A Second Sunrise: Taiwan of 2020 Sent Back to 1911

What would be a good name for the rewrite?

  • Children of Heaven

    Votes: 3 30.0%
  • A Hundred Years' Difference

    Votes: 6 60.0%
  • Sun and Stars

    Votes: 1 10.0%
  • The Second Sunrise

    Votes: 3 30.0%
  • (Just call it Second Sunrise but make sure nobody refers to it as "SS")

    Votes: 0 0.0%

  • Total voters
    10
  • Poll closed .
Chapter 83: All The Small (And Big) Things
Anti-Crypto Aktion Coffee, Palo Alto, California, 20 February 1939

("University Avenue," by Selena Rossi, Class of 1942)​

"Hey, you're sorta Catholic, right?"

Okay, that was the last thing Lin Chen expected to hear.

It wasn't so much that he was a practicing Catholic (Though he'd probably call himself lapsed at this point), but the fact that most people just didn't give a damn.

That said, there were two kinds of people who wanted to know if you were Catholic: Other Catholics, and people who really, really, didn't like Catholics.

"Eh, just baptized I guess," Lin said truthfully. After all, if said voice was the latter, he was pretty sure he could take them. And if it was the other reason... "You're not a missionary, are you?"

"Do I look like a missionary?" the punk rocker-looking woman asked him. "Name's Lena. I'm your classmate over at Stanford. At least I think I am."

"How does that work out?"

Please tell me this isn't some "All Asians Look Alike" thing.

"Because you look like your sister."

Oh.

Wait, does that mean that mean she thinks Morgan looks like a boy, or that I look like a girl?


"Yeah, that's me. What's up?"

"Just need some help with the notes, is all," she figured, before sitting down at his table. "Think you could help?"

"Sure," Lin figured. Not like Adrian or Jon are going to be back anytime soon. "What's up?"

"I keep getting the Tester movement and the Catholics all mixed up. They're pretty similar."

"You mean besides the fact that one of them's Protestant and the other is the Catholic Church?"

"Okay, smart-ass. I get that. My problem is that I keep mixing them up. Y'know, because they still have a lot in common?"

"I guess so." Truth be told, Lin was mostly going off of what he could remember off the top of his head. "So besides how the Catholics take orders from the Pope and the Testers are... well, everywhere."

"Yeah. Besides that."

"Okay, let's see..." Lin thought aloud. "The whole "Being Protestant" thing is kinda the big difference between the two. The Catholics are, I mean, the Catholics, and their big thing is that you have to be a good person to go to Heaven."

Okay, there's more than that, but it's not like we're getting tested on the Catechism.

"And the Protestants?"

"Sola Fide." Lena gave him a blank look. "It means 'Faith Alone.' Protestants generally believe that faith alone is all they need to be saved and go to Heaven."

"Sound like a cop-out."

"Yeah, well, Protestantism is what happens when the Catholic Church basically emotionally blackmailed people into giving them money."

"Okay," Lena said impatiently, "What does that have to do with the Testers, though?"

"I'm getting there," Lin promised. "Basically, the Testers believe that to go to Heaven, they have to demonstrate their faith in God by actively making the world like Heaven."

"So Jesus comes back?" Lin nodded to her. "Because of the Lord's Prayer, right?"

"Yup. 'Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.' That's basically the crux of Tester belief: That if they truly believe in God, they should make Heaven on Earth."

"Makes sense. And that's why they're against racism and for helping the poor, right?"

"Yeah, basically. They think that their interactions with others are a test from God."

"Which is where they get the name from." Lin nodded, and Lena got up. "Thanks, Lin!"

"The Hell was that about?" Lin looked up to see his teammate Jon bringing back their coffee. "Got your drink, man."

"Thanks. Classmate needed help with her history homework."

"Didn't know you were into that."

"My Mom's a history teacher, remember? Plus, we all have to do something when it's not baseball season."

"Video games."

"I meant something I'm good at."

"Harlem Globetrotters join Basketball Association of America," by John F. Kennedy, Sports Illustrated, March 1939


(Manager Abe Saperstein with several Globetrotters)​

The Basketball Association of America announced the fourteenth team to join their ranks with the addition of the barnstorming Harlem Globetrotters to their ranks.

The Globetrotters will play at Madison Square Garden, and their inclusion will be the first time the color barrier is broken in the BAA. Team owner Abe Saperstein has commented that the Globetrotters' membership is a "Milestone for basketball," followed a prediction that the rest of the BAA will soon follow suit in the following years.

"By having an all-white league," said Saperstein, "They're missing out on a whole lot of talent. And we're going to prove it to them, next season."

The teams will continue to be split evenly between the East and the West Divisions, with the Harlem Globetrotters joining the East Division alongside the Philadelphia Warriors, Boston Celtics, New York Knicks, Toronto Huskies, Washington Capitols, and the Providence Steamrollers, while the Western Division will consist of the Chicago Bulls, St. Louis Bombers, Cleveland Cavaliers, Detroit Falcons, Pittsburgh Ironmen, Indianapolis Jets, and the newly-formed Minneapolis Lakers.

The BAA will continue to use its current playoff system in which the top two teams of each division play a best-of-seven series against one another. The winner of each semifinal series will compete in a best-of-seven series for the BAA Championship.

The BAA is the first professional basketball league in the United States, and its eleven-team roster that has expanded with the league's popularity.

"Supreme Court Rules State of Mississippi Mind Their Own Fucking Business," The Onion, April 1939


(Chief Justice Louis Brandeis)​

In a stunning 6-3 decision, the Supreme Court has ruled that any and all laws against sodomy and homosexual acts are unconstitutional under the Right of Privacy Amendment.

"It is our belief," said Chief Justice Louis Brandeis, "That as long as laws that do not violate the privacy of Americans are otherwise being followed, laws that do not mind their own fucking business are an invasion of privacy and therefore unconstitutional.

Civil rights groups have hailed this as a victory not just for the LGBT+ community, but all Americans who are in favor of the state and federal government minding their own fucking business and leaving them the Hell alone.

Nouakchott International Airport, Nouakchott, French Mauritania, 4 May 1939


(Nouakchott International Airport Terminal)​

"Are you sure about this?" Corporal Antoine Reval asked over the radio as he got off the Blackhawk, "I get that we're partners in this, but are the Chinese going to be able to keep up with us?"

"We'll hold our own," the Chinese officer promised in accented French. One that Antoine didn't know he could speak. "Besides, we've worked with you guys before, back during the insurrection."

"No offense," Antoine apologized. The Chinese officer nodded politely. "And for what it's worth, it's good to have more manpower and resources out here to help out. We need all the help we can get in the desert, and Europe's still Priority One for manpower and resources compared to the sandbox."

It wasn't as if they were bad at their job. If anything, Antoine and the rest of his team could pride themselves on the number of slaves they've freed over the last few years.

The problem is that there were only so many of us, and the Sahara is a fucking large place to patrol.

All the legal reforms, cut red tape, and the Caliph outright condemning slavery wasn't enough when slavers could hide in plain sight because they lived in the ass-end of nowhere.


The Chinese officer... Antoine could've sworn his name was "Zhou," or something, looked at him oddly. "I thought it was mostly quiet, these days."

"I mean, yeah, it is. But the reason it's so calm is because most of the intel and manpower's focused on maintaining stability instead of down here, chasing down slavers."

"I see..." Zhou mused, while they walked past planes of Russians and Japanese unloading their gear. "Then it's a good thing we weren't the only ones who answered the call."

Ufa, Orenburg Governate, Russian Empire, 20 June 1939


(Ufa Skyline)​

"Approaching target," Lieutenant Kuznetsov told his commander over the radio. "Spotted two hostiles by the door. Armed with pistols."

"Moving to engage," Captain Dimitry Medvedev answered. Two audible puffs were followed by two audible thuds once the Black Hundreds fell to the ground. "Move around to the back of the warehouse, Nikolai Ivanovich."

"Alfa 2-1 copies. Moving to destination."

Was it unfair that he and his men had night vision goggles and had sabotaged the fuse box? Probably.

Was he going to complain? No.

Not when surveillance had shown that there were about two dozen Black Hundreds in the building.

"Room clear," he said over the mic, before moving to the door. "Form up on the door."

The rest of it... it was like clockwork. The Spetsnaz team he'd been a part of had been training for over a week on the warehouse, to the point that he and his squad could probably run through the place with their eyes closed.

Scratch that. They had gone through the mock-up with their eyes closed for shits and giggles one night, and it actually worked.

It helped that everyone was declared hostile. While this would normally be an issue, the reality was that this seemingly-abandoned warehouse had people coming in and out on a weekly basis who weren't homeless people.

So they went, clearing out office after office until all that remained was the warehouse itself.

"Alfa 4-1, in position."

"Alfa 2-1, at the position."

"Alfa 3-1, in position and ready."

"Alfa 1-1 copies all," Captain Medvedev spoke through the radio. "Looks like our tip was good. Move in and neutralize the targets. We have positive ID on General Sakharov."

"Orders for the HVI?" asked Kuznetsov. "Sakharov still has friends over in Saint Petersburg."

"Alive, if possible," the Captain instructed, "But I'm not trading men for traitors."

Stanford Cardinals Celebrate College World Series Win, The Stanford Daily, 6 July 1939


(Fenway Park, host of the 1939 College World Series)​

Palo Alto celebrates as the hometown Stanford Cardinals return from Boston to celebrate last month's victory in Boston.

While the season had gotten off to a rocky start, the addition of the hard-hitting left fielder Jon Dowd, quick-footed first-baseman Adrian Friese, and the two-way threat Lin Chen provided a one-two-three punch that sent Stanford back to Regionals in the 4th seed.

Although the Cardinals lost the Regional opener against UC Berkeley, they would get their payback with a walkoff homerun from Dowd during the Regional Final, followed by a sweep of the UC Davis Aggies in the Super Regionals.

The Cardinals would see continued success at the College World Series in Boston, where Chen, Friese, and Dowd combined for two homers and a triple in the 3-1 victory in Game 1, followed by a shutout and the game-winning RBI from the Chinese-American Freshman to cap off game two.

"It's a team effort," said Chen after their two-game victory. "We can talk about Great Men and all that [Redacted], but baseball's a team sport. And we have a pretty [Redacted] good team this year."

Coach Johnny Paige also made history this year as the first African-American coach to win the College World Series.

"I've always felt like I had to prove myself when I was playing," said Coach Paige, "And that's the same kind of thinking that got these young men to push themselves to the top."

Hardware Warehouse, Mexico City, United States of Mexico, 20 August 1939


(Stack of PVC pipes, Mexico City, c. 1940)​

"We're really replacing everything, aren't we?" Asked Alejandro Rojas. Then again, the fact they were ripping out every pipe they could get their hands on was all the proof he needed.

That, and the how they were currently buying them in bulk.

"Remind me, are we really going to tear out every single copper and lead pipe and replace them with PVC?"

"You're damned right we are," his father (who was also known as Alejandro Rojas), agreed. "You see this crap on the inside?"

"Yeah." Even if he wished he hadn't. "I get it. Lead and copper corrode. Plastic doesn't."

"Oil is also cheaper, these days," said the elder Alejandro Rojas, "Which means plastic is also cheaper."

That made enough sense for the apprentice plumber. Ever since everyone transitioned to EVs and public transportation, the demand for petroleum effectively cratered.

Alejandro wasn't an economist, but he didn't need to be one to know that something's going to be a Hell of a lot cheaper if half the world stopped using it because alternatives were cheaper.

He also didn't need to be an economist to know that just because people stopped using so much gasoline didn't mean they would stop pumping crude oil. Not when crude oil was needed to make all the PVC pipes he'd been installing.

Not that he minded. Cheaper PVC meant more jobs, and more jobs meant he and his brother (who thankfully wasn't also named Alejandro) would be able to continue the family business.

"The Metaverse of Things," by People Play Games, YouTube.com, 14 September 1939


(Thumbnail of video on YouTube)​

CHRIS QUINN: "What if I told you that there's a place where we could have Fully Automated Luxury Gay (Or straight or bi, if you're into that) Space Socialism right now?

QUINN: What it I told you that there is a metaverse that isn't run by weirdo techbros who seem to be obsessed with monetizing everything, ever since cryptocurrency never took off?

QUINN: And what if I told you that those two places were the exact same thing? Because it is.

QUINN: Welcome to the world of VR Chat Metaverse (or "VR Metaverse" for short), a world built on abandonware over the last two decades into a sort of Ship of Theseus that might not even have that much original code after all the improvements over those last twenty-something years.

QUINN: This? This is the real Metaverse, where you are truly free from all the capitalism and microtransactions that the techbros keep trying to shove into almost everything they make.

QUINN: So we here at PPG decided to go in-depth into the real Metaverse, where we interviewed developers, users, and recorded more footage than we honestly know what to do with. So, let's begin.

(Scene cuts to a woman in an Italian game development studio)

DANIELA CLEMENTI: My name is Daniela Clementi, and I used to be one of the software engineers who help keep the VR Metaverse running.

CLEMENTI: One of the things that drew me to VR Metaverse is how there really isn't any real sense of scarcity. In the Real World, there are finite amounts of… everything, if we're being honest: Food, Shelter, Products, and Resources.

CLEMENTI: That isn't really a thing in the Metaverse. Sure, you need to have servers to keep everything running, but partnerships with the French, German, and Italian governments helps keep the lights on and the Metaverse free.

QUINN: Could you tell us about that? How did that come to be?

CLEMENTI: Sure. The official reason is that this is funding for the arts. But if you ask me, a big reason why so many Socialist governments back this project is because it's the first society that can truly be free from capitalism and scarcity.

CLEMENTI: In the Metaverse, there really isn't a limit to resources or funds. It's a moneyless society because, well, there isn't really anything to spend money on when pretty much all content is free.

QUINN: Is that why several competitors to the VR Metaverse failed?

CLEMENTI: I think that's one of the reasons. When there is already something out there, the competitor needs to be better, and I don't really see how these alternatives accomplish that when VR Chat already exists.

QUINN: And the fact that it's free.

CLEMENTI: That too. VR headsets are much cheaper than they were two decades ago, but they aren't exactly cheap. And once you've bought your headset, your options are between VR Metaverse, where basically everything is free, and paid experiences like Cryptoland, where they seemingly try to nickel and dime you out of every last franc in your bank account.


