The Time Travelers Alliance Part One (request for Wes13 (FA))
The Time Travelers Alliance; Part One
By: CimmaronSpirit11(FA)
Request for: Wes13 (FA)
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The brilliant blue sky overhead, with only the raging hot sun glaring down on the ground below, and the almost red landscape that was Monument Valley seemed to shimmer in the light of high noon. Dotted around the landscape were clumps of green: some short grasses here, a few trees offering the only shade available there. Otherwise, the red land was barren of life.
A lone figure on a horse rode by slowly, kicking up a small dust cloud behind him, traveling west. The figure on horseback at last looked up, squinting his eyes to see into the shimmering desert landscape. The anthro equine had been traveling through the American territories for weeks now, looking for the symbol he was told he could find.
Cimmaron had been on many cases like this before, and he would be doing this for a long time to come as well. Being a Guardian of Time, sworn to make sure that history remained on its course, meant that he had traveled to many eras, time and worlds before, and he will keep doing so for centuries to come, as well. Coming out to the Old West (1873, to be exact), before the convenience of inter-state highways and automobiles, to the wide open prairie in the process of being tamed, was a Godsend to him.
But, he was starting to get antsy. Cimmaron had a job here: it seemed as if someone who had listened to a Native shaman got the idea in his head that he can move through time. And the medicine-man wasn't lying, the time traveler knew. The guy, named Fredrick Hamilton, a successful business man in the east before the American Civil War, and the death of his wife from scarlet fever and his son's in battle while he served in the Union Army destroyed his sanity, and he was easy prey to any rumor that would help him.
But, despite Colonel Hamilton's bad luck, he could not be allowed to change the past. If he did, unimaginable consequences could result.
Cimmaron grimaced. It would be a tough battle, for those who want to go back to change the past for their ideology, or their family, were often the mentally unstable, and almost impossible to talk down.
Before he could think anymore, his mount stopped suddenly, and stamped its hooves in the dusty ground, moving sideways and backwards, refusing to go forward.
"Whoa, easy boy," Cimmaron said, pulling on the reins. "What is it boy?"
The equine snorted, and whinnied in defiance, which the anthro was able to understand.
"Something wrong, huh?" he asked and the stallion shook its head up and down. Cimmaron looked around, moving his hand toward the six-shooter Colt revolver on his hip. He glanced out from under his cowboy hat around him.
In the medium distance, a mysterious object seemed to reform itself in the shimmering heat: a black box that to Cim looked strangely familiar...
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An elegantly dressed anthropomorphic equine stood at the hexagonal control panel, looking over the dials and switches as he patiently waited. The room looked like it would not have been out of place in a posh Victorian mansion in the English countryside: with books, chairs and a few side tables holding assorted objects.
The Time Lord, Wes Franklin, was dressed in a black three piece Victorian era suit, with a starched white collar shirt and a green cravat, and griped a wooden walking stick in his left hand while his right hand flew over the controls.
"1873, the United States of America South-West. Arizona Territory, Earth, Sol, Mutter's Spiral" he murmured to himself in Gallifreyan, checking to make sure the calculations were correct. He had heard stories of another Time Lord, only called the Doctor, who had the habit of screwing up even the most simple of tasks when piloting the TARDIS, his time travel device. Wes would be damned if he would do the same.
The piston like object in the center of the console panel, the time rotor, continued it's continual up and down motion. Wes calmly walked over to the other side, and fiddled with the controls some more, and a loud screeching, whirring sound was heard, as his TARDIS began its landing process.
After a few moments, the sound at last ceased. Wes looked up to see the time rotor had stopped moving. He nodded at his device, before straightening his cravat, and making his way toward the exit, but stopped suddenly, and moved over the heavy oak desk in the corner, from which Wes took an envelope from and slipping it into his vest pocket. With that, he turned around and left the TARDIS.
As he stepped out into the brilliantly bright, blazing sun, he glanced around to see towering red sandstone buttes soaring above the flat plain. The Time Lord groaned to himself slightly, realizing that he had screwed up. He was aiming for the settlement, not the middle of nowhere!
Wes was turning back around to re-enter the time traveling device when he noticed a rider on horseback, ambling slowly over toward him. Drat.
"Howdy there, pardner," the other equine, his clothing coated in dust and sweat, said as he rode up. "You seem a bit lost, I presume."
"Well, um, yes," the Time Lord admitted, wondering exactly what this Earthling was doing...
The rider smiled, and dismounted from his mount. "Maybe I can be of assistance too you," he said, with a drawl that would have placed him in the South, which clashed with the refined English accent the dressed up fur was wearing.
