Arc One, Chapter Four; Tales of a Time Traveler

The Worst Enemy

By: Cimmaron Spirit

Paris, 2067 AD, Timeline U198T78

Chris had to admit: time traveling was fun. After the pulse pounding action on the planet of Hoth a few days before, Cimmaron had taken him from one end of time to another. Riding a stegosaurus, watching the Apollo 11 launch (and then landing, on the moon!) and being in Berlin, 1917, in an alternate history where World War One never happened gave Chris an idea of the full depth and breadth of history that the talking stallion could take him.

But something was nagging Cimmaron. Even as they sat here, in a sidewalk café in future France during the so-called “Forth Empire,” Cim was slowly running a hoofed finger over his teacup, mind deep in concentration.

“Something wrong?” Chris asked.

“I dunno,” Cimmaron replied, drumming his fingers on the table. “I just think it’s odd that, here I am, a horse man sitting in the middle of the biggest empire in this world, soldiers strolling around over there, businessmen and tourists milling around, and no one notices me.” Cim looked around, snorted, and took his tea cup and lifted it to his lips.”

Chris pondered that. When he first met the time traveler, he was rather unique, with the police and an illegal organization after him. But since then, there hadn’t been anyone unduly remarking on his existence.

Cimmaron shook his head, his black man flapping in the breeze. “Alright, enough of this. What do you want to do now?”

Chris drank the rest of his coffee (tasting different, mostly because everything grown in this world was genetically modified beyond recognition), and hummed and hawed. “I dunno, where do you want to go?”

“Well,” Cimmaron started, but the golden pocket watch just sitting on the table suddenly started vibrating and beeping, making an awful racket.

“What’s that?” Chris asked, as Cimmaron stiffened, looking at the pocket watch.

“That… it’s never done that before,” Cimmaron said, carefully picking it up, still rattling on. Cim turned it around and accidently pushed the fob on the top.

“Please standby for Emergency Time Portal Activation,” a mechanical voice intoned. Before anyone could think about it, a golden portal opened around Cimmaron, Chris and the café table they were at.

“What the hell is going on?” Chris shouted in surprise, but almost as soon as it started, it was over. Where Chris and Cim was once in future Paris, they were now sitting in an old room with peeling paint and a lingering smell of smoke and gunpowder.

“Well, about time,” a gruff voice said, followed by the clop of hooves and a clatter of metal. Cim turned around to see… himself?

“Nice to see you, Cimmaron,” the other Cimmaron said. To differentiate the two, the second Cimmaron was wearing a thick green wool coat, as if he had just stepped out of a First World War trench, along with the helmet. However, he was shouldering a laser rifle that looked three centuries out of place. His fur was also brown, though longer, shaggier and dirtier, and his black mane had streaks of grey and white, making him seem a lot older than the first one.

“Who… are you?” Cim asked, standing up to face the other equine that looked exactly like him. “Are you my future self?”

“Well, yes and no. Yes, I am much older than you are, but I’m not exactly you.”

Cimmaron was now confused. “What are you talking about?”

The soldier Cimmaron just sighed. “Great, I got the newbie. Okay, long story short, think of your life as a timeline. Sometimes, when big or small things happen, you actually create a new timeline, and those can create new ones, etc., etc. Those timelines that are created are represented, anchored, if you will, by someone that seems like you, but may have a changed appearance, personality or a dozen other things that may be huge or subtle. I’m basically one of those timelines to you.”

Cimmaron blinked. “Whoa. Okay. Time-out,”  he said, lifting his hands to make the T symbol. “So you are like a… Alternate Cimmaron?”

The other Cimmaron snorted and nodded. “I guess we all do think alike. Almost every other Cimmaron I’ve met has called me or themselves an ‘AltCim.’ Good for you!”

Chris simply sat at the table, staring at the two Cimmaron’s. “So… there is more than two of you now?”

The second Cimmaron looked at Chris, his eyes going wide. “Chris… oh my God! I can’t believe it!” The older Cimmaron trotted over, pulled Chris up from his chair and squeezed him in a big hug. “It’s been centuries since I saw you last!”

Chris blinked. “Centuries? I know you look older than Cimmaron, but… centuries?”

