Jimi Twelvetrees (Part One)

Science Fiction / Western adventure

JIMI TWELVETREES

  He suspected that waiting rooms all over the galaxy were identical to this one. A twilight zone that all of us have to traverse sooner or later. The décor was functionally plain and there, on a low table, were the publications that nobody ever read. Even here, although taken up, the reader was too preoccupied with the reason he was there to digest any of it. And the other ‘waiters’ always had the same expression of frustration mixed with anticipation. At any given moment, he mused, there must be millions of people all over the world waiting for their lives to begin. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice: ‘Twelvert Rees please’ He was used to the mispronunciation of his name so he didn’t bother to correct the voices’ owner on the way in. His host greeted him in an extravagant avuncular language. He could tell immediately he was not liked. ’Ah, Mr. Twelvetrees is it? How nice to finally meet you’ 

‘And you, Dr. Sprokane, it’s nice to finally be here’

The doctor shifted awkwardly in his seat ‘ Yes, sorry for the delay but we have so many wishing to take advantage of our services. You are lucky you were recommended by an esteemed colleague here otherwise…’

‘Yes Miss Truly was very kind to help me with my application, she believes my motive to be scientific along with the desire to fulfill a long held ambition’

‘Some of my colleagues were a little confused by this, can you elaborate?’

‘My father, as you know, was an anthropologist with a great knowledge of, and love for, the planet Earth and its human inhabitants. He even went as far as renaming himself and our family in the style of the Native Americans he studied there - I suppose you could say he went native. Ever since childhood I’ve been steeped in Lakota culture and it has long been my ambition to go there and revisit where my father once was and continue his work. My motives, then, are a mixture of the personal and the scientific.’

‘Is your first name derived from…’

‘Yeah, Jimi Hendrix - I know that name is not to be mentioned here. One of your little mistakes?’

He clearly was unwise to mention the infamous incident. The Doctor straightened in his chair: ‘ It’s hardly our fault that a researcher forgot, or ignored, the rule about taking conscious enhancing drugs and believed himself to be human. And can we be blamed that our race is particularly adept at playing the electric guitar?’

Jimi could not suppress a smile which did not improve the doctor’s humour. 

‘I cannot understand why our own traditional names are not sufficient - all this obsession with human culture has gone too far’

‘You’re probably correct doctor but when am I to go?’

‘Let me see now, ah yes, we have a slot in three weeks’

Jimi let out a slow whistle ’That soon eh? Guess I better start packing’

‘You’ve passed all the physical and psychological tests and signed the disclaimer - all we ask is that you keep a low profile. Don’t make any movies or write any books will you?’ 

‘You mean like Gene Roddenberry?’

The doctor sighed heavily ‘We’ve had 27,023 successful transports but the only two that any one remembers are Hendrix and Roddenberry. The Klingons will never forgive us for the wrinkly foreheads - as if we are responsible for him creating a fiction out of our fact. Anyway no one on Earth believes those stories are true - except for an obscure sect called The Nerds’

‘Ok then doc, I’ll see you in three weeks’

He walked down the corridor and gradually the realisation that this thing was really going to happen started to pump up his heart rate. 

‘So Mr. Twelvetrees, how’d it go?

‘Ok, I guess, your Dr. Sprokane is a piece of work ain’t he? He’s got a real hard on for you Miss Truly’

‘You jealous Jimi?’

‘Nah, he’s not your type - he’s intelligent’

She punched him and he grabbed her, crushing her slightly, the way he knew she liked.

‘Looks like I’m  gone baby, that’s some crazy reality check’ 

She started to laugh.

‘What’s so funny Miss Truly?’

‘Oh, I was just imagining the look on Dr. Sprokane’s face if he knew why you were really going. To avenge your father and find your mother and, oh yes, the little matter of changing Earth’s history for ever’

Chapter 2

  Spotted Elk sat, almost entirely obscured by the smoke from his pipe, in his lodge thinking. His responsibility was great and he sometimes wished for the carefree days of his youth when the white man was still just a bogey man that frightened children. Now the news of the death of the great Sitting Bull weighed heavily on his heart. Was he to be next? And his people, were they to be murdered when he was gone? The prophet Wovoka had sent no word and he had began to wonder if he too was just another pretender. He would wait one more day and then he must tell his people that they would go south to join Red Cloud at the Pine Ridge Reservation. They would not dare murder such a great chief, who had been to Washington to see the White Father, and his people would be safe there. How he hated the reservation tobacco but he must smoke one more pipe - this was winter and he knew that not all of his people would survive the journey, including himself. A decision had been made. But where was the Great Spirit? 

