Uncharted Frontier EZine Issue 14, Page 3

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  Ben Franklin: Time Traveler

  By Allan Kaspar

  “Connect that hose there… yes, that one. Okay… now just set the capacitor over here and that should do it, I think,” Ben said as his assistant Clayton helped him fit the last pieces of his latest invention into place.

  Ever since his previous experiment had proven (accidently) that there was a certain, strong force of energy that existed in nature, he had been determined to find a way to harness it and use it. He envisioned entire machines run on the stuff.

  “If only the energy itself weren’t so damned fickle,” Ben mumbled to himself.

  “Do you think this will work?” Clayton asked.

  Ben shrugged, “I keep meticulous notes. We’re replicating the process that I performed last night to an exacting precision. Though I’ll admit what happened seemed completely… random.”

  Clayton sighed audibly, hoping that he’d finally get to see one of the Doctor’s genius breakthroughs first hand. Unfortunately, most of them seemed to occur after Clayton had gone home for the night, too tired to keep his eyes open any longer.

  Ben could work three days straight and pause only for a cup of that bitter black sludge that seemed to give him new life whenever he drank it. At one point Ben had informed Clayton that the drink was called “Coffee”. He wondered if that meant “ram’s piss” in a foreign language, because it really did smell awful to him. Ben had prodded him to try it several times, insisting that it would change his entire world, but Clayton always politely declined.

  “What exactly happened last night, Doctor? Was there a… what did you call it? A window? Just as you predicted?” Clayton inquired.

  Ben had a fevered look in his eyes, the kind that Clayton knew existed only when he were on the verge of discovering something, or had found something he couldn’t quite explain. This was confirmed to him when Ben nodded vigorously, and stepped back from his machine to smoke his pipe and think before proceeding further. He remained silent as he worked a taper on the pipe bowl, stirring and mashing some fresh tobacco.

  “You should have seen it, Clayton,” Ben said, and nodded to himself when he saw his pipe was lit to his satisfaction, “It was as if the very fabric of the world tore open. Like a hole in the side of a sack! There were loud popping sounds, like firecrackers and then all was quiet…until…”

  Ben had trailed off, puffing on his pipe and staring into the forming clouds of smoke.

  “What?” Clayton asked, shaking with anticipation, “Until what?”

  “It was replaced,” Ben said with a smile, “With the sound of dancing and revelry!”

  Now Clayton was confused, “Revelry, sir?”

  “Yes, Mr. Martin. The spatial tear, as I call it, looked like it opened into a room. It was some sort of great hall, and if I’m not mistaken it looked a lot like Versaille. But not the Versaille I know today, no. This was much older,” Ben said, “People were dancing, and there was music playing. And then within seconds… it was gone. My machine ran out of power, and the tear resealed itself.”

  Clayton’s jaw dropped. He moved to sit next to the Doctor as Ben recounted the night’s events over again to him, explaining the experiment and the tear in detail. A party in Versaille? But not in the present day? A gala or party of some sort, as well. Clayton could not understand why, but something about the whole scene sounded familiar to him. He just couldn’t place why.

  “It sounded like one incredible party, Clayton, let me tell you. Just before the tear closed I could make out several phrases. One man was shouting for more wine. And then I distinctly hear a woman shouting for people to gather round… because the painter was ready to begin,” Ben finished and trailed off again.

  Something clicked in the head of both men, because Clayton noticed the Doctor’s gaze turn toward the painting hung on the wall above the machine. Clayton looked to the painting, then back to the Doctor, “You don’t suppose,” Clayton began, and Ben was already out of his seat and walking briskly toward the artwork.

  “I’ll be damned,” Ben said and pointed to the small plaque under the painting, “Gala at the newly completed Palace of Versailles – 1682.”

  Clayton scratched his chin, “Could the painting be having some effect on where the tear opens into? You said yourself it looked like Versailles. This painting seems to have been done while King Louis XIV had completed the Third Building Campaign for the palace… if I’m not mistaken that is.”

  Ben nodded, “You are correct, Clayton. I’m also impressed at your conjecture, I hadn’t actually factored the painting as playing into the effects on the tear. Then again, the tear itself was quite delicate. It seemed quite… unstable. Who knows what could affect it environmentally?”

  “What do you think about creating another tear?” Clayton asked, unable to hide his excitement at the possibilities of the discovery.