(Concept art of Cryptoland)​

QUINN: I can see the appeal.

(Scene cuts back to Quinn in the studio)

QUINN: Ironically, these capitalist alternatives to the VR Metaverse make an argument against capitalism. While Metaverse content is largely free and open-source, the alternatives' inclusion of capitalism (in the form of microtransactions) creates a reality of artificial scarcity where it previously didn't exist.

QUINN: Or as some have begun to call it: Capitalism for the sake of Capitalism.

QUINN: Which begs the question: If there is a time and place where capitalism is unnecessary, then why have it in the first place?

"How Skateboarding Became Sidesurfing," The Birdman Magazine, October 1939


("Photo of People Sidesurfing," by Jan Kopriva)​

You all know what a sideboard is. Four wheels attached to a solid board is a simple design that's stood the test of time.

Literally.

No, seriously, the sideboard went back in time with the island of Taiwan, where it would first spread to China, then Asia, then the Americas.

Originally called the "skateboard" in the Lost History, it was first brought to the Americas in the mid-1910s. Its similarities to surfing saw its adoption by communities of surfers along the coasts.

Skateboarding, or the "Sidewalk Surfing," as it was called at first surfers, was originally an alternative for surfers when the waves were flat or the weather wasn't good. By the mid-1920s, the name would be shortened to "Sidesurfing," with the eponymous skateboard referred to as a "sideboard."

It was during this time that the sideboard, coupled with the re-discovery of the Punk genre of music, saw the two come together as symbols of the American counter-culture movement. If Punk music represented rebellion against the status quo, then the quick and maneuverable sideboard symbolized freedom from the status quo.


("Men Walking on Sidewalk," by RDNE)​

It was this intermarriage between Punk music and sidesurfing that led to the rapid rise in popularity not just among young white Americans (and we're talking about all the Americas here, not just the USA here), but minority groups as well. Then again, if white and black and brown kids and young adults hanging out together was the new counter-culture, then it was no surprise that those same folks started sidesurfing together.

Unfortunately, sidesurfing's role in the counter-culture quickly earned it some enemies from the more-conservative elements of American culture. Even if it's been over a decade, a lot of the older sidesurfers still remember Charles Coughlin's passionate sermon condemning the sport as a hotbed for sin, vice, and degeneracy.

If anything, this did more to propel sidesurfing into the mainstream than anything else. What had once been an "underground" kind of movement was quickly gaining popularity and entering the mainstream.

Because when old, conservative people say something is bad or immoral, it automatically becomes 100% cooler. Sidesurfing is no exception.

It was at this point, circa 1930, that sidesurfing had its first big split.

Now, this wasn't some big schism or anything, but there tend to be two kinda of sidesurfers these days: Casuals and Nomads.

As the name implies, Casual sidesurfers tend to use the sideboard as a means of transportation, though you'll see them do a few tricks. Odds are they'll probably listen to Punk music, too, but fans of Punk aren't necessarily sidesurfers and vice-versa.

Nomad sidesurfers are the kind that'll go "all-in" with the subculture. Sure, they'll use their boards to get around, and they can do more than a few tricks, but they see sidesurfing as a way of life.

We're talking people who tend to be laid-back, with absolute freedom from the status quo on their minds. Folks that'll exercise their freedoms in their daily lives and go against the grain.

And no, I'm not talking about those guys who use "freedom" as an excuse to be a dick. Nomads practice a concept of "absolute freedom," and that includes freedom from things like oppression, just as much as freedom to do things, like live one's life.

There's a reason why you'll probably see at least one sidesurfer at every Civil Rights protest.

For Nomads, sidesurfing is an exercise of freedom, and freedom is a way of life. Whether it's freedom to love, freedom to marry, freedom from discrimination, or just the freedom to their lives, your average practicing Nomad sidesurfer is probably going to support it.

Conversely, if you're going around trying to enforce your own rules on people, they're probably going to call you an asshole at best.

No, seriously, freedom is sacred to these guys. If you go around trying to use freedom as an excuse to abuse others, there's a nonzero chance you'll get your ass kicked.

The Knights of the Golden Circle down in Orange County learned this the hard way when they tried to join up with the local Nomads.


("Picture of a Nomad Encampment," by Egor Komarov)​

And as their name implies, the really hardcore Nomads tend not to stay in one place. For them, freedom also means not getting too tied down by anything, and that means never really setting up roots.

This can take the form of drifting from place to place, either solo, or with a community of fellow Nomad boarders. Nomads'll usually band together, but they're willing to take on new members if they earn the group's trust.

Though contrary to popular belief, most Nomads don't literally board everywhere they go. In my experience, they're not above using public transportation or using roads when they start migrating.

Now, just because Nomad sidesurfers tend to be more hardcore about the lifestyle doesn't mean they'll start hating on the Casuals for not doing things like living as a Nomad. Sure, they'd like it if everyone embraced their vision freedom, but it kinda goes against the whole concept itself if you force it.

Either way, sidesurfing is here to stay, and it's come a long way in the last two decades.

#general, Somewhat-Credible-Defense Discord Server, 30 November 1939

FreeabooButNotRacist
Today at 00:30 AM

You know, Ethiopia's Civil War kinda reminded me of the Chinese Revolution.

NanjingNan Today at 00:31 AM

I mean no disrespect, Freeb, but one question:

HOW.

FreeabooButNotRacist
Today at 00:32 AM

Think about it like this, Nan: A society that's been taken advantage of by the European powers throughout the 19th and early 20th centuries sees a revolution in which the reformists win.

NanjingNan Today at 00:33 AM

...

No.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:34 AM

Aw, c'mon. You see it, right?

NanjingNan Today at 00:35 AM

If you paint with a broad enough brush, I guess?

But there's just as many things that are different between the Tongmenghui and Hailie Selassie's forces as there are things they have in common.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:36 AM

You mean besides how one's a republic and the other's a monarchy.

ViveLeInternationale Today at 00:36 AM

That's a fairly large difference. While the Tongmenghui overthrew the Qing monarchy, Hailie Selassie holds himself up as the rightful successor to Empress Zewditu.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:37 AM

Didn't the Tongmenghui also argue that the Qing were an illegitimate ruling class and that they were restoring the rightful rule?

IsekaiEnthusiast11 Today at 00:37 AM

I mean, basically everyone does that when they're fighting a civil war.

NanjingNan Today at 00:38 AM

He's not wrong.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:37 AM

Yeah!

Wait, how did we on the same side on this one?

NanjingNan Today at 00:38 AM

In the sense that almost everyone declares themselves the "Rightful Ruler."

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:38 AM

Ah.

I'm talking more about the ideals, influences, and technologies though.

Both Hailie Selassie and Sun Yat-Sen were willing to embrace modern ideals, much to their benefit over their more-backwards-thinking (Can I call them that?) opponents.

NanjingNan Today at 00:39 AM

Then yes, there are similarities. Of course, we have to remember that while the Ethiopian Conservative Faction rejected outside ideals and training due to the potential threats of outside influence, the Qing were denied those ideals and training because Taiwan outright rejected them.

Also yeah, you should be fine.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:40 AM

Cool. Thanks.

And yeah, I guess that's a factor. Actually, that probably makes the Ethiopian Conservatives look worse, now that I think about it.

At least the Qing got curbstomped because their modernists refused to help them. Meanwhile the Conservatives refused the modernists because they thought they were a threat.

ViveLeInternationale Today at 00:41 AM

I think I can see where they're coming from, Freeb.

In the post-war world, we've seen massive social progress and upheaval. In less than a decade, China, France, and friends trained entirely new bureaucracies from scratch to serve as a viable alternative to colonial rule or a return to traditional forms of government.

That last part is probably why the Conservatives Ethiopians were less-welcoming to foreign advisors and trainers than the Reformist like Hailie Selassie. When the people offering to help you are the biggest threat to your power, you'd want to keep them at arm's length.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:40 AM

Their loss.

ViveLeInternationale Today at 00:41 AM

Literally, in this case.

I don't think I've ever seen a curbstomp that bad since my time in the Great War.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:42 AM

Didn't know you served, Viv.

ViveLeInternationale Today at 00:43 AM

"Served" is being generous. I drove a truck.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:44 AM

Hey, that counts as serving. God knows how I'd survive if we didn't have logistics.

NanjingNan Today at 00:45 AM

It's simple: You don't.

FreeabooButNotRacist Today at 00:45 AM

Yeah... that's kinda why Hailie Selassie's Emperor now and pushing reforms.

Well that, fighter jets, more tanks than they knew what to do with, and a literal mountain of 5.56 rounds.

"S10E1: Mormonism and Coming to America," Men, Myth, Misinfo: Starring Harry Houdini and HP Lovecraft


(Title Card of Men, Myth, Misinfo, showing hosts HP Lovecraft and Harry Houdini)​

HOUDINI: Alright, what do we have today?

LOVECRAFT: Mormonism.

HOUDINI: Ah. Exactly which part of it? The origins? The afterlife?

LOVECRAFT: It would be challenging to debunk the afterlife, now that you've driven most of the mediums out of business. No, today we will be discussing the Mormon claim that their prophet Lehi migrated to America in 600 BC.

HOUDINI: That... That is... certainly something.

LOVECRAFT: Indeed. According to the Mormons, Lehi and his family built a boat and sailed to the Americas under God's instructions, and they landed somewhere in Central America. In the Mormon theology, Lehi's son Laman rejected his father's teachings and persecuted his brothers Lehi and Samuel for their continued loyalty. Furthermore, the more-loyal Nephi would be chosen as Laman's successor.

HOUDINI: And as the eldest son, Laman would likely resent his brothers.

LOVECRAFT: Indeed. After Lehi's death and Nephi's rise, the colony in the Americas splits, with the righteous, at the time, followers of Nephi calling themselves "Nephites," and the followers of Laman and his brother Lemuel dubbed the "Lamanites." In response, God cursed the Lamanites for their rebellion by cutting them off from God's presence and, in their words, gave them a "Skin of Blackness," so as to not entice the Nephites.

HOUDINI: Which implies that the Lamanites are the ancestors of the Native Americans. And also implies some pretty terrible things about the Native Americans.

LOVECRAFT: Indeed. And the Lamanites would hate the Nephites, God's so-called chosen people, for centuries until the arrival of Jesus Christ to America.

HOUDINI: The what.

LOVECRAFT: Yes, it is as peculiar as it sounds. Jesus' time in America would coincide with the former Lamanites and Nephites reuniting into one people, until eighty-four years later when a second schism between Lamanites and Nephites occurred. This in turn would lead to another few centuries of internecine warfare between the two sides that had fallen into apostasy. The result of this conflict would be the outright annihilation of the Nephites by their once and former Lamanite kin while the latter would presumably go on to become the Native Americans of today.

HOUDINI: And that is it?

LOVECRAFT: Yes.

HOUDINI: Should this be found to be false, it would make for an interesting story. Now, how do you propose we analyze this?

LOVECRAFT: Seeing that the Mormons seem to believe that the Native Americans are the descendants of the Lamanites, we can analyze the genetics of Native Americans and compare them to Semitic peoples. Should the Book of Mormon be true, then the two peoples should be at least somewhat genetically similar.

HOUDINI: And the rest? Genetics is all well and good, but there should be some evidence of them in Central America... or any of the Americas.

LOVECRAFT: Indeed. Furthermore, we can compare what we do know about the stories' contemporaries to the stories themselves. Should the stories be true, then there should be few, if any inconsistencies with regard to the introduction of the horse, barley, wheat, the chariot, and true metallurgy.

HOUDINI: That is a tall order. And do you plan on us doing this all by ourselves, or do you have someone in mind to help us?

LOVECRAFT: That I do, Harry. This is John C. Ewers. Mr. Ewers is the Associate Curator of Ethnology at the Smithsonian Institution.


(Portrait of John C. Ewers)​

EWERS: Thank you for having me.

HOUDINI: The pleasure is all ours. Now, given your background in anthropology, what can you tell us about the Mormon historical claims?

EWERS: To put it bluntly... It's historically inaccurate in almost every sense. For starters, Native Americans have genetic markers in their DNA that indicate that their ancestors migrated to America. From Asia. Over the Bering Land Bridge.

HOUDINI: I see... And what about the introduction of the horses?

EWERS: The scientific consensus, which is based on almost every bit of credible archaeological and historical evidence we have, indicates that horses went extinct in the Americas thousands of years ago, only to be re-introduced thousands of years later in the 15th century by the Iberians.

LOVECRAFT: In short, the Book of Mormon's claims are not only debunked by genetic evidence, but the historical claims are also inconsistent with effectively everything else we currently know.

EWERS: Based on our current information, anyways. It is theoretically possible that the Mormons are actually correct, but there is not any credible evidence that supports their claims.

LOVECRAFT: At least not from archaeologists, anthropologists, and historians who don't already agree with them.

HOUDINI: That seems to be the case. So, would you say that this debunked?

LOVECRAFT: I would say so, yes.

HOUDINI: It seems that way. One more question, Dr. Ewers.

EWERS: Yes?

HOUDINI: You don't have any plans on going to Utah in the near-future, do you?

EWERS: No, I don't think so. Why?

HOUDINI: Because I don't think any of us are going to be welcome there, anytime soon.
 
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Chapter 84: Growth and Maturity
20 Km Outside Brookings, Oregon, United States of America, 11 January 1940


("Brookings Coast in Winter," by Joseph Hunkins)​

"Remind me," Selena Rossi breathed, before her boyfriend swung his axe once more. They'd been out here for half an hour, yet he'd barely made a dent in this tree. "Lin, why are you swinging your axe like a baseball bat?"

"Training. Plus, I need a new baseball bat, and you're the only person I know with woodworking skills."

"Sure looks like it," Lena answered with a smug grin. "Tell me something I don't know."

"My sister uses hairpins to put up her hair. Not chopsticks."

"Huh." Her word practically froze in the winter air. "I actually didn't know that."

"Yup," Lin grunted, before putting his axe down. "Your turn. Tell me something I don't know."

"For starters," his partner began, before picking up the axe, "You're supposed to swing down. Not at waist-level."

As if to add insult to injury, she even showed him the correct swing, before handing it back.

"Your turn, Lin."

"Axe or trivia?"

"Both."

"Alright then," he figured, before swinging the right way, this time. "My Dad rammed a barge into the beach during the Chinese Revolution."