The AltCim pulled himself away from the hug. “Well, yeah. I’m a future version of Cimmaron, and my point of divergence from your Cimmaron’s timeline, the Alpha Cim, we call him, is way into his future.” His smile began to fade. “You’re going to really enjoy your time with me… him. Cherish those moments.”

The original Cimmaron turned back to his AltCim. “Okay, so you brought me here. What’s wrong?”

The AltCim turned back. “Oh, yes. I sent a distress call from my Chronodevice to whatever Cimmaron is available. Took 20 some years to find you apparently, but I guess that’s par for the course.”

“Okay… so again, what’s wrong?”

AltCim reached into his pocket, and pulled out his Chronodevice. “Well, first of all, it’s 1941 in a timeline with only a very minor divergence from the Alpha timeline. And war is raging across the world.”

“Make’s sense. It would be the Second World War, right?”

The AltCim shook his head. “No. It’s still the first one. And this,” he said, pulling the laser gun off his back, “Is the reason we are now in the twenty-seventh year of the War to End All Wars.”

<>       <>       <>

“Okay, so how is this possible?” Chris exclaimed, as AltCim led them through an underground bunker system, while above the low roar of artillery continuously bombarded the trenches of on either side of No Mans Land. Though, as the AltCim explained, they were now firing strange plasma shells that, when it explodes, would pulverize and disintigrate anything in the vicinity.

“In 1917, just as Russia is starting to collapse from their Revolutions, suddenly the Czar’s troops had weapons that required no bullets, and would turn to ash anyone they were pointed at.” The grizzled horse gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Needless to say, the Communists were crushed as well as any other uprising that broke out, and Russian troops were soon advancing again. Only a couple weeks later, German troops at Passchendaele had similar weapons. A few days later, British forces were armed with the same guns, as were the French, the Austrians, the Turks… everyone. And soon after, ‘mechanical men,’ as they are called, started to appear on everyone’s lines, as well as self-propelled tanks, the plasma artillery, rotoplanes, mass teleportation devices, and a dozen other weapons of war that everyone had almost as soon as one of them got it.” The trio arrived in a room in the bunker, one with maps, papers, and many dirty cups and plates and a bed that had barely been used. It looked like whoever was here was running on nothing but caffeine now.

“So, someone or something is bringing advanced weaponry to World War One? Why?” Cimmaron asked.

The AltCim dug through the papers, and pulled out a large map. “And not only that, but the alliances have shifted, more nations come in, some are forced out, only to rejoin later.” He pulled out the map, which was unlike anything that Cimmaron had seen before, with the borders, colors and everything else not at all familiar.

“At this point, it’s every man for himself. There is no such thing as alliances, only ‘mutual’ enemies that two or more nations will fight until something causes them to fight each other. And it seems that who gave the weapons to these nations is also interfering to make sure the war goes on. Whenever one nation is close to exhaustion and wants peace, a coup-d’-etat with weapons even more advanced overthrows that government, and the war continues.” The AltCim sighed, before pushing the map off to the side, as if it was painful to look at. “It’s war with no end, and I can’t see why these countries continue to fight.”

“God, I can only imagine how terrible this has been for the people living in these countries,” Chris said in a low voice.

The AltCim grimaced. “Do you know that book by Orwell… 1984? Democracy and monarchy’s like we know it no longer exists. It’s an eternal war with robots and men in power suits, lead by men who are more interested in fighting each other for more power or to preserve their power, and a brainwashed masses that question nothing, only doing what they are told.”

To prove his point, the AltCim pulled out a remote control and pointed it at the wall. The wall slid open, to show a flat-screen plasma TV, and the first channel to come on was a German language channel. The female broadcaster, dressed in clothing that would have been considered rags in any other world, began to speak.

“The Great Germanic Union once again has achieved victory against the Forth Russian Republic, with no thanks to our so-called ‘allies’ in the Scandinavian Empire or the Black Sea Confederation. Due to their lack of help, Emperor-President Joseph Goebbels has declared war on both countries. With our superior weapons and technology, we will prevail!”

“She didn’t mention that all sides have the same weapons now,” AltCim muttered.

“Emperor-President Goebbels has declared a new Victory Loan Program. All wages earned by every citizen will be now be turned over the government to fund the war effort. After the war is over, all wages will be paid back with interest, to be determined at a later time. The only way for us to win now is to stay strong, and follow the wisdom of out great Emperor-President, who has brought us great victories!”