  Ben took another series of puffs on his pipe, smiling the entire time, “Why do you think we’ve been repairing the machine all afternoon? The process of creating the tear had overloaded some of the parts I had been using as capacitors…basically energy stores. We need more power this time, so I added new parts that I’m calling transistors, which should amplify the energy coming in, and I reworked the capacitor materials, to more… friendly metals. These should allow better energy storage and, hopefully, prevent overload.”

  Clayton followed along as Ben made a few more last minute adjustments. Finally! After several years assisting the good Doctor, Clayton could finally witness a true breakthrough firsthand. He forced himself to take several deep breaths when he caught himself literally shaking with anticipation. Ben paced around the contraption, admiring its myriad of parts: a maze of hoses and wires, copper tubing and coils that looked like an intricate roadway towards a destination of the wildest fantasies of the mind. This seemed quite appropriate when Clayton considered the inventor behind it.

  “I think,” Ben said as he checked the positioning of a capacitor, “we are ready.”

  Ben stepped back from the contraption and smiled, apparently satisfied. He headed towards the closet in the back corner of the room and opened the door, and began pawing through piles of clothes. “I just happen to have a decent outfit for such a gathering…wore it to Sam’s masquerade last summer…”

  The meaning behind the words hit Clayton like a slap, “You don’t mean to actually step THROUGH the portal do you?”

  Ben nodded, “Oh no, no of course not. I need to be here to ensure the machine keeps running so you can get back through the tear.”

  “WHAT?! Me?” Clayton shouted.

  Ben smiled and put a comforting arm around his assistant, “Of course my young man. Do not be afraid, it’s perfectly safe. I put my hand through the tear before it closed. It felt warmer on the other side than it is here right now, but I pulled it back through safe and sound.”

  Clayton pondered this. Ben had used him throughout his experiences as a test subject, and Clayton had always made it through them whole and safe. He didn’t think Ben would do anything to ever endanger him, but he also knew that once the Doctor got excited there was no turning back. He had been known to forsake some safety in the past for the sake of experimentation. As if in agreement his mind drifted back to that bloody thunderstorm experiment with the kite.

  “What do you say old boy,” Ben asked with a grin while waving the coat and tunic out for Clayton to change into.

  Clayton began to wonder to himself what he really had to lose. Even if he wound up getting stuck on the other side, he had many talents to make a way for himself. Hell, he even knew a decent amount of French thanks to spending so much time around Ben. Just when he was about to make permanent mental plans to stay in France for good…

  “I have an idea, Clayton, one that might settle your doubts,” Ben said.

  Clayton nodded, “I’m listening.”

  Ben ran back towards the closet and rummaged through a pile, tossing out more articles of clothes and random
objects until finally…

  “A rope!” Clayton yelped when he saw the large length of hemp dangling from Ben’s hand.

  “Exactly,” Ben beamed, “You go to the other side tied to the rope and I’ll pull you back through if you don’t come through in several minutes.”

  This was all the reassurance he needed. Now that his safety concerns were satisfied, Clayton was excited to get going. He also wanted to hurry before his mind brought out second thoughts and other concerns he hadn’t thought of. The experiment as it was prepared seemed a perfectly reasonable one. Clayton gave Ben a nod, grabbed the heap of clothes and began changing into them.

  Ben scurried back to the machine to throw several switches and levers, and the shop was once again filled with the clanging of many moving parts and the whooshes of random jets of steam.

  “Okay!” Ben shouted over the noise, “I’m going to tie the rope tight around your waist, and I will pull you back through right away if you tug on the rope. Understood?”

  Clayton nodded.

  Ben looked up towards the painting, took a deep breath, and threw the final lever. The whoosh of steam that followed rushed throughout the room. This was followed by ear-splitting popping and snapping, like the firing of a hundred muskets. The next thing they both knew they were blinded by the brightest light either of them had ever seen.

  “There it is, Clayton! Here comes another tear!” Ben shouted, barely audible over the noise.

  The tear was a slight twinkle in the middle of the room at first, blinking in and out of sight. Slowly it grew and widened and intensified. Now Clayton understood why Ben called it a tear. There was not only an actual sound of ripping, but the very fabric of reality seemed to rip and fold like a crinkled piece of paper. The sound of it all was almost deafening, and Clayton clasped his hands over his ears to keep his skull from ringing.