"That's a new one," Lena figured, before getting a good eyeful of her partner. For critique on his form, obviously. "Which means it's my turn. Let's see... I grew up in a Mormon cult in Arizona."

"No shit?" Lin asked, though he kept pace with his swings. "You're not exactly the most religious type, you know?"

"I got out when I was ten. Feds raided the place once they got a tip that the Fundamentalist Mormons were working with the Klan. They found that, plus a whole cult full of people practicing child marriage."

"People practicing wh-"

"Next thing I know," the redhead continued, "my sperm donor's in Alcatraz for life, and I'm bouncing between foster homes around Phoenix while they tried to deprogram me."

"Jesus." No wonder you never told me that, Lena. "You seem to be doing better, though."

"Yeah, you could say that," Lena laughed, before leaning back against a tree. It wasn't so much a happy one when it sounded as cold as the winter air. "Even if Dad had to use his connections to get me in."

"Honestly," he huffed, before swinging his axe again, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Lin." Lena promised, and she even showed a tired smile to prove it. "I have a new family, and they're not a bunch of psychos who think that Black people are a representation of Satan."

"The fuck?"

"Cult, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, but still. They sound like assholes, and I kinda wish I could do something."

"Lin... They're in jail and I- I'm out here with you. That's enough for me."

"Thanks," he figured, before putting his axe down. He'd say more, but he didn't want to say anything stupid that'd ruin the moment. "So, there's really nothing you could want, is there?"

"Short of taking a detour to Alcatraz on our way back and telling the psycho cult leader I'm unfortunately related to I'm dating somebody who isn't white or Fundamentalist Mormon... Not much."

"You know..."

"Lin, no."

"But it would be funny!"

"Okay, maybe."

"Revenue From Environmental Tourism Surpasses Trophy Hunters," CapeTimes.com, 20 February 1940

It is that time of year again, and that means foreigners from all over the world have come to South Africa to view animals. What had started as a fledgling industry among foreign advisors and adventurers from Asia and the Americas has grown into one of the largest segments of the country's booming tourism sector over the last decade and a half.

This much is known to the locals of South Africa, who often make an outsized chunk of their revenue off of business with foreign tourists. Hotels, services, and entertainment all see an influx of tourist money come this time every year, and this summer is no exception.

What is less known, however, is that foreign tourism is expected to surpass that of trophy hunters for the first time in the nation's history.

While one can point to the new regulations on trophy hunters with regard to non-invasive and endangered species, the growth of the African tourism industry over the last ten to fifteen years has skyrocketed in comparison with the sale of hunting licenses and export tariffs on trophies. While licensed hunting is expected to serve a steadily-rising source of revenue and serve as a means of population control and combatting invasive species, the fact of the matter is that environmental tourism simply generates more revenue per year.

This phenomenon is part of a similar trend that has been happening throughout Southern and Central Africa, and South Africa is expected to be the first of many to come. Angola, Mozambique, and Zambia are expected to follow suit by the end of the decade, while the Congo, Kenya, the East African Union, and Uganda are likely to achieve a similar milestone by the end of the year.

Top 5 Travel Destinations You've NEVER HEARD OF", by The Wanderers, YouTube.com, 15 March 1940

NARRATOR: Shanghai, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Manila, Seoul, Moscow, and Los Angeles are all beautiful, but here are five hidden gems you might not have thought of travelling to.

NARRATOR: Number Five - West Virginia

NARRATOR: Once coal country, this Appalachian state has re-invented itself as an inland tourist paradise. From the mountains retreats to the raging rapids of the Gauley River, this state offers all sorts of biomes for all of you nature-lovers, campers, and hikers. And for any of you history-lovers, be sure to check out the John Brown Museum in Harper's Ferry and the Grave Creek burial mounds to get a firsthand account of West Virginia's surprisingly-rich history.

NARRATOR: Number Four - Port-Au-Prince, Haiti

NARRATOR: What had once been what you'd see in the dictionary next to the word, "Failed State," is one of the Caribbean's fastest growing economies. And with that prosperity has come a national renaissance that tourists can see firsthand. Travel to one of Haiti's beautiful beaches, or get a firsthand look at Haiti's unique art scene that combines African roots with American, European, and Indegeneous aesthetics. And be sure to try one of the Haitian patties that've taken over the Caribbean by storm these last few years.

NARRATOR: Number Three - Ishigaki, Taiwan

NARRATOR: Everybody's heard of Hawaii and Hainan, but Ishigaki is its own little tropical paradise in between Okinawa and Taiwan. While military buffs may know it as the home of the legendary Chinese 6th Marine Division, the island's location and military base has set it apart as a melting pot of peoples from all over Asia. There's a reason so many soldiers from across Asia come back here to retire, and you'll see it firsthand when you get over here.

NARRATOR: Number Two - Ethiopia

NARRATOR: Some think Ethiopia was home to the Garden of Eden, and we can't blame them. This modernizing nation gives the best of both worlds, where modern technology meets thousands of years of history. The ancient ruins of Aksum to the unique stone-cut churches of Lalibela are just a day's drive away from the newly-built resorts on the Red Sea coast, giving you the best of both worlds that the Ethiopian people themselves enjoy.

NARRATOR: Number One - Goa, India

NARRATOR: Everyone's heard of Delhi and Mumbai and Kolkata and Hyderabad. But Goa is unique among India's settlements for its unique Portuguese heritage that is definitely seen in its architecture and culture. And that is before we get to Dudhsagar Falls, the beautiful beaches, and the Vasco nightlife that comes with this new tourism hotspot. Goa is the Subcontinent's hidden gem when it comes to tourism, and it is a must-visit for anyone going anywhere near the West Indian coast.

Alleged Black Hundreds Leader Self-Exiles to Switzerland, Russkiye Vedomosti, 20 April 1940


(Konstantin Vyacheslavovich Sakharov c. 1919)
Konstanting Vyacheslavovich Sakharov, former Russian general and known sympathizer of the Black Hundreds, has recently resurfaced in Bern alongside his son. The former general, whose service includes the Russo-Japanese War, the Russian Intervention in Manchuria, and the Great War. While Sakharov was suspected of collaboration with the short-lived Diterikhs Junta, subsequent investigations found him innocent of crimes against the Russian people due to a lack of evidence.

General Sakharov had gained a notorious reputation in the post-war era as an avowed monarchist, whose openly-expressed opinions at the tail end of his career likely resulted in his retirement at the rank of Major General in 1928. In his retirement, Sakharov published his memoirs, Diary of a Soldier, during which he sought to absolve himself of any failures during the Russian Intervention of 1911 with blame towards the Jews, Social Revolutionaries, and Asiatic Fifth Columnists while also advocating for the merits of the Diterikhs Junta while decrying its flaws.

Recent investigations have implicated Sakharov and his writings as inspirations for several members of the Black Hundreds. In response, Sakharov has argued that while he does have sympathies for the terrorist organization's ideals, he has never had any interaction with the organization. Critics have argued that while Sakharov has never directly called for the actions, his rhetoric has directly influenced them, which is bolstered by the continued references towards him in several far-right circles, including multiple convicted members of the Black Hundreds.

Sakharov had left the Russian Empire for a medical operation in Switzerland to treat a stomach ulcer. Upon his successful recovery, both he and his son Igor Konstantinovich Sakharov announced that they would be applying for asylum in Switzerland as political refugees. Critics of the Sakharovs have noted that said application for asylum comes after the Ministry of Justice issued a warrant for the younger Sakharov's arrest in relation to a foiled Black Hundreds' attempt to assassinate Foreign Minister Viktor Chernov.

Several countries have called on Switzerland to extradite the elder Sakharov to Russia, including the Russian Empire, Poland, France, Germany, Italy, Britain, Ireland, Romania, China, Iberia, and the Ottoman Empire. So far, the Swiss government has not issued a statement on the matter, though the nation has gained a level of notoriety for its rejection of previous extradition attempts under its policy of neutrality.

"France Seeks to Expand RISE to Europe and West Africa," Popular Science, May 1940


(Cover of Popular Science, May 1940)​

Years after its introduction, we can safely say that RISE, France's technocratic economic network, is a success. Food waste in Europe is down, while logistical efficiency and industrial productivity have risen in supported territories.

It is this success that has led local government officials in Ireland, Britain, Iberia, Germany, and Italy to begin the process of integration into the French-designed network. The process is expected to take years, during which personnel are trained, computers and servers are acquired, and the necessary infrastructure is built, but Western Europe's leadership seems generally open to the prospect.

"If the socialist experiment is to survive," said PM Clement Attlee at a recent event in Birmingham, "We need to adapt with the times. RISE is the means of doing so."

Leaders in Western Africa are also considering full-integration into the system, rather than the de-facto integration by virtue of France and the rest of Western Europe being their largest export markets.

While Western African resource imports are factored into the network's metrics and its simulations, full-integration would likely see RISE play a direct role in the extraction of said resources. Given the lower development level in the region that will require participants to start from scratch, it is likely that this process will take longer than in Europe.

Critics have described the expansion as "Red Colonialism," with claims that Europe's socialist progress rests on the backs of colonialist exploitation in all but name. The argument, in short, is that RISE requires raw materials from West Africa to function, and those resources are gained through exploitation.

Proponents of RISE have noted that the system have noted that the implementation of socialist policies in West Africa have led to a higher standard of living and greater freedoms for the peoples of the region. To their credit, French occupation has often resulted in greater rights for women and minority groups.

Other proponents have argued that the proposed system is a mutually-beneficial arrangement that combines the resource-based strengths of Western Europe and Western Africa. These proponents are quick to point out that Western Europe is the largest supplier of grains and processed materials such as iron and steel to the less-arable and less-developed Western Africa.

The expansion of RISE into the rest of Western Europe is an ambitious proposal. Even moreso when it comes to Western Africa. While the benefits are apparent, it is clear that this will take time, talent, and treasure the likes of which haven't been seen in European history.

But if RISE's initial success is anything to go by, the Europeans are neither lacking when it comes to ambition nor unwilling to put the work in that needs to be done.

Da Lat, Lam Dong Province, Vietnam, Indochinese Federation, 26 June 1940


(Da Lat, Vietnam)​

Le Van Ninh was a soldier, not a farmer.

That was truer today than it was a decade ago. He was a soldier, and he still wasn't a farmer.

That said, he had been busy in his time since the war. There was the training of the Indochinese Armed Forces into something more than a band of rebels, but piracy and fighting the Holdouts in Africa had taken up most of the last decade.

And that was just his day job. His other job, which he hadn't been getting paid for, involved him being the biggest advocate for the Highlanders in the government.

He was a socialist at the end of the day, and not one of those LARPers he despised so much on Twitter when he was younger. Unlike those guys, he'd actually taken up arms and done more than post about a revolution.

Three times, at this point. Rojava, China, and Indochina.

That's three more than that asshole Christman could count.


Maybe it was the old habits from his days in the YPG, but he had the same sympathies for the Highlanders that he did the Kurds. And this time, he actually had the means to do something about it.

Sure, Vo Quong Nghiem was the Minister of Defense, but Le was his advisor. That gave him the perfect opportunity to influence policy and prevent the mistakes of the past.

It worked. Well, it mostly worked, anyways. His tenure at the Ministry of Defense had minimized the use of force against the Highlanders. There was just one problem.

The Ministry of Defense handled military affairs, but the Highlanders' problems were more than that. And as far as he knew, he couldn't shoot issues land reform, language, representation, education, and the availability of resources.

Well, he could, but he liked to think he was better than Ngo Dinh Diem.

No, he had to do this the hard way, and that meant using every bit of leverage, every favor, and every connection he had both inside and outside the government to get things done.

Working inside government was honestly the easiest part. There was Nguyen Sinh Cung, of course, and the man who would be Ho Chi Minh in another life had the most pull out of any single person he knew.

That said, Nguyen wasn't the only person in government Le could influence. Not when many of the men and women he'd led during the war were now in office. Getting them to agree to reforms was simple enough; all he had to do was bring up the "Good old days," when all they had to do was raid the French.

Nostalgia was a powerful weapon, and he's wielded it well enough to help push through representation and language rights for the Highlanders.

There was just one problem with that: Politics was all well and good, but political will wasn't enough to get resources to where they needed to be if there weren't any resources.

That was where his connections outside the government came in handy. People would often say they "Know a guy" who could get what they needed, and Le was no exception.

The only difference was that said "Know a guy" was the Director of the Military Intelligence Bureau of China, and Marty Li himself had a vested interest in helping Le out. The man was a student of history, and rumor had it that he had a thing for rectifying past injustices.

And if that meant making sure the right resources and pressure were available to help the Highlanders on the other side of the border, then so be it.

Exactly how his old acquaintance did it, Le didn't know. Honestly, it was probably better if he didn't, now that he thought about it.

Probably blackmail, favors, blackmail, off-the-book budgets, and blackmail.

But it worked.

A little bit of pressure on Hue was enough to get Hue to ease up on the language issue. A little bit of favors had ensured funding to set up schools and healthcare.

And a whole lot of aid money brought electrification, clean water, sanitation, utilities, and infrastructure to the otherwise-mountainous region he'd called home ever since he retired and started a family.

It was... unique. When he grew up in Little Saigon, his parents had tried to set him up with the daughter of a family friend. She was nice enough, but he was fairly certain that his parents wanted Vietnamese-American grandchildren who'd take on his name.

Instead, here he was in Vietnam, married to a Co Ho woman with three kids who'd take on her name.

Le wondered how his parents would feel about that. "Pissed off" would be a fair guess, and that was before he got to how racist his parents were. Sure, his wife wasn't Black or Mexican, but his parents weren't exactly the "most-tolerant" of people.

Well, maybe Mom and Dad'd like that she's a Christian-

Wait, what am I talking about this?

This is our life to live. Not theirs.


"Political Analysts Say 'Fuck It,' And Rate All Sixty States As Toss-Ups," The Onion, July 1940


With all four conventions finished and the candidates decided, we know who will be the "Big Four" candidates for the 1940 Election in William Murray (D-OK), Robert Taft (R-OH), Floyd Olson (FL-MN), and Theodore Bilbo (TP-MS).

In response to this, as well as the chaos of the Democratic and Republican conventions, political analysts have admitted that they have no idea how this is going to turn out.