“Mostly because no defeats have been mentioned at all by anyone,” the AltCim grumbled again.

“Please stay turned, so that you will know what to do in the event of a Hydrogen Bomb attack. Any nation in the world may suddenly attack us, so we as a people must remain vigilant at all times!

“From New York City, I’m Martha Deckin of the Great Germanic Union Ministry of Information.”

The AltCim turned off the TV, and collapsed onto a chair. The weariness of the fighting, the depression of what the world has become was getting to the AltCim. Neither Cimmaron nor Chris could blame him.

“Okay, what can we do to help?” Cimmaron asked.

“We need to find out who is doing this. And I think I know where to look; St. Petersburg, 1917.”

“Why couldn’t you go there?” Cimmaron asked.

“My Chronodevice can’t time travel. All it can do is it’s special shapeshifting trick now.” The AltCim pulled his golden pocket watch out of his pocket and held it up. It then turned to putty in his hands, and quickly took the shape of a revolver.

“Huh,” Cimmaron said, pulling out his own Chronodevice. “It looks exactly like mine.”

“Because it is exactly like yours,” AltCim said. “But do not let them touch. Because we are both more or less the same person, and they are the same thing, but we’re both in different areas in time and space, both of them would short circuit and be rendered useless. It wouldn’t even be able to tell time.”

Cimmaron nodded. “I’m guessing that’s from experience, huh?” The AltCim nodded.

“Alright, well we don’t have any time to lose. Let’s go back to the Russian Empire!”

Cimmaron pushed the fob on the top of the watch, and with a little bing, it opened a glowing portal. Cimmaron Poked his head through, to see they were in a rich decorated palace, while through a window outside, snow covered the ground and a group of soldiers carefully paced around outside. A white, blue and red tricolor lazily flapped in the cold breeze.

“Well, that looks like Russia. Let’s go!” Cimmaron shouted back through the portal, and Chris and the AltCim followed behind.

“Okay, so we find the person that is offering these weapons and stop him?” Chris asked.

“More or less, yes,” the AltCim said. “The timeline I was in is an anomaly, one that has been interfered with so much that, if we stop it from happening in the first place, the entire thing will collapse and cease to exist.”

Chris stopped. “Can… can you do that?”

The AltCim turned around. “We have to. The constant back and forth and changes to that timeline have made it unstable, a cancer to the entire multiverse. Its corruption, as far as I know, hasn’t damaged the rest of the multiverse, but it would only be a matter of time. Imagine if who ever is doing the time travel offers that power to a desperate, militaristic nation with nothing to lose? That’s when the multiverse will be torn apart.”

“So you’re going to destroy that timeline, all the people and countries and civilizations in it, to do that?” Chris asked, shock and disbelief in his voice.

The AltCim paused for a moment. “Yes. We have to.”

Chris just stared at the grizzled, tired, grey haired horse, and then looked at Cimmaron. “You… you aren’t going to do that, are you? Confine millions of people to not exist?”

Cimmaron nervously looked at Chris, and then to his divergent self. “I… I don’t know. Maybe we can change it?”

The AltCim scowled. “We can’t change anything! I tried, way back when the guns were just brought in, and whatever I tried to do, it failed. The only way to save the multiverse is to get rid of this timeline.” He turned to Chris. “You saw the TV before. The people who live in this timeline have no rights, no liberty, and live in the constant fear of death, either from an enemy or their own government. Would you want to live like that?”

Chris closed his mouth and did not reply.

“Okay, now we are in Russia in 1917, right before the first laser gun was issued to the troops. We have to find the person that brought the guns, and stop him,” the AltCim said.

“Alright, well he would be showing it off to the Czar, right?” Cimmaron suggested.

“Good of place as any. Do you know your way around the Hermitage?”

“I’ve been here once before. The throne room should be… this way,” Cimmaron replied, pointing to the left, but then hesitating, and pointing to the right. “Or is it this way?”

“Or what about down there?” Chris said, pointing out the window. The two Cimmaron’s turned and looked down to see a figure with a dark hood, carrying a long box that fit the dimensions of the laser rifle that the AltCim had still slung on his back.

The two Cimmaron’s glanced at each other, and grinned.

“If we can stop him now…” the AltCim started.

“… we should be able to rewrite the timeline!” the first Cimmaron said.

Cimmaron began to turn around, but the AltCim stopped. “But we don’t have time to take the stairs. We need to get to him now!”

