chaos_thon Premiere: Historica (1/3)
Show: Historica
Author:
angelqueen04
Genre: Sci Fi/Fantasy/Historical Fiction
Rating: TV-14
Warnings: Violence
Word Count: ~16,000 words
Notes: Posted in three parts on my LJ, Dreamwidth, and IJ accounts. A huge thanks to
lone_pyramid for her excellent beta skills, and many, many thanks to
azarsuerte for creating an amazing set of credits.
Show Premise
History and time are fluid, easily subject to manipulation. A secret group, known simply as ‘The Organization’, stands ready from the shadows to preserve the timeline in its true form and has done so for many years. However, there are those who are not so noble in their intentions and work to exploit time and history for their own mysterious and sinister gain.
A war for control over time and space is about to begin, and the fighters are those that history has pitied or forgotten…
Historica Opening Credits, by
azarsuerte
Historica Character Bible
Episode One: Mantle
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 1796, evening
The middle-aged gentleman stood at the windows of his office, staring out at the dimly-lit city before him. For nearly eight years, he had served as this infant nation’s leader; for many years before that, he had served as ably as he knew how in the form of a soldier, seeking to bring liberty and justice where his people had been denied it. He was weary, and longed for the simple pleasures of his home, of his beloved wife and children-in-law.
He turned to the other occupant of the room and stared at him silently. He had known this man for some time, who had been a presence throughout his life, and while he did not pretend to understand the complexities that made up the man’s existence, he deeply trusted him and his opinions, trusted that he would be honest and not simply say what he wished to hear.
“You truly think it for the best?” he asked quietly.
“Indeed I do, sir,” the other man answered, his features shadowed by the hooded cloak he wore even in the indoors. His accent was faintly British, but he felt no alarm, no mistrust of it. “It will set a good precedent for those that follow you, discourage them from staying in power for too long.” A pause, and then he added, “You have done more than anyone can possibly ask for, sir. It is time for you to rest now.”
He nodded slowly, relieved to hear the words he had kept inside of him for so long spoken aloud by someone else. “Then it is settled,” he said. “I will resign the presidency.” He paused, and his lips pursed slightly in disapproval. “Though such a move will most certainly cause political factions to form to fight each other for the vacant spot.”
“Such is the fact of any government, sir,” the other man responded. “Those with differing philosophies and opinions will seek out those of like mind and gather together into groups. There is no stopping it, and truly, do you wish to? Is that not one of this country’s basic rights, to gather together in common cause and speak freely?”
The older gentleman sighed and nodded, conceding the point. “I will begin informing all of the necessaries tomorrow morning, then. Thank you for your contribution.”
“I am honored to be of any assistance to you, sir.” The other man stood up and bowed slightly at the waist. “I will take my leave of you for the evening.”
He had just reached the door when the President called out softly from behind him, “Will we meet again?”
The man didn’t respond at first, nor did he turn around. Finally, after several moments of silence, he said, “Who can say what the future brings?” He then slipped out of the room without another word, leaving President George Washington to begin drafting preparations to leave office after two terms as the first President of the United States.
The man moved quietly throughout the building, slipping past the guards and any other occupants with ease. Once outside, he darted into a dark alleyway and pulled something out from within his cloak.
“This is Shrewsbury. Initiate retrieval protocol. Mission accomplished.”
“Copy that.”
No one was present to see the man vanish from the alley in a haze of light.
Athens, Ohio, present day, morning
It was Monday, an irritating fact in and of itself. Students, after all, were not the only ones who hated Mondays. Professors despised them as well. This particular annoyance wasn’t helped by the fact that the weather was also lousy, even for January. There had been heavy snowfall the night before and while the roads had been cleared by the city’s snow-ploughs, there was still plenty of slippery debris just waiting to trip up any unsuspecting passerby.
Abigail Wesley juggled her briefcase, keys, and cup of coffee in her hands as she approached the Bentley Hall Annex, which housed several departments of the College of Arts and Sciences. Managing to slip the heavy door open a few inches, she pushed it open further with her foot so as to allow her to slip into the warm lobby of the building. She walked carefully over to the elevator, mindful of the slippery tiles beneath her feet, and bumped the button with her elbow. The doors opened slowly, and she entered, pushing the appropriate button.
The doors closed again, allowing the elevator to begin its jerky and slow ascent. It moved past the second floor - the psychology department - and then the third - political science - before coming to a jarring stop at the fourth floor. Stepping out, Abigail immediately spotted the young woman sitting in one of the plush chairs set up in the tiny area that worked as the department’s lobby. The woman was running her hand through her shoulder-length red tresses and she stood up to meet her.
“Morning, Elaine,” Abigail greeted her teaching assistant. “Good weekend?” she asked as they started down the hallway towards Abigail’s office.
“It was all right,” Elaine answered. “Spent Saturday with Will’s parents in Columbus.” She rolled her brown eyes. “That’s always fun, listening to Mrs. B talk about her cats and Mr. B about pro football. I did a bit of grading yesterday on the papers for your three-twenty-four-A class. I should have those finished and recorded by the end of the week.”
“Great, thanks,” Abigail said as she started juggling everything except her keys into one hand. When she almost dropped her coffee, Elaine sighed and finally took the keys from her and unlocked the door herself. “Thank you,” Abigail said, a little sheepishly, as they entered the office.
The little room was the same size as most of the other offices on the floor, and as such, was chock full of furniture, books, and papers. The desk ran along the wall from the back to nearly the front, curving around about three feet away from the front. There were two chairs just in front of the desk, with two bookshelves pushed against the wall next to the door and against the same wall as the desk. The opposite wall had two other bookshelves - also packed full like the others - as well as a small table that had a printer and a set of shelves that held everything from printer paper to pins.
Abigail moved behind her desk and sat her coffee and briefcase down on it. While she shrugged off her coat and settled it onto the back of her chair, Elaine sat her own things down around one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk before sitting in it herself. Once Abigail herself was seated, she flipped open her handbook to that week, saying, “I need to put together the midterm essay questions and have them up on the class webpage by Friday evening. That’ll give the kids the weekend to go over them in time for the midterm on Monday.”