"Honestly? At this point, who the Fuck knows how it's going to turn out" said Nate Wasserman of the New York Times, "Huey Long is saying the remaining Southern Democrats rigged it, Smedley Butler is pissed, the True Patriot Convention was basically a contest of who can out-racist the other guy, the Farmer-Labor-Socialist Alliance is somehow the most-sane ones because they just ran Fiorella La Guardia as their VP. You know what? Fuck it, let's just rate all of the states as Toss-Ups. At least that way, we can't be wrong!"

Noted pollster George Gallup has declined our request for a comment and asked us to "Stop bothering me and leave [him] the Hell alone!"

"The Viability of Using Livestock to Manage Kudzu," McGill University, Montreal, Quebec, United States of America, August 1940


(Kudzu smothering trees in Atlanta, Georgia, United States of America)​

SUMMARY: Kudzu (Pueraria montana, Pueraria edelis, and Pueraria phaseioloides) is a collective term for several invasive species of climbing, coiling, and trailing deciduous perennial vines native to East and Southeast Asia. Kudzu was first introduced to the United States at the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia and the 1883 New Orleans Exposition as an ornamental plant, though it would later be used as a feedstock and a means against soil erosion by the turn of the century. Although future knowledge from the Great Journey and environmental protections passed under the second Roosevelt Administration of 1913-1921 prevented its widespread infestation, expanded trade with East Asia and a phenomenon of Orientalism in the 1910s led to a surge in the plant's spread compared to Lost History trends.

This article analyzes the various methods used to cull and eliminate Kudzu from various regions in the Eastern United States in the 1920s and 1930s and analyze their effectiveness. Data was gathered from 1926 to 1935 in Alabama, Arkansas, Washington D.C., Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maryland, Missouri, Mississippi, North Carolina, North Dakota, New Jersey, Oregon, Ohio, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, and West Virginia. Methods of Kudzu removal include mechanical removal, use of herbicides, soil solarization, the introduction of bacterial blights and insect herbivory, and continued livestock grazing.

The collected data was controlled for cost and both variable climate and weather conditions, while results included cost efficiency, rate of removal, and environmental impact, and risk to ecosystems. When factoring in this data, it was determined that repeated grazing by livestock (primarily goats) was the most-efficient means of removing Kudzu with regards to all metrics.

The preliminary data of this study was used to advise Federal, State, and Municipal governmental efforts to remove the invasive species with a minimal effect on the local ecosystems.

Manila Metropolitan Theater, Manila, Republic of the Philippines, 20 September 1940


(Exterior of the Manila Metropolitan Theater)​

"Nanay!" Maria Ramona Madden Tsu practically leapt into her mother's arms. "I got the part in the teledrama!"

"That's great, Ria!" Laura Madden knew the sting of rejection all too well, so to see her daughter get her first lead role on-screen was definitely something. "So, will you be doing the Spanish dub, too?"

"Of course!" After all, Ria (as her family called her) had gotten her start dubbing over teledramas for the Spanish audience. "Guess it helps to know Tagalog and Spanish, right?"

"Yup," her mother answered with the same cheerfulness. "Even if it means I have to choose between listening to you in Tagalog or Spanish. I guess I'll have to watch it twice, then!"

"Get in line behind most of South America, Nanay," her daughter teased back. "It's still hard to believe I'm going to be watched all actors South America."

"Hey, don't forget Central America and Spain," Laura pointed out, "They watch teledramas as much as we do."

"Right. I've been meaning to ask about that."

"What's up?"

"How'd teledramas get so popular?"

"Maybe the Uptimer Filipinos brought it with them? You should go ask your father when he's back from the store."

"I meant Latin America. It's not like they can speak Tagalog, you know."

"Probably all the similarities. Do you remember how your Tatay and his Mexican college friends would joke that Filipinos were the 'Mexicans of the Sea?'" Ria nodded. "It might be a joke, but there's they have a lot in common, like language, religion, culture, history, and appearance."

"You added that one because you thought Tatay was Mexican when you met him, didn't you?"

"Okay, that was one time, and he was hanging out with the Mexican club when I met him. How was I supposed to know he was the one Asian guy there?"

Military Intelligence Bureau Headquarters, Nanjing, National Capital Region, Republic of China, 23 October 1940

"You all are the best of the best," Director Fong said to the exploratory committee at the table. "Between all of us, we have over a century's worth of experience in espionage, operation, research, and intelligence. The fact that you are some of the best, most-qualified people I've ever worked with is why I've brought you all here."

"So let me get this straight." Her predecessor put his folder down and looked at her. "You want us to come up with Rift-based contingencies in case another Great Journey happens, or something like that. I may be retired now, but I'm pretty sure we already have those."

"This comes from the top, Marty," Rachel told him, "President Soong herself."

"This is about the new tachyon data, isn't it? About calibration?" asked Marty. Rachel nodded. "And she wants to know the viability of sending in survey teams into the Rifts to gather information and technology."

"Effectively yes. Hu, I want your opinion on this."

"Do you want the long answer, or the Dr. Malcolm quote from Jurassic Park, Fong?" asked Deputy Director of Operations Richard Hu. "Because there's nothing stopping us from opening a Rift and sending in agents that'd be going in blind. The question is if we should open an unknown Rift and send in agens that'd be going in blind."

"Not to mention the issue of contamination," Dr. Chen Akira added, before putting her own folder down. "Opening a Rift to a different timeline risks exposing us or them to unknown diseases and invasive species at best. For all we know, we could be opening a RIft to an unknown threat that could wipe us out faster than the IJN."

"Or zombies," Marty pointed out, and he got some weird looks from everyone else. "No, I'm serious. Just because we got sent to the past and the one Rift we can open sends us to a world that's like ours, but run by fascist American monarchists (not that there's any difference) does not mean that the next RIft's universe follows the same rules as ours. Or that it hasn't descended into some apocalyptic or dystopian hellscape."

"He's right," Aki agreed. "Theoretically speaking, a Rift could open to a world that is overrun by something that is, for all intents and purposes, a zombie apocalypse, though the possibilities are endless."


(Portrait of Soong Qingling, 5th President of the Republic of China)​

"Which is why I'm wondering why President Soong wanted us to look into this in the first place?" Deputy DIrector of Operations Richard Hu said outright. "With all due respect to her, it's highly unlikely that we run into a timeline we could actually benefit from. When the possibilities are infinite, the chances of running into either a benevolent society that'd share technology with us or one that we could steal technology from with minimal risk is almost-zero."

"Because the MIB is possibly the most-competent research institution on the planet that can also keep its mouth shut," Rachel sighed. "Besides, she thought it would backfire horribly, but she wanted a second opinion just to be sure."

"And she doesn't want the rest of the world to find out that we're considering re-creating the Great Journey on purpose to steal technology."

"That too, RIck. Which is why we get paid well enough to keep our mouths shut."

"Election Night in America," NBC, 6 November 1940


(Ronald Reagan, Host of NBC Nightly News)​

REAGAN: Welcome back to Election Night in America. I am your host, Ronald Reagan, and with ninety-five percent of the votes in on the West Coast, the election is still too close to call. With four parties splitting the vote all across the sixty states, the territories, and the District of Columbia, the electoral vote count cannot be projected.

REAGAN: The four candidates, Representative Robert Taft of Ohio of the Republicans, Governor William Murray of Oklahoma for the Democrats, Governor Olson for the Farmer-Labor-Socialist Alliance, and Senator Theodore Bilbo for the True Patriots, have split the vote to such an extent that recounts are almost a certainty across over a third of the nation.

REAGAN: For the those of you at home, the United States works on an electoral college system, under which the candidate with the most votes in a state receives all of the state's electoral votes. With turnout as high as it is, it is possible that a state can be won without the majority of the votes.

REAGAN: With several key states for each candidate headed to a recount, it is likely that there will not be a president-elect until the recounts are finished by the end of the month. As for us here at NBC, this will conclude our broadcast. Good morning to you America, and God bless you all.

Dowd Residence, Palo Alto, United States of America, 6 November 1940

"Well shit," said Jon Dowd to his two remaining friends in the living room. "The Hell do we do, now?"

His teammate Adrian Friese shrugged. So did their equipment manager Morgan Chen.

"I guess we wait?" Adrian figured. "Yeah, I'm not going back to Tennessee for Christmas."

"I do not blame you," Jon figured, before looking at Morgan. "You're smart, right?"

"I guess we wait? Not much we can do."

"Well shit," Jon reiterated. "I guess Lin and Selena had the right idea to get shitfaced and pass out."

"KEEP IT DOWN, WILL YOU?!" he heard a woman shout from the other side of the wall. "SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!"

"Not my fault you drank half my tequila!" Jon shouted back. Honestly, he wasn't so much pissed as he was impressed. "You two go... Get a room!"

"WE'RE IN A ROOM!" a second, more-masculine, voice shouted. "Hey, Morgan?"

"Yeah, Lin?!"

"Did anyone win yet?"

"Nope! Reagan said it's too close to call!"

"Thought so," Lin groaned. "Then yeah, go to sleep! It's 3 AM!"

Yangon, Republic of Burma, 24 December 1940


("Yangon Colonial Architecture," by Marcin Konsek)​

Beautiful.

Aung Kan looked over the city again, and he didn't have any better way to describe it. Yangon was as beautiful as when his parents fled when he was a child.

I was just a kid during the 8888 Uprising. But this? This is better than anything from the stories.

It was a low bar when he was comparing it to the Tatmadaw and Ne Win. Then again, they'd run Burma into the ground, tossed the bar in it, and then neglected to bury the bar because they spent all that funding on Naypyidaw instead.

But when a country wasn't being run by a corrupt, ultranationalist, military junta or an idiot who screwed the economy because he liked the number nine. This time, Burma had the chance to prosper, and they seemed to be on the right track.

Infrastructure had been built, the government wasn't practicing state-sponsored racism, and there were actually competent people running the country. Sure, it had taken over a decade of the Nanjing Accord basically training and educating a new class of bureaucrats and officials from scratch, but the Burma of today was more-developed than the Myanmar of 2020.

Of course, the bar for that was really, really low when Myanmar was one of the least-developed countries in the Lost History, but the point still stood. People were healthier, richer, more-educated, and living better lives than they would have back in 2020, and that was as much a testament to the Burmese people of today as it was the Tatmadaw of 2020.

That's why he'd moved here after the war, rather than staying in Little Burma.

Sure, he'd spent more time living in Taiwan than he'd ever done in Burma, but he'd wanted to be a part of this. Burma was his homeland, and he wanted to make it a better place than the one he had fled.

Then again, educated professionals were in high demand, and Yangon practically welcomed him and with open arms. Somebody had to modernize the infrastructure of the country, and it wasn't as if the British had been doing a good job of it before they left.

Capitol Building, Washington, District of Columbia, 20 January 1941


(Floyd B. Olson, 32nd President of the United States of America)​

It was a cold day in Washington, but a hopeful one at least. The chaos, lawsuits, and backroom deals were settled, and a coalition (if he could call it that) had been formed in compromise.

All that was left were the formalities.

"Please raise your right hand," Chief Justice Brandeis instructed, "and repeat after me: I Floyd Bjørnstjerne Olson do solemnly swear."

"I, Floyd Bjørnstjerne Olson do solemnly swear."

"That I will faithfully execute…"

"That I will faithfully execute," Olson repeated, just as he'd practiced a hundred times.

"The Office of the President of the United States," the Chief Justice said.

"The Office of the President of the United States," the President elect answered.

"And will, to the best of my ability."

"And will, to the best of my ability," Olson reiterated, knowing full well the new lease on life he'd been given.

Had it not been for the forewarning, I'd have died of stomach cancer, instead of catching it early.

"Preserve, protect, and defend…"

"Preserve protect, and defend," Olson promised.

"The Constitution of the United States."

"The Constitution of the United States," the man repeated, with all the reverence that was expected of him.

"So help you, God."

"So help me, God."

This was not part of the Oath of Office, but Olson needed all the help he could get. And if God was willing to help him, then he wasn't about to say no.

There were four parties in Congress, and a tenuous coalition of Farmer Laborers, Liberals, Progressives (of Republican and Democrat stripes), and Socialists that had agreed to certify his election by the slimmest of margins. Everyone from Smedley Butler and Huey Long, to Jack Reed and Norman Thomas were all on the same side, and even then it had taken some help from his predecessor to smooth things over.

Then there were the Knights of the Golden Circle. Weak enough to not have much sway outside of the True Patriot Party, but large enough to be the greatest domestic threat since the Klan. They were the reason the Secret Service had to be vetted and security had to be on high-alert across the entire parade length.

And a nation that hadn't had such a divided election since the days of Abraham Lincoln. Even if it was, thankfully, not as divided as the last time there was a four-way election that had been split this badly.

All of this was his responsibility. Not as a ruler, but as a leader of a fractured nation and the head of a coalition that was seemingly held together with chicken wire, duct tape, and the dream of an America that not only looked forward, but one that would bring everyone along with them.

Even the ones who would like nothing more than for me to die of stomach cancer.

America had elected him to lead, and he intended to lead America. Not just the Farmer-Labor-Socialists or them plus the Progressives from the Democrats and Republicans.

No, Floyd Olson was elected to lead all of these United States, and he intended to do just that.
 
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"Pinko Floyd" And The Red Scare That Never Happened
National Taipei University, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 20 February 1940

Teaching had come as second nature to Dr. Chen. Then again, it was half her job.

The other half was research and mentoring other students in their own research.

Today was the first half.

"In conclusion," one of her students spoke, "The reason that we do not associate pink and blue with women and men is because the root causes that occurred during the second half of the Lost History's twentieth century never occurred. Thank you for listening to our presentation, and we will now take questions."

The rest of the class was oddly-quiet. Even Hu Hao, who seemingly wanted to answer every question. While some saw him as a "tryhard," he was the first to admit he did it because he was bored.

Which, if Aki was being honest, she could respect on some level. After all, she'd spent the better part of a decade being bored on an island and telling soldiers from the IJN garrison she wasn't interested in them.

"Now, since we have about twenty minutes left, I want to ask if any of you can name another example of a Lost History phenomenon that was 'butterflied away' in our own timeline."

A hand shot up. "Yes, Fei?"

"Can we use recent examples?" Aki nodded to the young woman. "Well, the lack of a Red Scare, for one. Sure, there was some similar rhetoric in the last few months, but the Americans just elected a socialist as their next president despite him being called 'Pinko Floyd' every other day."