                                                          ********************

  Susan Truly was getting domesticated. She had lived with Jimi for a couple of months now and was actually beginning to enjoy this simulated ’Human lifestyle’. He was almost entirely human in his character and emotions and she had been faking it until recently. But now she was ’getting it’ and would be reluctant to go back to indigenous cultural norms. The breakfast was underway when the telephone rang. She loved this retro culture and picked up the receiver: ’The Twelvetree residence, to whom am I speaking?’

‘Cut the crap girly and put the chief on’

Her heart sank, it was Gradski and with him it was always bad news.

‘Please hold the line, I’ll go and see if he’s awake’

He laid sprawled across the bed dreaming about her, she hoped.

‘Wakey, wakey, time to get up’

 He groaned.

‘That Gradski is on the phone - shall I tell him to crawl back under his stone?’

‘What, who? No, no I’ve gotta speak to him - I’ll be right down’

She resumed frying the eggs after informing Gradski that the Chief would be down in a moment. He came down and she could hear a muffled conversation. Was he keeping secrets from her? Why was he lowering his voice?

‘Morning Miss Truly - you sleep ok?’

‘Why must you call me that - what’s wrong with Susan?’

‘I just like the sound of Miss Truly. Where did you get that name anyway?’

‘Oh she was a character in a novel I read once, you know, one of those Femme Fatales’

‘Really, I didn’t know you read crime novels’

‘There’s a lot about me you don’t know and vice versa; for instance, how do you know that creep Gradski?’

‘Oh, he’s alright when you get to know him’

‘Not going to tell me then?’

‘We used to race together back in the day, you know, that illegal space racing stuff - satisfied?’

‘I guess, but I still don’t like him’

‘Give me eggs woman, I’ve got to meet him in an hour and you know I’m rubbish without your eggs in the morning’

  Damn that Gradski, he thought as he made his way to their meeting. He’s gonna blow the whole thing if he keeps up this cloak and dagger stuff. Still, if he’s got the gizmo this should be our last meeting. There he was, and yes, he was dressed like a mafia hood from the 30’s - god, what a twat! 

‘Hiya chief, want to buy a gun?’

‘Yeah I do and if you call me chief again you’re gonna be the first person I shoot’

‘Lighten up man, you sure got outa the wrong side of bed this morning’

Jimi couldn’t help laughing. ‘Where’d you get this stuff Gradski?’

‘Hey you’re a valued customer so I do my research. I know you like all that human talk’

‘You got it?’

‘Have I ever let you down? This baby will fabricate any weapon from Earth history - what was it again? An OK 47 or something?’

‘AK 47 - how many will it make?’

‘As many as you want - this thing is so charged up it’ll make thousands and create a whole lot of cheerleaders while its doing it’

‘Thanks man’ Jimi said with a seriousness that surprised Gradski.

‘Sure thing chief - sorry, I mean Jimi. We square now?’

‘You bet, just don’t make me have to save your life again - I got things to do. See ya’

He walked away knowing he would never see Gradski again. Maybe he’d never see anyone again. But first things first, he had to find a way to smuggle this thing with him to 19th century America for Spotted Elk.

Chapter Three

  As the humans say: ‘It was raining cats and dogs’ On Makossa the rain was pink - something to do with the copper in the hills. He drove slowly, didn’t want to get stopped by ‘the feds’ with what he had in the boot. Most of them just laughed at his Chevy, an outlandish ride compared with the silent soulless fusion boxes most people used for transport. Why cats and dogs? He’d have to ask someone when he got there. The fabricator looked like a small computer anyway so he didn’t have to disguise it too heavily. Just insulated some of the more incriminating circuitry and hoped they’d be distracted by his appearance. Dressed as a Lakota warrior he looked, according to Susan ‘like a prize fighter on the way to a fancy dress party’. She was not happy, accusing him of keeping secrets from her and only being with her to get on the programme. He knew she said most of this because she was frightened for him but she was right. He was not proud of using her but she had been convinced by his sorrow and anger that she must help him. The soldiers of the 7th Cavalry had murdered his father while he was trying to negotiate a better deal for Spotted Elk’s people. They said he had a gun but his father had never used one in his life. The people at the Travel Programme were told he’d had a heart attack - why his mother told them that was unclear to him. Perhaps she thought they would order her back if they knew the truth but would not order a widow to do anything after a ‘natural’ death. Where the hell was she? He had heard nothing for almost an entire year! If she too was dead he would make them pay - not just for his parents but for all the insults and massacres over the years. He didn’t care that the timeline would be changed, probably dramatically, and the results were unpredictable. The morality of playing god with another species’ life and times gave him no pause - look at what they had become. Two world wars, the Holocaust, Global Warming - the list of crimes was unending. Anything he did could not possibly make things any worse. Perhaps if he could help this culture he so loved survive then the Earth would be a better place? His first instinct on hearing the news of his father’s death was to ask the Programme to let him travel back to before the tragedy so that he could warn his father and so avert his death. But they believed it to be a natural death and would allow no interference with the timeline of our species because of the fear of unpredictable consequences to our culture generally. My visit could only occur post-mortem. He parked his Chevelle, giving it one last roar by flooring the accelerator. He would be replacing 500 horses with one soon. 