Elaine nodded. “That’s fine. I should have the papers finished by then, so you can mention in the email that the papers will be sitting in the paper box outside your office.”
Abigail made a note in the handbook. “Right. Oh, and Doctor Clark will be here in a few hours.” She glanced at Elaine, a smile curving over her lips. “Excited?”
Her teaching assistant laughed. “Who in the class isn’t? We’re all getting to meet the guy who’s provided the best and most thorough coverage of the War of the Roses in decades.” Elaine grinned. “Trust me, the entire class is drooling. No one’s going to be skipping today.”
The professor laughed quietly. “We’ll see.” She took a sip of her coffee, and then continued. “Ben will be parking in Baker Center and he’ll meet me in the main foyer. The department’s released a small amount of money for me to treat him to dinner after class, so I won’t be having office hours after the lecture. I need to put out an email about that.”
“I can do that,” Elaine volunteered as she stood up to leave, no doubt intending to go to her own office, located on the ground floor of the Annex.
“Thanks.”
New York City, present day, afternoon
The view of the skyline was as beautiful as it ever was. It never ceased to amaze him, the amazing innovations that allowed man to create buildings so high up from the ground.
“Are they in place?” a voice asked from the other side of the room, female.
“Yes,” he answered. “They could take him out at any time -”
“Tonight,” she cut him off. “After the lecture. No need to create a situation where multiple students could be hurt. I want this quick and clean.”
He turned away from the view and smirked towards her. “Your concern for the wellbeing of others is lovely. Especially considering that you’re arranging an assassination.”
She did not turn in his direction, instead keeping her desk chair turned away towards the video-feed that was being fed into the screen behind her. He himself turned his gaze to the screen as well, watching the front of a building called Baker Center play out across it. Students, professors, and administrators alike all milled around, some walking past the building, some going in, and some coming out.
“Let them enjoy their lives,” she murmured. “The less they understand about what we are doing, the less painful it will be for everyone.”
Athens, Ohio, present day, evening
Baker Center was only a few years old, the construction having begun in 2004. The university had opened the place in 2006, though it had not been quite complete at that point in time. The old student center had been located some two blocks away, just off of Court Street. The new building was much bigger, with six floors full of offices, conference rooms, study areas, a large cafeteria, restaurant, gift shop, and coffee shop. Built in the old riverbed of the Hocking River, it provided for an easy method of traveling from the South and West Greens to the College Green and Court Street amenities, cutting down on traveling time between classes if nothing else. The place was immediately popular with the university community, becoming a regular hangout for students, whether it was for studying, meeting with friends, or other activities.
It was also a great and convenient spot to meet someone. With its large car garage for visitor parking, a guest had only to ride up the escalators and would be just across the street from the College Green, where the university’s president and senior administrative offices were located. Very easily a guest could be met by a representative or guide and led to wherever they needed to go.
Which was what Abigail was doing now. Her graduate class began at six, and it was currently five-thirty. Elaine had already gone ahead to the classroom in Bentley Hall to set up the computer, so that Doctor Clark could easily pull up his lecture slides for the students to follow. That left Abigail to meet the doctor to escort him to Bentley.
She stood in the large, round foyer, leaning against the railing that stood between the two escalators and watching. Several people were coming and going - students returning to their dorms after a day of classes or hurrying to their evening classes, professors and other university employees going to find their cars to go home after a hard day’s work.
Peering down towards the other entrance to the building, Abigail eventually saw an elderly gentleman appear from out of sight and step onto the escalators. She had never met Doctor Clark in person, but she had exchanged frequent emails and other correspondence with him, and had seen the photo provided on his book jackets. That was him.
When he finally came to the top of the last escalator, Abigail stepped forward. “Doctor Clark?” she said questioningly.
He turned to her and nodded. “Doctor Wesley, I presume,” he returned in a thick Scottish accent. He held out his hand to her, a gesture that she immediately returned, shaking it.
“If you’ll come this way, we can go straight to Bentley,” Abigail told him. “Unless you’d like to get something from the coffee shop?”
Doctor Clark shook his head and nodded toward the thick briefcase that he carried with him. “I brought water with me, but thank you.”
The short trip from Baker Center to Bentley Hall was spent in conversation about mutual acquaintances and colleagues, though Abigail made sure to mention that she would be treating him to dinner afterward. “Courtesy of the history department,” she explained.
“That sounds lovely,” he replied.
They rode the notoriously jerky elevator up to the third floor of Bentley Hall and walked inside of the large lecture hall. Abigail quickly glanced around and nearly laughed out loud. Elaine had been right. No one seemed to be skipping class tonight. Nearly every seat was full tonight, possibly even fuller than it should be. Who knew? Perhaps friends of her students had snuck in. Abigail didn’t bother taking attendance in her classes, so she turned a blind eye to it.
She led Doctor Clark up to the front of the classroom, where Elaine was waiting. The graduate assistant smiled welcomingly at Doctor Clark and began giving him a basic tutorial on how the computer system worked. Once he had everything in hand, both Abigail and Elaine began to move to their seats in the back of the room, which Elaine had reserved for them before the students had even begun to arrive. As they walked to the back of the room, whisperings from some of the students reached Abigail’s ears.
“Wow, it’s really him!”
“You think he’ll tell us about the Princes in the Tower? Or Richard III?”
“This is so cool!”
Abigail smothered a laugh as she took her seat and waited for Doctor Clark to begin. The older man stepped up to the podium, the clicker in his hands and he nodded to Elaine, who had gone to the light switches by the door. She immediately flipped one of the switches and the light in the front turned off, allowing everyone seated an even better view of the first slide.
THE WAR OF THE ROSES
A Family Affair on an International Scale
Doctor Benjamin Clark
President Street was decently lit by streetlights, but there were still plenty of shadows created by the various buildings. It was easy to hide in them, if a person wore the right clothing and applied the right cosmetics where necessary.
“How long?”
“Class ends at eight. Orders are to follow the target and get him with the least amount of collateral damage possible.”
“We could get him the moment he comes out of the building.”
“The boss said not to do it with a bunch of students around. No unnecessary casualties.”
