d like to brief you personally.”

Bill stood up quickly and said, “I’m ready, Edmund. Lead on.”

Edmund slowly waved a finger at him. “You have to be careful though. Remember, the air we breathe is different from what you are used to. It’s extremely clean. To you, it’s so rarefied it’ll be like being on the top of a high mountain.”

Bill answered excitedly, “When I was with the Navy SEALS, we had to practice jumping from aircraft at very high altitudes without oxygen, so I know what you mean.”

Edmund held out a hand, Bill took it and together they walked over to the door that would take them into the future. Bill took out his handheld Time Exchanger and looked at Edmund questioningly.

Edmund said weakly, “September 20, 2066” and watched as Bill entered the date into the device. Using the key secured on a chain around his neck, Bill opened the door. They walked down the stairs and opened another door into the club’s garden.

 

DATELINE: SEPTEMBER 20, 2066 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

Bill saw the same familiar garden in the glow of a setting sun, and for a moment he thought he had misdialed. But after a few steps he got dizzy. This time it was Edmund who held his arm.

“Easy, Bill. As I said, the air is much finer now. Do you want to rest?”

Bill nodded, and they walked over to a stone bench against the garden wall and sat down. Breathing slowly, Bill felt his energy’s rally. He sat up straight, shook his head and said, “Wow, Ed, if you feel like this when you visit me, I understand your short visits.” Bill looked around at the club’s garden of the future and saw a few plants that he couldn’t identify, but all else seemed to be the same.

A sleek red car pulled up in front of the gate. Edmund waved at the driver, then turned to Bill and asked, “Feel up to a little ride in my time?” Bill nodded yes, and Edmund helped him through the gate and into the rear of the car, then got in next to him. Edmund patted the driver on the shoulder, “Hi, Simon.”

Simon waved back and responded, “The office, Edmund?”

“Yes, but take the long route. It’s my friend’s first visit.”

Bill heard the sound of compressed air as the vehicle gently lifted up and moved forward. He saw people walking along brightly lit sidewalks although no streetlights were visible. The soft light was coming up from the pavement. A bus-like vehicle drove past them, and he noticed there was no loud roar of a vehicle its size, rather the same soft swoosh of air.

The car continued its movement a few inches above the road’s surface passing luxuriant green grass and thick, healthy trees along the way. Bill thought, they certainly did solve their pollution problem, rather . . . our pollution problem.

They drove along a street with tall buildings on both sides. All the buildings, Bill noticed, were pristine. They have the sparkle of a building that has just been steam cleaned in my time, he thought.

Edmund’s voice brought him out of his tourist-like trance. “Here we are, Bill. The offices of the History Tracking Center. How are you feeling?”

“Not bad, Edmund. A little woozy at times, but if I go slowly, I’ll be all right.”

As Bill stepped onto the sidewalk, he noticed it glowed with each step he took. It was a small glow, but enough to illuminate the area around him. “This is fantastic,” he said. “It looks as if you people conquered light pollution, too.”

Edmund smiled as he led Bill toward a doorway in the tall building, “Guess we did. I just never thought of it as light pollution though.”

Bill pointed to the ground. “No harsh shadows because the light emanates from the ground up. Clever.”

They entered the lobby and then an elevator. Edmund said, “Thirty-two,” and the elevator lights showed it was going up.

Up, thought Bill, but without any sensation of movement.

The door opened, and they went through an unmarked door. A young woman with long blonde hair smiled as she saw Edmund.

“Hello, Mr. Scott. The board is in session. Shall I announce you?”

Edmund nodded. “Yes, Helen, and tell them I have Mister Bill Scott with me.”

She looked at Bill and asked, “Scott? A relative of yours?”

Edmund smiled at Bill as he said, “Yes, an old lost relative.”

Bill was too winded to react to the obvious play on the word “old.”

Edmund opened a door behind the receptionist that led to the boardroom. He looked at Bill, “Ready?”

Bill steadied himself, “Lead on, you young whippersnapper.”

They walked down a long, tan carpeted hallway with doors on both sides and stopped at the last door facing them. Edmund knocked once, and a tall, blond-haired man opened it, offered his hand to Bill and said, “Mr. Scott, John Hyder. I am so pleased to meet you. Your Roosevelt mission is legendary. I handled it on this side, and I have to tell you, you made me look good.”

He turned to the others now standing and made the introductions. “Alexis Shuntly, heading the Wright brothers mission; Maryellen Muldey, perhaps our best historian; Anthony Landi, our electronics guru; Joseph Sergi, an 1800s expert, and Jerry Sullivan, our clothing expert.” They all nodded to him. “Now, please sit, Bill. We know the difference in the air quality here can affect you, so relax. Something to drink?”

Bill shook his head. “No, sir, but I’d like to take this time to say thanks to you and your group for allowing me to become part of it. I doubt if I’ll ever fill my predecessor’s shoes. Prescott Stevens was a great teacher, and I’ll work hard to keep the trust you’ve put in me.”

Alexis Shuntly walked over and shook Bill’s hand. “Bill, you won us over on your first trip. Helping President Lincoln give his famous speech was . . . was . . . well, it was brilliant! I’m the case officer on this one, the Wright brothers mission, and I tell you this is a puzzling case.” She walked back to her chair and sat down as she continued.

“Bill, believe me, each mission we send someone on, is very important. And while every case is important, each new case seems to be even more important than the one before it. Why, the Wright brothers not inventing the airplane . . . ”

“They didn’t invent the airplane,” Maryellen Muldey said as she looked at Bill. “While most people think the Wright brothers invented the airplane, in fact, what they did was invent the first powered, heavier-than-air craft that was controllable. Aircraft, gliders and balloons had been around for a while, but the others couldn’t even get the powered aircraft off the ground. No, what the Wrights did was get it off the ground and have control over its direction.”

Shuntly turned back to Bill and continued, “Our computers have projected that if the Wrights hadn’t invented controlled flight in 1903, the Europeans would have gone on to dominate the aviation industry. The Germans and their allies would have invaded and conquered France and England and would have triumphed in World War One. The computers also have projected that Germany’s next moves would have been against Canada followed by the Americas. So, Bill, you can see how important it is that history be guided back on track.”

Bill nodded. “I’ve pretty much read all there is about the brothers, and I should be ready to go back in another day or so.”

Members of the group looked at one another and nodded in agreement. Alexis smiled at Bill. “We know from past experiences that you’ll do all you can, Bill, and for that we’re grateful.”

One by one, those around the table walked over and shook Bill’s hand as the group left the boardroom. As Edmund and Bill were walking out, Edmund asked his ancestor, “Would you like to have supper with your grandson?”

Bill said in a tired voice, “I’m going to pass on it for now, Edmund. I have to get used to this thin air first. Besides, I have some more things I have to take care of before I leave for the mission. Wish you could go with me sometime.”

Edmund put a hand on the older man’s shoulder and said, “Me too. Boy, I’d love to go out to the field, but look what happens when I go back just fifty plus years. No way I can go back farther. I’d pass out just buttoning my shoes.”

Bill patted his grandson’s hand. “Shall we go back to the club?”

“I have a better idea,” Edmund said. “I’ll take you to the garden, you dial up 2011 and go up alone. I’m still catching my breath. Okay?”

“Okay with me,” Bill responded.

DATELINE: AUGUST 6, 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

It was later that day that Bill realized he wasn’t up to speed on flight and that he knew even less about aviation than the Wright brothers did in 1900. He sat at his computer and went through the club members’ bios to see if he could get some help from one of them. He went through ten and stopped at number eleven: John Brand. Bill thought as he read Brand’s biography, He could be the person I’m looking for: Ex-U.S. Air Force test pilot, forty-two and single. Currently, he’s a reporter for Aerospace Technology Weekly, an aviation magazine. Yep, he could be the one.

Bill asked Matt, his right-hand man and fast becoming friend, to bring up the guest list for that night’s dinner, along with a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk.

Ten minutes later, as he ate his sandwich, he looked for Brand’s name on the guest list. His finger slid down and stopped on ‘John Brand.’ Yep! He’s attending. Good, that’s good, he thought. Then he went back to reading up on the Wright brothers.

 

That evening the reception room was bustling as Bill entered. He was wearing a three-piece black suit with a silver stickpin in a gray cravat. The gray matched the color of the spats that covered the tops of his highly polished black shoes.

The bulk of the crowd seemed to be clustered around Tom ‘Whitey’ Madden. He was dressed in a policeman’s uniform of the 1865 period, right down to his, now-famous, blond handlebar mustache. Bill joined the crowd as Tom was telling them how he had to climb a telegraph pole to retrieve a boy’s kite.

The boy’s father had been standing down below watching as Madden tore his uniform pants during the strenuous climb. The sorry part, Madden related, was that the father was his boss, Sergeant Haggerty. Tom said he had had the feeling that his next promotion hinged on rescuing that kite. The upshot was that while the crowd watched the rescue, a pickpocket worked them, including removing the sergeant’s blackjack.

Bill listened as the other members howled with laughter. He knew that in reality, Tom’s great-grandfather was the cop up the tree, and it was a family story passed down the line. This is what the clubs all about, he thought.

Matt caught his attention and tipped his head to the corner of the room. Bill followed his glance and spotted John Brand chatting with two other men dressed in Union officer’s uniforms. Brand cut a sharp figure with his six-foot, one-hundred-ninety-pound frame. His shock of dirty blond hair was trimmed tight on the sides in a military fashion. He was dressed in the deep blue uniform of the Union Army and sported a balloon emblem on his lapel. On his shoulders, he wore the rank of captain. Bill casually walked over to them.

Brand saw him and, with a wave of his hand, invited Bill to join the group. “Good evening, President Scott.”

Bill nodded to the three, “Good evening, gentlemen. Please continue, Captain Brand. I find your adventures fascinating.”

John Brand nodded, and his blue eyes flashed as he got back into character.

“As I was saying, being a balloonist for the Army can be a dangerous occupation. The rebel troops delight in trying to hole my balloon, firing everything they have available at me. But most times, I have an uninterrupted view of them from an altitude of five thousand feet. At that height, a person can see for twenty-five miles in all directions.”

“Captain,” said one of his listeners, Lieutenant Smyth of a Calvary regiment, “How do you relay your observation back to the general on the ground? Pigeons?”

John took a sip of red wine and shook his head. “No, sir. Pigeons are much too slow. No, we use the telegraph system. Our commander, Thaddeus Lowe, ran an electric line up alongside the holding rope and we tap out in Morse code, the sightings of the enemy.”

“With any success?” asked the other man, Captain Finney, also a Calvary officer.

John smiled as he answered, “With great success, Captain, great success indeed! At the Battle of Fair Oaks on May thirty-first, 1863, the rebels were gathering with an overwhelming number of men and supplies. They would have easily split our forces and destroyed them, if not for Commander Lowe in the balloon ‘Washington.’ He spotted them from six thousand feet and alerted the general in time for our reinforcements to arrive and defeat them.”

A chime sounded and Matt, announced, “Dinner is served.”

The members slowly walked to the dining room chatting among themselves. Bill caught up to John Brand. “Interesting story, Captain Brand, and full of the sorts of details not heard in the normal course of events.”

“The public reads of the movement of thousands of troops on both sides,” answered the captain, “but we in the Aeronautical Division gather the information allowing such moves. To us, President Scott, it unfolds, as does a chess match. Move and countermove, all seen from a bird’s eye view. Someday, sir, we will get our recognition. Watch and see.”

Bill nodded. “Of that, sir, I don’t doubt at all. Time has a way of doling out its rewards. Will you honor me by sitting next to me at dinner tonight, Captain Brand? I find ballooning interesting.”

The captain said enthusiastically, “I’d be delighted, President Scott.”

During dinner, both men spoke about ballooning during peacetime, after the war was over. Both agreed the future would see more of balloons. After dinner, the members retired to the living room. The comfortable room was filled with overstuffed furniture and there was a large unlit fireplace on one wall. Cigars and brandy were distributed to all who wanted them, as the conversations continued.

Bill turned to John Brand and said, “Captain, will you stay behind when the other members leave this evening? I have something of grave concern on my mind, and I do believe you can be of help to me.”

John arched his eyebrows with an unspoken question and said, “Of course, President Scott. I’d be glad to help.”

It was ten-thirty before the club emptied. Bill invited John up to his private quarters, a well-furnished apartment usually off-limits to members. Bill summoned Matt and in a moment there was a knock at the door and Matt entered, “You rang, sir?”

“Yes, Matt, I’d like some coffee.” He turned to John and asked, “Would you like some coffee, tea or something else?”

“Coffee is fine for me, thank you.”

“Very well, sir,” Matt said and went out quietly.

John was wide-eyed as he took the room in. “President Scott, this room is amazing! I have to guess that you stay in club-time 24-7!”

Bill smiled and motioned John to a chair. “I must give credit where credit is due: All of the furnishings were provided by the past president and you are right, he did a fantastic job.”

Bill reached for the humidor on a nineteenth-century coffee table. Also on the table was a large leather-bound book titled, The Wright Brothers. John thumbed through it as Bill opened the humidor and offered him a cigar. He took one and Bill lit them both, then pointed with his cigar at the book.

“The Wright brothers. They were the astronauts of the early 1900s, right, John? May I call you John?”

“Please do,” he answered.

Bill sat back. “And please call me Bill.”

John let out a puff of white smoke. “And to answer your question, astronauts? Absolutely! Visionaries, both of them.”

Bill nodded. “Ever wonder what it’d be like if they didn’t invent flight?”

“Actually, Bill, that’s a misconception. They didn’t invent flight; they were just the first to… ”

Bill raised his hand and said, “To fly a heavier-than-air, powered and controllable aircraft.”

John sat back in surprise, “Well, good to meet someone who knows what the brothers did. And what if they didn’t do it first? I’m not sure. There were others trying to do the same thing, Glenn Curtiss, even Alexander Graham Bell was trying his hand at flying. But, I think the French might have been, if not the first, right behind whoever was first. And knowing that they were air-minded, they would have given the world a run for their money. They had a good aircraft program up to and during the First World War.”

Matt entered and served them coffee.

“That’ll be all for tonight, Matt,” Bill said. Matt nodded and left. Bill took a sip and looked at John. “The Germans and their allies would have won the world war. Notice I didn’t say ‘First World War.’ That’s because there wouldn’t have been a second world war. In fact, the war would have continued until North and South America were conquered along with Canada and Mexico.”

John was startled, “You sound pretty sure of that. Do you play some sort of war gaming?”

