[some obscenities]
All of Indiana is divided into four parts: the City, the Region, Northern Indiana, and Southern Indiana.
Natives to Indiana recognize this fact instinctively. What they aren't aware of in the particular version of Indiana that we're concerned with, is that the reason each part is so different from the rest is that each is actually a different reality within the mysterious Nexus, fused together so subtly that only a few self-proclaimed 'wack-os' of the Bloomington area are even near to guessing the truth. However, with the atmosphere created by the combination of both Indiana University and "little 'Frisco", no one notices someone saying stuff about split universes and time splices. It just doesn't seem odd compared to the guys on the street corner.
In this well-integrated Indiana, there is a girl. She is an ordinary girl. She lives in Southern Indiana, in a humble village of a town along the Ohio River. However, she goes to college in Northern Indiana, in a much different town. It is the same size as the town she hails from and is also on a river, but it's a college town. Its name is Muncie. Many weekends she shuttles back and forth down highway 1. And each time, she passes through the town of Connersville, exactly halfway between college and home. She often flippantly says that the different between home and college are two different worlds. She has no idea how right she is.
*****
Life in college goes by in a blur of classes and studying and friends. There are good days and bad days, but the only real changes are midterms, finals, and vacation days. Mary handles this timeless stream better than most. She has the discipline to study and the creativity required to get the best grades on papers that have covered the same topics since the thesis was invented. Her friends are mostly from her classes and dorm hall, with a couple from high school thrown in. Life could not be more normal.
There's someone else in one of her classes, though. A different girl, who doesn't take notes much, just sits back and watches class as if everything she saw was different from everyone else. Though Mary didn't know the girl, she somehow wasn't surprised at the note that the odd classmate handed her one day. It read:
"Connersville is treacherous, and getting more so. Watch out for wrong turns."
However, not being surprised doesn't mean you understand. Mary was still puzzling over the reasons for the note when the weekend came and she began her smooth shuttle through time and space back home that always passed with such surreal ease. A blustering snowstorm flitted a mask of wide, whirling flakes over the windshield, creating a cocoon of unreality around her small, fuel-efficient car. She slipped down the highway to the halfway point of Connersville.
The train was going through town. Mary dodged up a side street to avoid it.
That was when Mary took a wrong turn.
----
The car jerks, and Mary's heart leaps with sudden fear. Then the car dies. The cold rush of her earlier fear settles in now as she turns the ignition key.
Click. Click, click.
"Damn," she says shakily. She pops the hood and climbs out of the car, not with any real hope of solving anything but because she has to try -something-. The wind bites at her ears, but her footing is secure. Huddling behind its slight shelter, she props open the hood and peers in.
She has no idea what's wrong.
Mary wishes to herself she'd listened to her mother and worn a hat. She calls out into the stinging snow.
"Anyone out there? I need some help."
That's when she realizes that no one's pulled up behind her, yet, even though she's on a well-used street.
Panic closes about her. Feeling utterly lost despite having traveled through this same route, or at least one very similar, many times, she yells wordlessly. Any response, even a bad one, would be welcome.
The response that comes, while certainly not bad, is as certainly unexpected.
From out of the snowy darkness comes a tall, commanding figure on a dark colored horse, dressed in a dark, heavy jacket. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
At the first sight of some real person, Mary's heart seems to come to life once again and she lets out a ragged breath. Then she takes a good look at her new acquaintance. Swallowing the urge to just start crying, she steadies her voice as best she can.
"Y...yes," she quavers, then tries again, a bit louder. "My car won't start, and I need to get home for the weekend." Mary looks up at the dark man on his horse with very little hope beyond the absurd wish that he can wave his hand and she'll be back on the road.
The man laughs slightly as he expertly dismounts from his horse. "Madam, by your accent, you're a hell of a long way from home. We'll see what we can do, though."
Mary looks at him curiously. His accent is strange to her, too; nothing like the curious shades from northern hoosier to southern hoosier she normally heard around here.
Fumbling with the hood, there is a brief glimpse of revolvers on his hips, and a U.S. Army uniform, before the hood comes open. As the light beneath comes on, he inhales sharply. "God DAMN, what have they been doing in Detroit?"
Shaking his head sadly, he puts the hood back down. "Madam, I haven't the foggiest idea where to even start with your car. What I CAN do is give you a ride back to camp. When the weather clears, one of our mechanically inclined boys can come back out with you and get it fixed properly."