The shadows lengthened and went silent. The occasional passerby never noticed anything out of the ordinary.
“You have an interesting group of students,” Doctor Clark - no, he’d told her to call him Ben - informed Abigail over coffee some hours later.
The intervening hours since the end of the class had been pleasant ones. After Ben’s lecture had ended, there had been a question-and-answer session, allowing the students to inquire into more detail concerning the lecture. The questions had even led to more than one debate, something every professor dreamed of.
“They’ve been waiting with baited breath for weeks,” Abigail told him, “ever since I informed them that you’d be speaking to them.” She took a sip of her coffee, and then smiled at him over the rim. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many of my students’ faces light up.”
The older man nodded, chuckling. “That one young lady in particular,” he mentioned. “She was very enthused.”
“Charlotte Jenkins,” Abigail supplied. “She lives and breathes the time period. She’s already planning out her final paper to cover the usual suspects of who killed the Princes in the Tower. Wants to do her own analysis of the evidence.”
Something like amusement flickered across Ben’s face. “I’m sure it will be interesting,” he said.
The waitress arrived with their bill at that point, distracting Abigail as she paid for their meal. A few minutes later, she and Ben were walking out of the restaurant and down Court Street. The area, normally so busy and crowded at this time of night, was actually quite empty, lit only by street lamps and the lights in store window displays.
Abigail started asking about his latest book - something involving Henry IV and Richard II, as he had mentioned earlier - but she quickly saw that Ben appeared distracted. He kept glancing over his shoulder, and his eyes were darting from side to side.
Finally, she stopped trying to discuss the book. “Ben, is something -”
That was as far as she got when gunshots rang out. Abigail found herself on the ground so quickly that she didn’t even have time to scream.
Unknown location, present, unknown time
An alarm blasted through various hallways. Numerous people darted toward their stations.
“What is it?” A young woman demanded.
“Ben’s emergency beacon’s gone off. He’s on Court Street, Athens, Ohio,” a dark-haired man replied.
“On it!” She raced out of the room.
Athens, Ohio, present, night
Most people in his business knew him as John Swanson. It wasn’t his real name, but then, he really couldn’t recall going by his real name since he was a kid. Now, he was a highly paid professional, and he had been hired for a job. He meant to accomplish it.
He peered through the scope on his sniper rifle. Taking shots at a target in the dark was hardly an easy thing, even when the target was on a decently lit street. He could see the two figures down there, on the ground. The first was the woman, the professor who had invited the target to the university in the first place. His employer had ordered that no one else be harmed as he carried out his duties, hence why he and his men had not opened fire when the target had left the lecture hall - the man had been surrounded by a pack of students.
Not so now. Now, the target was on the ground, a dark stain spreading over his front. Someone had made a hit, then. He raised his rifle, ready to take the final shot and finish the job -
John Swanson suddenly slumped forward, the back of his head nothing but crushed, bloody matter. The rest of his team quickly ended up in the same position, never knowing what hit them.
It took several moments for Abigail to realize that the gunshots had stopped. Cautiously, she lifted her face up from the pavement and peered at her surroundings. The street was still deserted, and no lights had popped on in the nearby buildings. No one seemed inclined to rush out and see what was going on, though she imagined that someone in one of the apartments on the second floors of those buildings had made a frantic call to the police by now.
Abigail’s eyes swept over the area again, looking for the possible source of the gunshots, but then stopped upon a slim figure kneeling over someone slumped on the ground, just a few feet away. The figure on the sidewalk wasn’t moving, but Abigail recognized the brown suit in the harsh streetlights.
Ben.
Abigail gasped. Pushing herself to her feet and ignoring the stinging pain in her hands, she darted over to them. Almost immediately, she spotted the blood on his torso. “Oh my God…”
The other figure, a blonde woman dressed head to toe in black leather, looked up at her sharply. “Oh shit,” she muttered, her right hand going up to the radio in her ear. “Wesley’s conscious. She’s seen everything.”
The radio crackled faintly, but Abigail could not hear what the response was. The woman’s lips pursed, clearly displeased with what she was hearing. “Are you sure?” she asked. “This could cause a lot of problems.”
Abigail looked away from her, uncomprehending of what had just happened. Ben had been shot, for God’s sake, and this woman had appeared out of nowhere. What was going on?
“Fine,” the other woman said, sounding rather petulant. She reached inside of her leather coat and pulled a tiny device out. Placing it on Ben’s chest, she tapped it with a single finger and stated, “Activate.”
Immediately, sparkling blue and white lights appeared and engulfed Ben’s unmoving form. After a brief, timeless moment, he was gone.
Abigail’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck?!” she choked, not noticing or even caring that she sounded like some of her more uncouth undergrads. “Where did he - how - what -”
“No time,” the other woman said briskly, standing up and revealing herself to be taller than she had first appeared. Abigail didn’t have time to do more than blink when she stepped close to her and grasped her arm in a firm grip.
“Initiate retrieval protocol.”
When the police arrived a few minutes later, there was nothing there for them to find.
New York City, present day, night
She could stand the waiting no longer. Glaring now at the view of the night skyline, she looked towards him. “Has there been any word?”
His voice was distinctly irritated. “Not in the five minutes since you last asked.” His green eyes glinted in the dim light of her desk lamp. “I thought someone of your position would be accustomed to having patience.”
She glared at him. “I am ‘accustomed’, as you so quaintly put it, to competence. If your hired mercenaries,” her tone gave away his disgust for the term, “have botched this task -”
“These men are the best in the business,” he cut her off. “I’ve no doubt that they’ll succeed.” He gave her a warning look. “And I would mind your tone, Eva. Mercenaries have helped to win pivotal battles for centuries. My own father -”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she snapped, rolling his eyes. “Your father did everything perfectly. Except, of course,” she sneered, “he did not bother to dissolve a pre-contract with a woman before he -”
“No need to go through my father’s marital woes with me,” he interrupted, now sounding amused. “I’m very aware of my father’s failings and stupidity when it came to a pretty face. Let’s just concentrate on the moment. I’m sure we’ll hear of the results of Swanson’s mission in due time. Be patient.”