Bill shook his head. “John, I once wanted to have someone believe something that was so outrageous that it would have been unthinkable to them. So I did something that was ‘out-of-the-box.’ First I’m going to ask you something. As a student of the 1800s, I know that you would like an artifact from that era. Am I right?”

John shrugged. “Sure, I mean, just being a member of this club tells you that. I guess we’re all here to play a part in a bygone time.” As he looked around at the period furniture, he said, “You probably added to the original collection, yourself.”

Bill shook his head. “One or two. I haven’t been here long enough to do any collecting. But what is it that you would like from, let’s say, 1865? And it must have been available in New York City at that time.”

John took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes as he thought. “That’s a tough one, Bill. I guess I’d have to say an original 1863 United States Army small arms manual. I have the one before it and the one after it, but that was a short print run and there haven’t been any around since 1907.”

Bill was taking notes, “Where in New York City would a person find that back then?”

“Mmmmm,” John mumbled, as he scratched his head, “In that time period, there was a small store, now known as an Army-Navy store, on Forty-Second Street and Eighth Avenue. I know it was there because a southern sympathizer was caught buying a batch of the manuals for the South. They wanted to see if there was any weakness the North may have had with their arms. The name of the store was Militia Merchandise. It’s been gone for years, though.”

Bill stood, and John started to get up, but Bill put out his hand to stop him. “John, will you do me a favor?” he asked.

John looked puzzled and said, “Sure, Bill, what is it?”

Bill answered, “Sit and enjoy your cigar and wait here for me. I’ll be back within ten minutes. Will you do that?”

John sank back down in his chair. “I guess. I mean, where are you going?”

“Trust me, John. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. Okay?”

“Okay, Bill,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

Bill took the key from around his neck and opened the door at the rear of his office. He went quickly down the flight of stairs, out into the garden and opened the gate in 1865.

 

DATELINE: 1865 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

A horse-drawn cab was waiting, and he hopped in. The driver looked down into the interior, “Good day, Mr. Scott, where to sir?”

Bill smiled at the man in the high hat holding a small whip. “Hello, Jimmy. How fast can you get me to Forty-Second and Eighth?”

The driver smacked the horse’s rump with the whip, and it took off as he yelled down to Bill, “It’s a good thirty minutes, Mr. Scott.”

Bill held on as the cab careened around corners and cut off other traffic. It must have rained this morning because the steel rimmed wheels slipped and skidded on the wet leaves that covered the cobble-stoned streets. None-the-less, Jimmy got them there in twenty-five minutes. Bill jumped out and shouted to him, “Wait for me, Jim. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

The store was small, but it was packed with military uniforms, bayonets, muskets and pistols along with ammunition. A big man who seemed to have thick black hair growing out of every possible place on his body was behind the counter reading a newspaper. He rose as Bill entered with a big smile on his face.

“Good day, sir. What can I interest you in? We have the very latest in European boots. No half sizes though.” He looked at Bill’s shoes. “You look like a ten, am I right, sir?”

“Eleven,” Bill answered, “But I’m interested in an 1863, U.S. Small Arms Manual.”

“Why 1863? That’s old information. I don’t keep old books here. Why, I have a hard time storing all my up-to-date merchandise, never mind old stuff. Now, what about these boots?”

Bill looked him in the eye and said, “I’ll buy a pair of boots if you can come up with the book, too. If not, I’ll get it in from a friend over in New Jersey.”

“Whoa, mister, just a minute. I’ll look downstairs and see if maybe we have the arms manual. Meanwhile, I’ll get you your size eleven.”

Bill shook his head. “Book first or no deal.”

The big man spread his arms in resignation. “Okay, okay, I’ll get the book first.” He walked away mumbling. He was back in two minutes with the book and size eleven Black, Spanish riding boots.

They are beautiful, thought Bill, as the clerk wrapped them in coarse brown paper, tied them with twine and put them on the counter.

“Six dollars . . . four dollars if you have gold coin,” the clerk said.

Bill slapped down six dollars and hopped back in the cab. Jimmy snapped the whip in the air over the horse’s head and the animal was galvanized into action. Bill was back in his garden one hour and fifteen minutes after he had left it. He paid Jimmy, gave him a five-dollar tip and raced up the stairs as he set the time to ten minutes after he left in 2011.

 

DATELINE: AUGUST 6, 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB NEW YORK CITY

John was reading the book on the Wright brothers. He looked up and said, “What’s behind that door Bill? It gets you out of breath.”

“Whew, too many stairs, that’s what. Here.” Bill handed him the package.

“What’s this?” John asked.

Bill sat down. “Open it,” he said.

John untied the string and pulled open the paper wrapping. He looked at the boots. “Nice, but . . .”

Bill pointed to the smaller package under the boots. “Open the other one.”

As John undid that package, his eyes widened, and he whispered almost reverently, “It’s impossible.” He gently opened the book and exclaimed, “Impossible, this is impossible. It’s . . . it’s . . . why, it looks brand new! How . . . how could this be? I don’t get it. Do you have a supercomputer back there? You looked it up online and did a super-fast print job?”

Bill shook his head, “No. I’ll show you what’s back there if you want, but first I have something to tell you.” He reached into his pocket and handed John the receipt from the store. John looked at it and then at Bill.

“This can’t be. A receipt from Militia Merchandise! I’d recognize it anywhere. I’ve seen an old photo of one in a book on antiques, but it was yellowed with age. This is brand new. All I can say is bravo! You have some great toys here to keep us members amused. This is the best I’ve seen since I joined three years ago.”

Bill offered John another cigar and took one himself. He cut off the tip with a silver cigar clipper and passed the clipper to John. “And if I told you that it was brand new? And the riding boots were brand new, too? Would you believe me?” he asked.

John cut off the end of his cigar and accepted a light from Bill. He sat back and exhaled a puff of smoke. “A couple of minutes ago I didn’t know what to think. But now I think I have it. Behind that door is a storeroom with replica clothing and a high-end computer and printer setup to meet the whims of the members. And for whatever reason you are trying it out on me. Correct?”

Bill blew a smoke ring, as he sat back. “Good! You are now confident that you have the answer. So if I tell you that I actually went back in time to purchase them, you’d laugh it off?”

John grinned and said, “You bet I would!”

“Why?”

“Because that would be impossible.”

Bill stood up and tilted his head toward the door. “Then I guess I’ll have to show you what’s behind the door.” He got up and led John to the great mahogany door at the far end of the room. Bill fished out the chain with the key on it from under his shirt and opened the door. He walked through and stopped as John stood at the opening looking at the gas lamps, which illuminated the descending staircase.

“Coming, John?” he asked as he started down the stairs. John followed, puzzled but intrigued. At the bottom of the staircase, Bill once again used the key to open another, heavier door. Light poured in as he pushed it open.

 

DATELINE: 1865 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

John looked around and said as he shaded his eyes, “But it’s after 10 p.m.! How is it that the sun is up? I don’t get it.”

Bill turned and smiled. “You’re going to think that what I have to say now is impossible, John, but I just took you back in time.”

John put his hands on his hips and said, “Aw, com’on, Bill. What’s the trick?” He pointed to the flowers and shrubs teeming with butterflies and birds. “How do you do this? And why me?”

Bill turned to him, “It’s true, John. I can go back in time. I also know that you and every club member would give anything to take a trip back to the era they love. I know it because, remember, I was a member before I became president.”

John admitted, “Of course you’re right, I’d love to go back and visit the past. But, it’s imposs . . . ” A noise from outside the high garden wall interrupted him.

Bill beckoned him. “Here, John, come and see.”

Both men walked over to the wrought iron gate and peered out. A black wagon pulled by two horses rolled by, clacking on the cobblestones. Two men sat on the seat as one of them held the reins. Both were in dark blue uniforms, and the side of the wagon read, “POLICE.”

Bill raised a hand in greeting and said, “Good day officers.”

The policeman without the reins waved and tipped his hat. “Good day to you, gentlemen.”

Bill inquired casually, “On a call?”

“No, just exercising the animals, sir. They get cramped in the stables and we need them to be limber at all times. And it tis’ a beauty of a day, isn’t it?”

Bill’s smile told them he was in agreement with him.

John was speechless as they drove away. “How did you do this, Bill?” He stared after them. “I need a drink!”

“Good idea, let’s go.”

John looked at him, “Go? Go where?”

Bill once again took out his key, opened the gate and held it as John stepped out of the garden and onto the slate sidewalk.

“You want a drink? I know this great place three blocks from here. Let’s go.”

“But, what about my uniform? I mean, I know we dress up for the club, but we don’t leave the building in costume.”

Bill laughed as he locked the gate and motioned for John to follow as they headed up the block. “Believe me, your ‘costume’ will be in vogue here.”

John was still in shock as they passed a wagon loaded with fruit and stopped to watch the driver put a feedbag on his horse. More than once he covered his nose as he noticed the odors from the horse waste that pretty much cluttered the streets. He shook his head and walked fast to catch up with his guide.

They covered the three blocks and stopped in front of Paddy Diamond’s Bar & Grill. Bill led him in, and they sat at two high stools at the beginning of the long, wooden bar. The bar’s doors were opened at the front and rear and a cool draft came through keeping most of the flies out. A huge moose head was mounted over an opening that led to the washroom. It had cobwebs streaming from its antlers and chin that danced in the light breeze.

A big man with a thick head of white hair that matched the color of the apron he wore sauntered over to them with a smile and outstretched hand.

“Hello, Bill. You been outta town?”

Bill smiled back and said, “Hi, Paddy. Yes, I was in New Jersey for a few weeks.” He inclined his head toward John. “Captain John Brand. He’s with the Army Aeronautical Corps. He’s an old buddy of mine.” He turned to John and said, “John, this is Paddy Diamond. He pulls the best beer in town.”

Paddy shook John’s hand and John noted that his hand was lost in the bar owners grip. “Nice to meet you, Paddy,” John said. “I’ll have a tall one.”

“Make it two,” Bill chimed in.

As Paddy walked down the empty bar to get two glasses, John asked, “I take it that you’re a steady customer here?”

With a nod Bill answered. “When I want to get away from all of it, I just trot out my back door and pop into Diamonds.” He winked at John, “No matter what date I choose, I go to Diamonds to heft a few and chat with the Paddy Diamond that’s behind the bar. You see the bar has been in their family for years and I got to know the entire line of Paddy Diamonds. Of course I never come in when a father and son are here together.” He pulled out a dollar. John looked at it, then at Bill.

“Bill, I don’t have any money on me,” he said. “At least not this, you know, the money they use. I have a twenty from . . . uh . . . back there.”

Bill smiled and said, “You mean up there. We’re now back in 1865, so we’re back there.”

John shook his head again. “Damn! It’s so hard to believe.” He looked at Bill, his eyes narrowed, “Why me? How come you brought me here? Do the other members know about this?”

Paddy shuffled back and put down two tall, cool beers, their white heads flowing down the glasses. He picked up Bill’s dollar, walked over to a hand-cranked cash register, punched in the price, walked back and left ninety cents.

As Bill picked up the change, he winked at John as he showed him the handful of change, “Pretty good, huh?”

John nodded. “Very good. Cheers!” He raised his glass.

Bill raised and clicked his glass against John’s. “Cheers!” Each took a long pull of his drink.

Bill turned, faced him and got down to business. “Okay, John, here’s the story,” he said. “I have a mission to complete, and I need your help. According to your resume, you are a walking textbook on airplanes. Right?”

John pondered that and said, “Well, I graduated from the Air Force Academy, went through the Test Pilot School and finished second in the class. I’m now with Aerospace Technology Weekly magazine and have lots of friends who are privy to secret programs. So yes, I guess in a way I am kind of a walking aviation textbook. But there’s always someone else who’s more knowledgeable than you are.”

Bill took a drink of beer and looked at John over the top of his glass. “Not in our club though.”

John shrugged and said, “Okay, I’ll have to take credit for being the most up-to-date person in the club on aviation. So, what’s this about a mission?”

Bill set his glass down and looked intently at his guest. “John, by now you buy the fact that we can travel in time. Correct?”

John looked around and responded, “Yeah! I’d have to say yes to that. But how do you do it?”

Bill shrugged his shoulders. “How do we do it? I don’t know! All I know is that people from our future set up the club to attract people who would feel at home in the past. And, think about it. Any of our members would feel right at home in the 1800s. They come into the club and dress, as they would have in the past. They speak as though they were back there, they act it, and they think it. For the short time that they are at the club they are back in time. Agree?”

John nodded again. “True. And to be honest, I do feel right at home right now.”

Paddy came back and placed a plate in front of them. On it were four hard-boiled eggs. He walked away. John looked at them with some puzzlement.

Bill smiled. “Chicken dinner! It’s known as a chicken dinner, hard-boiled egg and a beer. Free buffet wasn’t invented in our time. It’s been around for years.” He picked up an egg and took a bite. John followed his lead. “Look,” said Bill, “Paddy accepts us, no questions asked. It’s because of our club training. If you took average people and brought them back, they’d probably panic.”

John nodded in agreement.

They finished their drinks and Bill put down a fifty-cent tip. Paddy waved as he picked it up and pocketed the change. “Good day, gents,” the big man said. They waved as they walked out the door.

“Let’s sit on a bench, John,” Bill said. “I’ll finish my story.”

They found a wooden bench alongside a cluster of elm trees. “I’m all ears, Bill,” John said as he sat back and relaxed in the warm sunlight.

Bill rested his arms on his knees and turned to John, “The people of the future need help keeping history on track. They send probes back to key points in time, Gettysburg Address, the Charge up San Juan Hill and more. They just double-check that these things happen, as they should. However, they sometimes find that events veer off course. They feed this information into their computers and see how it turns out. When the computer shows that the result of veering off course is dangerous for the future, they have us step in and . . . “

“Change it? John asked, as he sat forward. “Do they have you change history?”

Bill shook his head. “No! Absolutely not! We are asked to just guide events back on course.”

“So, how do you do that?”

Bill answered, “It’s pretty much up to us. We just cannot let the historical figures know we are guiding them in any way. We have to let them come to their own conclusions.”

“Okay,” said John, “what is your mission?”

Bill sighed. “Get the Wright brothers to fly.”

John was incredulous. “Get the Wright brothers to fly? But, they did!”

“No,” said Bill, “that’s just it. A probe went back to 1907 and they were still building bicycles.”

“But they flew in 1903,” John interjected.