Bewildered beyond all coherent thought, Mary just shakes her head. "Um.. sure.." She pauses, as something does register as stranger than anything else. "Camp? There's a camp near here?"
He throws back his head and laughs. "Madam, you must be very lost. You're in Saint Aubin Château Neuf, about two miles from Chaumont and the Headquarters of the First United States Army.
Wide-eyed, Mary nods. "I -am- very lost..." The sheer immensity of just how lost she is closes about her. Somehow, it's not quite as daunting as before. She feels drained of fear by now, running along a ragged edge of numbness. "Where's Chaumont?"
The man blinks, and turns to face her, the sabre on his left hip now becoming visible for the first time as he shakes his head. "Ma'am, you are very godDAMN lost if you have to ask a question like that."
Ticking each level off on his gloved fingers, he proceeds, almost as if lecturing a school child. "Chaumont, full name Chaumont-En-Bassigny, is the capital of the Haute-Marne department of the Champagne-Ardenne region, approximate 140 miles southeast of Paris, which is the capital of France. Does that help?"
Mary can do nothing more than stare for a long minute. When she finally speaks, her words come out weakly, almost apologetically. "I was just in Connersville, Indiana... How did I end up in France? I didn't even think the army -had- real cavalry anymore, either. It's all tanks, isn't it?"
The man is momentarily taken aback by Mary's statement, then throws his head back, laughing. "My dear, most people get here by ship; the rest are born here. As for tanks, we officially don't have any...yet."
Walking around her car as the snowstorm weakens for a moment, his humor turns to puzzlement, as he gently taps on it a few times. "Madam, just where DID you get this car?"
Mary spreads her hands. "My parents bought it four years ago in Florence, Kentucky, from the Dodge dealership there. It's almost paid off." Mary pulls her coat a little closer around her. "They gave it to me just before I started college, so I could drive up on my own."
Reaching down, he clears off the license plate, crouches down, and examines it carefully.
Mary watches him quizzically.
Standing back up, he walks around to where Mary is standing. "God DAMN, madam, this is getting stranger by the minute."
"Do you happen to have some identification I could see, please?"
Mary nods. "Of course." She opens the door and grabs her book bag over to her to dig out her wallet. She opens it up and takes out her driver's license. "Will this do?"
Taking the license, he examines it, as a puzzled look crosses his face. Then, walking back, he looks again at the tag.
Finally, he walks back to Mary, shaking his head. "I'll be God damned....madam, do you know what today is?"
Mary thinks a moment. Like most college students, she counted time by days of the week and midterms, not dates. After some consideration, she replies, "January 13th, 2000."
"Madam, today is December 12, 1917."
Her jaw drops and she sits down on the sludgy snow, then quickly gets up again when the wet and cold assert themselves. "But.. that's in the middle of World War I.. and we're in France?" Mary frantically tries to remember whether France was conquered by 1917 in World War I or if she was just getting it confused with World War II. The bits of history she had had to memorize several years ago in high school flit out of grasp as she tries to make sense of things.
Laughing softly, the man walks back around to the front of the vehicle, where his horse is quietly waiting. "Probably, and yes, in that order. The better question, though, is how did YOU get here?"
Mary shakes her head. "I was merely driving home. It was snowing worse than this, so I really can't tell you how it happened- I couldn't see it. I just turned down a sidestreet to dodge some traffic and ended up here." She sighs and leans against the car. "And I don't have a clue how I'm gonna get back."
Reaching upward, the man tilts his hat back slightly. "Well, ma'am, I certainly can't leave you out in this damn cold snow. May I at least offer you a ride back to First Army Headquarters? At least it's warm there, and I'm sure General Pershing will want to talk to you."
Mary nods. "I'd like someplace warm. Who's General Pershing?" The name is vaguely familiar, like something she once had to know for a test. She brushes off some snow that had gathered on her wispy, stylish bangs and shivers.
The man looks stunned for a moment, then throws back his head and laughs. "Ma'am, I think it would be easier for you to MEET General Pershing then for me to try to answer that question. In any event, I'm sure he will have a lot of questions for you, too."
"It isn't often, in this or any army, that one meets someone from the future." Shaking his head, he continues, "either that, or you've done the damndest job of faking stuff that I've ever seen."