"That's a good example," the professor agreed. "And why do you think it happened differently?"

"I think it's because the root causes never happened. Like, for example, we didn't have a Russian Revolution or a spree of anarchist bombings like the Lost History did, so people don't have any reason to fear socialists the way they did in the Lost History."

"It's possible," Dr. Chen figured. She knew the answer, but part of teaching was shepherding one's students to get there. "So what do people think when they hear the word 'socialism?'"

"They probably think of France, where the socialists came to power through peaceful, democratic means by allying with the radicals. Or they might think of Russia, where the anarchist movement promotes a communal alternative to the status quo. Both of these are, for lack of a better term, 'less-scary' than the Bolshevik Revolution and bombings."

"And this is why you believe that a Red Scare failed to take hold in America?"

Her student nodded. "When somebody calls Floyd Olson a socialist, most people don't think of a violent revolution or bombings because those things didn't happen."
 
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Having "The Talk"
The Buena Vista, San Francisco, California, United States of America, 14 February 1941

"I don't see what's hard to understand, Lin," Selena Rossi insisted, "Let's say we got married and had, like, a dozen kids-"

Lin spat his drink out.

"We're not actually doing that!" Lena groaned. "I swear, sometimes, you're the stupidest smart person I've ever met."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he figured. "Wait, what were you saying?"

"I'm saying that feminism and being a nomad have a lot in common. It's all about freedom, y'know?"

"Yeah, I get that. And it's because it should be your choice to do what you want, right?"

"Yeah," she figured, "Being a nomad's all about freedom, and that includes the freedom to make my own choices and do whatever I want, as long as I respect other people's freedom."

"Which can include not traveling in caravans?" Lena nodded. "How does that work? I thought nomads were joined up because they didn't want to get tied down."

"Yeah, but that's the thing with freedom. If you tell people, 'You're not really about freedom unless you do this thing I choose to do,' then it's not really freedom, is it?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But what happens if somebody chooses to give away their freedom? Like those weirdo Tradcaths we ran into when we went through Chico?"

"Yeah, that's the problem with 'em. They want to force people to do what they want. If somebody wants to be their Trad-wife, that's her choice. I'd thing she's fucking stupid and has a terrible taste in men, but she's free to do whatever."

"Lena, you think that half the people you talk to are stupid."

"Yeah, but these guys are assholes and weirdos, Lin. Also, just sitting at home all day and keeping house sounds boring, and I don't know how women managed to do that back in the 1950s."

"Drugs, probably." Honestly, Lena didn't know if Lin was joking, so she just went with it. "But yeah, I get it, Lena: Feminism and being a nomad's not so much about the life you live, as much as it's the freedom to choose to live that life."

"Pretty much, Lin. So, you ever heard of Professor William Marston?" Her boyfriend shook his head. "Okay, so what's your opinion on polyamory?"

"I mean… I'm always open to new ideas, so if you're interested-"

"I meant for other people, Lin."

"I dunno. I guess it's fine, as long as nobody's being forced into it? I mean, it's like marriage, but with more people, right?"

Eh, close enough.

"Sure, let's go with that. That's kinda what freedom is all about. Professor Marston and his two wives choose to be in that kind of relationship, so feminists and nomads wouldn't really have a problem with it."

"Because they were using their freedom, right?"

"Pretty much," she figured, "Kinda weird that you hadn't really dealt with this kind of stuff before, Lin. Is it that different in China?"

"Eh, not really. Remember, my Dad's from America in the future, and you've met my Mom. They already "Got it," you know?"

"Right. What about the rest of China?"

"Most of China'd probably agree with them by now, because the other option's associated with the Qing, and nobody wants to be compared to them."

"Because they think it's backwards?"

Lin shrugged. "Pretty much. You start saying you like foot binding or misogyny, and somebody'll start shouting, 'That sounds like Qing talk! And the Qing were the Europeans' bitch for most of your life, and you still didn't have enough food to eat! You wanna go back to that?!'"
 
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Insistent Terminology
Paige's Corner Sports Bar, Palo Alto, California, United States of America, 21 February 1941

"Bruins win again," Adrian Friese yawned, before his teammate Jon paid up. "Double or nothing for tomorrow's hockey game?"

"Like Hell I am," Jon grumbled. "That's the last time I bet on the Leafs. Wait, who are they playing, anyways?"

"Let's see…" Adrian scrolled through his phone. "Habs. Oh, and the Racism League is going to try to join the majors with the PCL."

"Adi, what the Hell, man? You can't call the Southern League the 'Racism League.'"

"Sure I can," Adrian shot back, before waving his hand over his dark face. "Especially when they had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to integrate by the Governor of Kentucky."

"Yeah, well, Governor Chandler's now the commish, and they've cleaned up their act. All the teams have broken the Color Barrier by now, and they're better for it."

"I'm like, 90 percent sure they did that to stop losing talent to China, Jon. Pretty sure the owners are still racist as all Hell."

"Doesn't stop them from having to pay good money for non-white guys," Jon pointed out. "Turns out they hate losing more than they hate Black people, Mexicans, and Asians."

"They're still dragging their feet on desegregating everything else. Last I checked, my hometown team in Chattanooga still has 'Whites Only' sections. And that's before we talk about all the money the owners donate to the TP Party."

"Okay, yeah, I don't really have anything for that. Still think Chandler's going to get them to fall in line. Only way they can go to the Majors."

"And I'm going to call them the 'Racism League' until they do," Adrian promised. "I'll stop when they stop."

"Really?" Jon just shook his head. "Who even calls them that? Double or nothing that nobody else calls it that."

"You're on."

"Sorry I'm late," Lin greeted as he walked up to his friends. "Did I miss Game 1?"

"Hey Lin," Adrian greeted back. "You're looking at a guy who's two dollars richer."

"Sup, Lin," said Jon. "And yeah, Boston kicked the Leafs' asses. Again. I swear, the Maple Leafs must be proof that God exists, because He seems to hate their guts."

"Anyways," Adrian chimed in, "We're just waiting for Game 2 to start."

"Cool." Lin sat down next to them in the booth. "So, what're you guys talking about?"

"Adi and I were talking about the two independent leagues trying to join the Majors. Pacific Coast's looking to join at the same time as the Southern League."

"Wait, hold up." Lin needed a moment. "What's going on with the the Racism League?"

"…"

"Pay up, Jon."
 
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Chapter 85: Bending the Arc of History
University of California, Berkeley, California, United States of America, 28 February 1940


(Physics Hall, UC Berkeley)​

It was a ninety-minute train ride from Palo Alto to Berkeley.

No, that didn't sound right to Morgan.

She needed about fifteen minutes to get to the station, and there was another fifteen for the bus ride from the station to Ernest Lawrence Hall. That was over two hours of travel for what would be, in all likelihood, two to three hours of lectures before another two hours to get back home to Palo Alto.

That kind of travel was only for special occasions, and a lecture by the J. Robert Oppenheimer was definitely worth the time.

The man was a legend in his past life and a living legend in his current one. Morgan had read his papers on the physical implications of the Great Journey as well as the ethical implications of Rift research.

And now that I've been studying physics for two and a half years, I actually know what he's talking about.

"Is this the line for the lecture?" a New York-accented man asked her. Morgan turned around to see its source: a dark-haired man who looked about her age with a similarly-aged partner. "Our flight from New York was delayed, and I didn't want to get locked out."


"Yeah, this is the place," Morgan reassured him. "You here for Oppenheimer, too?"

Wait, why does he look familiar… Could've sworn I've seen him somewhere.

"'Course I am!" the New Yorker laughed, "The doctor's been trying to recruit me to work here once I finish my PhD. You?"

"I'm an undergrad at Stanford, but I wouldn't mind studying here," Morgan figured. "All that knowledge isn't going to discover itself, right?"

"Always good to meet another physicist," the New Yorker agreed, before stopping himself and offering a handshake. "I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? I'm Richard Feynman, and this is my wife Arline."

Oh. Yeah, now I know why he looked familiar.

Wait… Feynman?!


"It's nice to meet you, Arline," Morgan said politely before turning to Arline's husband. "And I know you probably get this a lot, but it's an honor to meet you."

"I do get that a lot," Feynman chuckled, "But please, call me Richard. I'm twenty-two years young, and I have enough pressure already."

"Sorry," Morgan apologized. Okay, don't say anything stupid in front of one the greatest physicists ever, Morgan. "Just kinda weird to be meeting somebody my Mama'd call a 'Person of Interest.' Actually, I think she tried to contact you for an article she was writing about physicists."

"Ah." Now it was Feynman's turn to apologize. "Sorry, I'm not the best at responding to emails."

"He's lying," Arline chimed in. "Richard never checks his inbox. If I hadn't reminded him, he would've forgotten our tickets."

"I could pick the door," her husband insisted, then turned back to Morgan. "But to make it up to your mother, I can think of one way that the Great Journey changed my life. You're talking to her."

"Your wife?" Feynman happily nodded. "Meeting, Medicine, or Maybe something else?"

"Medicine," Arline answered for Richard. "I caught Tuberculosis a year ago. In another life, it would have been a death sentence, rather than nine months of medication and a full recovery."

"And that alone has made me a very happy man," Richard added. "But enough about myself. Have you read Dr. Oppenheimer's most-recent article in Popular Science?"

"The one on nuclear proliferation?" Feynman nodded. "It's a good one. The ethical arguments are understandable. I mean, we probably don't want to develop weapons that could annihilate the entire human race."

"I meant the practical implications, Morgan. What do you think of those?"

"Honestly?" Morgan began, "I disagree with him about his argument about pragmatic motivations. China didn't develop nukes out of a concern about proliferation. They didn't develop nukes because they didn't need them to win."

Okay, it's more complicated than that, but I'm pretty sure he gets the idea.

Plus, it's not like I can tell him my aunt's the head of the MIB.


"At the same time," Morgan continued, "it's probably a good idea to have it all in writing. Practically speaking, non-proliferation treaties also allow us to reallocate resources that would otherwise go into developing, building, and maintaining nukes towards more-productive things."

"I see…" Richard mused. From the looks of him, he seemed to buy what Morgan came up with on the spot. "Now on to my second question: How much longer are we going to be in line?"

"Twenty minutes," Morgan figured, "Why?"

"Because I'm bored, I already talked Arline's ears off on the taxi ride here, and I left my lockpicks back at the hotel."

"Letter to Lou Gehrig," 15 March 1941

Lou,

I heard about the diagnosis.

We all knew that ALS was something that could happen again, but when you made it through '39, so many of us thought that you'd be luckier this time around. Modern medicine can work wonders, and I just want you to know that I'm happy that your prospects are better this time around. Another year or two in the American League isn't much, but a shot at another two decades of life is the least you deserve.

I'll be honest: In the fifteen years I've gone up against you, me on the Red Sox and you on the Yankees, you might well be one of the few men on this planet who've ever managed to out-slug me when I was on the field and out-slug my Red Sox when I started managing them.

I won't pretend to know what you're going through, but I know how you feel, leaving the game behind. Baseball isn't just a job for guys like us, but a way of life that few men get to live.

To have it taken away from us, be it old age, disease, or just bad luck, just doesn't seem right.

And if I'm being honest, I'd rather take another ten years of you homering off my pitchers if it meant you didn't develop ALS.

As your friend and former rival, I want you to know that if there's anything I can do, you need only ask.

Yours Truly,

George "Babe" Ruth
Manager of the Boston Red Sox


P.S. I took your advice about seeing the doctor at the Mayo Clinic. Doc caught the tumor early, so we're looking at a quick operation next month.

"Speech by Konstantin Vyacheslavovich Sakharov, Translated," Intercepted by the Counterintelligence Service of the Russian Empire, 20 April 1941


(K.V. Sakharov, c. 1919)​

K. V. Sakharov: The humiliations of our great Empire to its current position can be attributed to three groups - The Jew, The Asiatic, and The Socialist. All three are working, whether in concert or by themselves, to weaken Russia on every front.

Sakharov: One need only look at the Socialists, those traitors who set the ball in motion back in 1905 when their strikes riled up the masses against the Tsar himself. Honest men who returned home from the war against the Asiatics were corrupted by these demagogues and turned against their fellow Russians!

Sakharov: Then there are the Asiatics. They, for decades, have sought to make us weak, so that we may not reach our full potential and achieve our rightful place on the world's stage. The Japanese, vultures as they were, attacked us when we were at our most vulnerable. The Chinese, envious of our rising star, were only able to defeat our brave soldiers through their superior weapons and our so-called leaders' cowardice!

Sakharov: Then there are the Jews, the oldest enemy of the Russian people. They have worked to subvert us at every corner, be it the assassination of Tsar Aleksandr II, the support of degeneracy under the guise of "Progress," or the infiltration of our institutions that weakened them in time for the Asiatics to humiliate us thirty years ago at Vladivostok!

Sakharov: These three threats' very existence directly threaten the strength and security of Russia. For that, they must be eliminated. Whether it be through assimilation or elimination, the Russian people must act decisively if they are to secure the existence of their land, their culture, and their children.

Sakharov: Men like Diterikhs were right in their decisions, but they were wrong in its execution. Let no man who calls himself a patriot not honor what he and so many others died for and the so-called "Countrymen" who betrayed them.

Sakharov: My brothers, I call on you to not make the same mistakes and avenge him, and all the other Martyrs of Russia!

"The Train Station In The Middle Of Nowhere," The Bengalee, 1 May 1941

If you go far enough outside of Calcutta a decade ago, you'd find the most-peculiar sight: A train station in the middle of nowhere. The pictures would have you believe that it's a simple brick structure from the colonial era along one of the many railroads that crisscross India.

This station has captivated online image boards and forums, where people wonder just what is going on in India that the government would build a train station in the middle of nowhere. Even members of the One Bharat Party had taken notice and called the "Station in the Middle of Nowhere… An example of the incompetence and corruption of the Ghadar-Congress Alliance" on social media.

The answer is more-boring than you would think: It's long-term urban planning as part of the planned "New Town Calcutta" planned city as part of Delhi's urbanization efforts over the last decade and a half. New Town Calcutta (or "NTC" for short) is to be built with modernist urban planning in mind to meet the growth of India's largest city.