"I do not believe that is necessary, my good man," Wes said, turning back to the police box.
The cowboy removed his hat, his long black hair falling free and he wiped the sweat off his forehead. "I wouldn't be so sure...Doctor," he said smirking.
Wes flinched at hearing that, and strode over to the cowboy. "What exactly are you talking about?"
The other equine shrugged, the grin gone as suddenly as he showed it, before replacing his hat. "Just a guess, because I have heard stories of boxes like you have suddenly appearing around the place, and disappearing soon after. You never hear of what they did, but they keep showing up every so often, so they must be time travelers, or something.
"As well, the desert stretches miles in every direction from here. And night will be coming soon, so you might need some assistance, if you care for."
Wes looked at the other anthro curiously. Something about him seemed... different...
"Very well then, my good man," Wes said. "And what is your name?"
"They call me Caleb, so that is what I stick with," the horse said. "And you?"
"Wes Franklin, at your service," the well-dressed horse said, doing a small bow. "And what are you doing all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere?"
Caleb looked up. "I will tell you, but first must set up camp for the night. It gets cold all of the sudden, and I'm a bit famished. So I was going to get some food..."
The other horse lifted his hand. "No need, I have food enough to share, and it is the least I can do. Now, will you care to tell me what you're up to out here?"
The cowboy nodded, before walking his feral horse over to the box and tying its reins to a convenient spot, and starting to rub him down "Over yonder, is a small town of Griffith Creek. I was sent by a banker with large land holdings in these here parts to investigate some... rumors."
"What sort of rumors?" Wes kept pushing, leaning on his walking stick.
"That there is a band of thieves that is making use of his land to hide out on. The government asked him to look into it, so he asked me." He finished looking after his mount, and gave it a carrot from a saddle bag, which it ate up quickly with a content nicker. "And what about you? Being all decked out like that, with no dust on you... is either you're the luckiest man in clothing, or... something."
Wes waved to the entrance of the TARDIS. "Well, if you care to join me inside, I will tell you." He promptly turned and walked into the door, beckoning the other stallion to join him.
Caleb followed, and was promptly struck by the vast space inside. The wood paneled room, with the mechanical device in the center with buttons and knobs standing out. But before the other equine could look around anymore, Wes led his acquaintance through the interior of the TARDIS, which seemed to stretch on forever, until at last they arrived at a cafeteria. Wes pulled out some food from a machine, which he handed to Caleb, at which point he took some for himself, along with a cup of tea. The two sat at a table, and began to eat.
"Well, yes, I'm a Time Lord," Wes admitted. "I've been traveling through space and time to help the universe and different worlds, as I believe it is the one thing a person with the ability to travel through time should do."
Caleb paused his eating, his mouth hanging open as he listened, as in surprise. But something in his eyes made Wes suspicious, like the furry he stumbled upon knew this already.
"So, I ended up here, based on a note that I found by a future self of mine that said to come here. So, I did, but I still have no idea why." Wes shrugged, and sipped at the cup of tea he had, while Caleb still seemed to be in shock at all this, before at last he looked down to the food, and feed on it ravenously, like it was his first meal. Well, traveling through the desert for weeks might do that to you.
"So what is your story, Caleb?" Wes asked, as he finished his plate.
Caleb looked up, and pushed away his. "Well, I fought in the Civil War, and managed to survive, so I guess that means something."
"Which side?" Wes asked.
"The Union. And the Confederacy. I also joined the French Foreign Legion, traveled through Africa for the British, the French, the Spanish and Portuguese for a time. Served the Czar of Russia and the Kaiser of Germany for a while. Lead wagon trains across the Oregon Trail, mined gold in California for a bit. Done this, that and the other thing." Caleb brushed it off. "All I can say is that I've done a lot, and I'm not doing it yet."
Wes seemed unperturbed about this, taking it in stride. "That is very interesting, Caleb. And, might I say..."
Before he could continue, a siren sounded through the TARDIS, making the Victorian dressed equine to leap up, and hurriedly made his way through the maze of corridors, mumbling to himself. Caleb looked, on, before leaping up and following after him, He managed to retrace his steps to the control room, where Wes was muttering.
"What's wrong?" Caleb asked, panting heavily, while Wes was no more worse for wear than he was before.
"I believe I know why you spotted my TARDIS," he said. "For one thing, the perception filter is damaged."
"How did you figure that out?" Caleb asked, moving closer. Wes responded by holding up a sparking contraption, which obviously looked like it was damaged.
"That, and that an Aboriginal tribe has surrounded us," the Time Lord stated matter-of-factly, pointing outside the door, where several Indians on horseback were standing, aiming rifles at the entrance.