Mary manages a smile through the cold. "I don't make a habit of showing up in the past, either. If I had known this would happen, I would have worn a hat like my mom told me to." She shuffles a bit closer to the man's horse, looking at it dubiously. "Will it carry both of us?"
The soldier nods. "We won't make fast time, but she'll get us there." Taking a moment to reshuffle the light load on the horse, he turns back to the girl. "I assume you don't know how to ride, yes?"
Mary shakes her head. "No.. one of my cousins keeps horses, but I never managed to go up there for very long to learn to ride."
The officer nods, as he looks over Mary's clothing. "Well, at least you're dressed halfway suitably for it. Nothing more damn foolish looking then a woman riding in a dress."
"If you'll allow me, Madam, to assist you, we will be on our way. Unless, that is, you would prefer to walk?"
Mary shakes her head. "I want to get out of this cold as fast as I can." She approaches the horse a little closer, quite nervous. They're such beautiful animals, but they're also -huge-. Mary could see no way for her to make it to the top of that high saddle. Nor did she really like the prospect of riding so high up without a seat belt or something. She looks at her aid bewilderedly and allows herself to be shown, helped and, if necesary, hauled into that impossible seat.
Thankfully, the American Army officer is nowhere near as brutal as Mary might expect. Proving his hands as a perch, he helps boost her upward, then guides her both physically and verbally, including a few profanities, into position. Then, with practiced ease, he mounts up.
A few quick words, a gentle nudge, and the large horse begins moving back in the direction of the First United States Army Headquarters.
Despite the cold, the miles pass quickly as they pass through the picturesque French countryside, its gentle outlines softly covered in the whiteness of Winter's mantle. Soon enough, the threesome approach a small castle, notable for the numerous tents and temporary structures erected about it.
Mary's mind wanders some, even though the ride isn't all that long. Here she is, on a great horse with a strange man, riding towards a castle. And around the castle is an odd little town covered with crystal. A sense of unreality touched her for a moment, as if she were somehow reading some strange fairy tale about someone else riding along in the bright snow. A fairy tale with knights in drab uniforms and inns made of canvas. A back corner of her mind wondered who would be writing such a thing before they arrived at the camp and the muse faded away.
Riding along the outer ring, they quickly enough arrive at a stable. Gently coming to a stop, the officer helps Mary dismount as an enlisted man comes charging up. "Son, get this woman out of this damn Frenchie cold into someplace warm, and tend to her needs. I'm going to see to my mount, and then I have business with General Pershing."
Screeching to a halt, the corporal throws a salute to the officer. "Yes, Sir!"
As the officer walks his horse away, the enlisted man begins to salute Mary, then pauses, looking slightly confused. "Excuse me, Ma'am, but are you civilian, military, or something else? Captain Patton wasn't very clear on that point."
Mary goes quiet for a moment, doing a double-take back at the retreating figure. "-Patton-?" The slight presense of mind gained back during her conversation with that officer lets her stop herself from saying the next couple of lines. Lines like, "-General- Patton? The one they made the movie out of?" Instead, she turns back to the enlisted man to answer his question.
"Er, civilian, I suppose. I'm not really anybody special."
The corporal looks at Mary oddly for a moment, his head tilted slightly to one side. "Yes, Ma'am. As you say. If you would be kind enough to follow me, I'll see you to the VIP quarters, then see about getting you some warmer wear. You look rather cold."
Mary nods. She -is- rather cold, at that.
"Do you, by chance, know the Captain?"
"Well, we just met when he showed up on the road, but he's kind of well-known where I come from." Mary chews her lower lip just a little and follows the corporal. She tries to remember everything she knows about World War I and General Patton. It isn't much. Patton directed that bunch of victories in Africa.. she thinks. She remembers something about using tanks. Maybe that's World War II, though. They kind of ran together when she learned about them in high school.
The corporal nods as he continues moving. "That's understandable, Ma'am. I'm surprised more people aren't aware of him. Very few officers can claim to both have killed the head of Pancho Villa's bodyguard and participated in the Olympics. Not to mention, give him a chance, and he'll tell you all about the sabre design he is preparing for the War Department. The Captain is unique."
Arriving outside a small bungalow a short ways from the castle, the corporal steps to one side. "Will you desire assistance in getting the fire started, Miss?"