Upon further investigation by our journalists and open-source investigators, it was found that the brick structure in the above picture is actually a temporary structure used to deliver workers and materials to NTC. The structure itself was not meant for people, but to build the city around it, as well as its replacement.

These days, the Station in the Middle of Nowhere doesn't exist, having been torn down in 1936. In its place is New Town Calcutta Train Station, which provides high-speed rail travel to Calcutta Proper and the surrounding area.

The surrounding areas themselves are no rural fields but a growing city full of Indians moving in from the same type of rural areas NTC was built upon.

Yet the Train Station In The Middle Of Nowhere continues to live on in the annals of internet history.

For some, it is a fun story about urban planning, while others see it as an example of propaganda bending the truth to engineer a different reality.

But for many, it is an example of how far India has come in the last fifteen years.

Nouakchott, Mauritania, French West Africa, 7 June 1941


(Dolores Park, Nouakchott, French West Africa)​

As a journalist, Elise Brodeur had always gone above and beyond what was expected of her.

She had to.

It was the only way she could prove she hadn't gotten the job through nepotism from her uncle.

Sometimes this meant being embedded into units that fought against the monarchist Spanish Africanists. Other times it meant spending every waking hour of every day in the library, looking for every scrap of information she could find.

Interviews were somewhere in between that. Outright asking the people took less time than research, but it was safer than when she was embedded with the British Volunteers.

Even if I did get to meet Eric Blair and T.E. Lawrence.

"It's good to meet you, Messouda," she said to the woman sitting across from her. Messouda needed a second to listen to the translator connected to his earpiece, but he nodded. "So, where do you want to begin?"

"Where to start…" she began, before closing her eyes for a moment. "I was born in 1905 to the east of here, as a slave. My mother and father were slaves, and so were their mothers and fathers."

Elise nodded politely, before writing that down.

"Our owner was a Beidane family who owned an iron mine. Both my father and mother were to be their servants, and I was told that I would serve their son, who was about my age. He was actually my owner, believe it or not."

"Um, how exactly does that work?" Elise interrupted as politely as she could. "How does a child own a slave?"

"Saleh was officially my owner, but his father was the one who owned me. But despite having grown up under the same roof, he was my owner, and I was his slave. I was expected to serve him, just as my mother and father served him and his mother and father."

"Could you go into detail about how that worked? How was he as an owner?"

"To tell you the truth," Messouda coldly laughed, "For a slave owner, he was not particularly good at it. I remember one time, he had practically insisted on helping me and my mother with the cleaning. When his mother found out, she nearly lost her mind. Said it was 'Unbecoming' of a young man like him and forbade him from helping us out."

"And how old were you two at this time?"

"I was six and he was seven. We were just children at the time. He was just trying to be helpful, but his father smacked him across the face, demanded that Saleh 'Know his place,' and forbade him from ever helping us again."

"Did that change anything?"

"It did, but do you know how many children will try to find ways to get around their parents' rules?" Elise nodded. "Saleh was that kind of child. If his father wanted me to clean his room, it would be spotless by the time I arrived. If he told Saleh not to talk with me, we would talk when his parents wouldn't hear us."

"That's… odd, to say the least. Why would he do that?"

"Religion, mostly. Philosophy, too. I'm sure you've heard my colleague speak about Ameer Ali's arguments-"

"Is he the one who argued that slavery was a necessity at the time of Muhammad that isn't needed in modern Islam?"

Messouda nodded. "He is. That, and how almost every Muslim scholar these days will say that most slavery is against Islamic law, since the only slaves allowed are non-Muslims captured during a war. Which would mean that my enslavement and that of my family is anathema to Islamic law."

"Because you and your family are Muslims." Messouda nodded again. "Along with almost everyone else who is still enslaved in Mauritania."

"More or less, yes."

"So, when did you learn this?"

"Around my pre-teens, so that would be… 1917."

"That's the time you escaped, right?"

"Yes. The new government in Paris had changed their policy. Before, the burden of proof would be on the escaped slave, but that changed once the Radicals and Socialists came to power."

"I see… And I know you get asked this plenty of times, but could you go over your escape?"

"I don't think there's much to say," Messouda admitted. "Saleh and I were in Nouakchott with his father for business. He asks his father if he can tour the colonial office. The old man says yes, and the next thing I know, Saleh walks through the front door and says, 'My companion here is a slave, and she would like to apply for asylum.'"

"...Huh." Honestly, Elise thought it would be more than that. "You two just walked in and applied for protections?"

"Saleh didn't think this through, but there were workers who were willing to hear him out and take us in."

"I see…" Elise wrote another note down. "Please continue."

"The next thing we know, we're both wards of the state and shipped off to Paris. I, for being a former slave, and Saleh because he had nowhere else to go."

"And the rest, as they say," Messouda continued, "Is history. I was sent to remedial school, studied, worked a few odd jobs, then ended up in the Ministry of the Interior by the end of the War. France needed translators to help with the liberation and reconstruction, and I was sent back here as one."

"Of course. And this is where you met your brother again?"

"Saleh and I didn't know we were half-siblings yet, but yes. Paris needed as many educated Mauritanian Loyalists as they could, and Saleh was one of the few from our generation. I think there were about two hundred of us, total, who were tasked with rebuilding our old home. We were to be the first generation of leaders who would run Mauritania one day."

"It must have been hard. A hundred people tasked with rebuilding and running all of Mauritania?"

"There were advisors from Paris who helped fill in the gaps," Messouda reassured her. "But yes. Paris was recruiting and schooling people as they could, but we were tasked with reconstruction, peacekeeping, and cracking down on slavery. Twelve hour days were the norm, and people like Saleh and I had to do everything, everywhere, all at once."

"Could you go into that?"

"Truth be told, I still don't know how we managed to pull that off." Messouda breathed deeply. "But we managed to hold the line for years until we had enough people to truly get things done and wipe out slavery for good."

Wrigley Field, Los Angeles, California, United States of America, 24 June 1941


(Faux-Retro Postcard of Wrigley Field, Los Angeles)​

"Jesus," Lin's teammate grunted, before handing him back his heavy hickory bat. "The Hell are they feeding you and Jon? Steroid-flavored corn flakes?"

"Balanced breakfasts and a love of the game, Adrian," Lin chuckled. The honest answer was training. Lots of training. "So, how's LA treating you?"

"Hell of a lot better than Tennessee, man." Then again, one look at Adrian Friese was all his friends needed to know why he'd never gone back. "Not having to deal with the Klan, Knights, or whatever they're callin' themselves these days telling me to 'Know yer' place' is a nice change of pace, and I'm not about to give that up."

"You'd think things'd be better than they were in my Dad's timeline," Lin figured, before pulling out another stick of cobalt-flavored gum. "Want one?"

"I'm good, thanks." Adrian sighed. "I mean, it is better. Instead of living in the 1940s, it's like living in the 1970s. There's just one problem, Lin."

"1970s America was still pretty fuckin' racist?"

"Yup. You know what's the most fucked part about it?" Lin shook his head. "A whole lot of people are probably fine with civil rights. Plenty of folks who would've been racist as Hell in your Dad's time just... aren't. Either because of God or patriotism or the Klan shooting Teddy Roosevelt."

"How's that a bad thing?"

"The bad part is that the ones that don't are part of the Knights or openly support them. You know how we can mail in our ballots now?"

"Yeah. Helps with turnout, right?"

"Well, there's that. Also because it's a Hell of a lot harder to intimidate and disenfranchise voters when everyone gets mailed a ballot," Adrian chuckled. "And even harder when it turns out beating up the mailman is a felony."

"I'll take your word for it, man," Lin figured. "The voting thing. Not the part about beating up the mailman."

"Heh. Still can't believe that dumbass Knight got himself a felony for punching that mailman, Lin. Seriously, what was that guy thinking?"

"Hey, you're the one studying to be a lawyer, Adi. Even if there'll be two more major leagues by the time we graduate."

"Always good to have a backup plan if I don't make it into the AL, NL, or the PCL, Lin. Not like I'd ever join the Southern League."

"What, you don't wanna join the 'Racism League?'" The two-way player earned a friendly jab for that one. "You know, it'd be your best chance to stick it to all those guys who gave you shit as a kid."

"It's is tempting," Adrian admitted. If Lin was being honest, his roommate looked like he was warming up to the idea. "There's just one problem."

"You'd be a famous Black guy in the most racist part of America?"

"Okay, two problems, Lin. One: That."

"What's the second one?"

"Humidity."

"Sexual Inversion and John Radclyffe Hall," The Common Man Magazine, July 1941


(Portrait of John Radclyffe Hall, c. 1930)​

By Alice Ross

Two of the greatest differences between our society and that of the Lost History are the sheer amount of knowledge that came with it and the progress that came out of it.

That is to be expected, of course, when we have an entire century of research that we can use. It is a second chance for us to clear up misconceptions and mistakes of the Lost History and grow as people.

One of them is the issue of gender identity. A contentious subject, even in the more-progressive early 2010s, this information has led to a re-evaluation of gender roles and even gender itself among academia and the common public.

One of the most prominent examples is the author John Hall, the author of The Well of Loneliness, The Master of the House, and their newest work, Time to Try Again. The latter book has been praised by many as a sort of "Second Coming-Of-Age" story that encapsulates the changing views of the LGBT+ movement over the last few decades, including the debate over the concept of Sexual Inversion that Hall himself had popularized in The Well of Loneliness.

For those not familiar with the term, "Sexual Inversion" is the theory that "Inverts" are people who are born with the physical characteristics of one gender while expressing another gender's traits. For example, a female invert would be somebody that psychiatrist Richard von Krafft-Ebing would describe as "the masculine soul, heaving in a female bosom," and vice-versa for male inverts.

Of course, the knowledge of the future and our new history has largely-debunked this theory. While proponents of Sexual Inversion would argue that a homosexual man is attracted to men because they are "wired" like a woman, new information has argued that one's orientation is decoupled from their gender identity.

Or to put it another way, if you like men, it's because they are attracted to men. Not because you have the "soul" of a woman. And no, bisexuals are not actually intersex; that's a different thing.

Other phenomena attributed to Sexual Inversion (crossdressing, cross-sex identification, etc) have likewise been decoupled from attraction and placed under the umbrella of Gender Identity.

So, what does this mean?

For starters, I think it is fair to say that somebody like Hall would is a man. While we've all heard the tired old joke of "Assuming one's gender," Hall's reference to themselves by a masculine name, their dressing as a man, and their more-recent writings over the last two decades provides ample evidence that they are a man.

I know this gets brought up a lot, but gender, sexuality, and identity are complicated. It is, quite literally, not a binary black and white.

But as we gain more information from the future and the present, we learn more - both about ourselves and the human condition.
 
Author’s Note: Chapter 85
For what it's worth, I should clarify that trying to define Radclyffe Hall's gender identity was… complicated, to say the least.

Hall's described as a "Her" in pretty much every article I can find, yet Hall also went by the name "John," wore men's clothing, and apparently described themselves as an "Invert," referring to the theory of "Sexual Inversion" that was popular at the time but seems to be debunked these days.

The question is, how do you describe somebody from a hundred years ago using modern concepts?

Honestly, I didn't have an easy answer.

I bit the bullet and based the in-story article author's opinion from some analyses I read.

I'm not sure if they're right, but the thing about writing from different perspectives and points of view is that it comes with the characters' biases and experiences.
 
The Super Special Second Sunrise Christmas Morning/Evening/Whenever Special
Bering Strait Tunnel, Midway Between Alaska and Russia, 18 December 1941

"You know, it would have been faster to just fly to China," Jon Dowd pointed out to his four friends near him. "We're looking at another day on the train, right?"

"Something like that," Adrian Friese figured. "Not like you paid for the tickets, though."

"Yeah, well we can't all be secretly rich," Jon chuckled, before turning to their third teammate. "Isn't that right, Lin?"

"It's not that big a deal, Jon," Chen Lin groaned, "My Dad's an exec for the Sinorail and he made a few smart investments back in the day."

"Your Dad made money selling American flags made in China, right?" Selena Rossi yawned, pulling her head off his shoulder. "Right when we got a whole bunch of new states."

"Like I said: Dad's smart with the money." That, and I'm pretty sure Aunt Rachel gives him tips. "Plus, he and Mom are pretty low-maintenance, so it's not like we really spend that much on stuff, anyways."

"Still sounds weird, Lin," his girlfriend teased. "Probably the weirdest thing about your family, if I'm being honest."

"You mean besides the fact that Baba traveled through time," Lin's sister Morgan pointed out. "And if you knew half the crap that Him and Mama got up to when they were our age, them paying for you guys to come over for Christmas is probably the most-normal thing about them."

Tsu Residence, Manila, Philippines, 19 December 1941

"Tatay! Nanay!" Maria Ramona Madden Tsu shouted from the front door. "I'm here!"

"We're in the living room, anak!" Emmanuel Tsu shouted to his eldest daughter. "You're just in time to listen to your mother singing!"

If he didn't know better, he thought he'd heard his eldest daughter running right through the foyer. Either way, his eldest daughter was already hugging him.

"Good to see you too, anak," he breathed, before turning to the TV. "Your mother is just about to start singing."

"Wait, what's going on-" his wife asked, only to be caught wide-eyed at the sight of Maria Ramona. "Hey, you're here!"

"'Course I am," she answered, before running to hug her mother. "It's not like we can do filming when everyone's at Simbang Gabi, right?"

"Fair enough," her sister Alicia chimed in. "Did you make it? I didn't see you there."

"Barely," Maria yawned, "The place was packed, so I had to stand in the back."

"It's Christmas in the Philippines, Ria," Alicia pointed out, "With how many people are in church, you could probably overthrow the government and get away with it."

"And go into politics?" Maria asked with exaggerated horror, "No thanks."

"We have enough politicians with the lolos," Manny pointed out. "Last thing we need is to restart the dynasties so we get Game of Thrones with assault rifles again."

"Good point." And that was all Maria would say when she knew what Filipino politics had done to the family during Martial Law. Better to talk about something else. "So, who's after Nanay?"

"I am," her father told her. "Gonna sing some Jose Mari Chan songs for Christmas. And Alicia already went, so you can go after me."

"Cool," Maria figured, before picking up the songbook. "Hey, Tatay?"

"Yeah?"

"Got one."

"Is it-"

"No, Tatay, it's not 'My Way' by Frank Sinatra. Don't worry."