Before Cimmaron or Chris could say anything, the AltCim backed up and charged at the plate glass window, shattering it as he crashed through and fell down to the courtyard below.

Cimmaron and Chris ran to the broken window to see the AltCim roll and stand up, running to the shocked hooded man with the box. With a tiny yelp, the hooded figure ran into the palace.

“Come on, we can cut him off,” Cim said, dragging Chris from the window and dashing through the corridors and stairs of the massive palace.

The walls, paintings and statues blurred by Chris as he was pulled along by the galloping stallion, dashing this way and that past guards and servants, racing downstairs.

They turned a corner at full speed, and crashed into the hooded man who was running up toward them.

“Oof!” Cimmaron cried out as he impacted the man, and sending the box sprawling across the floor, a sparkling new laser rifle tumbling out.

Chris, landing on top of Cimmaron and the mysterious Figure, climbed up, and noticing a gloved hand trying to reach the rifle, he kicked the rifle away.

The AltCim came running in a moment after. “Oh, good, you got him,” he said, slipping the rifle from his shoulder and aiming it at him. “Now, who is this guy that started it all?”

Chris looked down, and helped Cimmaron up off the hooded man, before pulling back the cloak.

“It’s… Cimmaron?” Chris exclaimed, seeing yet another brown furred, black mane horse, this time in a very expensive suit, with German, Russian and French medals pinned to his chest. A large handlebar mustache, which seemed a bit silly considering that more horses can’t grow facial hair, grew under his nostrils.

“Nein! It’s Baron Von Cimmaron!” the unmasked horse barked out in a thick German accent.

The AltCim growled. “I don’t care, you’re still another version of us, you two-timing bastard!” he growled.

Cimmaron stepped in. “Whoa, so it’s been actually me screwing this up?”

“No. But he’s a version of you, one that thought screwing up history was better than saving it,” the AltCim said, glaring at the Baron.

The Baron stood up. “Oh, you call it screwing up history, eh? Nein, this is capitalism. I see a need, and I will fill it.”

“With weapons from the future to the past?” Chris said.

“Oh yes. A massive fortune is to be made, selling these guns to all sides of the war.”

“But it’s 1917. Most of the countries in the world, with maybe the exception of the US, can’t afford much of anything,” Cimmaron said. “Even if you start giving loans to them from the money you do make, it will just be a cycle of debt that you can never get out of.”

The Baron looked at them. “Then I just need to keep the war going indefinitely.”

The AltCim barged in. “No. I’m not going to let another day pass for the poor folks whose lives you ruined.”

“Poor folks… So you have seen the future of this TL.” He paused. “And now you are here to stop me from doing it?” Baron von Cimmaron laughed. “Do you not see that what we are doing is the same thing?”

“No. You are a war profiteer, taking the wealth of the world and ruining the timeline and condemning billions to a life of misery and pain…” the AltCim started, anger rising in his voice.

“And? Here you are, trying to stop me from changing history. What gives you the right to determine what is right and wrong? You can play with these toys, these ‘folks,’ change their past, present and future on a whim, and they would never notice. Is there really any difference in what we do?”

The AltCim growled. “I’m doing it for the common good, not greed.” He looked at Cimmaron. “You’ve seen what the world will become. Do you really want that to happen?”

“Oh, so you are now the Time Police? The Guardians of Time? What makes you think that you know best and can change things that you think that are wrong with impunity?” Von Cimmaron shot back. “Are you going to prevent the Black Death, the Holocaust, the Seventh Ice Age? Those are terrible events, but yet, they still happen, no?”

“That’s different! That’s nature and humans doing it!” AltCim replied.

“So just because I can travel through time, you are going to stop me? Confine a timeline to the edges of the multiverse to wither and die without a Point of Divergence? How big of a crime would that be, Time Police?”

Chris stared open eyed at the baron. “You mean…”

“In the event a Point of Divergence is erased from history, a similar POD is found to anchor that TL back to the multiverse. But, us time travelers with the Chronodevice, all the Alternate forms of Cimmaron here… we are unique. We can influence a timeline in ways that can be unnatural, but no less possible.” The Baron looked back at the AltCim. “But, if you erase the POD that we make, that Timeline is, more or less dead. It will still be there, for a while at least. The shadows, the branch of a tree that no longer can support leaves. But it won’t grow anymore. It will wither. It will break. It will die.”