Bill shook his head. “That’s the problem. According to the probe, they didn’t fly in ’03, ’04 or even ’07. And as I said, because they didn’t, the French became complacent in their role as the leaders in aviation. But what the French didn’t know was that the Germans had a program of their own, and they were going to clobber the Allies in the First World War.” He stopped as a couple strolled by, then continued. “The computers predict that the Germans and their allies would invade North and South America and be successful. You see now why it’s so important that we get the Wrights to fly in 1903.”

John leaned forward and stared at him. “This is such a fantastic story. It’s like . . . like . . . well, it’s like science fiction. But,” he said, sitting back again, “I believe you. I mean I have to after seeing all this.” He waved an arm around and continued, “I have to believe you. Where do I fit in? Open a flying school in 1903 or something?”

“No,” said Bill. “They have to come to their own conclusions. You guide them in any way you feel will get them back on course.”

John nodded, as his understanding of the project increased. “I’ll have to do a little brushing up on them, but, wow! I’m going to meet the Wright brothers.”

Bill gestured at John’s military uniform and said, “I can supply you with any clothes, money and supplies necessary for the early 1900s. Tell me, how do you feel about going to a time period you never practiced for? I mean it’s not the 1800s.”

“I think I can pull it off. It’s still going back in time and I’ll go over some books about the period,” John responded.

“The club has a huge library covering any period you need to read up on, John.” Bill stood. “Shall we go back? It’s after midnight in our time.”

John yawned and said, “Right. I’m going to have to get used to this. Talk about jet lag.” They laughed as they walked back to the garden and the club.

 

DATELINE: AUGUST 7, 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

Early the next morning John Brand stood in front of a full-length mirror. He turned to see his clothes from all angles as Bill watched and Matt packed a travel bag.

“Looks good,” John said, picking a thread from his jacket sleeve. He was dressed in a three-piece dark blue suit, black high-top shoes and a white shirt with a heavily starched collar. He fingered the dark blue tie, and then put a black derby on his head.

Bill handed him a billfold. “Six hundred dollars in tens and twenties with some singles and a pocketful of change, all from the right time period. You’ll note that I kept your real name on any identification. It’ll be one less thing you have to worry about. Now, are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you?”

John shook his head. “I really think it’s best this way. As we agreed, if I mess it up, you can try next and not be recognized as a friend of mine.”

Bill nodded. “Let’s just go over the plan one more time.”

John sat on the sofa opposite Bill and began to review.

“We know that the brothers first became interested in flight when they read of the death in 1896 of Otto Lilienthal, the great glider pilot of Europe. They started studying birds in flight and building gliders in 1899. They made their first successful powered flight on December 17, 1903, and that was the start of the aviation industry. If I join up with them in mid-1901 that should give me time to see what stopped them from making that first flight. I’ll be going back as an inventor working on a few projects. That should give me free time and answer any questions people may have about my means of support. Sound good?”

Bill looked pleased. “Sounds good to me.” He looked at Matt who was busy with the packing. “What about you, Matt? Sounds reasonable, right?”

Matt nodded. “Yes, sir. It sounds as if you and Mr. Brand have covered any contingencies.” He handed Bill a wooden hairbrush and put John’s travel bag near the door. “Will that be all, sir?”

Bill said, “Yes, Matt. Thanks for your help.” Matt left the two men alone, and Bill held up the hairbrush for John to see. “John, this is more than just an ordinary hairbrush. If you need to contact me just press down and twist the handle like this.” He followed his own instructions and the top popped open to reveal a small keyboard and monitor. “As I said, should you need to contact me, just text me, and press the ‘send’ button. I’ll get it immediately and answer you right away. I don’t have to tell you that this must never be seen by anyone.” He passed it to John who placed it in his travel bag.

Bill then gestured toward the door. “Set?” They shook hands. As they walked toward the door to the past, Bill offered a last caution. “Remember John, if you need me, just send a text message, however, I’ll still have to take the same trip that you’ll have taken so that’ll add some time to my getting to you”

“I’ll remember,” John said as he picked up his bag.

Bill picked up his Time Unit and typed in June 3, 1901, then opened the big mahogany door and they walked down the stairs.

 

DATELINE: JUNE 3, 1901 PLACE: THE 1800’s GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

It was a sunny morning in the garden with lush, green shrubbery whose fragrance almost masked the poor quality of the horse-waste laden air. They walked to the wrought-iron gate, and Bill opened it as a horse-drawn cab dropped off a passenger. He whistled to get the driver’s attention and patted John on his back as the new time traveler ran toward the cab.

Bill watched him give the driver instructions, climb in, and, as they pulled away from the curb, wave back from the open carriage window. He closed and locked the gate and went back to the twenty-first century.

 

Inside the cab John sat forward and watched the sights of 1901 glide by. Pre-trolley carriage cars being pulled by horses, and everyone he saw seemed to be dressed up. Every man had a shirt and tie on along with the ever-present hat, even on such a warm day. The women were in long dresses and wore large hats, and there always seemed to be at least two of them together. He never saw one woman alone. He suddenly realized he was probably the only adult male in New York City without a mustache. I’ll have to give that some thought, he thought as he stroked his bare upper lip.

The driver pulled up at the address John gave him; the New York/New Jersey Ferry Line, at the foot of Manhattan. John paid him and went into the low building on the wooden pier. He was surprised to find the building was already old. The wooden floors creaked as he walked to the ticket agent and the place smelled of mildew as the slap of water against the pier could be heard from below. A clerk with long, dark hair parted down the middle sat behind the teller-like cage, reading a newspaper.

“Excuse me sir,” said John, “can you tell me when the next ferry to New Jersey departs?

The man looked agitated at the interruption and mumbled, “In about ten or fifteen minutes, and that’ll be fifty cents.” He took the change John passed him, pushed a ticket under the brass bars and never took his eyes off his newspaper.

John grinned and took a seat on a ten-foot long, high-backed wooden bench facing the gate that separated them from the black waters. He noticed the bench was worn smooth from countless passengers who waited for the ferry over the years. The time traveler picked up a discarded newspaper and started to go over the one-hundred-year-old news.

Pablo Picasso was a rising artist in Europe and was having small shows, the entertainment section announced. A book written by Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams, was getting mixed reviews on the European circuit.

A shrill whistle got John’s attention, and he looked up at the ticket agent as the man inclined his head toward the gated opening in the wall. Behind the gate, John could see a red and white ferry as it approached the dock. He got up and went over to the gate and watched, as it got closer. A few minutes later a belch of black smoke from the ferry’s funnel, along with a thud, matched by a movement of the entire pier, announced the meeting of boat and pier as deckhands quickly tied thick manila ropes around yellow-painted posts on the dock. A dockworker opened the gate with a rusted, screeching sound.

Carrying his bag aboard, John started to wonder how the ferry stayed in business, as he seemed to be the only passenger who got on. That question was quickly answered as wagons pulled by horses arrived from a different loading ramp. Suddenly, burly men rushed their horses to the best spots on deck and as they nudged smaller wagons aside, quickly surrounded him. The few passengers went out of their way to avoid the men and their cargo, but John was agog with the history of it all. The only difference between these drivers and the drivers from my time, he thought, was the amount of horsepower available to them. Most of the men gathered together at the front and all lit cigars, pipes and cigarettes at the same time. Their conversation surprised him as they spoke of family, pay and the weather. Just like my time, he thought, with just over one hundred years difference.

The ride across the river was choppy but pleasant, and John loved seeing a New York with a much lower skyline. If not for the skyline, he thought, it could be 2011 or any other year. He suddenly recognized the spot that would have the Twin Towers built on it and removed his hat for a moment.

All too soon the men put out their respective smokes and drifted back to their wagons and taxis. As the gate lifted on the New Jersey side, the drivers reminded John of the chariot races in the movie Ben Hur.

Following other passengers, John spotted a sign for the New Jersey Train System, which led him down a cobblestone street inside the terminal area. He arrived at another ticket agent behind an almost duplicate teller-like cage as the one in New York. He plopped down his bag and asked for a train ticket to Dayton, Ohio.

The clerk looked at a large timetable and ran his finger down. He looked at John and said, “New Jersey Train, ‘The Union,’ leaving this here location at 12:30 p.m. today will make four water stops and arrive in Dayton, Ohio, after a five-hundred-thirty-seven-mile run, at approximately one o’clock tomorrow morning. No sleeper accommodations are available on this run; however, sandwiches and coffee will be served for a modest price. Do you still wish to purchase the ticket, sir?”

John was stunned. This man knew his job and did it well. “Yes, sir, I do. How much will it be?”

“Eleven dollars and ten cents one way and twenty-two dollars and twenty cents roundtrip.”

John smiled at him. “Well, I’d love to take advantage of the roundtrip price, but as I don’t know how long I’ll be there, I’ll just take the one way.”

The clerk stamped the ticket, took the money and said with a grin, “Don’t shoot the messenger, sir, I don’t set the prices.”

John laughed congenially. He looked at the large clock in the waiting area and saw that it was noon. He bought a banana from a street vendor, knowing that he wouldn’t have to wash the fruit before he ate it. Minutes later the clerk put a sign up on the departure board stating that the train was boarding. John joined the crowd, but as they boarded, he stopped to look and admire the steam locomotive. It looked and sounded powerful as it sat giving off a combination of smoke, steam and hot lubricating oil.

“Pretty. Right, mister?”

John turned to see a man with a half eaten sandwich in his hand as he stood looking the engine over. He was dressed in a dark blue shirt and high-top work pants that had years of oil and grease stains on them, and his peaked cap. He smiled at John as he said, “I’m the lucky guy what gets ta drive her. An’ I know the look of another steam engine admirer.”

John nodded. “Yes, I am. And I’m also one of the lucky people to get a ride from her.”

The man took another bite of his sandwich and said with a wink, “Best ya get onboard an get a good seat, friend. We leave in five minutes.”

The time traveler tipped his hat, boarded and found a comfortable seat by a window. He settled down and less than five minutes later a whistle sounded and the train started forward with a lurch. Shortly after that a conductor with a huge red mustache stopped to punch his ticket.

“First time to Dayton, sir?”

John smiled and said, “Yes. Nice town?”

“Dunno. Never got off there,” the man answered, “But if I was you, I’d relocate my seat. Get the one way back in the corner.”

John looked puzzled, “Way back there? But it doesn’t have a window and is dark.”

The conductor looked at him with a grin. “Exactly. No one wants to sit there, but since there’re no sleepers on this run, it’s the best seat to lie down on while everyone else has to sit up all night ‘cause they wanted a scenic seat. Get my drift?”

John smiled and nodded. “Okay if I make the change now?”

“Sure. Glad I could be of help. Sandwiches and coffee will be ready at three o’clock, sir. Have a pleasant trip.”

The trip was pleasant enough and the conductor was right. John had a comfortable sleep in the overstuffed seat in the dark corner. The conductor walked through the train at midnight and announced that Dayton was just thirty minutes away.

John tried to tip him, but the man smiled and said, “Why? For doing my job? Thanks just the same, mister. Have a pleasant stay sir.”

I’m really getting to like this time period, John thought as he grabbed his bag and went to the door of the car to wait for the train to come to a stop.

The June night was warm as he stepped onto the small wooden step stool the conductor placed on the empty platform. The station was in the middle of town, and he easily located a hotel, the Emerald.

A slim, young man was behind the desk reading a novel. He quickly stood and smiled as John approached the desk. “Good evening . . .” he glanced at the large clock on the wall and corrected himself, “er, good morning sir, do you have a reservation?”

John shook his head. “No, do you have a room available?”

The smiling young man nodded yes and slid the large register book to him. “Yes sir, we have rooms available. It’s a dollar a night or six dollars and fifty cents a week. How long do you wish to stay, sir?

John shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure, but I’ll check in for at least one week.” He placed a ten-dollar bill on the blue-gray granite counter and signed the book. He saw that the bar was still open. He took the key and his bag and settled into a tall seat at the bar.

The bartender was a thin man with the standard mustache and a ready smile. “You’re lucky, sir. I’m open late to take inventory. What will you have?”

“Just a cool beer,” John answered, then spotting hard-boiled eggs, added, “Oh, and can I get a chicken dinner?”

The bartender brought him a tall beer with a high, white foamy head and two eggs. “Ten cents, please,” he said.

John put a quarter on the bar, and when he got the change, pushed the fifteen cents back toward the grateful barman as he took a long pull on the drink and relaxed.

He finished his eggs and bought a cigar. He took it outside and smoked it as he enjoyed the city night with no sirens, no TV or radio blasting and no car horns. Its a peaceful evening, John thought, as he finished his smoke and decided to call it a night.

The time traveler reentered the hotel and climbed the stairs to his room. He opened the door to a dark room and by the glow of the hallway gas lamps, spotted a gas lamp just inside the door. He took a wooden matchstick out of a tin container mounted on the wall and lit the lamp as he looked around.

It was a spacious room with a large bed that had a small end table on either side of it. One held a bowl and pitcher with clean water and towel. John smiled as he noticed the porcelain potty peeking out from under the high bed. There was a large, wooden roll-top desk against the far wall. On it was writing paper and a bottle of ink with a pen. Above it, hanging on the wall, was a square ten-inch mirror. Next to the desk was a closet. He sat on the high bed and unbuttoned his shoes. He had to laugh at himself for his old habits as he looked around for the TV set. John changed into a long one-piece nightshirt and hung his clothes in the small closet. He removed the pocket watch that Bill provided him with. It looked like a period piece, but when he opened the backside it had a built-in alarm, which he set for seven a.m. John placed it on the small desk next to the bed, lowered the lamp to a dim glow and went to sleep.

 

The low buzz woke him at seven in the morning. His usual habit was to get up early and jog, but he figured he would attract too much attention in this time period, so he decided to take a brisk walk around town. He washed his face, shaved and brushed his teeth. He put on a pair of gray, tweed workman’s pants held up by thick black suspenders, an open-neck white shirt and a pair of scuffed brown walking shoes. He looked in the mirror and went to his travel bag, fished around and retrieved a small 1900s baseball type cap, put it on and went downstairs. The lobby was empty as he went out the door and strode off.

John knew where the Wright’s house was as well as their bicycle shop by checking with Google Map before he left and set his course for them both. A milkman made his deliveries, and walked from door to door as his horse slowly pulled the white milk wagon at the same pace. The man tipped his hat to John, who waved back.

At a steady pace, the time voyager passed the Wright’s shop on West Third Street and peered in. He saw the front of the store with a counter displaying photos and drawings of various bicycles. As he turned the corner a few blocks later, he saw their house.