Cape Town, Republic of South Africa, 20 December 1941

Thembo was a hard worker. He had to be one when he started, and that went double now that he'd been promoted to a supervisory role.

Which begged the question: What did a workaholic do when he had the week off for the holidays?

Well, if the last few days were anything to go by, the answer was simple: Sleep.

That's what he'd done for the better part of the last few days, and he intended to keep that up through the New Year.

Sleep... and spending time with his brother Gadla and Gadla's wife Sarah.

Tolkien Residence, Oxford, Republic of Britain, 20 December 1941

Books were strewn all over Professor Tolkien's desk. Fiction, Non-Fiction, and history books, mostly, but with the occasional Bible and game book as well.

One had to have hobbies, after all. Writing and tabletop games were his.

It was a balancing act, in a way. His work was fulfilling, but it was still work at the end of the day. The same could be said of his writing, though the latter was almost a second profession at this point.

At least I treat it as such, anyways. Sequels can be underwhelming if they are not given the same care as the originals, and I do not intend to make that mistake.

Then there were the games.

While some would describe it as merely child's play, Tolkien himself put as much effort into this endeavor as he did his writing and his teaching. This world of his was to be designed, developed, and detailed to the utmost degree. The fact that said gameplay was intertwined into the worldbuilding of his writings only increased the standards he demanded of himself.

That, and this was the perfect way to spend time with his family.

John and Michael had time off from their studies, while Christopher and Priscilla had the holidays off from school.

And with Christmas mass five days in the future, they could finally continue their years-long campaign they so enjoyed.

Nouakchott, French Mauritania, 21 December 1941

"No, Anto, we can't serve champagne at the party," Sergeant Henri Alain groaned, before turning over the bottle. "Even if it is non-alcoholic."

"It's not like it's illegal," Corporal Reval shot back. "Hell, I've seen some of the bureaucrats drink alcohol at parties, so it's not like it's going to cause a scandal."

"No, no, not that, Anto. It's that we have one bottle of champagne and a few hundred people at the party."

"Oh. Do we have anything that could replace it? You know, like an imitation champagne."

"Unless you're planning to mix 7-Up and rubbing alcohol... No. And if you are..."

"That was one time, Henri, and I said I was sorry," Antoine relented, before putting the bottle away. "So, what do we have? Iced tea and soda?"

"More than you'd think," Messouda promised. The two soldiers turned to see the bureaucrat rolling in crates of the drinks as she spoke. "So, how's the planning?"

"Pretty well, all things considered," Antoine sighed. "Honestly, I didn't think we'd have that many locals show up for the Christmas party. No offense, of course."

Messouda shrugged. "None taken. Some of the more-conservative old people will complain, but we stopped listening to those people years ago."

"Some of those people also think that slavery is fine," Henri pointed out. "Which, now that I think about it, probably explains why none of us listen to them."

"More or less." Messouda pulled one of the cans from the crate. "Want one?"

The two men nodded, and she tossed them their drinks.

"Thanks," said Antoine between sips. "So for Muslims, is Christmas basically a secular holiday?"

"Do you want the long answer or the short answer?"

"What's the difference?"

"How long it takes for me to say 'Yes,'" Messouda answered, before downing the rest of her tea. "But if growing up in France has taught me anything, it's that one doesn't have to be Christian to celebrate Christmas."

Fong Residence, Zhengzhou, Henan, Republic of China, 22 December 1941

"So, you're a spy?" Fong Shoi-ming outright asked his granddaughter Rachel. The fact that she was over fifty and he was still a child just made it even weirder for her. "So, what do you do?"

"I..." Honestly, she didn't really know how to explain running a spy agency to a kid. "I deal with secrets."

Okay, that should be enough for him.

"What kinds of secrets?" her preteen grandfather asked her.

Shit.

"How do I explain it..." Rachel stalled. "My job is to keep our secrets hidden and learn the secrets other people want to hide from us."

"So like Santa?" her grandfather asked, with all the childlike innocence that somehow made sense.

"...Sure, let's go with that." If Rachel didn't know better, she could've sworn her wife Shannon was laughing her ass off right now. "So were you well-behaved this year?"

Her grandfather nodded eagerly.

I swear, it's a good thing you're adorable, kid. That's the one thing making this less-weird.

"So I've heard..." Rachel mused, before handing him a red envelope. "And here is your reward for being good."

Her little grandfather's eyes widened at the sight of it. After all, he knew that red envelopes meant money, and money meant he could buy video games.

"Thank you! Did Santa hand this to you?"

Rachel looked at Shannon.

Shannon glanced back at Rachel, seemingly telling her, "Do NOT ruin this for him," without saying a word.

"Um... We coordinated with Santa to get you this... Together."

Chen Residence, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 23 December 1941

Selena Rossi was nervous.

There wasn't any other way to describe how she was feeling after riding a train halfway around the world to meet Lin and Morgan's family.

"You good, Lena?" She practically jumped as Lin reached out to her. "C'mon, you've met my Mom and Dad before, and they like you."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts. You don't see Jon or Adi getting nervous, right?"

"Jon and Adi aren't the ones getting engaged to you," Lena dryly pointed out. She even held up her hand with the ring he'd gotten her. "So yeah, I'm kinda worried about your parents not liking me. Not like I can just drive home, y'know?"

"I know," Lin promised, before hugging her. "But for what it's worth, my Dad and Uncle Marty grew up in America, and Mom... Well, she's basically Morgan except less..."

"...Morgan-ish?" Lena got a friendly middle finger from her future in-law for that. "Yeah, I think I'm ready."

As if on cue, Morgan took the lead and knocked on the door.

No turning back now, Lena.

"Coming!" said a male voice Lena had only heard over the internet, before the door opened.

Perth, West Australia, Republic of Australia, 26 December 1941

"Emu's a good meat," Jim Flaherty told his guests from the kitchen, "Lower cholesterol, higher iron..."

"And it's not like you guys are running out of them, anytime soon," James Hsu chuckled. "Plus, it tastes like beef, right?"

"That's the taste of victory," Jim chuckled, before tossing another burger on the grill. "I still remember when you guys showed up back in '27. Never thought you and your family'd end up being our neighbors back then, James."

"Life's full of surprises, Jim," the retired colonel breatged, before enjoying another sip of a WA craft beer. "Like craft beer."

"Or our kids growing up together." And if he didn't know better, his oldest boy Jack was taking a liking to James' daughter Cass. "Like you said: Full of surprises."

"Yup. Like Australians actually winning a war against emus."

Jim looked to see his friend having the biggest shit-eating grin he'd ever seen.

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope."

Immaculate Conception Cathedral, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 27 December 1941

"Since when did you go to church, Baba?" Morgan Chen asked her father. "I thought you were a Christmas and Easter type of Catholic, at best."

"You mean most Catholics?" her father joked. "And I'll have you know that I'm a Christmas-Easter-I-Need-God's-Help-WIth-Something Catholic."

"Yeah, that's the thing," Morgan pressed on as they walked out the front door of the church. "It's not Easter and Christmas was two days ago... So what are you asking God for help with, this time?"

"Can you keep a secret?" her father asked intently, while they walked to join her mother, Lin, and Lena. "Two secrets, actually."

"Sure?" It helped that unlike her brother, Morgan could actually lie worth a damn. "What's up?"

"The first thing I'm praying for is that you and Lin find happiness in whatever you do."

"Thanks, Baba," Morgan told her father, before happily hugging him. "So... What's the second thing you're praying for?"

Her father glanced at Lin and Lena, before turning back to Morgan.

"Grandkids."
 
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Chapter 86: Prelude
National Taiwan University, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 8 August 1941

National Taiwan University Library

"The population seems to be rising exponentially, dear," Chen Akira's husband said to her. "People are having kids left and right."

"I'd assume so, given the decrease in maternal and infant mortality as well as the availability of housing-" she observed in her usual professorial tone, "Wait, are you thinking about grandchildren again?"

"You're not?" he asked her, with a smug smile that proved how right he was. "I mean, c'mon, Aki, we're a pair of Asian parents with children who are now young adults. It would be weirder if we weren't pestering our kids about when they'll give us grandkids."

"Of course I am, dear." As she spoke, she only slightly looked up from her papers. "I just have the tact to not be so obvious about it like you are."

"We're getting old, Aki. Sure, we might not look like it, but one of the perks is that we can just say stuff like that."

Aki looked at him intently.

"You keep bringing up grandkids to mess with our son, don't you?"

"Asian parent." Aki glared at him. "And yes - But only because he's fine with it."

"New topic, Michael," Aki decided for the two of them. "Like how neither of us believes in Destiny."

"Aki, I don't believe in it for philosophical and religious reasons. You don't believe in it because I got isekai'd with the island. We are not the same."

"You really like using that term, don't you?"

"Only because you're cute when you're annoyed, Aki." She just shook her head again at her husband's teasing. "But yeah, the whole Great Journey kinda screwed with everyone's belief of destiny, didn't it?"

"More or less. We may not believe in that sort of thing, Michael, but the Journey turned the concepts like Ming yun on their head."

"I don't follow."

"Take the Great Journey, for example: Does the sudden appearance of an island from the future a chance to repudiate the very concept of predetermined fate, or was it yet another step in our predetermined destiny?"

"Probably depends on who you ask," Michael figured, before pouring himself a cup of cocoa. "Want one?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"It's interesting, though: If we took your fate from my timeline and your fate in this timeline, they'd be different, right?" Aki nodded. "Then wouldn't you having two outcomes despite being the same person mean that predetermined fate does not exist?"

"Possibly," Aki closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "But you could also argue that the existence of different timelines means that we are different people from our alternate selves who have different circumstances."

"Or that the fates are different in both timelines," he realized, before realizing his own contradiction. "You know what? I think I'll take a Socratic approach to this."

"How so?"

"Because honestly, I don't know the answer, and I'm not about to pretend that I do.

Abidjan, Ivory Coast, French West Africa, 31 August 1941

Abidjan, Ivory Coast

The Abidjan Conference was the largest conference in African history.

At least that was what Saleh Ould Kerim had thought, even if conferences were part of his obligation as a diplomat. And there was nothing more-diplomatic than the conference that could decide the fate of Western Africa.

At least if it was in-session right now. Instead we're drinking tea while the GIGP clears the building after that bomb threat.

Again.

Fucking OAS Remnants.


"So what would you say is 'Real Socialism?'" Saleh asked the Frenchman he was drinking tea with. After all, it wasn't like he was going to get any work done today. "Ask a Russian and he will say it is Libertarianism. Ask a Frenchman and he will say it is pseudo-technocracy. Ask a Muslim and he will say Islamic Socialism, and the Christian will say the same thing about Liberation Theology."

"Indeed," the Frenchman agreed. "And in spite of all, they all fought side-by-side in the Great War. Which is why we're here in the first place."

Now, Saleh knew it was more-complicated than that. While fighting the OAS and the colonialists in the Great War had done much to forge a West African identity, the same could be said about ideology or idealism.

After all, almost everyone here is some kind of socialist who believes in this project of ours.

And about half of us had fought in the Resistance against the OAS.


"You know," the Frenchman observed, before taking another sip of his tea, "There are those who doubt you. Well, two types of people, anyways."

"Oh?"

"The first," he continued, with his eyes fixated on the ocean, "Are those who say that the people here are too different. Whether it's religion, ethnicity, or language, they would argue that the region would descend into ethnic violence within weeks."

"And in doing so, they would be arguing for the formation of ethnostates," Saleh pointedly observed. "They do realize that, don't they?"

"Including many who'd call themselves my comrades," the Frenchman sighed. "You wouldn't hear that from them, though: Many of them would argue that being a socialist meant that they couldn't be racist."

"The people of the Soviet Union in the Lost History would beg to differ."

"The people who thought the Soviet Union in the Lost History 'did nothing wrong' would beg to differ about your begging to differ."

"Mussolini will be Mussolini..."

"Indeed. And like Mussolini, that second group of doubters are those who would rather you all stay under 'Direct Rule from Paris,' as the saying goes."

"Even though we fought an entire war to not be ruled by colonialists and the only reason we have stayed French is that we all realized we needed to build an entire bureaucracy and nation from scratch for fifteen years."

"And by every metric, you all have done a fine job," the old French socialist agreed. "Even if our fair-weathered comrades would say otherwise."

"They do realize what that would happen if we did what they wanted, right?"

"That the Radical-Socialists would be little better than the OAS and we'd be the 'Red Colonialists' I've been warning about for over two decades?"

It was a rhetorical question. The Frenchman knew it, and so did he.

"You and I both know the answer to that one, Saleh."

"That it isn't a matter of them understanding. It's a matter of them not caring."

"Oh, I'm sure they care," the Frenchman chuckled. "They care about their reputations and their followings and their clout. What I do question, Saleh, is if these 'comrades' of ours care about the people they advocate for."

"Which is why this conference has to be an African affair. It has to be, otherwise we would have no legitimacy."

"That is the life of a freedom fighter, my friend. Though 'Freeing oneself from the outside world does not require you to reject it.'"

Why does that sound familiar...

Then Saleh remembered.

"That's Rabindranath Tagore's writing, isn't it?" The Frenchman nodded politely. "Are you a follower of his?"

"I dabble. Even if his writings are not meant for me."

Counterintelligence Service Headquarters, Saint Petersburg, Russian Empire, 12 September 1941

Logo of the Counterintelligence Service

"Thank you for meeting on such short notice," the seemingly-ageless Chinese woman said to Director Votsekhovsky through the screen. They had agreed upon speaking English for this meeting; it was the lingua franca of diplomacy despite the French's best efforts. "I trust that you received the files that I've sent you."

"I have, Rachel," Votsekhovsky yawned, before looking at his laptop. "It seems that chatter has risen in the last few weeks, despite our successes against the Black Hundreds. While I cannot share all of our information-"

"Of course."

He knew that Fong meant it. You didn't last this long in intelligence if you didn't know how the "game" was played.

It went without saying that a good intelligence officer didn't leave all their cards on the table.

Even with allies.

"-I can inform you that additional resources and manpower have proven successful in... handling the Black Hundreds issue."

What I can't inform you is that we've foiled enough plots to coup the government five times over at this point.

"Of course, Sergei," the Chinese spymaster breathed, before leaning back in her chair. "But what is concerning is that we've seen an increase in interactions between the Golden Circle, Knights, and other extremist groups of similar leanings. Is it possible they are sharing resources?"