She bowed mockingly to him. “As you command, your Highness.”
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.
Unknown location, present, unknown time
Abigail had been running on autopilot for some time, completely in shock. She had allowed herself to be led away from the young woman who had made Ben vanish of all things and had somehow brought her to a strange place. Of course, her blasé attitude could have had something to do with whatever they had injected her with upon arrival, when she had been shrieking and demanding answers. Ever since then, she had felt like what her parents had described as their very existence in the ‘sixties.
She sat in some kind of infirmary or hospital area, on an examination table, with a nurse at her side, jotting down various things as Abigail answered her questions. Finally, after the nurse finished her writing, she looked at Abigail and said smilingly, “You’ll be just fine, Doctor Wesley. You weren’t hit at all, and your body has acclimated very well to the changes of being outside of space-time.”
Abigail blinked. “Outside of what?”
The nurse didn’t respond, but was instead interrupted by the curtain being pushed aside. Had she not been so calm, she might have jumped at this sudden appearance of a new person.
It was a young man, probably not more than a few years older than herself, and one she vaguely recognized from her arrival. He had been speaking in a rapid-fire conversation with the blonde woman, and had taken little notice of Abigail’s presence aside from a brief glance before she had been led away by one of the nurses.
“Joan,” he said by way of greeting. The nurse smiled in return, and Abigail thought she saw the young woman’s cheeks grow a little pink. “Is she clear?” he asked.
Joan nodded vigorously. “Yes sir. Just as I was telling Doctor Wesley here, her body’s shown no signs of rejecting the changes -”
“Good,” he said briskly. “I’ll get her out of your hair then.” He gestured for Abigail to come with him. Abigail felt distantly surprised by her immediate obedience as she hopped down off of the examination table. She followed him out of the infirmary, though they passed by a closed door that had a sign on it, denoting the rooms beyond as the ‘Emergency Ward.’
“Is Ben all right?” she asked as they walked.
“Too soon to tell,” he replied, not looking at her. He led her through a series of corridors, before finally stopping in front of a particular door. Opening it, he showed her into a large, handsome bedroom. “Rest here,” he told her. He pointed to a door off to their right. “There’s the washroom. Everything will be explained in the morning.”
Then just like that, he was gone, closing the door firmly behind him. Abigail blinked at his abruptness, but shrugged. She went into the bathroom and much to her surprise, found towels, as well as a change of clothing, waiting for her. She ran herself through the shower, changed, and collapsed on the bed soon after, and fell asleep almost immediately, still feeling as though she was floating through life.
Richard walked into the control room after leaving Wesley in her quarters. “Agent Bourbon ready?” he asked one of the technicians.
The technician nodded. “He’s on the transporter pad, Agent Shrewsbury.”
He nodded and continued on through the room, and into the next. A slightly younger man with blond hair and blue eyes dressed in early nineteenth century clothing turned toward him. “Richard?” he said inquiringly.
“Charles,” he replied, nodding to him. “Are you set?”
Charles nodded. “His Majesty won’t even know that he has someone watching his food and drink for poisons. He’ll make it until his niece reaches the age of eighteen, just as he needs to.” The younger man eyed Richard in concern. “Are you sure you want me to go now? I can postpone the mission until we know what’s going on with Ben -”
Richard opened his mouth to decline the other man’s offer, but paused. They were in a middle of a huge crisis, it was true. Someone had attempted to assassinate the chief supervisor of the Organization, and his condition was touch and go at this point. Then there was the fact that they had a civilian to deal with within the next few hours in addition to figuring out who was out to kill Ben. He really could use the younger man’s help here, and Charles’ mission really was more recon and security than anything overly dangerous and urgent.
After a moment’s further consideration, he nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
The two powered down the transporter then and walked back into the control room. “Mark down the mission as postponed,” Richard ordered the technician. “In fact, order all agents in headquarters to stand down until further notice.”
“Yes, sir,” the technician said. “Should we contact the agents out on missions and have them abort?”
“How many are out?”
The technician tapped a few of the controls on the console. “Three,” he responded after a moment. “Agent Hikenov in Imperial Russia, 1917, Agent Simmons in Plantagenet France, 1189, and Agent Gibbons in New York, 1969.”
Richard paused, considering, and then glanced at Charles. The younger man shook his head. “I wouldn’t,” he advised. “All three are in high-risk time periods. Best let them finish their objectives and have them initiate the retrieval protocol on their own. But I would also maintain a heightened surveillance on them, just in case,” he added.
Richard nodded. “Agreed,” he said. He turned back to the technician and ordered, “Do it, and be sure to notify the agents of their new standby status.”
“Yes, Agent Shrewsbury.”
After that, Richard and Charles left the control room. “Are you going to the infirmary?” Charles asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” the younger man said. “I’m going to change. I’ll relieve you in a few hours?”
“Thanks.”
Ben felt as though his stomach and chest were on fire as he slowly came to consciousness. He groaned, only opening his eyes briefly before shutting them again against the harsh light around him.
“Hurts, does it?”
Ben forced himself to crack a single eye open and stare at the man beside him. “Richard…”
Richard nodded. “They just gave you some morphine,” he told him. “Should take hold in a few minutes.”
Ben nodded and closed his eye again. He searched his thoughts, trying to remember what had brought him to this kind of pain, pain he had not felt in years. Athens, the lecture, the dinner and coffee afterwards, walking, the shots -
“Abigail,” he said, looking up at Richard.
“She’s fine,” he assured him. “I put her in one of the guest quarters myself.”
“Does she know what’s going on?” Ben asked slowly.
Richard shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied. “The nurses put her on a mild sedative, to keep her calm.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’ll have worn off by the time she wakes up, and she’ll be coherent enough to understand what I’m saying to her.”
Ben nodded. “Good. PDA?”
Richard smirked. “Figured you’d ask for it.” He handed the device to Ben. “I’m supposed to tell the doctors when you awoke, so don’t start anything you can’t finish before we get back.” Richard slipped out of the room, leaving Ben alone.
Ben sighed, a little relieved, and turned the PDA on. Richard was right. He didn’t have much time.