Chris was horrified, and turned to Cimmaron. “But… you can’t let those people be erased from history!”

Cimmaron, his eyes betraying his own uncertainty and confusion, couldn’t speak.

“Unless we confine the Cimmaron that created the POD here, as an anchor point, and prevent it from changing,” the AltCim said, glancing to the Baron. “Sure, the laser rifles will still be here, but the not the plasma artillery, the dystopian nations that you overthrew to make sure you could still make your money on war…”

The Baron chuckled. “What makes you think that I will just stay here then?”

“I’ll just have to disable your Chronodevice,” the AltCim said.

“I will call that bluff.” He pulled out his Chronodevice, and prepared to use it. “I see you had to get help to get here to me, so your pocket watch must not work.” The Baron gave a dark grin. “But mine still does.” Von Cimmaron, as fitting his evil personality, gave a maniacal laugh as a portal appeared behind him

The AltCim dropped his gun and reached into his jacket, pulling out his Chronodevice. Before the Baron could step into the portal, the AltCim forced his Device against the evil Cimmaron’s device. The two devices began smoking, sparks shooting out trembled, a wailing cry of agony as the magical machine began to short circuit.

“Mine still works. Got a hold of Cimmaron here,” the AltCim said, struggling to keep his device touching the Baron’s, like two magnets trying to push each other away. “It just doesn’t time travel.”

“Nein! Nein! Nein, Nein, Nein, Nein, Nein!” the Baron cried out, before there was a loud bang! The portal wavered for a moment, before it collapsed on itself with a silent woosh.

After a long moment, the AltCim pulled his hand away, and opened the gold casing, showing a large crack across the glass. The Baron scrambled and opened his, seeing a similar crack.

“There. You’re stuck here with me now,” the AltCim said, grinning and putting his watch into a pocket. “And I know where I’m going to put you. How good are you with grenades?”

The Baron snarled, and swung a hoof into the surprised AltCim’s gut, making him fall over. Von Cimmaron turned around and grabbed his laser gun. “Fool! I will still sell this to the highest bidder, and let them build it for themselves! You have done nothing to stop me!” He laughed again, before running through the palace.

Chris, Cimmaron and the AltCim watched as he ran into the palace. “So… we didn’t actually stop him, huh?” Chris asked, watching the door slide shut.

“Well, unfortunately the laser guns will still make it’s way across the world in time for this war, but it will not change to much. I’m sure he doesn’t have a stockpile of several million to give out yet.” The AltCim sighed. “All well, we have done it. The Timeline would most likely be rewriting itself now, if it’s not already done. It’s not perfect, but again, what is?”

Cimmaron nodded. “Sorry I could not be of more help. I’ve only been traveling around a short while.”

The AltCim smiled. “I know. I remember this happening, as I still use the knowledge I got today. And I hope you will do the same.” The AltCim, his fur shaggy and mane with streaks of grey, picked up his laser rifle. “Well, I better keep an eye on the Baron. Just because he can’t time travel doesn’t mean he’s still dangerous.” The AltCim began to walk away. “Oh, and you might want to get out of here soon. The Bolsheviks are coming soon!”

Chris and Cimmaron watched as the AltCim shambled around, walking into the shadows of the late February afternoon.

Cimmaron chuckled. “There. So how about that? We managed to stop the bad guy and make sure we didn’t erase a timeline. How about that?”

“But… the AltCim said the timeline is being rewritten. What does he mean by that?” Chris asked.

Cimmaron frowned. “That does mean that people who did exist will be erased, but people who didn’t will appear. Hundreds of years of history will happen in a moment, and people who moments before didn’t would now. Entire lives; relationships, love, loss, happy and sad times are changed: works of art, entire cultures are being redrawn and battles and wars are being refought. But,” the horse said, resting a hand on Chris’ shoulder, “this is the important part: it is still here.”

Chris nodded. “But this would be better now, right?”

Cimmaron shrugged. “Better? Worse? I don’t know. But it will be different.” The horse smiled. “We can come back and check out some other time.” Cimmaron pulled out his still functioning Chronodevice. He sighed. “Well, I guess it’s true what they say.”

“What?” Chris asked.

The horse looked up, a small smile on his lips. “Your worst enemy is often yourself.”