"It is possible, Rachel. We've seen data pointing to Russian nationals traveling to America for weapons training, while American funds are often sent through back-channels to Russian accounts. And these are just what happens in the shadows. You've seen what Sakharov and Ford have been saying, haven't you?"

"Do you mean besides the constant diatribes against Jews, Catholics, and minorities? It's not too surprising, when both 'thought-leaders' are noted antisemites with racist streaks against Asians and minorities. 'Birds of a feather,' and whatnot."

"Of course. But some of my men have been noting that there is a significant uptick in communication between members of both organizations. While it may be a stretch, we have reason to believe that they are coordinating efforts. To what extent, we do not know, but I will share what information I have."

"Thank you for that," Fong told him in all sincerity. "I would recommend you forward this to the Americans as well."

A small grin formed on Votsekhovsky's face.

After all, this might be the only time I'll get to say this...

"We're already ahead of you, Rachel. The files were sent an hour ago."

Stanford University, Palo Alto, California, United States of America, 29 September 1941

Martin Li had trained for almost any scenario. A good spy was prepared for everything, and being an Eagle Scout meant being double-prepared.

Which meant he probably was over-prepared for a career in academia. Sure, he was pretty damn good at teaching history, but the sheer amount of preparation for almost-every contingency was probably a bit overkill for a couple semesters as a guest lecturer teaching about the Lost History.

Who was he kidding? It was definitely overkill, and that was before he factored in the suppressed 1911 he still concealed carried.

Okay, that one was somewhat-justified. I mean, I'm in America.

At a school.


"So," a student's voice interrupted. Li looked up to see an African-American student standing at the door. "You're Lin's uncle?"

"Sorry, haven't gotten your name." Really, Marty? Thought you were good with names. Age really is catching up to you, old man. "What was it?"

"Adrian Friese, sir," the young man said politely. "I'm one of Lin's teammates."

"Ah, now I remember," Li half-lied while he stalled for time. Oh right, he's one of Lin's roommates. "And yes, I am. Not by blood, but his father and I grew up together."

"Ah. If you don't mind me asking, are the rumors true?"

Li looked at his student flatly. "Depends on the rumors, Adrian."

"Lin said you used to be the head of the Chinese version of the OSS."

"Really?" Li asked with feigned surprise. "Do you believe that?"

"Well, Wikipedia says it's true, so..."

"Kid, you and I both know that Wikipedia isn't a primary source."

"Oh. Must be a different one, then. Apologies, sir."

"Heh, just kidding," Li yawned, before doing a quick stretch. "Yes, I used to be the head of the Military Intelligence Bureau. Been retired for years now, though."

"This isn't another joke, is it?" The Chinese-American professor shook his head. "Alright. It's just that... No offense, but you don't really look like a spy."

"Hey, thanks!" It was more emotion than he used to show, but Li had stopped caring the moment he retired. "Means I've still got it!"

"Eh?"

"Okay, that probably sounds weird, doesn't it?" Adrian nodded confusedly. "Okay, so I should probably explain that: When you're a spy, the last thing you want to do is attract attention, right?"

"Because you would stick out and people might think you're up to something. Like being a spy."

Hm... Kid's a sharp one. I like him already.

"Exactly!" Li exclaimed in a very un-spylike manner. "Which is why it helped that I just look like a normal Chinese guy. Even more if I could convince people I'm stupid."

"I wouldn't go that far..."

"You haven't seen me play poker, kid. Never underestimate the power of people underestimating you."

Rio de Janeiro, Republic of Brazil, 15 October 1941

Os Confederados (The Confederados of Brazil)

"Papai?" Gisele da Silva asked her father in her still-innocent voice, "What is a 'Confederado?'"

"Oh, those are white Americans from the Confederacy who immigrated here after they lost the Civil War. A lot of rich people didn't like not being able to own slaves or having to treat Black people better, al they moved here."

"Because Brazil still had slavery?" Gisele's father nodded. "They traveled all the way here… So they could continue to own people?"

"I never said these were good people," her father pointed out. "But Dom Pedro wanted to expand the cotton industry, and these people were good at growing cotton."

"I know that much!" his daughter said proudly, "They taught us that in school!"

Christ, they really want to link the Coffee Milk politicians to the slavers, don't they?

Can't say I blame them, though... Bunch of stuck-up rich assholes.


"Glad to see you're studying to be smarter than me," Gisele practically beamed at the compliment.

Huh. Turns out every kid wants to be told they're smarter than their parents.

"So, um... why are you asking me about the Confederados?"

"Because they're in the news again. They keep doing parades downtown and saying people like you are evil."

"Marches, Gisele," he corrected. "Those are marches."

Pretty sure I don't have to correct her about them saying I'm evil for being the local Union President.


"What's the difference?"

"Marches can be fun or not fun. Parades are fun and not full of racist, Catholic-hating assholes."

Good thing your mother's picking up your little brother from football practice. She'd have my head if she saw me swear in front of you.

"Okay!" his daughter said with the innoncence only a child could have. "Papai?"

"Do you have another question?" Gisele nodded. "Go ahead."

"What's an 'Asshole?'"

Lyrics to "Our Tricolour," Anthem of the Republic of Britain, Adapted from W.J. Linton's poem

Flag of the Republic of Britain

Choose for hope the sky serene,
Freedom Albion's cliffs so white.

And eternal ocean's green,
Choose we for our nation's right.

Blue and white and green shall span,
Britain's flag, republican.

Fought with bows of burning gold,
Freed from dark Satanic Mills.

Workers break the chains of old,
From the sea to clouded hills.

Blue and white and green unite,
For a future ever bright.

British Museum, London, Republic of Britain, 1 November 1941

The British Museum

Dr. Thomas Lawrence was a historian through and through. And with the British Museum being... Well, the British Museum, it wouldn't do to have entire halls of empty exhibits.

No, that simply wouldn't do. He knew that, and so did everyone else who even knew an iota of history.

Or the impracticality of having a half-empty museum. That simply wouldn't do, either.

That was why he was here now, as the new museum's curator. It was a daunting task, but he liked to think that he'd done a decent job with the new, plunder-free exhibits.

Truth be told, it wasn't actually that hard.

This was the British Museum, after all, and he knew there was more than enough to put on display.

In place of the Elgin Marbles were artifacts of the Danelaw. The same could be said of the Rosetta Stone being replaced with a full-on exhibit of Caesar's invasions and the Celts of the time.

And that was before the sheer amount of exhibits on the Medieval, Renaissance, and Industrial Revolution periods. Then there was the Lost History, which had enough material to fill the museum if he so wished.

And that was before he got to the literature. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Marlowe, Tolkien, and Blair would all have their own exhibits. The men were literary legends of Britain, and living legends in the case of the latter two.

Even if Eric could never meet a deadline if his life depended on it.

It would be enough. Honestly, it would be more than enough, if Tolkien's enthusiasm at his offer to collaborate was anything to go by.

Be it Crusaders, the Tudors, and everyone in-between, before, and after, there was more than enough British history to replace all that had been returned.

Ishigaki Harbor, Ishigaki, Taiwan, Republic of China, 31 December 1941
Ishigaki Island

Michael Chen liked to think he was a good parent. Lin and Morgan were fit, intelligent, and most-importantly, they were just good human beings.

Yet there were moments of insecurity. These were times that he worried that he didn't do a good enough job at raising his and Aki's children. That if they had done things just a little bit differently, things would have been better.

"SHE SAID YES!" his daughter shouted as she ran across the beach, "MY LITTLE BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED!"

Morgan, you're like, thirty seconds older than Lin.

"Do you think we should do something about this?" his wife Akira asked him, "It's a little weird to see one person running around and shouting like a maniac. Even if it is New Year's Eve."

"HE'S GETTING MARRIED?" Lin's friend Adrian shouted back, "HELL YEAH!"

"FUCK YEAH!" the kids' other friend Jon shouted, "MY BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED!"

"Even better, Aki," Michael said with the biggest grin on his face. "Let them have their fun. Plus, I thought Selena already won you over?"

Not that it really matters. Sure, arranged marriages aren't really normal these days, but we were never much of a normal family in the first place. And with how much China's like America back in my time, it's not like interracial marriages are as frowned upon. Especially since the war ended.

Plus, it's not like we're going to have a problem with it. I mean, Aki's always thought future morals were superior, and I'm a guy who grew up in the part of California that is known as "Not-Huntington-Beach."

Seriously, fuck that place.

I guess America might have some problems if they decide to stay there after college. Interracial marriage didn't really get majority support until I was a kid, so there'll probably be people upset about them. Worst case scenario, the Knights and the TPUSA might go after them.

On the other hand, the Brandeis court had basically pulled a Loving v. Virginia a dew decades early, so we have that going for them. Plus, most people are either supportive or they don't really give a damn either way.

Can't underestimate the power of, "I do not approve of this, but it's none of my business."

Wait, why am I overthinking this? Our son's getting married, and I should be all smiles!


So he did. He smiled at the sight of his daughter and her friends shouting and running around at the good news, just like any good father would.

"Our little boy is all growing up, Aki."

"Mhm."

"I'm not that little, Dad," a familiar groaned said behind him. Michael looked up to see his son, a young man who was practically his spitting image, smiling sheepishly at him. "I'm almost 23, you know."

"When you have good parents, you'll always be their little kid," Selena teased. The mischievous look on her face turned to nervousness once she herself turned to him and Aki. "So, um... I guess this is the part where I ask your permission?"

"Lena, I'm from the future and my wife's more hands-off than me. You don't have to ask us for permission."

Also, isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Like, isn't the boy supposed to ask the girl's parents?

"Oh... Well, um... thanks?"

The two soon-to-be-family members just looked in awkward silence.

"For what it's worth, both my husband and I approve," Aki happily chimed in, breaking the silence. "Welcome to the family, Lena."

National Guard Armory, Boise, Idaho, United States of America, 12 January 1941

Downtown Boise, Idaho, during the Retro-Uptimer Car Festival

The weapons and ammunition were easy enough for Grand Master Carlson hands on. "It fell off a truck" was how they'd say it in the Lost History, and it held as much water in this one.

God-willing, this'll be enough firepower to stop that future Hellscape from happening.

It would be harder than that, of course. His cell (or "Prior" as they were officially called) was just one of the hydra that was the Knights of the Golden Circle. And all of them had to do their part.

Even if he didn't know how many made up "all of them."

"Compartmentalization" was the word of the day, every day. Priors barely interacted with one another in person unless it was absolutely necessary, preferring to use dead drops. And even when they did, it would be between Knight Commanders such as himself.

Hell, the Order was so secretive that almost-nobody knew the Grand Master's identity.

Some thought it was Henry Ford, while others bet their money on men like Charles Lindbergh or Gerald L.K. Smith. Commander Carlson didn't know for sure, but he didn't give a damn as long as it kept the Feds in the dark.

Not that it had stopped them.

Knight Commander Thurmond over in Charleston had gotten nabbed in a sting operation by the Feds last year. Rumor had it that he'd turned traitor in exchange for Witness Protection.

Though it would explain the arrests over the last few months.

He just shook his head while the crates of M1916s were loaded.

Not much we can do, anyways.

We just need to do our part to save America from making the same mistakes. The last thing we need is mongrel being elected President again.


It would be dirty work, but he had enough faith in God to know that he'd be rewarded for his efforts in this life or the next. That was to be expected when one fought for a cause as just as his.

Not that he would be one, though. No, when the Grand Master gave the signal, this would be more than a one-man crusade.
 
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Whenwe (From Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia)
Whenwe (From Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia)

Whenwe

A whenwe is an informal term for a former settler or descendant of settlers who talks nostalgically about their former homes in now-decolonized nations. The term originates from the phrase, "When we lived in..."

Background

Whenwes can trace their origin to the settlers and settler-descended populations of former European colonies in Africa, the Indian Subcontinent, Southeast Asia, and Oceania. Their emigration from these lands coincides with the Great War, including the refugee crisis, the Treaty of London that concluded the war, and the subsequent independence of all colonial holdings of the European Alliance.

The majority of Whenwes come from the former African and Asian colonies of the European Alliance, due to a combination of wartime anti-Nanjing Accord propaganda and a loss of political power to the now Majority-Rule governments on the continent. The nations of Australia and New Zealand-Aotorea experienced a significantly-lower rate of emigration, due to a combination of demographics and cooperation with the transitional governments.

Popular destination for colonial populations include the United States and the Kingdoms of Norway, Denmark, and Sweden. The United States received over eighty percent of expatriates.

Although the term can be used as a catch-all for all expatriates, its more-common usage refers to expatriates of a primarily-right-wing to far-right leaning who openly express support for the now-defunct colonial governments of Africa, Asia, and Oceania.

Relation to Holdouts

The Whenwes' and the Holdouts' (the catch-all name for anti-Majority-Rule insurrectionists in the Post-War Era) origin from the settler colonial populations of Africa, Asia, and Oceania has led to the two terms being used interchangeably.

Whenwes primarily consist of emigrants who willingly left the former colonies during and after the Great War, while Holdouts engaged in an insurrection against the post-war Majority Rule governments.

However, expatriate organizations such as the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation have been audited for the transfer of funds to support Holdout organizations during the Holdout Insurrection. Recently-uncovered documents from the Knights of the Golden Circle have also indicated that the organization also assisted in the transfer of funds and manpower to similar organizations.

Connection to Extremist Groups

Expatriate organizations that are associated with the "whenwe" monicker have been accused of cooperation with various far-right extremist groups. Such organizations include the German-Afrikan Bund, the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation, the Cecil Rhodes Society, the American-Congolese Organization, and the Francafrique Society.

Extremist groups include (but are not limited to) the Knights of the Golden Circle (KGC), the True Patriot Party of the United States of America (TPUSA), and the Black Hundreds of Russia.

A 1940 joint report from French, American, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese intelligence observed that cooperation varies between groups, including (but not limited to) the transfer of funds, training of manpower, information sharing, networking, and arms trafficking. The United States' Bureau of Investigation has also announced that several arrested members of the Knights of the Golden Circle are also dues-paying members of various expatriate societies.

The German-Afrikan Bund, Cecil Rhodes Society, and the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation have denied any and all connections to extremist organizations, while the American-Congolese organization and Francafrique Society have refused to issue a statement.
 
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