He knew Wilbur was an early riser and it was more than the brisk pace he had set for himself that made his heart pump in excitement. I’m here, he thought as he walked briskly by the Wright’s home, I’m back at the beginning of aviation and I’m going to see it happen. He almost tripped as he saw Wilbur come out on the porch and pick up a newspaper. They spotted one another at the same time and each nodded. John continued on and went back to the hotel.

He washed up again changed into his suit and went down for breakfast in the hotel’s modest dining room. He skipped the eggs, bacon, grits and sausage and settled for coffee and a half a sweet roll. No sense walking and putting it on at the same time, he thought. After breakfast, he walked at a leisurely pace to the Wright’s bicycle shop. He looked in the window at the displays just as Wilbur looked up from the counter, saw him and nodded.

A small tinkle of the bell over the door announced Johns’ entrance into the shop as both brothers were hunched over a design Orville had been sketching.

They looked up and greeted him. “Good morning, sir,” said Wilbur.

John smiled at the brothers and said, “Good morning, gentlemen.” Then he addressed Wilbur, “Are you the early riser I saw this morning, sir, as I did my constitutional walk?”

Wilbur nodded, smiled and said, “Yes sir. And, do I spy another worshiper of the long day?”

“You do, sir,” John replied. “I find my mind to be most active and alert early, before the noise of the day fills it.”

Orville grinned. “Are you two in a conspiracy against me?” he asked as he looked at John. “Knowing that I may oversleep has been my brother’s biggest fear. To start late on our many projects gives him red cheeks, and I fear for his sanity because of my human weakness for sleep.”

They laughed, and John responded, “Sir, the answer to that is no. In fact, your brother and I have just this very morning set eyes upon each other for the very first time. I arrived in your fair city on the early morning train.”

“From where, sir?” asked Wilbur.

“New York, sir.” said John. “The city that never sleeps.”

“And what brings you to our city, sir?” Orville wanted to know.

“Just a place to work undisturbed,” John explained. “New York is a city that tends to keep many awake with it, to the detriment of our creative abilities.”

Both brothers nodded their understanding. “Your business, sir,” said Orville, “What would that be?”

John was ready with an answer. “That I would call myself an inventor could be an overstatement, but I am an engineer and what many call a tinkerer.”

“Ah,” said Wilbur, “one of us, I dare say. Well, if it’s quiet you seek, you’ve come to the right place.”

John said warmly, “As I walked past your house this morning, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the area. Thick trees and lush surroundings all lead to a creative environment, I feel. I wonder if there would be a place in the vicinity where a person could rent a room for a while?”

Both brothers said in unison, “The Andersens!”

They laughed as Orville said, “Sir, as luck would have it, right across from our humble home there is a room for rent. Mrs. Andersen takes in borders and at this very moment she has a room available. If you wish, I’ll write down the address for you?”

John shook his head in amazement. “Why, what luck. First in selecting a nice quiet town, then on the first day, meeting two brothers who also profess to be tinkerers and a room available across the street from them. Why, it’s my lucky day, indeed. Perhaps you would let me buy you lunch today?”

The brothers looked at each other. “That would mean closing the shop for an hour,” said Wilbur.

“Something we try not to do, sir,” said Orville. “Usually, one of us would ride home and make a small bite for us to eat as we work.”

“Then, let me have sandwiches made in a small pastry shop I saw this morning,” John said. “And we’ll have lunch here and you will be able to keep your shop open. I insist, in return for your kindness to a stranger in your town.”

The brothers gave the notion some consideration and Wilbur said, “Fine idea.” He offered his hand. “I’m Wilbur Wright and this is my brother Orville.”

“And I’m John Brand. It’s settled then,” he said. “Now I’ll go over to see Mrs. Andersen and see about accommodations. Why not write down your selections for lunch, and I’ll be back with them at noon.”

Their orders in hand, John left to run his errands.

 

Noontime found John with his arms full, trying to open the shop door. Wilbur came out quickly from behind the counter and helped him in.

“Lord, John, you have brought the store back with you.”

John laughed as he put the wrapped sandwiches and pickles on the counter. “No, but everything looked so good, I couldn’t help myself.”

When the three were sitting at a small, round table eating their sandwiches, John glanced at the drawings of a bicycle Orville had designed.

“Very nice, Orville,” John said biting into a pickle. “It looks to be a fast machine.”

Orville nodded and said, “Fast, yes, but safe, too. See the handlebars? Not so wide that they may get entwined with bushes or fences. We call it the Van Cleve, after Catharine Benham Van Cleve Thompson, our great-great-grandmother. Safety is one of our major concerns. It should fetch a fine price. What do you think of it, John?”

John munched on his sandwich, wondering how far he should go with his help. Then he remembered Bill saying that they had to do anything to get the Wrights back on the right path. “May I?’ he asked, reaching for the pencil. “What if you had something like this?” He drew a round object protruding from the handlebar. “If there were a mirror attached to the bars, one could see behind one’s self. That could also be an attractive safety element should there be a horse and buggy passing you.”

Orville stopped eating his sandwich and looked at the drawing.

“Wilbur, look at what John has designed. A handlebar, rear-looking mirror.”

Wilbur turned the paper around and stared at the drawing. “So simple! So simple . . . it’s perfect.” He looked at John eating his sandwich. “Why, John, with something like this on a bicycle, it would be the safest bicycle in the world. Have you patented it?”

John swallowed as he fibbed, “No, to be honest, I don’t even know if I designed it or remembered seeing it before.”

“No,” said Orville, “I would have read about it in the periodicals.”

John wiped his hands on a napkin. “Take it then, it’s yours. Use it as you feel it’s best used.”

“But,” said Wilbur, “it’s yours. We couldn’t use it.”

“Yes, you can,” said John. “If it’s mine, as you say, then I give you permission to use it.”

Wilbur looked at the drawing again and said. “John, would you mind if I had a talk with my brother?”

John stood. “Of course, not. I’ve been taking up too much of your time as it is. I’ll be on my way.”

“No, stay here. I’ll step in the back with Orville,” Wilbur said.

John sat back down, as the brothers went through a door and reappeared in a couple of minutes.

Wilbur blew between pursed lips and said, “Whew! John, you are a generous man. Perhaps we could entice you to work with us? With three of us having the ability to design and invent, and with our lathes and steel working tools, why, there’s nowhere we couldn’t go.”

Orville smiled at John. “Think it over and join us for supper this evening at our home.”

John looked thoughtful but quickly said, “Supper sounds great. What time, sirs? And I shall be punctual as I have acquired a room right across the street from you.”

“Good!” said Orville. “Supper is at seven o’clock. I shall tell our sister, Katharine, to set another place.”

They shook hands and John said; “Now gentlemen, I really must take leave of you and get my clothing from the hotel. I’ll see you promptly at seven.”

He walked back to the hotel with a hop in his step. My gosh! he thought. Working with the Wright brothers. Boy, this time travel stuff is fantastic!

 

The afternoon flew by as John retrieved his clothes from the hotel and set up his room across the street from the Wright’s house. At seven sharp, he rapped on their screen door.

Wilbur opened it and with a smile said, “Come in, John, come in. Beautiful evening isn’t it?” He escorted him into the living room where Orville put down the newspaper he was reading, stood and greeted him.

“Hello again, John. Hope you brought your appetite with you. My sister is an excellent cook.” He turned to a tall man sitting by the window and said, “John, this is my father. Father, this is John Brand, an inventor from New York.

John put out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

The elder Wright shook his hand and said, “Reverend Wright, sir. A pleasure to meet you. My sons have been talking all evening about your inventiveness.”

John smiled, “They exaggerate greatly, Reverend.”

A female voice came from the dining room, “Dinner is ready, gentlemen.”

Wilbur took John’s arm and led him into the dining room, saying, “Come meet my sister and the woman of the house.”

The tall dark-haired women wearing a polka dot apron said, with the hint of a bow, “You must be John.”

“Yes. Katherine, I believe. Your brothers speak highly of you.”

“They’d better,” she said merrily, “else they’ll be doing the cooking.”

“That we do, dear sister, that we do,” answered Orville, as he pulled out a chair for his father.

“Please, John, be seated,” said Wilbur, as he pulled out a chair for him at the head of the table opposite his father.

John admired the fine linen tablecloth, highly polished silverware and fine china. As they settled themselves, he noticed an empty seat.

“Mr. Osloe, John,” said Wilbur, answering his questioning gaze at the empty spot. “He is a boarder who has been here for two years and has become a friend of the family.”

At that, Osloe appeared at the dining room doorway. “Good evening,” he said. He was a short, chubby, bald man with a big smile and deep blue eyes. He wore a white shirt open at the collar and black pants with suspenders similar to Wilbur and Orville.

Reverend Wright smiled and beckoned him to the table. “Good evening, Mr. Osloe, please join us. I’m just about to offer thanks.”

Osloe quickly took a chair and hastily arranged a napkin on his lap. The diners bowed their heads as the elder Mr. Wright said, “We thank the Lord for this food and for our many gifts, amen.”

Orville said, “John, this is Mr. Osloe, Mr. Osloe, this is John Brand. John is new in Dayton and has a room across the street at the Andersen house.”

Osloe smiled and said, “Are you in town on business, Mr. Brand?”

“Yes and no, Mr. Osloe. I’m here to enjoy the quietness of your town so that I may be able to concentrate on making a better mousetrap.” John’s smile was stopped by the serious look he received from everyone.

“Build a better mousetrap,” said Orville, “and the world will beat a path to your door.”

John added lightly, “Well, that and other ideas I have.”

“We saw one today, Mr. Osloe. Believe me, we have an inventor in Dayton,” Orville declared.

Katharine cleared her throat loudly and pointed to the roast beef on the platter. “I better not hear anyone say the roast beef is cold, gentlemen,” she said, as she cut a slice and put it on her father’s plate. Conversation turned to other topics as they shared in the fine home cooking.

After supper, they sat on the porch at Orville’s urging to watch the setting sun. Katharine brought out a pitcher of cold lemonade. The sunset at eight thirty-five, and everyone seemed to enjoy it immensely.

John thought I have to remember. This is before television. He smiled inwardly at the brothers. The future pioneers of the aviation industry, and a setting sun thrills them. What great times we live in . . . or rather, they lived in.

Katharine poured another glass of the cool drink for Mr. Osloe, and he turned to John. “Mr. Brand, are the sunsets in New York as stirring as here?”

John shook his head. “Please, believe me, the answer is no. The city lights seem to take away its glow. And please, Mr. Osloe, call me John.”

Osloe inclined his head. “Thank you, John. Tell me, did you bring tools with you?” Seeing John’s quizzical look, he continued, “I’m intrigued with tools. Silly, but maybe it’s because I’m terrible when it comes to mechanical things.”

John nodded. “No, I just brought my sketchpad and pencils. I tend to think and put my thoughts down on paper.”

The short man took a long drink and said, “And perfect the rodent-capturing machine.”

Orville walked over and sat by them. He smiled and put a hand on Osloe’s shoulder. “Forgive Mr. Osloe, John. He is, as we say in the trades, ‘all thumbs.’ But he will dissect an engineer’s drawing and remember every line of it. To do what with it? Why, nothing at all, for his mechanical ability is wanting.” He patted Osloe’s shoulder good-naturedly. “But he is a comrade and helps my sister about the house. And he is an encyclopedia on inventors. He knows of them all.”

An opportunity, John thought, and he asked, “Have you read the works of Samuel Langley?”

Both brothers and Osloe looked at John as if he struck a nerve. Osloe recovered first and said, “Do you know of his works? I understand that he flew his glider.”

Wow! thought John, I hit pay dirt! Then he said, “The Aerodrome? Did it fly? I knew he was getting it ready for flight, but I didn’t know it flew already. Was it a successful flight?”

“From what I have heard,” said Wilbur, “it was a successful flight, but an unmanned flight.” John saw relief on their faces.

“Flight is fast becoming a possibility.” John said. “But at what a cost. Why, Europe’s best glider man, Otto Lilienthal, crashed in one of his machines and died.”

Orville sat back down and looked at the rising moon. “Yes,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “he was an inspiration to my brother and me. We surely miss him.”

There was a long pause, and then John said, “Did you know him?”

“No,” said Wilbur, “but we read all his papers. He was a visionary.”

John nodded. “Yes, he was.”

Osloe stood up. “Good night, gentlemen. I fear I’m falling asleep and want to help Katharine do the chores before I retire.” He went inside.

Orville asked, “John, do you have aspirations of flight?”

John smiled. “To fly would be the most rewarding thing a person could do. To be released from the Earth’s gravity and soar aloft with the eagles, to flit between the columns of mile-high clouds, to dive like the hawk and go where no man has ever gone before. I think it is my calling.” He waited a beat, then said, “And you? Would you have aspirations to fly?”

The brothers looked at each other. Sometimes John thought they could communicate with each other without speaking. This was one of those moments. They gave a sort of nod to each other and Orville said. “John, you have flight in your heart, as do we. Yes, we have very strong aspirations to fly. In fact, to be the first to fly is our dream.”

John spread his arms and said, “Then, why not? Why not be the first? Have you ever thought of designing a flying machine? I mean you are both so mechanically gifted that I do believe that if you put your minds to it, you’d succeed.”

“Ha!” Wilbur blurted out. “Have we any designs of flying machines? Sir! We have a roomful. We were well on our way to be the first to fly. Then . . . well, then . . .” Wilbur looked at his brother and raised his eyebrows. “Orville, perhaps it is getting late. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day to speak . . . in the shop.”

John was disappointed but could say nothing as Orville answered his brother.

“Yes Wilbur, tomorrow would be a better day.” He turned to John and asked, “Will you join us at the shop tomorrow?”

John stood and looked at both brothers as the moon rose behind them. It made a silhouette of them, reminding John of a commemorative coin he saw with both brothers embossed on it. “Yes, gentlemen. I’ll be there.”

The groups exchanged good nights, and John went across the street to his room in the boardinghouse.

 

The time traveler slept great that night and the next morning he skipped his walk and enjoyed a big breakfast prepared by Mrs. Andersen and served by her young daughter Kate. As he sat there he heard a dog barking, and Mrs. Andersen shouted from the kitchen, “Kate, get King and bring him in the back door.”

Kate went to the window and peeked through the curtains. “It’s him, Mother. It’s the little man from the Wrights. He’s going out.” She looked at John and said, “King never barks. Never! Just when that man across the street goes by. I don’t understand it.” She waited and King stopped barking.

