CHAPTER ONE
23 May 2023
Fuel Reserve: 100%
Gauss Gun Ammo: 100:
I had just been looking for some new places to explore. I wound up looking into time travel, of all things. You know how those Internet rabbit holes are. An hour of Googling, and the next thing you know, you′re looking for the Cheshire Cat. An hour after that, and you find it.
All of real, modern physics is unequivocal that time travel (that is, going backwards in time) is utterly impossible, like something with mass exceeding the speed of light, or freezing something colder than absolute zero, or finding a capitalist with a heart.
Only a crackpot would tell you that a time machine was even possible. So I built one. That′s how I wound up in the fix I am in now. I really miss indoor plumbing, here in Merrie Olde England. It′s old, but not very merry. Tomorrow is July 22nd, 1352 A.D. I have been here for a month, and I appear to be stuck here.
It all started in my time machine in the 21st century. I had never really expected it to work, especially as it was my first full-power test, but I was in my full armor anyway. It could have just blown up, right? I had no idea what it was going to do, so I would have been crazy not to wear the best protective gear I could. Lucky for me, my own crime-busting superhero (or crime-committing supervillain, depending on your perspective) armor fit that bill perfectly. That was to be my last stroke of good luck for quite some time…
It could have been worse. At least, I had taken the precaution of making my armor look like fifteenth century plate mail. Turned out my time machine wasn’t quite as accurate as I had hoped. I had calibrated it to set me down in the countryside, just outside of London, in the year 1441, but the cussedness of the real world bit me in the ass and I arrived almost a century early. Both Murphy and Finagle were really on the ball that day.
My ‘fifteenth century’ plate mail still looked out of place in the fourteenth century, but nowhere near as strange as my full-fledged 21st century rig would have appeared to the locals. I had originally designed it to look similar to a well-known armored character from the comics and movies, but with a blue and silver color scheme, rather than red and gold. I was still able to keep the blue and silver highlights when I redesigned it as faux late medieval plate mail, but that part never caused too much extra commotion. People have always liked to show off.
Of course, almost anybody in the fourteenth century who knew my whole story would chalk it up to witchcraft, which I had always dismissed as bullshit. I′m not so sure anymore…
I activated my experimental time machine and watched the power consumption go through the roof. I had taken the precaution of timing my test when the city′s power consumption was at a minimum. I didn′t want to black out half of the Greater Los Angeles area. I figured that might happen anyway, but I wanted to decrease the odds of a disaster. More to the point, the less power the teeming masses were drawing, the more I′d have for my test. I programmed it to pull me back after 24 hours. I figured that would be long enough to determine if it had worked.
At its peak, when I was sure I was about to blow every circuit breaker in my lab, I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of falling, mixed with vertigo, and nausea. More falling. There was the most amazing light show going on; I′m not sure if it was some sort of radiation effect, or just my own optic nerve trying to make sense of something that shouldn′t have existed. My armor′s polarized filters may have saved me from going blind; I′ll never know.
I did get that post flash-bulb visual, where all you see is a smear of various colors for a few minutes, while your poor abused optic nerve is freaking out. I had that sensation of falling that everyone knows; and could have sworn I saw an old priest of some kind smiling at me.
My surroundings faded into view. I was on a grassy meadow of some kind, but still standing. The first thing I noticed was the same old man looking at me expectantly, after that, I slowly became aware of his associates. None of them appeared to be hostile. If anything, except for the old guy, they were standing there looking a bit bedazzled. After that, the most obvious feature was a grouping of large, upright stones, each some several meters in height, arranged in a circular setup. As they came into clearer focus, I quickly recognized it.
Stonehenge.
I had taken the precaution of learning fifteenth century English. As any linguist will tell you, English is a rapidly mutating language, unlike the Slavic languages. A Pole from my century could communicate easily with his fifteenth century counterpart, with only minor modifications. English? Not so much. I still sounded a little odd to the locals, and they didn′t speak Olde English the exact way I had studied, but it wasn′t too far off; like someone from 1920 communicating with someone in 2020. I′m sure I still had an atrocious accent, but who cares?
There was an armored man who was apparently the ringleader (they were literally standing in a circle) who spoke to me first. ‶Prithee, who art thou?″
I don′t know who, if anyone, is ever going to read this journal, but from here on out I am translating almost everything into 21st Century English. It′s as good as any, and it is my native tongue. And, it′s my damn journal.
I was still in shock, so I just continued to stare at him. He asked again, slowly and deliberately. It took me a minute, but I was finally able to activate my vocal cords, which had just finished rebooting.
‶Arthur. My name is Arthur.″ I don′t know why I introduced myself by my first name, in such a strange situation, but that′s what I did. I was in no mental condition for strict formality.