  Dr Sprokane greeted him and led the Lakota medicine man Twelvetrees to the embarkation centre. As he had hoped they only briefly examined his accessories, assuming the technology to be for use in his anthropological work. He was strapped into the pod and wished good luck in his adventure - it was all very everyday and perfunctory. He took a deep breath as the countdown elapsed and a buzz of technology took him surfing back into Earth history.

  The song of a bird of some sort greeted him as the pod door slid open automatically. Snow crunched under his uncertain foot falls. The scenery was breath taking. He was on a butte which overlooked the Cheyenne river. Down below he could just about make out figures within, what must be, the ‘Indian Reservation’ or concentration camp as Jimi thought of it. A tear slid down his cheek as he imagined his parents seeing this sight for the first time. Now all he had to do was convince Spotted Elk that he was an emissary from Wovoka with powerful ’medicine’ to defeat the ’white eyes’. His Lakota was good but would it be good enough? He had always wondered if he really was a brave man - that’s one question that would be quickly answered. Above all he must stop his people going south just yet. They must not enter wounded knee creek without the fire power he had brought. He was startled by a war cry and realized it was him!

 Chapter Four

  ‘How did you get in here - are you spirit or man?’

‘I am a man, Great Chief Spotted Elk. I come with a message from Wovoka’

Another person in the gloomy lodge moved into the fire light. ‘Shall I call for your braves father?’

Spotted Elk was not easily frightened and he shook his head: ‘How do I know you are not an evil spirit?’

‘My name is Twelvetrees, you knew my father’

‘You lie, Twelvetrees was a white man’

‘My mother is Lakota’

The Chief sat down and took up his pipe again: ‘I did not know Twelvetrees had a son with Two Moons’

‘I was taken away to be educated in the East’

He nodded for Jimi to sit: ’I loved them both, now speak Wovoka’s words’

‘Do not believe this stranger Father - he lies’

Looks Far’s eyes glinted with anger.

‘Forgive my daughter, son of Twelvetrees, she has no respect when men are talking. We live in troubled times’

‘You must judge me by what I tell you. Wovoka has had a vision and you must not go South until you have the powerful medicine that I bring’

‘I have told no one of my decision to go south - truly these are the prophet’s words’

‘Tomorrow send Short Bull and Kicking Bear to the Butte just north of here. I will be there to give them rifles that you have never seen before - they will defeat the wasicu’ 

‘Father do not let him talk of war, we are so few and another war will destroy us all’ 

‘I promise you that 100 braves with these rifles will be unbeatable - the Great Spirit has willed it so. If you do not fight you will all die at a place called Wounded Knee Creek where Custer’s men will get their revenge for the Little Big Horn’

Looks Far was about to speak again but the Chief raised his hand to quieten her. 

‘I know what is in the white man’s heart - Sitting Bull knew as well before they killed him. We will fight, but when and where?’

‘I leave that to you great Chief - I can tell you that the Seventh will be at Wounded Knee five days from now’

‘Will you smoke with me?’

‘I will but first I must know of my parents. My father was murdered but what has happened to my mother?’

‘My daughter knows of it - speak’

‘So a woman must speak now?’

Spotted Elk rolled his eyes in exasperation.

‘A man called Swearengen took her to Deadwood ‘

Jimi was dumbfounded: ‘Al Swearengen?’

‘You know this man?’

‘Kind of - what did he want my mother for?’