  “Can you hear them, Clayton! Do you hear the revelers?” Ben asked and pointed at the tear.

  He could. Not only could Clayton hear them, he swore he could see them now. They were beautiful, dancing and twirling, laughing and singing. A gorgeous blond woman looked right at him through the tear, and then he heard a voice.

  “Le peintre est pret!” she yelled.

  The painter is ready. Clayton looked at Ben, who smiled back at him, and grabbed the rope with both hands, “Have at em, my boy!”

  Clayton muttered a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, swallowed hard, straightened his posture, and walked towards the tear. He almost stopped when it widened automatically to allow him through, but took this as providence. With one last look at Ben and a final wave, he made a half stepping, half leaping motion into the tear.

  The light engulfed him, and he instantly felt himself yanked forward at an incomprehensible speed. His stomach lurched, except it was no longer there. His head felt dizzy, except that he didn’t think he had one. He tried to scream and realized he had no mouth, either. Wherever Clayton was, he had, for this second, become nothing. It felt…soothing.

  POP! Clayton had eyes again (they were shut) and a mouth (this was shut too) and a body. Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes. The Palace of Versailles was beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever previously imagined. He had wanted to see France, let alone the Palace, for most of his life. Now here he was, gazing upon the marble ceiling and floors, littered with intricate tile mosaics. Beautiful statues of gold and gems and precious ores were placed throughout the room. This was definitely the palace of a King.

  “Monsieur?” A woman in front of him asked.

  She looked like Athena come to life, a goddess of beauty and wisdom all at once. Clayton imagined how he must have looked. A man dressed in frills and fancy, with a rope around his waist… standing next to a rip in the very universe. This was not very far from the truth, actually. To the onlookers, they saw the silhouette of a man, shrouded in bright light. Many of them fell to their knees when they saw him.

  “Ange!” they shouted, and then the rest kneeled and began to pray.

  They think I’m an angel, Clayton thought to himself, and he began to laugh uncontrollably. Oh, the amusement of it. His chortle turned into a cackle, which only made the onlookers prostrate themselves further in front of him, which only made him laugh more.

  “Clayton, if you can hear me, I’m pulling you back now!” A voice echoed through the palace.

  He felt a sharp jolt on his waist and his body snapped backwards, lifting him off his feet. Again the bright light engulfed him, and again he felt himself becoming one with the great wide nothing and everything of the universe itself. Again, he felt ecstasy, and could feel the feeling of laughter coursing in his energy, even though he had no body to speak of.

  POP! Clayton collided hard against something solid, and then felt himself tumble hard onto a dusty wood floor. The sounds of revelry were gone, only to be replaced by whistles of steam and the clangs of metal. He heard several clangs and clicks, and slowly the machine came to a quiet, fizzing stop.

  “We’ll have to work on that re-entry a bit, Clayton,” Ben said, and Clayton turned to see the Doctor piled on the floor next to him.

  Clayton realized he must have slammed hard into him when Ben pulled him through. For a moment neither man said a word. Clayton remembered the shouts of the prostrating crowd, and again it brought him to uproarious laughter. He laughed because he was back in the shop and safe. He laughed because his crazy friend Ben Franklin found a way to rip holes in the universe and sail the sea of time. He laughed because he knew he was the first man to ever do it. And they thought he was an angel.

  “Ben,” Clayton began, trying to catch his breath, “You won’t believe it! They thought I--“

  Ben immediately stood without acknowledging Clayton’s antics, and it was only then Clayton realized Ben’s gaze was fixed on the painting above the wondrous machine.

  “Oh my God…” Ben said.

  Clayton realized it too. The painting had changed. What was a scene of revelers celebrating the building of the Palace of Versailles was a scene of prostrated people staring up at a ball of light, with the shadow of a man standing within it. The man in the painting had a golden halo over his head. Neither man spoke as both read the plaque below the painting, letting the words sink in and hit home.

  “Angel in the Palace.”

  ~~~ Back to Top

  ~~Photography by Sarah Kayß

  Zarathustra’s Bildungsroman -- a Prequel

  By Christopher Ketcham

  This story is a prequel to another Zarathustra story that Mr. Ketcham submitted for our October 2013 release. If you’re interested in reading this story’s sequel, grab our October 2013 issue from our archives! Enjoy!