“He’s gone, Mother. I’ll leave King in the front yard until that man comes back. All right?”

Her mother answered, “Fine, but if there’s a complaint from the neighbors, you’ll be in the house for a week, young lady.” She came out of the kitchen and as she wiped her hands said, “Now, off to school, and don’t be late coming home.”

Kate left and John stood up. “Can I help with the dishes, Mrs. Andersen?”

She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you even touch one, Mr. Brand. Not even one. Supper is at seven, and the rule is, if you’re not here we start without you and King has a big supper.”

“Fair enough,” John said with a smile as he gave his mouth a final dab with a napkin and went out the screen door.

He strolled over to the Wright’s shop enjoying the quiet streets without automotive traffic along the way. John, he thought, this is the life. I’ve got to get Bill to send me on more trips back. Once at the store he opened the door and as the bell jingled, Wilbur looked out of the back room.

“John,” he said with a smile, “Come in. Come in.” Orville joined them and they sat at the small, round table.

“John,” Orville said, “we want to apologize for being so abrupt last night. We thought it best to speak between ourselves before we brought you into our dilemma.”

John put his hand on Orville’s shoulder. “There’s no need to apologize to me about anything. I had an enjoyable dinner and felt I was with friends.”

Wilbur chimed in, “You were among friends, John. And I must add that my father and sister enjoyed your company immensely as did Mr. Osloe.”

Orville continued, “You asked if we had designs of a flying machine. Well, John, we have much more, and we’d like you to accompany us to where we store them.”

John said eagerly, “Lead the way. When?”

“There’s a train leaving at noon today,” said Wilbur.

“Today?” asked John, with a surprised look on his face.

“Yes, we have left our work on flying for too long. Where we are going there is always a wind blowing and as we sit here, the wind is being wasted.” said Wilbur. “You will understand when you get there. Trust us.”

“I do, gentlemen, I do” answered John, “How long a trip will it be?”

“It’s an eight-hour trip to Kill Devil Hills just south of Kitty Hawk in North Carolina, but we have accommodations there. Not much, but it’s out of the wind,” said Orville.

John looked at his pocket watch. “How long do I have to get some things from the Andersen house?”

“We are packed and ready now,” said Wilbur, “Can you be back in one hour?”

John nodded. “I’ll be here.” He left and walked quickly to the boardinghouse. Son of a gun, I think I did it, he thought, I think I somehow got them back on track. Wonder how I’ll be sure?

Forty-five minutes later he opened the door to the bicycle shop, and the brothers were waiting.

“Shall we?” said Orville as he stepped out.

Wilbur took out his key to lock up and called into the back room, “Mr. Osloe, we are leaving.”

John looked at Wilbur. “Mr. Osloe? Is he going to accompany us, too?”

Wilbur smiled and said softly, “Yes. There’s much you have to learn of Mr. Osloe, John, much indeed.”

On the train, it was John and Osloe facing Wilbur and Orville. John was torn between looking at the Wright brothers or looking out the window as history flew by at the dizzy pace of sixty-five miles an hour as the belching engine pulled them along.

They were quiet most of the trip, but when the train had almost reached their destination, Orville sat forward and spoke in a low tone. “John, as we said before, if we were abrupt last evening, we apologize.” John started to protest, but Orville stopped him. “I must say this all at once, John. For the story I’m about to tell you is so outrageous that neither myself nor my brother have told anyone.” The conductor announced the Kitty Hawk station. “Best I finish at the house,” Orville said.

At the station, Wilbur went across the way to “Chip’s Horse and Buggy Fixens” and rented a horse and four-place buggy with a canvas roof and sides to keep the flying sand out as much as possible. The four got in and in an hour they arrived at a small, one-story wooden building with tiny windows.

Orville had a time getting the door opened because of the sand buildup against it. A final tug by Bill and Orville and it dragged open enough for them to enter. Wilbur tied the horse out of the wind as Orville lit an oil lamp.

As the lamp’s light pierced the darkness John saw three cots, a table with four chairs, a wood burning stove, cans of food and a sink with a water pump. The two small windows were etched from the wind-driven sand, and it was impossible to see anything more than the gray light that seeped through.

Orville started a fire and cooked beans and bacon and made coffee as Wilbur made up a fourth bed out of the rolls of linen stored in a corner. Finally, they sat at the table, and over a cup of hot coffee, Orville continued his story, which was hard to hear at times over the howl of the wind.

“John, we searched for a spot that we could fly the gliders we designed and found it here. We needed lots of continuous wind for them to take off and stay aloft. We would be on the ground, one on each side of the wing holding ropes attached to it as it flew in the face of the wind.

“We were progressing fine. In fact, we discovered that Mr. Lilienthal’s theories were not all correct. His wing was too flat, creating much less lift than ours, which had a curve, or camber, to it. He was a great man and broke new ground, but we were fast on the road to pass him. Our glider was staying aloft longer than any of his flights, and we flew it at least fifty times. Our next step was to put power to it.”

John looked at him, then at the rather dusty hut. “So when were you here last?”

“A full year,” answered Wilbur. “And now that you have appeared, we hope you will help us.”

“But, how?” John asked. “Maybe if you show me your glider I can suggest something . . . ”

Wilbur stood and took an oil lamp off a shelf and lit it. “Come, gentlemen. Let’s go to the shed.”

Orville held the door for Mister Osloe and John, and they walked out into the darkening evening. The wind was kicking up sand but in the distance John could just make out another woodshed, and Wilbur was heading toward it. All four men walked bent at the waist as they headed into the wind and flying sand. Orville walked next to John and explained in a voice just louder than the howling wind, “We purchased this small plot of land two years ago and built both huts on it. We had to because the wind kept tearing down our cloth tents.”

Wilbur held the lantern as Orville opened the lock and pushed open the door. Sand was everywhere, but at least inside the structure it was out of the wind and stinging sand. Wilbur hung the lantern and lit another one. Now John could see the Wright glider sitting in the middle of the hut.

“It’s beautiful,” he said in a whisper as he stroked the smooth polished wood. He walked around the Flyer feeling the taut wires that held her together. The linen fabric was rolled up in the corner. The three men smiled as they watched him.

“Do you like it, John?” asked Wilbur.

John nodded. “Yes, but, I don’t understand. How can I help you? Look at what you’ve achieved. It’s magnificent! Why, with an engine you could fly this right now.”

“We stopped working on an engine a year ago,” Orville said, as he ran his hand lovingly along the lower wing.

John looked at him questioningly. “But why? Is that what you want me to help you with? Building an engine?”

They looked at him. “The engine?” answered Orville as he shook his head, “No, not the engine. You see, John, about a year ago we met Mr. Osloe.” He looked at Osloe and smiled. “Mr. Osloe knocked on our door late one night. His head was bleeding, and we let him in. We washed his wound and he slept. Finally, we did too. In the morning, we all ate breakfast, and Mr. Osloe gained his strength back.”

Orville went on, “We asked how he came to be here miles from any road, and he took us to where he had his accident. This is what we found.”

Wilbur walked over to what John thought was a pile of discarded wood and linen in a dark corner of the hut. He held a lantern high as he pulled the linen off.

John’s jaw dropped as he looked at what had been stored in the wood hut since 1900. “My God, it’s . . . it’s a . . . “

“Disc. That’s what my brother and I call it. The disc,” said Orville.

John looked at Osloe. He was smiling broadly.

“Perhaps John, you may be able to help us fix it?” said the diminutive man.

John was speechless and couldn’t answer for a moment, and then he said, “Me? Are you serious? Why me? What makes you think I can fix a broken sauce . . . disc?” He couldn’t take his eyes off it. It seemed to be about seven feet in diameter with a transparent dome centered on top of the five-foot-deep silver-colored disc. He couldn’t believe he was seeing a flying saucer, but then again he had never believed in time travel.

“Did you show this to anyone else? I didn’t see anything about it in the papers.”

“Heavens no!” said Orville. “We kept it a secret for over a year. But last night hearing your thoughts on flight gave us renewed interest in our project. After you left, we talked with Mr. Osloe. For a full year, we have been trying to figure our why his disc stopped flying. And now the three of us agree that you have something in common with us as no other person seems to have.”

“What would that be?” asked John, as he touched the disc’s smooth, cool surface.

Wilbur stepped over and began covering the disc. He said, “Let’s go back to our hut before it gets very dark. Tomorrow we can show John the machine in the light of day.”

As they walked back to the hut, Wilbur said to John, “What you have in common with us is a love of flight, along with a mechanical mind as do we, but you also possess the ability of an inventor. Although I must confess that trying to build a better rodent trap is, I feel, beneath your abilities.”

John smiled in the gathering darkness.

Orville said, as they entered the main hut, “We were progressing fine with our flying machine but, seeing the disc Mr. Osloe flew, sort of took the wind out of our sails. I’m sure you understand.”

John nodded.

“However,” Wilbur said, “we are hoping that you can help us fix the disc and bring flight to mankind. So, in that vein, John, will you take a close look at the vehicle in tomorrow’s light?”

John nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! In fact,” he said, as he looked at Osloe, “May I have a few minutes to talk with you now?”

Osloe sat on a wooden chair, his feet missing the floor by an inch, “Of course, John. Please ask me anything.”

John sat opposite him “How did it happen? I mean, what type of engine powered it?”

Osloe shrugged. “I don’t know.”

John looked at him in shock. “You don’t know? You mean to say you don’t know what type of engine powered your craft?”

Osloe shook his head. “No, I’m just an operator.”

John’s eyes went wide, “Just an operator? I mean, for what, your air force or something like that? Are you a military pilot?”

Wilbur asked, “What’s a pilot, John? Isn’t that a person who brings a ship into port?”

Darn! thought John, Got to watch what I say, can’t slip up now. Out loud, he said, “That’s what I meant. A person who guides a vehicle toward a destination.”

Osloe answered him. “Yes, then. I was in my planet’s military force. But it is strictly an explorer force, not a fighting force as on earth.”

John had to ask. “Where is your planet, Mr. Osloe?”

“In a galaxy known to us as Albion. Very much like your own planet, John. I hope to return soon. I am very homesick for my wife and two children.”

John suddenly felt sympathy for him. “I understand, Mr. Osloe. And in order to do that, I’m afraid you’ll have to keep it a secret. If our government ever found out you were not only an alien, but that you possess a flying craft, they’d stop you from leaving.”

The brothers nodded in unison. “As I said,” Wilbur interjected, “Mr. Osloe, we must keep this a secret if you are ever to return home.”

Osloe looked at John with weary eyes and said, “John, I tire easily on your planet, so I must retire soon. Forgive me.”

“Just one thing, Mr. Osloe,” asked John. “How is it that you crashed?”

The small man closed his eyes as he told John his story. “My mission was to fly over bodies of water in your part of the Earth. Instruments on board would analyze how deep they were and the living creatures in them. This information was gathered all over the galaxies to hope someday to be able to see where life first began.”

He held his head as he spoke, “There was a thunderstorm and my craft was hit by lightning. Now, that’s not unusual. Our crafts have been in all sorts of atmospheric conditions for years. But this time, when the lightning struck it was different. First I felt a tingle all over and then my instruments went dark. A moment later they went green, as is normal, but the craft started wobbling, and I lost forward flight. I put it into vertical flight mode and it took. So all I could do was land by going straight down.” He rubbed his eyes, yawned and continued.

“After landing, I couldn’t see in the dark and tripped, hitting my head on the ground. I walked in the rain to a light I spotted. I was afraid but was dizzy and not myself. Luckily I met the two people who understood my predicament.” He nodded toward the Wrights.

Orville said, “John, perhaps we should all go to sleep. It’s been a long day and tomorrow could be a trying one.”

John agreed and they all turned in. But the wind and sand that beat against the wooden sides of the hut and the thought of the saucer kept John awake most of the night.

 

It was the smell of coffee brewing that woke John up.

Wilbur was at the stove and seeing John stretch, he pointed to a sink. “Cold water only, John, but it will invigorate a man like nothing else.”

John washed and drank some coffee as Osloe stood on a wooden box to reach the pump. It was an unspoken agreement that they would have their coffee and get over to the other hut as soon as possible.

The wind was still blowing as they opened the door to a rising sun. They all headed quickly over to the second hut.

Once inside, John helped Wilbur remove the linen from the disc. Now he saw that the craft was sitting on three short, thin legs. Each had a swiveling pad on the end that adjusted itself to the level of the ground it landed on. Osloe was all business as he bent low and crawled under the belly of the craft, which stood three feet off the wooden floor. He touched a barely visible round, gold-colored circle on the disc’s belly, and a small circular hatch, like a manhole cover on a hinge, opened downward.

He stood upright and with surprising strength grabbed the inside of the opening and swung his legs up and into the craft. He disappeared and the cover closed as he reappeared in the transparent dome. He flipped switches and a low vibration came, not from the disc, but from the floor it sat on.

Orville gently guided John away from the vessel as dust and sand was whipped up from beneath it. John was again surprised as the craft rose a few inches off the floor.

“Come on, John,” said Wilbur, “to the rear with me.”

John followed Wilbur as he walked around to the rear of the disc. Wilbur put his hands on the tail end and gently pushed. John did the same. The craft moved so easily that John almost fell forward. He saw that Orville had opened the barn-like door at the end of the hut. Wilbur pushed the disc past their now-frail-looking flying machine as dust and nuts and bolts danced and flew out from beneath the disc.

Once outside, the sand whirled about them until Osloe settled the craft on its legs, and the vibration ceased. John deduced that he had shut it down. Osloe disappeared from the dome and came out through the reopened belly hatch.

“Amazing!” John said, as he walked around the disc. There seemed to be no inspection hatches like John was used to seeing on aircraft. In fact, the disc was seamless and cool to the touch. There were no ticking sounds as happens when an aircraft or car engine is shut down and cools. The vehicle just sat reflecting the rising sun. He could see no exhaust openings.

“Beautiful is it not, John?” asked Orville. “You can see why we stopped our quest to design a wood and wire machine.”

“Why, just sitting here on the ground,” said Wilbur, “one can see how much more advanced it is compared to ours. And the engine . . .”

“Is broken,” said John in a firm tone of voice.

The brothers looked at him with surprise. “But,” said Orville, “it can rise, and when it’s fixed it will be . . . ”

“Someone else’s flying machine,” said John, again startling the two men. “Don’t you see? You both have thrown away a full year of flight-testing. A full year of figuring out how mankind can reach for the stars. All because a disc crashed in your backyard. Are you telling me that you surrendered because a sleeker craft than yours appeared?”

