Read Online The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 1): First Time by Samuel Ben White - Free Book Online
Authors: Samuel Ben White
Tags: Time travel
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telephones, no one else will, either."
It was the wrong thing to say, for it gave Sharif Purdy the idea that Garison might be looking for something illegal. Perhaps this tele—whatever—was something Purdy had better learn about before he discovered it the hard way.
"Besides," Garison mumbled, "No one seems very keen on talking to me, anyway."
Garison walked down the street, smiling and trying to make eye contact with anyone who would look his way, but no one was having any. While a few had stuck their heads out of doors or windows and watched as Sharif Purdy provoked with the stranger, none seemed willing to do so themselves. Many who had stayed outside while Garison talked with the sharif scurried for cover as he came near.
For his part, Garison was wondering what he should do next. Should he keep traveling down the road, meeting paranoid people in town after town, hoping that someone somewhere would know what a telephone was and where he might find one? While it was not an attractive prospect, he was running out of ideas on what else to do. What if he had landed in some country entirely without telephones? What then? And, try as he might, he could think of no English speaking countries thus effected. Certainly there were no such regions on the east coast of North America.
Garison stopped in the street momentarily as another hypothesis came to his mind. What if, he thought, rather than passing through dimensions I have somehow passed into some other plane of reality? A plane where English had developed, but the people were somehow two hundred years behind the people in his own. He had read theories that such planes might be out there, but he had never found any scientific warrant for their existence. They were the talk of science fiction writers and theorists so far out of the main stream they couldn't even see the water. Still, he reminded himself, there were a lot of people who thought the same about him.
Garison saw a bench in front of a nearby building and went and sat down on it. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he tried to figure out what to do. He told himself that he had just stumbled into some isolated valley or the world's most elaborate test of social engineering, but the feeling in his gut would not let him believe such thoughts. This was something else entirely.
He was disturbed from his reverie by a voice saying, "Feet up."
It took a moment for the voice to register on him at all and he raised his head with a, "Huh?"
The sun was behind the source of the voice and cast a halo through the speaker's blonde hair and placed her entirely in silhouette. With a broom, she repeated in a pleasant tone, "Feet up. I'm trying to sweep."
"Uh, OK," Garison mumbled as he lifted his feet. She stepped a bit to his left just then and he got a look at her face. It was a pretty face, with pale, blemish free skin and deep green eyes. She wore a smile that was pleasant to look at and warming in its touch.
She said, "I don't believe I've seen you around here, Stranger."
"Uh, no. I'm from—I'm from out of town."
She looked at him and smiled genuinely. She asked, "Whereabouts? We don't get many visitors around here."
"La Plata Canyon," he replied instinctively.
She thought a moment, then told him, "I've never heard of it. Is it near Boston? or down in the Carolinas?"
"Neither, really," Garison replied with a sigh. Finally, she had mentioned places he had heard of, though he knew the Carolinas as Stalinland. "Carolinas" was a name belonging to the old British Americas. Had he perhaps landed in an alternate reality where the British Americas hadn't fallen to the Russians? That still wouldn't explain the lack of telephones, he thought sullenly. To finish the answer to her question, he said, "It's out in Marx—on the other side of the Rocky Mountains from Cherry Creek."
She shrugged and shook her head, "I'm afraid I've never heard of those places. And here I thought I knew my geography quite well.
It was the wrong thing to say, for it gave Sharif Purdy the idea that Garison might be looking for something illegal. Perhaps this tele—whatever—was something Purdy had better learn about before he discovered it the hard way.
"Besides," Garison mumbled, "No one seems very keen on talking to me, anyway."
Garison walked down the street, smiling and trying to make eye contact with anyone who would look his way, but no one was having any. While a few had stuck their heads out of doors or windows and watched as Sharif Purdy provoked with the stranger, none seemed willing to do so themselves. Many who had stayed outside while Garison talked with the sharif scurried for cover as he came near.
For his part, Garison was wondering what he should do next. Should he keep traveling down the road, meeting paranoid people in town after town, hoping that someone somewhere would know what a telephone was and where he might find one? While it was not an attractive prospect, he was running out of ideas on what else to do. What if he had landed in some country entirely without telephones? What then? And, try as he might, he could think of no English speaking countries thus effected. Certainly there were no such regions on the east coast of North America.
Garison stopped in the street momentarily as another hypothesis came to his mind. What if, he thought, rather than passing through dimensions I have somehow passed into some other plane of reality? A plane where English had developed, but the people were somehow two hundred years behind the people in his own. He had read theories that such planes might be out there, but he had never found any scientific warrant for their existence. They were the talk of science fiction writers and theorists so far out of the main stream they couldn't even see the water. Still, he reminded himself, there were a lot of people who thought the same about him.
Garison saw a bench in front of a nearby building and went and sat down on it. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he tried to figure out what to do. He told himself that he had just stumbled into some isolated valley or the world's most elaborate test of social engineering, but the feeling in his gut would not let him believe such thoughts. This was something else entirely.
He was disturbed from his reverie by a voice saying, "Feet up."
It took a moment for the voice to register on him at all and he raised his head with a, "Huh?"
The sun was behind the source of the voice and cast a halo through the speaker's blonde hair and placed her entirely in silhouette. With a broom, she repeated in a pleasant tone, "Feet up. I'm trying to sweep."
"Uh, OK," Garison mumbled as he lifted his feet. She stepped a bit to his left just then and he got a look at her face. It was a pretty face, with pale, blemish free skin and deep green eyes. She wore a smile that was pleasant to look at and warming in its touch.
She said, "I don't believe I've seen you around here, Stranger."
"Uh, no. I'm from—I'm from out of town."
She looked at him and smiled genuinely. She asked, "Whereabouts? We don't get many visitors around here."
"La Plata Canyon," he replied instinctively.
She thought a moment, then told him, "I've never heard of it. Is it near Boston? or down in the Carolinas?"
"Neither, really," Garison replied with a sigh. Finally, she had mentioned places he had heard of, though he knew the Carolinas as Stalinland. "Carolinas" was a name belonging to the old British Americas. Had he perhaps landed in an alternate reality where the British Americas hadn't fallen to the Russians? That still wouldn't explain the lack of telephones, he thought sullenly. To finish the answer to her question, he said, "It's out in Marx—on the other side of the Rocky Mountains from Cherry Creek."
She shrugged and shook her head, "I'm afraid I've never heard of those places. And here I thought I knew my geography quite well.
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