At that, the whole group of people, some half a dozen men, and a roughly equal number of women, fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before me. Let me tell you, that made me damn uncomfortable. I said, ‶Stand up. Get on your feet.″ I emphasized my point with gestures.
They complied slowly, still looking at me the way a kid would look at Santa Claus. What the hell was going on?
‶Arthur! You have returned. Our prayers have been answered.″
I slowly put two and two together. Arthur? King Arthur? They thought I was King Arthur, returning from Avalon, or Camelot, or wherever he was supposed to be hanging out. Despite my name, I had never spent a lot of time memorizing that particular fable, or researching the history. This was to bite me in the ass, later. At the time, I was thinking; This is great. Well, I think it’s great.
My mind was racing, and I did some deep breathing exercises, which have always worked well to calm me down. I had my helmet sealed, so the onlookers had no idea that I was doing that, which suited me fine.
After about a minute, I opened my faceplate (it was hinged). I wanted them to see that I was human. It was also always nice to get fresh air, internal life support notwithstanding. I could breathe a little better that way. First thing I noticed was how clean the air was. I was so used to smoggy Los Angeles air. It was a pleasant surprise; the last surprise to belong in that category for some time.
“Uhhh. Sirrah,”, I began, “you know my name, but I do not know yours. Would you please tell me? Would you also be so kind as to tell me the year?” To my own surprise, he didn′t seem surprised that I had asked for the year. In fact, it appeared that he had been expecting it.
“Ah. Forgive me. I should have introduced myself sooner. My name is Charles De Mornay. I am a baron, and the leader of the Knights Templar. It is the twenty-fifth year of the rule of King Edward the Third; the year of Our Lord 1352. The date is the 21st of June.”
At that, I queried my AI, which was voice activated. My preloaded historical database had been optimized for the year 1441, but it still had mountains more info on 1352 than I had in my memory. Of course, what′s written in history is never a perfect match for what really happened, but it was light-years better than nothing. And, of course, I had christened my AI with the name…
‶Merlin. Data on Knights Templar. Summarize.″
‶They invented the modern notion of banking. King Philip IV of France amassed a large debt to them, and didn’t want to pay them back, so, with the help of Pope Clement IV. he had them hunted down, tortured, and executed; in the year 1314. There were rumors of groups attempting to recreate the order all throughout the medieval era.″
I had never bothered to set up my AI to talk to me privately. Everybody near me heard that voice. Charles looked at me quizzically, and with some astonishment. Fortunately, Merlin was still programmed to speak in 21st century English, so it was pretty much gibberish to them. I had to think fast, which had been happening far too often for my taste, since my little jaunt through time. You might think that I would have prepared better. Apparently, hyper had greatly increased my intellect for things like engineering, but not so much for common sense.
‶Ummm, I am communicating with…the ghost of Merlin, who is advising me.″ Well, it was sort of true.
At that moment, I was saved from having to make up any further bullshit as a young man on a pony rode up to us. When I say young, I mean young. This kid could not have been more than twelve years old, tops. He didn′t even dismount; he just started talking, in short, clipped words, obviously rattled.
‶Sir De Mornay! We are undone, A local merchant saw our entire ceremony. I was unable to stop him before he notified the local lord. Even now, Sir Thomas, with a full retinue of knights, is on his way to arrest us.”
At that, Charles started issuing orders, in a tense voice. The men began to quickly, but efficiently tighten the straps on their armor. Only Charles had any plate armor; the rest were in chainmail, or even just padded leather. The priest and the women were just in regular clothes.
‶Uhh, Charles. Who is ‘Sir Thomas’?
“He is the most powerful knight sworn to Baron Warren.”
I decided that now was not the time to worry about getting a whole Who’s Who of the local factions. That could come later. Right now, that really didn’t matter much. The immediate tactical situation was of prime importance.
“How many knights do you expect?″
‶At least a dozen, or more, all fully armored.″
‶Looks to me like we′ve been busted. We′re probably going to have to surrender.″ There was no way those guys could hurt me, but I was concerned about the civilians. Also, I always try to be a peaceable guy; violence is the last resort of a man who has run out of other options.
‶Surrender? Art thou mad, Sir Arthur? Reassembling the Templar Order is very risky; the French have agents everywhere. Furthermore, we were seen performing rituals around Stonehenge. We dare not fall into the hands of the crown, or any of his handfast men. We will most surely be tortured, and executed as witches! Better to die in battle. Will you stand with us?″
Well, shit. I had never expected to be taking sides in a fucking war, or even a skirmish, not on my first time travel mission. I figured I would just be scouting. For one day. In fact, how much time did I have left before the recall? I checked my chronometer; Nineteen hours, and 27 minutes to go. It wasn′t going to be anywhere near enough. The enemy baron, and his men, were just now coming into sight, and would be here in less than ten minutes.