Part Two
This entry was originally posted on my Dreamwidth account, which currently has
comments. Comments welcome in either entry.
Author:
angelqueen04
Genre: Sci Fi/Fantasy/Historical Fiction
Rating: TV-14
Warnings: Violence
Word Count: ~16,000 words
Notes: Posted in three parts on my LJ, Dreamwidth, and IJ accounts. A huge thanks to
lone_pyramid for her excellent beta skills, and many, many thanks to
azarsuerte for creating an amazing set of credits.
Show Premise
History and time are fluid, easily subject to manipulation. A secret group, known simply as ‘The Organization’, stands ready from the shadows to preserve the timeline in its true form and has done so for many years. However, there are those who are not so noble in their intentions and work to exploit time and history for their own mysterious and sinister gain.
A war for control over time and space is about to begin, and the fighters are those that history has pitied or forgotten…
Historica Opening Credits, by
azarsuerte
Historica Character Bible
Episode One: Mantle
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 1796, evening
The middle-aged gentleman stood at the windows of his office, staring out at the dimly-lit city before him. For nearly eight years, he had served as this infant nation’s leader; for many years before that, he had served as ably as he knew how in the form of a soldier, seeking to bring liberty and justice where his people had been denied it. He was weary, and longed for the simple pleasures of his home, of his beloved wife and children-in-law.
He turned to the other occupant of the room and stared at him silently. He had known this man for some time, who had been a presence throughout his life, and while he did not pretend to understand the complexities that made up the man’s existence, he deeply trusted him and his opinions, trusted that he would be honest and not simply say what he wished to hear.
“You truly think it for the best?” he asked quietly.
“Indeed I do, sir,” the other man answered, his features shadowed by the hooded cloak he wore even in the indoors. His accent was faintly British, but he felt no alarm, no mistrust of it. “It will set a good precedent for those that follow you, discourage them from staying in power for too long.” A pause, and then he added, “You have done more than anyone can possibly ask for, sir. It is time for you to rest now.”
He nodded slowly, relieved to hear the words he had kept inside of him for so long spoken aloud by someone else. “Then it is settled,” he said. “I will resign the presidency.” He paused, and his lips pursed slightly in disapproval. “Though such a move will most certainly cause political factions to form to fight each other for the vacant spot.”
“Such is the fact of any government, sir,” the other man responded. “Those with differing philosophies and opinions will seek out those of like mind and gather together into groups. There is no stopping it, and truly, do you wish to? Is that not one of this country’s basic rights, to gather together in common cause and speak freely?”
The older gentleman sighed and nodded, conceding the point. “I will begin informing all of the necessaries tomorrow morning, then. Thank you for your contribution.”
“I am honored to be of any assistance to you, sir.” The other man stood up and bowed slightly at the waist. “I will take my leave of you for the evening.”
He had just reached the door when the President called out softly from behind him, “Will we meet again?”
The man didn’t respond at first, nor did he turn around. Finally, after several moments of silence, he said, “Who can say what the future brings?” He then slipped out of the room without another word, leaving President George Washington to begin drafting preparations to leave office after two terms as the first President of the United States.
The man moved quietly throughout the building, slipping past the guards and any other occupants with ease. Once outside, he darted into a dark alleyway and pulled something out from within his cloak.
“This is Shrewsbury. Initiate retrieval protocol. Mission accomplished.”
“Copy that.”
No one was present to see the man vanish from the alley in a haze of light.
Athens, Ohio, present day, morning
It was Monday, an irritating fact in and of itself. Students, after all, were not the only ones who hated Mondays. Professors despised them as well. This particular annoyance wasn’t helped by the fact that the weather was also lousy, even for January. There had been heavy snowfall the night before and while the roads had been cleared by the city’s snow-ploughs, there was still plenty of slippery debris just waiting to trip up any unsuspecting passerby.
Abigail Wesley juggled her briefcase, keys, and cup of coffee in her hands as she approached the Bentley Hall Annex, which housed several departments of the College of Arts and Sciences. Managing to slip the heavy door open a few inches, she pushed it open further with her foot so as to allow her to slip into the warm lobby of the building. She walked carefully over to the elevator, mindful of the slippery tiles beneath her feet, and bumped the button with her elbow. The doors opened slowly, and she entered, pushing the appropriate button.
The doors closed again, allowing the elevator to begin its jerky and slow ascent. It moved past the second floor - the psychology department - and then the third - political science - before coming to a jarring stop at the fourth floor. Stepping out, Abigail immediately spotted the young woman sitting in one of the plush chairs set up in the tiny area that worked as the department’s lobby. The woman was running her hand through her shoulder-length red tresses and she stood up to meet her.
“Morning, Elaine,” Abigail greeted her teaching assistant. “Good weekend?” she asked as they started down the hallway towards Abigail’s office.
“It was all right,” Elaine answered. “Spent Saturday with Will’s parents in Columbus.” She rolled her brown eyes. “That’s always fun, listening to Mrs. B talk about her cats and Mr. B about pro football. I did a bit of grading yesterday on the papers for your three-twenty-four-A class. I should have those finished and recorded by the end of the week.”
“Great, thanks,” Abigail said as she started juggling everything except her keys into one hand. When she almost dropped her coffee, Elaine sighed and finally took the keys from her and unlocked the door herself. “Thank you,” Abigail said, a little sheepishly, as they entered the office.
The little room was the same size as most of the other offices on the floor, and as such, was chock full of furniture, books, and papers. The desk ran along the wall from the back to nearly the front, curving around about three feet away from the front. There were two chairs just in front of the desk, with two bookshelves pushed against the wall next to the door and against the same wall as the desk. The opposite wall had two other bookshelves - also packed full like the others - as well as a small table that had a printer and a set of shelves that held everything from printer paper to pins.
Abigail moved behind her desk and sat her coffee and briefcase down on it. While she shrugged off her coat and settled it onto the back of her chair, Elaine sat her own things down around one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk before sitting in it herself. Once Abigail herself was seated, she flipped open her handbook to that week, saying, “I need to put together the midterm essay questions and have them up on the class webpage by Friday evening. That’ll give the kids the weekend to go over them in time for the midterm on Monday.”