Mary steps inside and looks around. It's not a big place, but more than enough. It also apparantly is -only- heated by the fireplace that sits in one wall. "Mmm.. yes, please." Mary had never started a fire herself in her life. She's not about to play Boy Scout now and embarrass herself. Besides, she's cold.
Mary does remember her manners enough to turn to the corporal. "Thank you," she says with a smile.
The soldier nods as he starts moving. "No problem, Miss."
Fifteen minutes later, he has a fire starting up in the fireplace, with a substantial pile of wood nearby. "Miss, you'll need to add these on in a few minutes, then add more as the fire begins to burn down. Will you be needing anything else...food, water, clothing?"
Mary peels off her half-sodden coat to drape it over a stool. "Some dry clothes would be good, definitely."
After the soldier has left to get the clothes, Mary looks around. Here and there are reminders of the time she has stepped into. An old-fashioned fountain pen sits next to some good paper, even including a small stick of sealing wax. Mary, who had never seen such stuff, fails to recognize it as she picks up the fancy stick and turns it over in her hands. The much burnt wick is short and unwaxed, like regular string; obviously not an ordinary candle. The patterns in the side are unnecesarily fancy, particularly for such a plain red color.
Mary's inspection of the wax are interrupted as the corporal returns with an assortment of clothing. "I'm afraid they're a bit old fashioned, Madam, and it is a bit of a size assortment. Hopefully, though, you can find something that fits."
Mary looks through the clothing, a little worried about it being old-fashioned for even -this- time period. Dresses. Bleah. Not only dresses, but the sort that were designed to show off however many assets a young woman might have. She tries to figure out how to get them on properly once the corporal leaves.
After some experimentation and working off of memories from Drama classes, Mary manages to get herself into a dress that looks fairly decent on her.
Just in time, as Captain Patton returns with the Corporal in tow. One look at Mary's dress, however, and the Captain promptly begins to lash into the Corporal with language which would generally be more at home in a naval locker room.
The general gist of the message is clear, however. The Corporal is to find clothing which is MUCH more suitable for "a lady".
As the Corporal disappears, the Captain turns to Mary, his voice much calmer. "I'm sorry about the clothing, Ma'am. I can assure you that something more suitable will be found shortly, before our meeting with General Pershing."
Mary nods automatically. "I'd rather be in my own stuff, really, but thanks. This isn't all -that- bad.. you should see how some of the girls at the dorm dress up for Rush Week." She shifts a bit in the unfamiliar clothing.
"Just one thing... why does everything have to have so many buttons?"
The Captain looks at her oddly. "And what would you fasten it closed with? A few of the Europeans have this new thing called a 'slide fastener', but otherwise buttons are IT."
Mary blinks a bit, reminded that she -is- in the past.
Whatever else Patton might have had to say is interrupted as the Corporal returns with yet more clothing, and a female in tow as well. "Sir, with your permission..."
"Ah, yes. Excuse me, Ma'am. I'll leave the TWO of you to your work." The glare directed at the soldier was not quite physical, but close.
Swallowing hard, the enlisted man gives a salute. "Yes, Sir!"
The two men quickly withdraw from the room, leaving only the two women.
"So, I'm suppose to make you look like a Lady for a General?", the short female says in heavily accented English. "Well, they won't know the difference. Let's get started."
The fitting is not a peaceful one. Mary has a certain sense of taste suited to a college student well past high school. The local expert, however, seems to have the opinion that any such thing will do for a foreign girl like her. After much wrangling, they manage to compromise on something that actually looks decently nice on Mary, if not the sort of thing she'd actually pick out for herself. Then again, the sort of things Mary would have picked out for herself won't be in style for several generations, yet. The displaced college student runs a critical eye over the result and sighs.
"It'll have to do, I suppose."
A few minutes later, there is a knock at the door, and a voice which anyone who had seen a movie with George C. Scott would not associate with the voice.
"Are the two of you decent?"
From the older woman's reaction, nothing will make Mary decent in her eyes. Therefore, it is up to Mary to call out her readiness. She's a bit nervous about meeting a general from this era, and wonders if the dress actually looks good on her.
One problem with being in a military camp- there are no mirrors large enough to check oneself in. Still, Mary really doesn't have much to worry about. She's always been an athletic type and her mother taught her (with much reminding over the years) how to stand up straight. These simple things have made many dresses look proper on people who otherwise might not have worn them by preference.