Both men hung their heads. “As right as you are, John,” said Wilbur as he shrugged his shoulders, “if we can figure out how it flies, we can really have a flying craft.”

“Really?” said John. “Can you fabricate this type of metal? These kinds of retractable legs to land on? The transparent dome? I would have to believe that this craft has to carry its own air supply to fly from another planet. Do you have the capability to produce that?”

Both men were at a loss for words.

“I don’t mean to belittle you,” John went on in a softer tone, “but I don’t think the Earth is ready for this kind of flying machine. I think we need to learn to crawl before we can run, and I believe you two are the teachers.” He turned to a quiet Osloe.

“Mr. Osloe, do you have a father of flight back on your planet? What type of flying machine did they design? I bet it wasn’t anything like the disc. Am I right?”

The little man ran his hand on the side of his craft, as he said, “Mr. Pillo. He was the first on my planet to fly. And, strangely enough, the craft was similar to the craft Wilbur and Orville have built. And, as John said, it was many years before the disc came to be.”

John chopped the air with his hand. “No, not strange that his craft looked a lot like Wilbur and Orville’s. The laws of physics demand that the flying machine be powered by an engine to give it forward motion. And the wings must have a certain curve to them for lift, along with an airscrew to push it forward to gain that lift. All these things must follow the same laws, no matter what planet it comes from. I believe that if this disc were to be repaired, Mr. Osloe should return home and let you brothers continue your flight-testing. Now, with that said, I’d love to take a look inside the disc.”

Osloe stood with his hands on his hips and looked at his vehicle. He started a slow walk-around and looked every-inch a typical pilot inspecting his aircraft before a flight.

When he seemed satisfied, Orville asked. “Is it all, as it was earlier, Mr. Osloe?” The small pilot nodded, and the three looked toward John.

John pointed beneath the disc and said; “You know, the way the dust and rocks are kicked away from beneath the craft when it’s powered up, I wonder if it’s powered by a sort of anti-gravity engine.”

Osloe scratched his baldhead and squinted at John in the sunlight. “Yes, the anti-gravity engine to lift it seems to work all right. But when I try to transition into forward flight, nothing happens.”

“Do you have control in the height you can climb to?” John asked. The brothers stood to the side as the two men spoke.

“Yes,” said Osloe, “I seem to be able to lift as high as I want, but it’s no use if I can’t transition to forward or reverse flight. I’m afraid to go too high in case the lift feature quits. It’d be a long fall.”

“Can I go in?” John said trying not to sound too excited.

“Of course!” Osloe said. “If you can fit. It’s built for people much smaller than you. But I can move the recorders farther back in the disc, and the seat does have a lowering adjustment bar. I’ll go in first and move the recorders.” He swung back into the craft and was out again in a minute. “Please, John,” he said, as he pointed to the open hatch.

John didn’t wait to be asked twice. He didn’t have the space to swing his legs up as Osloe did. Instead, he stood up under the opening and simply sat on the opening ledge then lifted his legs inside. It was a tight fit, as Osloe had said, but with a little squirming he maneuvered himself into the pilot’s seat.

The craft was surprisingly cool inside even with the outside temperatures already climbing. There were no stick or rudder pedals and no gauges he recognized. There was a five-inch-long yellow lever to the right of the seat, and John figured it was the control stick. He touched it and jumped as he heard a voice behind him say, “That’s the directional grip.”

John banged his head on the low canopy as he turned to see Osloe behind him. “You scared me, Mr. Osloe,” he said as he rubbed his head.

“Sorry, John, I just thought I’d point out a few items for your inspection.”

“No seatbelts, Mr. Osloe?”

Osloe looked at him with surprise, “Why would there be seatbelts?”

John shook his head as he realized he had done it again and had spoken from the 2011 time period. He looked at the pilot. “It just seemed that they should be a part of the vehicle. I mean, so one doesn’t flop about during flight.”

Osloe nodded as he looked at John through squinted eyes, “I see. Well, in fact, while in flight, the pilot and craft becomes one unit. Sort of all in the same gravitational field.” He looked at John closely. “You, my friend, ask questions the brothers have never asked, even after spending a year with them. You are, perhaps, more than you seem.”

John tried to brush off the idea and said, “No more than an inquisitive person spouting off at the thought of flight. No more than that, Mr. Osloe.”

Osloe smiled again. “Perhaps, John, perhaps. But to get back to my problem, as I said, I can climb and descend but cannot transition to forward or reverse flight. Now, when I say so, take the grip and press the indent on the tip. This will raise the landing braces and close the entrance hatch.” He looked out and waved the brothers to back away. “Now, John, take the directional grip and depress the indent.”

John did so, and the gear and belly hatch retracted with a soft hum. The craft wobbled ever so slightly on the anti-gravity engine. Osloe continued, “The grip is sensitive to pressure. The more you squeeze it, the higher it goes either up or down. So softly squeeze it and put up-pressure on the grip, very easy.”

John squeezed softly, and the craft rose slowly. His eyes went wide, but he quickly reverted to the pilot he was. He kept a steady but slow climb.

Osloe looked at him in amazement. “Sir! It took the brothers many times in this craft to achieve this amount of control, yet you seem to have the touch of a person with many flights in a disc. Amazing.”

John just smiled as he saw the curve of the Earth starting to fill the horizon. “Mr. Osloe, I’m going to squeeze it harder. Okay with you?”

“If you feel confident, do so.”

John squeezed, and the craft shot straight up until the sky went to a blue-black. He completely let go of the grip, and they stopped where they were. He guessed at about one hundred thousand feet. “Are we being fed oxygen, Mr. Osloe?”

The pilot nodded, “Yes. It is a self-contained unit. I’m sorry I don’t know how it all works, but as I said, I am just an operator. If you wish, John, push forward on the grip. That’s how one would transit to forward flight.”

John tried, but nothing happened.

“No joy,” he said and gritted his teeth as he realized twenty-first-century aviation slang had escaped his lips.

Osloe laughed. “The sayings you have are so reminiscent of disc drivers. I have to laugh, John. I have to laugh at myself, too, for I understand what you are saying. ‘No joy’ would be comparable to a disc driver saying ‘I did what I’m supposed to do, but the thing didn’t work as it’s supposed to.’ Anyway, as you see, the machine is giving us ‘no joy.’ Do you have any idea what to do?”

John tried to shrug his shoulders, but it was too tight in the bubble. “Not really. Maybe when we land we can open the . . . er hood, or wherever the engine is.”

“All right. Now to return, just do the opposite. When you get close to the ground, the ship will take over and do a soft landing automatically.”

John nodded and once again took the grip. This time he squeezed slowly and pressed down. The ship responded immediately. “The response time is so immediate that I don’t believe that the vertical drive is broken, Mister Osloe. If we can somehow fix the forward and reverse, you’ll be on your way home in no time.”

Osloe put a small hand on John’s shoulder and said, “John, will you stop your descent well above the Earth. I have to talk to you about the disc and Orville and Wilbur.”

“Of course,” John said and relaxed his grip at about fifty thousand feet. The ship came to a halt and just seemed to float. He turned as best he could in the tight quarters and faced Osloe. “What seems to be pressing on you, sir?” John asked.

Osloe chose his words carefully. “John, you are right about the Earth not being ready for this type of flying craft. I have been wondering what would happen if it got into the wrong hands. It is pretty much invulnerable to Earth’s weaponry just by the design of it. The heat and pressures of flight, into and out of the various planets’ atmospheres have demanded a very strong craft.”

John looked at him and saw a man who was seeking advice.

“However, John, I have become friends with Orville and Wilbur. They and their father and sister took me in with me having no source of income. I truly want to help them but am torn by knowing the disc should not be revealed at this time. I feel it is time for me to leave.”

“Leave? And go where?”

“I didn’t tell the brothers that we have six centers we can go to if we have an accident. There is one in America, one in Canada, one in South America and three in Europe and Asia.”

“There’s an alien base in America?”

“Yes, a retrieval base. Will you help me get there, John?”

“You want me to help you get there? How come you didn’t go earlier?”

He laughed. “Really, John. Look at me. I don’t pretend not to notice there’s a size difference between our races. And although the Wright family was wonderful to me, there are others who are not so nice. Plus, dogs and other animals seem to resent me in their presence.”

John sat up straight and bumped his head again. “Ouch! The Andersen dog! Now it makes sense.”

“Also John, there’s the logistics of the trip. I don’t think the brothers would be able to transport my disc.”

“To where? Where is this place, Mr. Osloe?”

“You know it as Goldrush, Nevada.”

“Nevada! Mr. Osloe, that’s at least two thousand miles away!”

“Yes, John, two thousand two hundred and fifty-six miles away.”

“But how do we get you and the disc there without people getting curious?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that you seem to be the kind of person who can accomplish it.”

John looked up at the sky and said in a low voice. “Why me? Why me?”

“Why you, John?”

“It wasn’t a question, Mr. Osloe. It was rhetorical, that’s all. Now shall we land and look under the hood?”

Osloe patted John’s shoulder and with a grin said, “Another thing John. Because of the amount of time we just spent away from earth as it rotated beneath us, we’ll be a few hundred yards from where we took off.”

John nodded and squeezed the grip and said to no one, “Going down.”

The landing was as Osloe said it would be, a soft landing controlled by the disc over two hundred yards away from where the brothers stood. Orville and Wilbur trotted over to the disc. Both brothers smiled as Osloe and John emerged from the craft. “Well, John? What do you think about flying?” asked an excited Wilbur.

John matched their grins, as he answered, “I can honestly say it truly was the most exhilarating experience I’ve ever had. I felt like an eagle must feel.”

“Let’s take the disc inside lest we have a surprise visit from the town folk,” suggested Orville. Osloe agreed and went back into the disc, powered it up, and the three men pushed it back into the hut and closed the doors behind them.

Once inside, Osloe opened another hatch in the ship’s belly from inside the disc. As it opened, a light came on, illuminating the power unit. He went beneath and stood in the engine bay as John crawled under next to him. Looking in, John saw a silver-colored, football-shaped object, with a few connection points and thin piping coming out of it and going into other parts of the ship Its the size of a bread box, he thought as he peered in.

“Mr. Osloe,” he said, “am I right in saying there are no moving parts? At least not that I can see.”

Osloe looked at the unit, then at John. “I fear that you are right. There seems to be nothing that can be done as there is nothing to do it too.”

John looked at him. “Well said, Mr. O, well said.” He looked back inside and quipped, “Man, it’s not even greasy in there.” As they were inspecting the unit, the hut’s door opened and the brothers came in. I didn’t even know they were outside, thought John.

Wilbur said, as he ducked low under the craft, “Sandwiches and coffee, gentlemen. Come, while it’s still hot.”

They all sat around the worktable and ate as they stared at the disc. When they finished, Wilbur said, “John, Mr. Osloe, we had a business meeting while you were looking at the disc. My brother and I would like to thank you both for opening our eyes. You, Mr. Osloe, for showing us that flight is not only possible, but is a reality.” He turned and faced John, “And you, John, for being here when we needed another point of view. We would like to renew our efforts to bring flight to the world. We are both in agreement that we must crawl before running, as you so aptly put it.”

Orville stepped forward, slid his hand along the disc’s side and said, “You both can stay as long as you wish to try to fix the disc, and my brother and I will, of course, assist you any way we can.”

“Fellows,” John said, “Mr. Osloe and I also had a meeting of sorts, and it’s his intention to take the disc to another location so he can try to have both him and the disc retrieved and flown back to his home. In order for that to happen, he has to travel out West, and I’d like to help him on his journey. But in order to do that, I have to ask your help in plotting our trip. We will want to be away from curious eyes as much as possible, so we are open to suggestions.”

 

The rest of the day and evening, until they went to bed, was spent trying to plan the trip, but with every idea came the belief that they would be questioned. It was as John woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee that it came to him.

“I’ve got it!” He jumped up and sat at the table scribbling on blank paper. “I’ve got it!” The three others gathered around him as he explained, “We need some brown paint, brushes and some calling cards.”

Wilbur poured them coffee as he looked at John’s notes. “Paint, wagon, train tickets and calling cards.” He looked at John and said, “If these are what you need to travel with the disc, I’ll be able to provide them for you, but, pray tell, what are they to be used for?”

“I am going to put on a play,” John announced.

Orville was perplexed, “A play? But why the brown paint?”

“Brown will give the look of wood from a distance,” said John. “The silver color of the disc will invite people to touch it, then they’ll want to know what it’s made of. Best to tell them ‘hands off, it’s a wooden prop for a play that we are going to put on.’.And the calling cards will lend legitimacy to us being actors on the road.”

Wilbur nodded, “Ingenious, John, ingenious. And what will the brown disc be made to look like?”

“With a little imagination, a poor excuse for a boat.”

“Mmmmmm, I do believe that’ll work,” said Orville with a smile, “You are an inventive person, John Brand, I shall miss you.”

“And I, too,” said Wilbur. “Mousetrap, indeed.”

That afternoon the brothers took the buggy into Kitty Hawk and returned with brown paint and brushes. Orville described what else they had done. “I am having a local printer friend of mine print up calling cards for you, John. This afternoon you will be ‘JOHN BRAND, ACTOR AND PROP PROVIDER,’ and Mr. Osloe will be’ OLIVER OSLOE, ACTOR AND PROP SUPERVISOR,’ as you instructed.”

Orville went over the rest of the plan. “You will go by wagon to Kill Devil Hills, and I booked passage for you on the New York & Ohio Railroad to Chicago, Illinois, and then on the Central Pacific Railroad. You will take that to Goldrush, Nevada. Both trains have flatbeds for heavy machinery and are wide enough to take the disc. The train actually stops twenty-five miles from your destination so you shall have to hire another team of horses and wagon to take you there. I’m afraid your passage and freight will cost you about one hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

John figured he’d have about four hundred left after dropping Osloe off. That’ll be plenty to get me back to New York he thought.

Wilbur said to John, “However, my brother sees a flaw in your plan. The weight of the disc is so great, how will it be lifted onto the train? And will the train be able to carry such a load?”

John nodded as he lifted the cans of paint from the buggy. “My plan is to have Mr. Osloe sit in the disc and as it’s being lifted, use the anti-gravity engine to lighten it. He’ll match the crane operator’s movements. Once it’s settled a fraction above the flatbed, we’ll tie the disc down so it doesn’t float away.” John finished emptying the buggy as the brothers brought out more sandwiches for the painting party.