Elaine nodded. “That’s fine. I should have the papers finished by then, so you can mention in the email that the papers will be sitting in the paper box outside your office.”
Abigail made a note in the handbook. “Right. Oh, and Doctor Clark will be here in a few hours.” She glanced at Elaine, a smile curving over her lips. “Excited?”
Her teaching assistant laughed. “Who in the class isn’t? We’re all getting to meet the guy who’s provided the best and most thorough coverage of the War of the Roses in decades.” Elaine grinned. “Trust me, the entire class is drooling. No one’s going to be skipping today.”
The professor laughed quietly. “We’ll see.” She took a sip of her coffee, and then continued. “Ben will be parking in Baker Center and he’ll meet me in the main foyer. The department’s released a small amount of money for me to treat him to dinner after class, so I won’t be having office hours after the lecture. I need to put out an email about that.”
“I can do that,” Elaine volunteered as she stood up to leave, no doubt intending to go to her own office, located on the ground floor of the Annex.
“Thanks.”
New York City, present day, afternoon
The view of the skyline was as beautiful as it ever was. It never ceased to amaze him, the amazing innovations that allowed man to create buildings so high up from the ground.
“Are they in place?” a voice asked from the other side of the room, female.
“Yes,” he answered. “They could take him out at any time -”
“Tonight,” she cut him off. “After the lecture. No need to create a situation where multiple students could be hurt. I want this quick and clean.”
He turned away from the view and smirked towards her. “Your concern for the wellbeing of others is lovely. Especially considering that you’re arranging an assassination.”
She did not turn in his direction, instead keeping her desk chair turned away towards the video-feed that was being fed into the screen behind her. He himself turned his gaze to the screen as well, watching the front of a building called Baker Center play out across it. Students, professors, and administrators alike all milled around, some walking past the building, some going in, and some coming out.
“Let them enjoy their lives,” she murmured. “The less they understand about what we are doing, the less painful it will be for everyone.”
Athens, Ohio, present day, evening
Baker Center was only a few years old, the construction having begun in 2004. The university had opened the place in 2006, though it had not been quite complete at that point in time. The old student center had been located some two blocks away, just off of Court Street. The new building was much bigger, with six floors full of offices, conference rooms, study areas, a large cafeteria, restaurant, gift shop, and coffee shop. Built in the old riverbed of the Hocking River, it provided for an easy method of traveling from the South and West Greens to the College Green and Court Street amenities, cutting down on traveling time between classes if nothing else. The place was immediately popular with the university community, becoming a regular hangout for students, whether it was for studying, meeting with friends, or other activities.
It was also a great and convenient spot to meet someone. With its large car garage for visitor parking, a guest had only to ride up the escalators and would be just across the street from the College Green, where the university’s president and senior administrative offices were located. Very easily a guest could be met by a representative or guide and led to wherever they needed to go.
Which was what Abigail was doing now. Her graduate class began at six, and it was currently five-thirty. Elaine had already gone ahead to the classroom in Bentley Hall to set up the computer, so that Doctor Clark could easily pull up his lecture slides for the students to follow. That left Abigail to meet the doctor to escort him to Bentley.
She stood in the large, round foyer, leaning against the railing that stood between the two escalators and watching. Several people were coming and going - students returning to their dorms after a day of classes or hurrying to their evening classes, professors and other university employees going to find their cars to go home after a hard day’s work.
Peering down towards the other entrance to the building, Abigail eventually saw an elderly gentleman appear from out of sight and step onto the escalators. She had never met Doctor Clark in person, but she had exchanged frequent emails and other correspondence with him, and had seen the photo provided on his book jackets. That was him.
When he finally came to the top of the last escalator, Abigail stepped forward. “Doctor Clark?” she said questioningly.
He turned to her and nodded. “Doctor Wesley, I presume,” he returned in a thick Scottish accent. He held out his hand to her, a gesture that she immediately returned, shaking it.
“If you’ll come this way, we can go straight to Bentley,” Abigail told him. “Unless you’d like to get something from the coffee shop?”
Doctor Clark shook his head and nodded toward the thick briefcase that he carried with him. “I brought water with me, but thank you.”
The short trip from Baker Center to Bentley Hall was spent in conversation about mutual acquaintances and colleagues, though Abigail made sure to mention that she would be treating him to dinner afterward. “Courtesy of the history department,” she explained.
“That sounds lovely,” he replied.
They rode the notoriously jerky elevator up to the third floor of Bentley Hall and walked inside of the large lecture hall. Abigail quickly glanced around and nearly laughed out loud. Elaine had been right. No one seemed to be skipping class tonight. Nearly every seat was full tonight, possibly even fuller than it should be. Who knew? Perhaps friends of her students had snuck in. Abigail didn’t bother taking attendance in her classes, so she turned a blind eye to it.
She led Doctor Clark up to the front of the classroom, where Elaine was waiting. The graduate assistant smiled welcomingly at Doctor Clark and began giving him a basic tutorial on how the computer system worked. Once he had everything in hand, both Abigail and Elaine began to move to their seats in the back of the room, which Elaine had reserved for them before the students had even begun to arrive. As they walked to the back of the room, whisperings from some of the students reached Abigail’s ears.
“Wow, it’s really him!”
“You think he’ll tell us about the Princes in the Tower? Or Richard III?”
“This is so cool!”
Abigail smothered a laugh as she took her seat and waited for Doctor Clark to begin. The older man stepped up to the podium, the clicker in his hands and he nodded to Elaine, who had gone to the light switches by the door. She immediately flipped one of the switches and the light in the front turned off, allowing everyone seated an even better view of the first slide.
THE WAR OF THE ROSES
A Family Affair on an International Scale
Doctor Benjamin Clark
President Street was decently lit by streetlights, but there were still plenty of shadows created by the various buildings. It was easy to hide in them, if a person wore the right clothing and applied the right cosmetics where necessary.
“How long?”
“Class ends at eight. Orders are to follow the target and get him with the least amount of collateral damage possible.”
“We could get him the moment he comes out of the building.”
“The boss said not to do it with a bunch of students around. No unnecessary casualties.”