The Captain's eye looks over the redressed visitor from another time. "Well, that looks damn fine on you, Madam."
Putting his hat under one arm, he offers the other to Mary. "If you would come with me, we don't want to keep the General waiting."
Mary takes the arm with a self-consciousness she hadn't felt since her Junior Prom. Here she was, on the arm of one of the most famous people in American military history, about to talk to a General in an actual military camp.
She felt very small, but was determined to do and show her best.
It is a sight which draws a few odd glances from the servicemen; the Captain, usually so full of fire and brimstone, being every bit the gentleman as he escorts Mary across the camp, finally entering the castle itself which dominates the grounds.
The building itself is not terribly warm, but it does offer shelter against the wind and snow.
Moving up a grand flight of stairs, the pair moves down a hallway, then through a room with an orderly sitting at a desk.
Finally pausing, the Captain quietly knocks at the door behind the orderly.
From within comes the gruff response, "Enter."
Opening the door, Captain Patton takes two steps in, then stops as he salutes the stern looking, older man sitting behind a desk. "Sir, reporting as ordered."
Mary does something that the generous might call a courtsey, clasping her hands together nervously. "Hello...."
The white haired man motions to a couple of chairs. "At ease, Captain. Relax. Have a seat, Madam."
"I'll get right to the point. Captain Patton seems to be convinced that you somehow have come from the future. I must admit, the evidence he has provided seems quite convincing. Is this true?"
Mary finds a seat and nods to the General. "As far as I can figure... I mean, this is either the past or a real weird dream."
The older man leans back, the stars on his shoulder finally becoming visible in the relatively low light of the room. "Well, I certainly don't think I'm a figure in a dream. So, indulge an old man. Tell me about where and when you came from."
Mary settles in her seat and thinks over everything between World War I and 1999. "Well, I attend Ball State University, which used to be part of Indiana State University, which used to be part of Indiana University." She blushes just a bit. "Going to college is pretty common after graduating from High School. Most jobs require you to have a Bachelor's at least."
There is another pause as she gathers her thoughts some more. "We have computers... I don't think they've been invented yet. Or TVs, I guess. TVs are televisions... radios with pictures, like miniature movies in a box. Computers look like TVs, but they're more like typewriters that can store up commands, so you can edit it all before you print it out. And most of them can do pictures, now, too, so we play games on them. And you can connect your own computer to a network of lots of other computers and share files and things."
Mary pauses again to take stock, unsure of what else to add.
The Captain begins to speak, but pauses as the General clears his throat, then considers his next words thoughtfully.
"How fares the Union?"
"All fifty states," is the immediate reply. "Puerto Rico keeps talking about becoming a state, but it never really happens." Mary hmms. "Russia fell apart just a little while ago, so there aren't a lot of really big threats left. Maybe China, 'cause they don't care for us all that much. And, well, our current president- there's some scandal about secret materials getting leaked to China and big contributors to his campaign funds and that sort of thing, but I didn't really pay much attention because I was working on my studies."
Mary adds, thoughtfully, "We're really active in world politics... There's an international council called the United Nations that we're a part of, and usually we end up lending them troops for peacekeeping on their behalf." A sigh. "It usually doesn't end up really keeping the peace, much. Our troops just get shot at, too."
General Pershing merely shakes his head. "It is the lot of a soldier."
As for Captain Patton, he merely snorts. "With all due respect, Sir, it's the job of the Army to kill people and break things. This 'peacekeeping' sounds like a bad idea, and one to be avoided."
"Not our call, Captain", comes the reply of the General. "Look on the positive side; at least we 're not going to lose THIS war." The steely gaze of the Commanding General shifts back to the student from Indiana. "We don't lose this war, right? It IS the 'war to end all wars'?"
Mary squirms a bit internally. "Well.. we do win this war, but that doesn't keep another one from happening. It has something to do with the way the winners treated the losers. Around twenty years after the treaty, Germany started attacking and gaining territory again.
"And that's the last -World- War, but there are smaller ones. Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf War, and then all those peacekeeping operations in Bosnia and Yugoslavia. Not to mention the Cold War that finally ended when Bush was president." The young lady shakes her head. "It didn't really end war at all."
There is a long silence, as the two hardened military men look at each other, then back at their mysterious visitor. Finally, the younger clears his throat.