When they were done, the disc looked like a dark brown oval. “As you said, John,” Orville said with a smile, “a poor excuse for a boat.”

John was admiring his handiwork. “You know, Orville, people are funny. If they are told this is a make-believe boat, that’s what they’ll see. A poor excuse for a boat, but a boat nonetheless.”

 

The next day saw the craft safe upon the wagon Wilbur had hired. They tied it down, knowing the ropes were not to keep it from falling off, but to keep it from floating away as the anti-gravity engines kept it a fraction off the bed of the wagon. John had the calling cards in his pocket, and the brothers gave them coffee and sandwiches for the trip.

Finally, the four stood by the wagon. Wilbur put out a hand and Osloe grasped it. Orville was next and as much as the brothers tried to keep it nothing more than the end of a business meeting, they both had tears in their eyes. They shook hands with John.

Wilbur looked him in the eye. “You, John Brand, are a man set apart from others, and I do believe you are on your way to greatness.”

John looked at him and said, “Oh don’t be so serious, you guys, give me a hug,” and he hugged first Wilbur, then Orville. They were at a loss for words at this show of affection.

Osloe and John climbed onto the wagon, and Wilbur walked over and placed a folded piece of paper in John’s jacket pocket. “A simple note from me and my brother’s thanking you for all you’ve done for us in the short time you’ve been here. Godspeed, gentlemen, Godspeed.”

John felt his mission had been a success, and he started the horses off at a walk on the way to finishing the mission. Osloe watched the brothers as they faded from his life.

 

The trip was exhausting, and one of the men always had to guard the disc when they pulled into a small town or made a water stop. As expected, the craft drew crowds of spectators who bought John’s story of an impending theatrical engagement out West.

John watched as the craft was transferred from train to train during the switches. Both times Osloe was at the controls of the disc and displayed the skill needed for the gradual lessening of the weight as John tied it down.

At the Chicago junction where they were switching trains, John and Osloe were having supper. It was a warm evening and, while watching the craft sit on the train’s flatbed through the eatery’s window, they saw a shooting star.

“I wonder if Wilber and Orville are witnessing this very same sight?” Osloe mused. The little man put his face close to the glass for a better look.

“I believe they never stop looking up at the stars,” John said. Osloe smiled rather sadly. John went on, “How many years has your planet been a spacefaring one, Mr. Osloe?”

“Hundreds of Earth years, John. I feel your planet is on the right track for flight, and I think the Wrights are, as you say, teachers. I think they will show the way.” Sipping lemonade, he looked intently at John and said, “I also think, John, that you are very advanced for a person who has never flown.”

John shrugged dismissively, “I’m just a person in the right place at the right time, Mr. Osloe.”

“No, John,” he said as he shook his head. “You didn’t seem as excited about my disc as the brothers were. Almost as if flight was part of your makeup.”

John stared out the window. “And you, Mr. Osloe, you don’t seem to want to part with any information about your planet. You could be here as an invader for all I know.”

Osloe smiled at that. “My planet has no need to invade anywhere. We wish to live in peace throughout the universe. I am not versed in the role of an emissary, but I feel when the council deems it right, they will be in contact with your authorities. Right now, I am very homesick.” John nodded as Osloe continued; “When we get to Goldrush, you will have to leave me, for they will not make contact with me if you are there. I’m sure you understand.”

“I understand. But are you going to bring the disc into town? That’s a big risk. At least on a moving train there are no people trying to touch it.”

Osloe seemed to consider the point. “I didn’t think of that. I don’t know how long they will take to contact me, and you are right, I can’t leave the disc sitting around for people to examine closely.” He looked up. “What would you do?”

John responded, “I dunno. Put it in a cave or something. We’ll have to see when we get there.” He looked at the little pilot and smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. O, we’ll work something out. Finish your food. It’s getting late and we have far to go.”

 

Three days later they arrived at Goldrush, unloaded the craft onto a large flatbed wagon they rented and tied it down. The usual crowd appeared, and John wondered if an alien was in the area watching them. Osloe watched the team and wagon as John went for some food and directions. He entered a small bar and, as it was ten-thirty in the morning, it was empty. The bartender did a slow walk over to him. John smiled and put down three one-dollar bills.

The bartender cheered up fast. “Good morning, stranger, what’ll it be?”

John wiped sweat from his brow, as he looked at the bullet holes in the wooden walls.

“The boys get happy,” said the barman noticing his gaze, “Especially when they bring in gold from their claims.”

John nodded. “Goldrush. I guess there’s gold around here?”

The barman smiled a big, gap-toothed smile. “Gold? Ya sure are a stranger ‘round here. This here hole was built in two years and all because of gold. Yep! There’s gold here. So, if not gold, what brings ya to Goldrush?”

“I’m the advance party of a group of actors. We have to wait for the rest of the troupe to catch up with us. We are looking for a spot to set up tents for our play and I’m in charge of getting the location. Not in town, but not so far away that people won’t come to see us. You know of a spot? I’m looking for a kind of deserted area.”

The bartender nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! Know just the place. One mile outside of town, just to the south. There’s a string of high hills so ya can put it where the wind won’t blow the tents away. Still, I don’t know how many people are gonna go see a play when its beer and booze they want.”

John pointed to a tap he recognized. “I’ll have a short beer. I’m just in charge of finding a place, not in picking the town to play in. Do you have any sandwiches?”

“Yep! Best bologna in town.” The barman pulled a beer and placed it on the wet bar in front of John. “On hard bread okay?”

John took a long drink of the almost cold, beer. “Sure. Any mustard?”

“Horseradish is all we got for flavoring. Take it or leave it.”

John took it, paid and left with a batch of sandwiches. He stopped in a general store and bought some soda for himself and Osloe. Finally, about noon, they set out to find the spot the bartender had suggested.

 

The hills were twice as far as he had said, but John thought that was even better. It would lessen the chance of people finding the disc. About three in the afternoon, they found a spot shaded from the sun by the hills and they took the disc off the wagon and set it on its legs. Osloe slipped out from under the disc and watched as John got a shovel from the wagon.

Osloe asked as he wiped the sweat from his brow, “What’s next?”

John answered as he rolled up his sleeves, “Next, we bury it.”

“Bury it? This is packed sand. It’ll take a long time.”

John smiled. “Not if we use your technology for us. You climb back in and power up low and the vibration will be our helper.”

A puzzled Osloe went back into the disc and appeared in the dome. John raised his hand slowly, and Osloe mimicked it by slowly applying power. The anti-gravity vibrations loosened the hard-packed mud and dirt. John lowered his hand, and the pilot came to a six-inch height. John then gently moved the disc away from the digging area. He quickly pushed aside the now-loose gravel and stones. His next step was to maneuver the disc back over the same spot and do the same thing again.

It took two hours of exhaustive work, but finally they had a hole as wide as the craft and deep enough to cover it with four feet of gravel. Osloe slowly settled the craft into the hole, got out and closed the belly hatch, and John helped him out of the hole. They both shoveled and pushed dirt over the disc. The end product was a small hill at the base of the three existing hills, which they rested on while drinking their sodas.

It was dark when they got back to town. John pulled the wagon up in front of a hotel.

“I think we should get you a room,” he said as they got down. “At least for a short time. How long do you think it’ll be before you are contacted, Mr. Osloe?”

The little man raised his eyebrows and said, “I have no idea. During training we were told that if we were going to have to spend time on a planet we were exploring, we are to activate our retrieval beacon, try to get to the closest retrieval spot and wait.”

“And did you activate the beacon?”

Osloe nodded and said, almost in a whisper, “Yes. But did it work? I mean I was hit with a powerful bolt of lightning. It knocked my disc out.”

John patted him on the back. “It’ll be all right. Let’s get a good night’s rest.”

Osloe stopped him at the door of the hotel. “John, may I ask that we part ways here? I’m not sure how or when I will be contacted, but I may be under surveillance at this very moment, and we were told to avoid all human contact. I have some money the brothers gave me, and I’ll get a room for a week. I’ll be fine, my friend.”

John smiled at him. “I understand, Mr. Osloe. However, I have a request to make.”

“Anything at all, John,” he said, “I am indebted to you more than I can ever say.”

John pressed a roll of bills into his hand. “This is my request: That you take this money. Believe me, I have no need for it, and you may. You said yourself you weren’t sure when you would be contacted. It’s two hundred and twenty-five dollars. I have return railroad tickets so my needs will be small. Do this for me please, Mr. Osloe.”

The small man looked up at him, and John saw the stars reflecting in his eyes as he hesitated at first, put the money away, and then awkwardly hugged him.

“This seems to be a little-used form of affection on Earth,” Osloe said, “but it also seems to say more than can be said by true friends. I’ll never forget you, John Brand, my friend.”

John found that he couldn’t speak without emotion. Instead, he hugged Osloe back and turned and walked back to the horse and wagon. When he glanced back, Osloe was gone.

 

The train took John back to Chicago, and then he switched to a New Jersey-bound train. It was an easy trip because it was the first time since he had arrived in 1901 that he could just watch the scenery go by without having to plan his next move. He found it very relaxing and was amazed at how quickly he had taken to time travel.

He ended up in front of The 1800 Club’s garden and sent a text message to Bill Scott. “BILL. I’M BACK FROM THE WRIGHT MISSION. CAN YOU COME DOWN AND UNLOCK THE GARDEN GATE? JOHN.”

A text message came back to him almost immediately, “WELCOME HOME. WHAT DATE AND TIME?”

John felt foolish as he typed in “10:37 P.M. JULY 19, 1901.”

He watched as the heavy door opened, and Bill Scott came out into the garden dressed in a bathrobe. John smiled as Bill opened the gate,

“What period is that you’re wearing, Bill?”

“It’s early, after-shower, wise guy,” Bill quipped as they shook hands. He locked the gate behind them, and they went inside the main door and emerged into The 1800 Club of 2011.

 

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

It was eleven-thirty in the evening as Bill poured John a glass of brandy. Both men clicked glasses.

“According to the people up-line, John, all is well. The Wright brothers flew in 1903 as history said they did.” John was flopped in a big easy chair. Bill smiled at him. “I know how you feel. Tired as heck and still not believing you’re back in 2011. It’s natural to question your sanity when you do a time jump. I’ve been there, and I want to give you some advice.”

John took a sip of brandy and looked at him, as Bill continued, “Take a day or two before you debrief with me. It’ll give you time to get your thoughts together. Go home and start your normal life as soon as you can. Get a good night’s sleep in your own bed, it works wonders.”

John downed his drink, stood and nodded. “Good advice. And a good night’s sleep is what I need. I’ll debrief with you in a few days . . . and what a story I have to tell you.”

Bill stood, and they shook hands again. He walked John to the door that led to the dressing rooms in the club’s basement. Bill stopped him and said, “Hey, was it the best?”

John nodded and said with feeling, “Absolutely the best. I met the Wright brothers an . . . and, well, their friends. Thanks for the trip of a lifetime, and I want to volunteer for more trips. They’re addictive!”

“I agree and yes, I’ll gladly use you again. Now get some rest. Good night.”

 

Dressed in his 2011 casual clothes, John caught a taxi home. Once in his apartment in Brooklyn, he collected the mail from his overstuffed mailbox and checked his telephone messages. The third message grabbed him.

“Hi, John, it’s me, Dave West, your favorite editor-in-chief. Do I have an interview for you! It’s so hot I won’t even mention it until I see you in the flesh. Talk to you soon, buddy.” John lay back on his couch and turned on the TV only to fall asleep at the same time.

He was at the New York office of Aerospace Technology Weekly magazine early the next morning. He grabbed a cup of coffee and went into Dave West’s office.

“Hey, guy,” the editor-in-chief, said, “How was your mini-vacation?”

“More like a working vacation,” John said, “painting that small cabin that I think owns me rather than the other way around. Now, who’s the interview with, boss?”

Dave sat back in his old-fashioned three-legged, wooden newsroom chair. “Ever hear of a Jack Partesuom?”

Bill slowly shook his head. “No, can’t say I have. Who is he?”

Dave sat forward, close to him. “John, for years this magazine has been trying to get the government to open up about ‘that secret area that doesn’t exist’ even though we can see it in satellite pictures. You know, ‘Groome Lake’ . . . ‘Area 51.’ Well it seems that this Jack Partesuom is the top guy there and your last column about hiding secrets right out in the open, must have hit a note with him. The Public Information Officer from Area 51 is going to grant Aerospace Technology Weekly an interview. They want to show the world that since we won the big chill with the Soviets, they can own up to having that base.”

West sat back and folded his hands on his stomach. “Actually, for them it’s a win-win situation. They tell the nation, through us, that it’s pretty much because of them that the Cold War is over. They say, ‘hey we’re sorry for the heavy-handed tactics, but we were just doing that for your best interests.’”

Bill was shocked. “Area 51! Great! And I get to go there?”

“Hey, you were asked for by the top guy. This Jack Partesuom is their biggie, and he asked for you after you wrote the ‘come clean’ editorial. They say they get the issue flown out to them every week and because of our even-handed reporting, they decided to give us an exclusive interview. How soon can you be ready to go out there?”

“Tonight, boss. Just have to check plane sched, . . .”

Dave handed him a piece of paper with a number on it. “I was told that when you’re ready, call this number and an aircraft would pick you up at Kennedy Airport. These guys have clout, John.”

John looked at the paper, “Do I get this week’s cover?”

Dave stood to his six-foot-four-inch frame. “You get the cover story and a week off to boot.”

“I’m gone. Talk to you later, boss.”

 

From a taxi, John called the number with his cell phone and identified himself. The voice on the other end told him to go to Kennedy Airport, and a man with a sign with John’s name on it would take him to a special aircraft and no cameras allowed.

John met the man at Kennedy as planned and was escorted to an all white, Boeing 747 with an executive configured interior.

He was shown to a seat that had a GPS unit showing where the plane was at any moment and he watched as the aircraft flew from New York to Nevada. Coincidence, thought John, or what? I just left this area a few days ago, actually over one hundred years and a few days, and here I am again.”

This time the trip took just five hours as the big aircraft landed at Tonopah Air Force Base in Tonopah, Nevada, twenty-five miles north of a small town known as Goldrush. John had looked up Goldrush, Nevada, by going online aboard the 747. The search engine he used said the place was now a ghost town. According to the web site, once the gold petered out in 1907, the town pretty much just withered away.

John felt sorry for the people he had seen during his short time there. I just hope Osloe made it home safely, he thought.