‘He believed she had something that belonged to him - that’s all I know’

‘Thank you - I will smoke now’

Jimi smoked and answered what questions he could but his mind was on Al Swearengen and Deadwood. He only knew of this man from a TV series that the humans had made in the early 21st century. From the portrayal he was glad he had brought his colt ‘peace maker’ with him. What could his mother have that Al would be interested in? He had looked forward to joining the fight at Wounded Knee but he must go immediately to Deadwood. He would show them how to use the Kalashnikovs and then head out. He wished he had practiced more with the revolver - he couldn't very well take a semi automatic rifle into town. This would be a test of his courage for sure. If he had to, he would kill - wouldn't he?

To be continued...

Author's Note

Any constructive criticism welcome. First attempt at fiction writing. It's incomplete and I will add chapters as I write them.

Reviews

[Jacob Clifford]

I agree with Nusquam. This story has an interesting concept, and the writing itself is able to hold my attention, but the story components feel a bit underdeveloped and come on too quickly. Slowing things down a bit and fleshing them out more would do wonders for this story. I do like the humor in the beginning, about the only people who believe in the Klingons being the "nerds".

[Nusquam Esse]

All right, I read your full story here, and first of all, it is an intriguing idea; I think the 'time-travel' western has a lot of potential. Unfortunately, there are numerous issues with this particular story, and the way that it was written that make it feel hodgepodged without flow. First of all, You jump around too much, and try to put too much into much too short of a story; you need to better flesh out the individual components, because you don't give the reader enough time to familiarize themselves with a segment before you are moving on to the next part. Furthermore, because of all the jumps, the whole story feels as I put it, hodgepodged; as if you took a bunch of unrelated ideas, and thinking they would make a good story, threw them together but without adequate planning and demonstrating how connected they were. This will not be the best example, but it is the best I can think of at the moment. When marinating meat for cooking, you need oil in your marinade. The reason for this is that it behaves as an 'intermediary' for the spices. It 'extracts' the 'essences' from the spices which you put in there, and in turn allows the meat to absorb them. Without the oil, the spices will only cling to the surface of the meat, and not throughout. This is more or less my impression of this story; it needs 'that oil' to allow your array of spices to penetrate beyond just 'the surface'. Alright, next issue... the dialogue. It is good, but with such long conversations between characters, you need some form of system to make the characters individually standout, so that the words feel like they are tied to people, and not just a floating abstract conversation. Obviously ending every sentence with "...", he said. will quickly bog down the conversations, so my recommendation is to go through, and see at what points of the conversation you can add in details about the surroundings and especially body language. It can be tricky, but it can help tie a conversation down to the people and the world they live in. After all, the words themselves are not all that matters, but also the way in which they are spoken. Even silence can convey amazing depth to a conversation. Time travel is a difficult genre to write, the further along you get, the more those small continuity issues glare out; I got about 400 pages into a historical fiction piece before I realized just how out of control the story was, and I scrapped the whole project. Try and recognize these issues early on, or else you will have to do multiple full rewrites. They develop complex plots and need to be approached meticulously, which while difficult, it better than getting ahead of yourself and finding that you have only made incoherent rubbish. Don't rush stories, especially complex ones.

[Tegon Maus]

I’m very impressed. My wife is native American and this story speaks to me in ways you can not imagine. I liked it very much. I couple of little things... your time line is a little confusing. Everything seems to float between the 1930's to the present. Give it some set points.

"Miss Truly did make really good eggs though." This didn't seem to fit where you placed it. As a personal thought about her it should have been placed earlier.

"The song of a bird of some" should be a new paragraph.

Also I think an AK 47 would not fit the story... the wrong weapon for the wrong time period. An AK 47 would point a finger at him and those who are killed by them would not die a “natural death” so they would seemly meet him on the butte and kill him as he stepped out. He would want repeaters. A relatively ‘new’ weapon for the mid- 1800’s but one that would turn the tide.

"A tear slithered down his cheek" The word "slithered" is the wrong imagery. It takes you out of the story.

All in all a good story with good motivation. You need to give Miss Truly something for the reader to care about other wise she is “character number 2” if you plan to keep her.

As a side note “raining cats and dogs” is from 14th century France... a glut of dead cats and dogs littered the streets and in a hard rain they floated away... “Raining cats and dogs”

[Wez Hardyn]

Thanks for the review - my first (I feared much worse). I agree with most of your points and was half aware of them upon rereading my first draft. I used an AK 47 because I thought it was closer to the tech of the 1890's than a machine gun of some sort and would be more accessible to the warriors. Timelines are always problematic in this kind of narrative but I think I've got a grip and all will be revealed! I also have big plans for Miss Truly.