The shadows lengthened and went silent. The occasional passerby never noticed anything out of the ordinary.
“You have an interesting group of students,” Doctor Clark - no, he’d told her to call him Ben - informed Abigail over coffee some hours later.
The intervening hours since the end of the class had been pleasant ones. After Ben’s lecture had ended, there had been a question-and-answer session, allowing the students to inquire into more detail concerning the lecture. The questions had even led to more than one debate, something every professor dreamed of.
“They’ve been waiting with baited breath for weeks,” Abigail told him, “ever since I informed them that you’d be speaking to them.” She took a sip of her coffee, and then smiled at him over the rim. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many of my students’ faces light up.”
The older man nodded, chuckling. “That one young lady in particular,” he mentioned. “She was very enthused.”
“Charlotte Jenkins,” Abigail supplied. “She lives and breathes the time period. She’s already planning out her final paper to cover the usual suspects of who killed the Princes in the Tower. Wants to do her own analysis of the evidence.”
Something like amusement flickered across Ben’s face. “I’m sure it will be interesting,” he said.
The waitress arrived with their bill at that point, distracting Abigail as she paid for their meal. A few minutes later, she and Ben were walking out of the restaurant and down Court Street. The area, normally so busy and crowded at this time of night, was actually quite empty, lit only by street lamps and the lights in store window displays.
Abigail started asking about his latest book - something involving Henry IV and Richard II, as he had mentioned earlier - but she quickly saw that Ben appeared distracted. He kept glancing over his shoulder, and his eyes were darting from side to side.
Finally, she stopped trying to discuss the book. “Ben, is something -”
That was as far as she got when gunshots rang out. Abigail found herself on the ground so quickly that she didn’t even have time to scream.
Unknown location, present, unknown time
An alarm blasted through various hallways. Numerous people darted toward their stations.
“What is it?” A young woman demanded.
“Ben’s emergency beacon’s gone off. He’s on Court Street, Athens, Ohio,” a dark-haired man replied.
“On it!” She raced out of the room.
Athens, Ohio, present, night
Most people in his business knew him as John Swanson. It wasn’t his real name, but then, he really couldn’t recall going by his real name since he was a kid. Now, he was a highly paid professional, and he had been hired for a job. He meant to accomplish it.
He peered through the scope on his sniper rifle. Taking shots at a target in the dark was hardly an easy thing, even when the target was on a decently lit street. He could see the two figures down there, on the ground. The first was the woman, the professor who had invited the target to the university in the first place. His employer had ordered that no one else be harmed as he carried out his duties, hence why he and his men had not opened fire when the target had left the lecture hall - the man had been surrounded by a pack of students.
Not so now. Now, the target was on the ground, a dark stain spreading over his front. Someone had made a hit, then. He raised his rifle, ready to take the final shot and finish the job -
John Swanson suddenly slumped forward, the back of his head nothing but crushed, bloody matter. The rest of his team quickly ended up in the same position, never knowing what hit them.
It took several moments for Abigail to realize that the gunshots had stopped. Cautiously, she lifted her face up from the pavement and peered at her surroundings. The street was still deserted, and no lights had popped on in the nearby buildings. No one seemed inclined to rush out and see what was going on, though she imagined that someone in one of the apartments on the second floors of those buildings had made a frantic call to the police by now.
Abigail’s eyes swept over the area again, looking for the possible source of the gunshots, but then stopped upon a slim figure kneeling over someone slumped on the ground, just a few feet away. The figure on the sidewalk wasn’t moving, but Abigail recognized the brown suit in the harsh streetlights.
Ben.
Abigail gasped. Pushing herself to her feet and ignoring the stinging pain in her hands, she darted over to them. Almost immediately, she spotted the blood on his torso. “Oh my God…”
The other figure, a blonde woman dressed head to toe in black leather, looked up at her sharply. “Oh shit,” she muttered, her right hand going up to the radio in her ear. “Wesley’s conscious. She’s seen everything.”
The radio crackled faintly, but Abigail could not hear what the response was. The woman’s lips pursed, clearly displeased with what she was hearing. “Are you sure?” she asked. “This could cause a lot of problems.”
Abigail looked away from her, uncomprehending of what had just happened. Ben had been shot, for God’s sake, and this woman had appeared out of nowhere. What was going on?
“Fine,” the other woman said, sounding rather petulant. She reached inside of her leather coat and pulled a tiny device out. Placing it on Ben’s chest, she tapped it with a single finger and stated, “Activate.”
Immediately, sparkling blue and white lights appeared and engulfed Ben’s unmoving form. After a brief, timeless moment, he was gone.
Abigail’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck?!” she choked, not noticing or even caring that she sounded like some of her more uncouth undergrads. “Where did he - how - what -”
“No time,” the other woman said briskly, standing up and revealing herself to be taller than she had first appeared. Abigail didn’t have time to do more than blink when she stepped close to her and grasped her arm in a firm grip.
“Initiate retrieval protocol.”
When the police arrived a few minutes later, there was nothing there for them to find.
New York City, present day, night
She could stand the waiting no longer. Glaring now at the view of the night skyline, she looked towards him. “Has there been any word?”
His voice was distinctly irritated. “Not in the five minutes since you last asked.” His green eyes glinted in the dim light of her desk lamp. “I thought someone of your position would be accustomed to having patience.”
She glared at him. “I am ‘accustomed’, as you so quaintly put it, to competence. If your hired mercenaries,” her tone gave away his disgust for the term, “have botched this task -”
“These men are the best in the business,” he cut her off. “I’ve no doubt that they’ll succeed.” He gave her a warning look. “And I would mind your tone, Eva. Mercenaries have helped to win pivotal battles for centuries. My own father -”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she snapped, rolling his eyes. “Your father did everything perfectly. Except, of course,” she sneered, “he did not bother to dissolve a pre-contract with a woman before he -”
“No need to go through my father’s marital woes with me,” he interrupted, now sounding amused. “I’m very aware of my father’s failings and stupidity when it came to a pretty face. Let’s just concentrate on the moment. I’m sure we’ll hear of the results of Swanson’s mission in due time. Be patient.”