His aircraft landed, and the heat almost knocked him over as his escort took him to a waiting black limo. Getting in, John was quickly thankful for the cool air conditioning and the drinks available. He opened a soda and sat back as the limo made its way to the semi-secret base.

He was amused as the guards just waved the black car through without even slowing it down. Clout, he thought, this is clout. The base was pretty much as depicted by the pictures supplied to the world by the French satellites a few years back. Aerospace Technology Weekly ran them, he remembered. The extra-long runways, the refueling pits, the armament pits, and the large hangars built into the side of the mountains. This was a newsman’s dream. “Dreamland,” as it was known in many circles, was being opened up to him.

The limo slowed and entered a road that went underground and finally stopped at a security post. An Air Force major opened the door, smiled at him, and said, “Mr. Brand, Major Goodwin. Welcome to Sleepy Hollow,” as he handed John a nametag with his picture on it. “Will you please wear this at all times, sir.”

John put it on and said to the major, “Sleepy Hollow, that’s a new one.”

“Actually, Mr. Brand, that’s been in use for years. Just sort of shows you that some things can be kept secret. Come this way and meet our commander.” He walked quickly down a hallway that had been carved into the mountain and came to a steel door with white-painted letters stating, “Jack Partesuom, Base Commander.” The major knocked and a voice said, “Enter.”

He opened the door and they went into an office with two chairs and a large desk flanked by an American flag and a United States Air Force flag. The office was empty. Running water was heard from behind a closed door at the far end of the large office. The major called out. “Major Goodwin and Mr. John Brand here, sir.”

A voice responded, “Oh, sorry, major. Ask Mr. Brand to sit down. You may leave. I’ll be right out, Mr. Brand.”

The major pulled a chair out for John. “I’ll be outside, Mr. Brand, if the commander needs anything.”

John nodded at him as he closed the door. The running water stopped. John stood as the door opened and out walked a grinning Mr. Osloe.

Johns was dumbfounded, as Osloe smiled and walked over to him. He put out his hand and they started a handshake that quickly broke into a laughing bear hug.

“Osloe! How the hell did you pull this off? Let me look at you! You look like you aged only about twenty years.”

Osloe stood back with his with hands on his hips and looked at John. “John Brand. As I said, I knew there was more to you than met the eye, you scoundrel you.”

John pointed at him, “Well, what about you? I mean, what’s with this office? Base Commander Osloe?”

The small man shook his head, “No, John, Base Commander Jack Partesuom. I changed my name years ago. Come on, let’s take a walk around the base, and I’ll fill you in on the past one hundred plus years.”

As they went out the door, the major fell in behind them. Osloe stopped and said, “No need for you to have to walk around with us, Major, you can take the rest of the day off.”

They walked on alone. Bill waited as long as he could, then said, “Now, Osloe, fill me in!”

Osloe raised his eyebrows and replied, “And you, John. You have to fill me in, too.”

“Okay, but you first. The last time I saw you was at the hotel in Goldrush. I turned around and you were gone. I figured your friends took you home right away.”

Osloe shook his head. “No, John. It never happened. The retrieval beacon must have been fried by the lightning strike. After a month, I realized I was stuck on Earth. What could I do? I had no skill to work at. So, using the money you gave me, I went gold mining like the rest of the people. My size didn’t seem to matter to them. They didn’t see me as anything more than another gold miner.”

“I found a small grouping of nuggets and put in a claim. A man in town bought my claim for two thousand dollars, and I put my gold in the bank and lived off the two thousand. The gold brought me interest, and I opened a store that carried only mining supplies. I figured anyone coming to Goldrush would put their last dollar in mining supplies. And I also became one of the first to recognize that the gold was running out.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“When some of the people started trying to sell me my equipment back John, I knew they were moving on. I stopped buying new supplies and after my supply was used up I sold the store. I built a small house close to where we buried the disc. To me being near the disc was like being close to a piece of home, and I could also keep an eye on it and for any retrieval group, should they arrive.”

“The town dried up, and I decided I was here for the duration. So I made a decision. I wanted to learn all I could about flight. I watched and read about the exploits of the Wright brothers. Boy! Was I proud of them!”

“Did you ever contact them?”

Osloe shrugged. “No, it would have been too painful for me. Best they think I left Earth. They’re all gone now, of course, Wilbur, Orville, his dad and sweet Katharine. I do miss them, as I did miss you. I figured you never made that better mousetrap because I never heard about you again.” He paused and with a grin continued.

“Until recently that is. I read Aerospace Technology Weekly faithfully, but never put your name to your face. That is until I saw your picture along with the article, “Hiding Secrets in the Open.” I was shocked when I figured it out. Somehow you traveled back to 1901.” He stopped and looked up at John. “Correct?”

John smiled. “I guess there can be no other explanation, Osloe. Yes, you are correct.”

Osloe stood there shaking his head. “Amazing! I figured it out, but I’m still amazed. As I said then, John, you are a different type of man.” He smiled his warm smile. “May I ask you what you were doing back there? Where you tracking me?”

John laughed, “No, not you. We didn’t even know about you. When it was discovered that the Wright brothers stopped trying to fly, I was sent back to get them interested in flight again.”

Osloe smiled and nodded his head as he realized John’s mission. “Well, I do believe you accomplished your goal, John.”

“But you became my second goal, Osloe, and I believe I failed you.”

Osloe grabbed John’s arm and stopped him. “No! You did no such thing. Walk me back to my office, and I’ll show you something.”

They walked briskly back, and he locked the door behind them. He opened a safe and took out some photos. He shielded them against his chest as he said, “I went to school to learn about engines, airframes, electronics and aerodynamics. I became friends with most of the great aviators, Wiley Post, Jimmy Doolittle and a host of others. I flew with air clubs and at a dinner for engineers, I met Dwight Eisenhower when he was a major. I was with Jimmy Doolittle, and I ended up inviting both of them to hunt jackrabbits at my place.” He put the photos behind his back.

“Before they arrived, I washed some dirt off the disc and powered it up out of the ground a little bit. As we drove past, I ‘spotted’ it and stopped the car. I pointed to it, and the three of us ‘discovered’ it at the same time. They were overwhelmed at the find, and, of course, I pretended to be as amazed as they were. Doolittle said as it was on my land, it was rightfully mine, but I told them I had a better idea. ‘Why not turn this area into a base of sorts?’”

“At that time I had been recognized as one of the top engineers in the U.S. and I told them that I would donate my land to the government for one hundred years and I’d form a team of the top people to see if we could get the disc in flyable condition. They were ecstatic that I would do this for them. As Ike said, ‘What a cover for a secret project.’ “

John could feel the man’s excitement. He continued. “Before long we had a small base dug into the side of the hill and started to look into the disc’s secrets.” He gestured widely. “After a while, they built a bigger base around this small one, known as Groome Range, and now we really were in a private enclosure. It worked fine, John, and as the top scientist, I had unlimited access to the disc, which as you know is now called a flying saucer. Over the years, I saw presidents come and go as well as other scientists. They started looking at me as a, sort of, Howard Hughes. Except I wasn’t aging! Well, of course I was, but at a much slower pace than they were. But the excitement of working on an alien craft kept the whispering to a minimum.”

Once again John smiled at the man’s excitement, “Did it work? I mean, did you fix the saucer?”

Osloe smiled and waved the pictures at John. “About two weeks ago one of our bright young fellows decided to hit the disc with a bolt of electricity to try to see if we could get it back on track.” He paced the office as he waved the photos. Suddenly he stopped and in a whisper, said, “And, it worked! John, we were taking off straight up and down for years, but this time our test pilot transitioned to forward flight. He quickly transitioned to reverse and then went vertical and landed. The whole base was talking about it.”

“Then someone notified the President and security was tripled. Men I never saw before, all of a sudden were securing various items and parts of the base. I had to really pull weight to get to sit in my saucer.” He sank down in his desk chair, still clutching the photos. “John, I’m afraid of what might happen if the government is able to duplicate the disc. I’m also afraid that they are now taking a real close look at me, the enigma who ran this program for over sixty years.”

John nodded. “I know what you mean, Osloe. I still don’t believe the world is ready for your disc. What are you going to do?”

Osloe smiled at him and said, “Exactly what John Brand would do in this situation. Fly home.” He handed John the photos.

“When I saw your picture in the magazine, the whole story fell into place. Time travel was the only answer. In a sense, I time traveled too. I was on your planet for over one hundred years and met some of the most exciting people ever born. I watched the Wrights teach mankind how to fly and watched it develop right up to space travel. I believe the next step is the antigravity engine technology, but as you once said so many years ago, we must still crawl before we run. And letting them have the disc would just allow them to stumble around in a dangerous area.”

John looked at the pictures. They showed the saucer, inside and out, engine bay and close-ups of the power plant. There was at least one shot of every inch of the craft. He looked at Osloe and said, “Why are you giving me these?”

Osloe smiled again. “A reward for your help, John. I could never have made it on my own. You can run those in your magazine along with as much of the story as you wish. I hope it brings you the top magazine award available.” He took out an instant camera and set it on his desk, adjusted a timer and stood next to John as the picture was snapped.

“I’ll take two. I’m taking one with me as a reminder that friendship is never ending and universal.”

John asked, “When do you leave, my friend?”

Osloe extracted the first photo from the camera and handed it to John, he put the camera in his pocket and answered, “I have been planning this trip for years. I’m ready now. I want to go home and see my family.” He handed John a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. It was a bank transfer statement.

“John, as I said, without your help all those years ago, I couldn’t have made it. You gave me two hundred and twenty-five dollars to get started, and I’m returning it, with interest. I’m leaving you all I have on Earth. It comes to over three million dollars. I made some good investments, and I owe it all to you.”

John was startled, “I can’t take this! I didn’t do anything . . . “

“The small man held up a hand. “I have no use for it, and I don’t want it taken over by a bank. No, it’s yours to use as you wish. Now, I have another surprise for you.”

He headed for the door as John followed with the papers and photographs. They walked down the long tunnel and came to a heavy steel door with an armed guard in front of it. The guard looked at Osloe’s ID card and then John’s. He waved them on as Osloe opened the door with a swipe of his ID card. They went in, and Osloe closed and locked the door behind them. He opened a second door and there in the center of a round room was the disc. Osloe motioned John forward and then quickly went beneath the saucer. He opened the belly hatch, got in and in thirty seconds was out again.

“Get in, John, you’re driving.”

John looked at him. “I’m driving? Where?”

Osloe pointed to the ceiling. “Straight up.”

That’s when John saw the round room was a large round tunnel going straight up.

“At the top,” said Osloe as John settled into the seat, “is a round steel door that will automatically open as we approach it.”

“But, where are we going?”

Osloe smiled broadly and said, “You are taking the flight of your life. And when you are ready, we take you home, and I take off for my home.” He pointed up. “Ready?”

“I’m ready. Here goes.” John squeezed the grip as he put up-pressure on it, and the disc slowly rose. As predicted, when they got to the top the door opened, allowing the sunlight to stream into the disc’s interior. John glanced over at Osloe, who looked like a child on an amusement park ride. He was beaming.

“Shall I open her up?”

“Whenever you are ready, Captain,” Osloe replied.

John squeezed and the saucer shot straight up. As the sky went to blue-black John slowed. “Transitioning to forward,” he said. He put forward pressure on the grip, and the disc went from up, to forward flight. He squeezed tighter, and they zoomed around the Earth.

“Speed?” he asked.

“In Earth terms, it can go at sixty-five thousand miles an hour.” The sun dipped behind them, and they were over the Pacific Ocean. John was exuberant as he zipped around the globe. Finally before them was the sun again.

“They must be going nuts at the base, Mr. O. You can’t go back now even if you wanted to. They’d throw you in the clink and toss away the key.”

“Will you be all right, John?” Osloe asked.

“Me? What can they do to me? It’s only natural for a reporter from Aerospace Technology Weekly to take a flight when offered. Even a spacecraft. Not to worry, Mr. O, I’ll be fine.” He grinned and asked, “Or should I call you Jack Partesuom?”

Osloe patted his shoulder. “I needed a name, John. I wanted to start over and didn’t want the Wright brothers to hear anything about me in case I got into some trouble. They had to concentrate on flying. I took up too much of their time as it was.”

John nodded and pointed down as New York came into view. “I’m going to land it in Central Park. I’ll hop out and you can finally go home. Okay with you, Mr. O?”

Osloe nodded, “Okay with me, John.”

John went vertical over New York and when he was close to the Empire State Building, went to forward flight again. In a minute, he had landed in Central Park. People ran, mostly away but many toward them. John followed Osloe out of the craft, and they stood outside as a crowd gathered, not close but in a large, quiet circle. The crowd watched as the tall man and the smaller man hugged and then, the smaller one got back in and the saucer took off straight up.

The, hard to faze, New Yorkers parted quietly as the taller man walked through the circle and toward the streets. Some followed for a short distance and watched as he went down the subway stairs.

John opened his apartment door as the phone was ringing. It was Dave West. He wanted to let John know he had heard all about the saucer landing in the park and a tall man walking away. He figured it was John when he received a phone call from Groome Lake demanding to speak with John Brand. The news about the hubbub at Groome Lake made him offer John a place to stay until the magazine printed the story.

John accepted and was about to leave his apartment, when he saw the note his boss had given him about the invitation to Groome Lake. On it was Jack Partesuom’s name, but John saw it in the reflection of a shaving mirror he had unpacked. The name backwards showed Osloe’s sense of humor. The mirror’s reflection showed Partesuom as, “Mousetrap.”

He packed a small overnight bag and as he stuffed items into it, he noticed the piece of paper that Wilbur Wright had handed him years ago. He opened it and saw a sketch of a mousetrap … and, it was a better mousetrap than was ever available on the marketplace. He smiled and thought, Boy, do I have a story to tell, well, at least what I can tell. He went out and locked the door.

 

Back at The 1800 Club, Bill was enjoying a cigar and brandy as he watched a television special on the Wright brothers. He was taking a sip of his drink when his Time Unit gave a low vibration, letting him know there was a text message coming in. He opened it and read, “HELLO, BILL. CAN YOU READ UP ON THE HINDENBURG? WE HAVE SOMETHING DEVELOPING THAT CAN BE A DISTRACTION TO THE PROGRAM. I’LL FIND OUT ALL I CAN AND SEE YOU SOON. REGARDS, YOUR GRANDSON, EDMUND SCOTT.”

Bill closed the unit and walked over to his bookcase and removed a book on the German airship, Hindenburg.