"Come on out!" a non-Native voice shouted, sounding from New York of all places. Wes and Caleb looked at each other, before shrugging, and stepping back out into the blazing sun.
What they were confronted with was not only a group of Indian warriors, but also several white cowboys and even a few Mexican humans, as well as multiple furs also from each category, aiming their weapons at the two. But one man stood out. For one thing, he was wearing a blue US Army Colonel's uniform, and wore an expression of accomplishment and arrogance. Wes (and, for that matter, Caleb) thought that had the uniform wearing man had long golden hair and mustache and goatee, he might have been General Custer.
Caleb glanced around to the others, who all seemed off, but he couldn't quite place it. His thought was interrupted when the Colonel approached them.
"So, an equine English gentleman in a fancy box, and another horse-boy masquerading as a cowboy, huh?" he said, stopping in front of them. "Well, you can now consider yourself under my, Colonel Fredrick Hamilton's, protection."
"I don't recognize anyone as my 'protector'," Caleb growled, spitting the last word as if it was poison. "Much less you."
Hamilton's face turned beet red. "How dare you insult me? I'm your protector, and you will accept that!" he lifted his shining sabre up and brought it down, as if to cut at the stallion...
...who suddenly had a sabre of his own to block the strike. Wes was amazed at that, but soon had to jump back as the two swords men started fighting between each other. The other men, however, did not fire a shot, but still held their weapon's at the ready. However, Caleb then tripped the colonel, and aimed his sword at the man's throat.
"You better dare not cut me," the human spat, glaring up at the stallion.
"I don't need to too kill you," he said, before lifting his sabre, from the tip a shining red sphere of power emerged, which then shot out, and exploded into a massive fireball, which startled the horses, knocking their riders off as they were more focused on keeping their weapon's aimed at the two anthro's.
Colonel Hamilton's face drained of its color. "You... you... have the elements under your command? Th...th...that's impossible!"
Caleb glared down again. "Well, how about I do that to your skull. Will it seem impossible then?"
Hamilton at last staggered to his feet and backed away slowly, before remounting his horse, and whistling to the other riders, all of which had managed to remount. He shouted a call, which made them turn around and start galloping off to the west.
"You will pay for your imprudence, pony!" he barked, before wheeling around and following after the rest.
Caleb at last lowered the weapon, which seemed to melt in his hand, before shrinking back into his palm in the shape of a pocket watch. He sat down hard on the ground, panting heavily, before sighing and leaning against the TARDIS.
Wes was, surprisingly, at a loss for words. He at last noticed that the horse Caleb was riding had vanished.
"Um, Caleb, it appears that your mount has been stolen," the Time Lord at last said, pointing to where the stallion had been tied up.
The tired equine chuckled. "Not to worry. He'll get out of it, I assure you." He glanced up to the Time Lord. "And, enough of appearances... My name is actually Cimmaron, and I'm a Guardian of Time. And that man..." he said, pointing to the distance that the Colonel and his henchmen went off to, "is the reason why I'm here."
Wes looked befuddled, and Cimmaron stood up, and explained the plot that Fredrick Hamilton was engaged in, which made the Gallifreyan's eyes open wide.
"He can do that?" Wes asked to which Cim nodded.
"And I have to stop him. So, I thank you for the meal, Time Lord," he said, shaking the other horse's hand, "And I will be seeing you sometime in the future, I'm sure." Cim turned around, and started to walk off to the west into the setting sun, following the other men.
"Wait!" Wes shouted, trotting up to the leaving Guardian. "I wish to help you in this endeavor, as this told me too," he said, pulling the envelope from his jacket, and handing it to Cim. The Guardian of Time looked at the envelope before opening it up and reading the letter inside. He read the thing over and over, until at last he nodded.
"Very well then. Since it seems destined that we work together on this, we might as well go ahead and do so," Cimmaron said, smiling. Wes returned the smile, and led the other time travler back to the TARDIS.
"And, I have a plan for doing this, if you so care to hear it," the Time Lord said, and Cim listened intently to Wes explaining the idea.
"Well, it's better than my plan," the Guardian admitted.
"Which was what?" Wes asked.
"To figure out a plan," Cim said, to which the Time Lord looked in confusion at the other equine.
"You are rather silly, don't you know that?" Wes asked as they get climbed into the Police Box.
"Well, you kind of have to be to make it as a time traveler, wouldn't you say?" Cimmaron asked Wes, who shrugged before he started dealing with the controls of the TARDIS, plotting its new course.
From outside, the device started to whirr, making a strange metallic sound, before vanishing, leaving Monument Valley devoid of life as the sun set.