"Where did we fail?"
Mary squirms again. "History isn't my best subject in school," she admits quietly. "I know the Cold War and Korea and Veitnam have to do with the Russians and China and the end of World War II. World War II happened because of Hitler, who blamed the Jews for all the troubles they had after World War I. And I don't know where the stuff in Bosnia or Yugoslavia comes from, only that they've been fighting a lot longer than we've been trying to help people there. I don't think the Gulf War is related to anything else at all. That was Iraq invading Kuwait for oil and territory."
Mary lets a light smile peek through. "I know the most about the Gulf War because I was alive for that one. It was even on television, from the beginning to the end of it."
The Captain and the General stare at each other, trying to make some sense between them of what the young woman has just told them. Finally, Pershing brings his attention back to Mary.
"I must admit, Mary, it is disappointing to hear that all of this", gesturing out the window to the large encampment around the old castle, "is actually not going to do anything except set the ground for yet another war."
A momentary pause, then Captain Patton speaks up. "With your permission, sir?" A brief nod from General Pershing, and Captain Patton continues, "What can you tell us about this... World War II, Mary?"
The young lady tries to assemble her vague knowledge as best she can, sort of like trying to outline a history paper. She smiles slightly at the idea, then focuses.
"Well.. World War II all starts when Hitler gets power in Germany. He does it because Germany doesn't do well, and he blames it on the Jews. They then demand land and stuff from France and Belgium and other nearby countries."
Mary tilts her head to make the pieces fall together. "At first, the other countries - France and Britain - try giving them stuff in hopes that they go away. Appeasement. But it doesn't work. And then, Germany uses a blitzkrieg attack to get around France's defenses and the whole thing gets serious."
Pershing shakes his head with a resigned look. Patton blinks at the last part.
"Blitzkreig is a really fast attack using tanks. The whole trench warfare thing kind of dies with that."
"Good."
She sighs. "And it's an even bigger war than this one. All across Europe, part of Africa, and even Japan. We don't even get into the war until Japan attacks us about halfway through."
General Pershing eyes Mary a little oddly. "Japan? Attacks the U.S?"
Mary nods again. "They attacked Pearl Harbor, with a whole fleet of airplanes. Thing was, some radar operator saw it coming, but thought that a big cluster like that had to be a glitch, so we were totally unprepared for it. Killed a lot of people. A lot of them were never brought back up from the ships they sunk in." She thinks back to the school displays and facts. "The Pacific side of things was almost like a whole nother war. It lasted a while longer than the European side. Probably would've kept going longer than it did if not for the bombs."
Both officers blink, unsure for the moment about something. Then General ershing speaks up.
"Mary, what 'bombs' are you referring to?"
The use of her name brings Mary out of her school-report ramble and makes her suddenly a bit shy. "Nuclear bombs. They're... big. And there's a lot of radiation afterwards, that kind of lingers. Nobody ever uses them anymore."
There is a moment of quiet, as the two of them look at each other, trying to grasp a description which, if the truth was known, wasn't understandable by either of them. The "...big", however, gives them enough of an idea.
"Jesus H. Christ", comes the quiet exclamation, finally.
"Perhaps so, Captain. Please escort our guest back to her quarters; I have a lot to think about, and I'm sure she has many things she would rather be doing then being stuck with a man old enough to be her father."
General Pershing continues, as his attention turns to Mary. "Thank you for this little conversation, Mary. I'm sure next time, you will have a lot of questions for us. We'll try to answer them as best we can."
The girl nods. "Um, thank you, sir." She looks to Patton for a moment, since they seem to be walking together.
As they head towards her quarters, Mary feels it all really set in. She wonders if she said too much, and how she's going to get home, or if she's stuck here. Some sanity mechanism, probably the same one that kept her from living a life of fear in an age of nuclear bombs and drive-by shootings, clicked over. Don't worry about it. It'll happen when it happens.
"Ma'am, you certainly have thrown us a few curve balls." Captain Patton shakes his head, then ducks it down slightly as the snow starts to blow about. "The better question, though, is how are YOU coping with all this? Things must be very... strange for you, indeed."
Mary thinks this over some, then sighs. "Makes me wish I'd paid more attention in History class, I guess. I'd know more of what's going on and what to do. It's... kind of freaky to be in the past. I wonder if it'll change anything."
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