She bowed mockingly to him. “As you command, your Highness.”
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.
Unknown location, present, unknown time
Abigail had been running on autopilot for some time, completely in shock. She had allowed herself to be led away from the young woman who had made Ben vanish of all things and had somehow brought her to a strange place. Of course, her blasé attitude could have had something to do with whatever they had injected her with upon arrival, when she had been shrieking and demanding answers. Ever since then, she had felt like what her parents had described as their very existence in the ‘sixties.
She sat in some kind of infirmary or hospital area, on an examination table, with a nurse at her side, jotting down various things as Abigail answered her questions. Finally, after the nurse finished her writing, she looked at Abigail and said smilingly, “You’ll be just fine, Doctor Wesley. You weren’t hit at all, and your body has acclimated very well to the changes of being outside of space-time.”
Abigail blinked. “Outside of what?”
The nurse didn’t respond, but was instead interrupted by the curtain being pushed aside. Had she not been so calm, she might have jumped at this sudden appearance of a new person.
It was a young man, probably not more than a few years older than herself, and one she vaguely recognized from her arrival. He had been speaking in a rapid-fire conversation with the blonde woman, and had taken little notice of Abigail’s presence aside from a brief glance before she had been led away by one of the nurses.
“Joan,” he said by way of greeting. The nurse smiled in return, and Abigail thought she saw the young woman’s cheeks grow a little pink. “Is she clear?” he asked.
Joan nodded vigorously. “Yes sir. Just as I was telling Doctor Wesley here, her body’s shown no signs of rejecting the changes -”
“Good,” he said briskly. “I’ll get her out of your hair then.” He gestured for Abigail to come with him. Abigail felt distantly surprised by her immediate obedience as she hopped down off of the examination table. She followed him out of the infirmary, though they passed by a closed door that had a sign on it, denoting the rooms beyond as the ‘Emergency Ward.’
“Is Ben all right?” she asked as they walked.
“Too soon to tell,” he replied, not looking at her. He led her through a series of corridors, before finally stopping in front of a particular door. Opening it, he showed her into a large, handsome bedroom. “Rest here,” he told her. He pointed to a door off to their right. “There’s the washroom. Everything will be explained in the morning.”
Then just like that, he was gone, closing the door firmly behind him. Abigail blinked at his abruptness, but shrugged. She went into the bathroom and much to her surprise, found towels, as well as a change of clothing, waiting for her. She ran herself through the shower, changed, and collapsed on the bed soon after, and fell asleep almost immediately, still feeling as though she was floating through life.
Richard walked into the control room after leaving Wesley in her quarters. “Agent Bourbon ready?” he asked one of the technicians.
The technician nodded. “He’s on the transporter pad, Agent Shrewsbury.”
He nodded and continued on through the room, and into the next. A slightly younger man with blond hair and blue eyes dressed in early nineteenth century clothing turned toward him. “Richard?” he said inquiringly.
“Charles,” he replied, nodding to him. “Are you set?”
Charles nodded. “His Majesty won’t even know that he has someone watching his food and drink for poisons. He’ll make it until his niece reaches the age of eighteen, just as he needs to.” The younger man eyed Richard in concern. “Are you sure you want me to go now? I can postpone the mission until we know what’s going on with Ben -”
Richard opened his mouth to decline the other man’s offer, but paused. They were in a middle of a huge crisis, it was true. Someone had attempted to assassinate the chief supervisor of the Organization, and his condition was touch and go at this point. Then there was the fact that they had a civilian to deal with within the next few hours in addition to figuring out who was out to kill Ben. He really could use the younger man’s help here, and Charles’ mission really was more recon and security than anything overly dangerous and urgent.
After a moment’s further consideration, he nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
The two powered down the transporter then and walked back into the control room. “Mark down the mission as postponed,” Richard ordered the technician. “In fact, order all agents in headquarters to stand down until further notice.”
“Yes, sir,” the technician said. “Should we contact the agents out on missions and have them abort?”
“How many are out?”
The technician tapped a few of the controls on the console. “Three,” he responded after a moment. “Agent Hikenov in Imperial Russia, 1917, Agent Simmons in Plantagenet France, 1189, and Agent Gibbons in New York, 1969.”
Richard paused, considering, and then glanced at Charles. The younger man shook his head. “I wouldn’t,” he advised. “All three are in high-risk time periods. Best let them finish their objectives and have them initiate the retrieval protocol on their own. But I would also maintain a heightened surveillance on them, just in case,” he added.
Richard nodded. “Agreed,” he said. He turned back to the technician and ordered, “Do it, and be sure to notify the agents of their new standby status.”
“Yes, Agent Shrewsbury.”
After that, Richard and Charles left the control room. “Are you going to the infirmary?” Charles asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” the younger man said. “I’m going to change. I’ll relieve you in a few hours?”
“Thanks.”
Ben felt as though his stomach and chest were on fire as he slowly came to consciousness. He groaned, only opening his eyes briefly before shutting them again against the harsh light around him.
“Hurts, does it?”
Ben forced himself to crack a single eye open and stare at the man beside him. “Richard…”
Richard nodded. “They just gave you some morphine,” he told him. “Should take hold in a few minutes.”
Ben nodded and closed his eye again. He searched his thoughts, trying to remember what had brought him to this kind of pain, pain he had not felt in years. Athens, the lecture, the dinner and coffee afterwards, walking, the shots -
“Abigail,” he said, looking up at Richard.
“She’s fine,” he assured him. “I put her in one of the guest quarters myself.”
“Does she know what’s going on?” Ben asked slowly.
Richard shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied. “The nurses put her on a mild sedative, to keep her calm.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’ll have worn off by the time she wakes up, and she’ll be coherent enough to understand what I’m saying to her.”
Ben nodded. “Good. PDA?”
Richard smirked. “Figured you’d ask for it.” He handed the device to Ben. “I’m supposed to tell the doctors when you awoke, so don’t start anything you can’t finish before we get back.” Richard slipped out of the room, leaving Ben alone.
Ben sighed, a little relieved, and turned the PDA on. Richard was right. He didn’t have much time.
Part Two
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