MaHaL
Conductor of the Choir of Death
- Location
- Canada
Always a worthwhile endeavour.
A Second Sunrise: Taiwan of 2020 Sent Back to 1911
- Thread starter ChrisProvidence
- Start date
- Original Modern Post-1900
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Having read about Punch Imlach and Harold Ballard, I now feel bad for the Leafs.
Also, on a more-serious note, Conn Smythe (owner of the Toronto Maple Leafs as of Chapter 85) is going to do his best to keep Harold Ballard as far away from the team as humanly possible.
I often joke that the Leafs are proof of a higher power, because it seems like a higher power has it out for them for some reason.
If that is the case, then in all likelihood, Harold Ballard is that reason.
Honestly, I wouldn't blame the higher power. Dude was a dick.
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Sakuya's Butler
A refined Butler to a knife wielding Mistress.
- Location
- ↓, ↘, → + Punch
Well, at least you aren't mocking the Cubs.
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
They suffered enough for two timelines.
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Btw I noticed this video here. What do you think about it ? Also it seem to be already tried in real life American community there
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ybiSv567IA4
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm going to be honest: I don't really have time to watch this.
The "Real Socialism Hasn't Been Tried" is often a strawman used to argue against the economic system by accusing proponents of playing a "No True Scotsman" fallacy, though the person who's probably going on about "Real Socialism" is somebody who believes in a fundamentally different definition of socialism.
For example, the Nordic Model might be one person's definition of "Real Socialism," which would make Stalinist Russia and Maoist China sort of anathema to them, because it's a different (and more-authoritarian) interpretation.
The same could be said of this story's European socialists, whose technocratic influences would be outright heresy to agrarian anarchists like Makhno, while Makhno's ideas might come off as inefficient to the European socialists.
My problem with the "Real Socialism" argument (and I say this as somebody who isn't one) is that it often tries to lump people together who one, probably don't like each other to the point of murder and gulag-ing one another, and two, have fundamentally different definitions that conflict with one another.
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ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Anyways, next chapter should be coming out soon. Needed to do some research on slavery in Mauritania and Radclyffe Hall's The Well of Loneliness.
The video do mention about 'Real Socialism' problem though (rather than try to protect it), and the nature of what we know have to do with 'Enforcing' aspect in socialism. I think you can watch it quickly though in free time since it literally only 3 minutes. Also he more on neutral analyze rather than full anti or blindly defend it
That all, good luck in your research
Chapter 85: Bending the Arc of History
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
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.
(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
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
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.
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.
When in doubt, do what they did - sure, referring to anyone else as an "invert" would be very fucked up but, Hall did, and they clearly didn't mean it as an insult. I mean, there's probably quite a few older bi/gay people that have to fight the urge of punching someone in the face when they're referred to as "queer" so, it's complicated.
The only way to accurately describe them by using modern day language, would be to ask a necromancer, to ask Hall what they think.
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 86 is in the works, but I also have a Christmas Special to write.
Because it gives me an excuse to discuss the holiday in-story and do more shenaniganery.
Because it gives me an excuse to discuss the holiday in-story and do more shenaniganery.
- Pronouns
- He
It now makes me wonder, is Jose Mari Chan still considered the go-to Filipino Christmas Singer to begin mark the beginning of Christmas in the Philippines?
- Location
- Neptune
Why would he be? He isn't even a glint in his parents' eyes yet.
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
A lot of modern media got sent back in time with the island, and that includes music from the OFW (Overseas Filipino Worker) population that got sent back in time.
And as I've written before, modern music is pretty popular with the right crowds. ONE OK ROCK, for example, is one of the big inspirations for the Asian Rock (A-Rock) genre of music.
In fact, punk bands like Rise Against and Dead Kennedys (and everyone else who ever had a song on Tony Hawk Pro Skater games soundtracks) influence the Sidesurfer (the story's version of skater) subculture that one of the OC's girlfriend is a part of.
When we factor in that there are a number of Uptimer OFWs and other Filipinos who moved to the Philippines after the Great Journey, you can bet that songs from Jose Mari Chan have beenplaying during Simbang Gabi celebrations before Christmas for almost thirty years.
- Location
- Neptune
Just checked the numbers. With a population of over 150,000 in Taiwan it makes more sense that this particular musical material would be avilable and not be drowned out by the sheer mass of other music (most of it not filipino) also coming back.
- Pronouns
- He
Well, I know for sure the returning OFWs are going to make sure "My Way" ain't going to be popular, at least for Karaoke Bars in the country.
Hi, I noticed this news here, At least we won't run out of Uranium anytime soon (post title 'How chinese scientist are extracting uranium from seawater faster than ever'). Mostly idea for your story in term of tech for collecting resource
www.scmp.com
Record breaking: Chinese scientists use electricity to extract uranium from sea
China is building more nuclear power plants than any other country, but relies on imports to fuel them.
www.scmp.com
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
In all seriousness, I imagine there is probably enough lack of context there to prevent that from happening. Lot's of "Oh shit" moments though, before Downtimers wonder what's wrong with the jazz song.
Hi, I noticed this news here, At least we won't run out of Uranium anytime soon (post title 'How chinese scientist are extracting uranium from seawater faster than ever'). Mostly idea for your story in term of tech for collecting resource
Record breaking: Chinese scientists use electricity to extract uranium from sea
China is building more nuclear power plants than any other country, but relies on imports to fuel them.
Probably on the table and developed, but it's not exactly financially viable when uranium is readily available from what is OTL Kazakhstan.
The Super Special Second Sunrise Christmas Morning/Evening/Whenever Special
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
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."
"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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It's a Christmas Miracle! 🎄
The future is here ! (also I noticed a video on the side list mention about VR Dive is nearly there ? Hadn't check it so not sure). I wonder what the downtimer really think about the VR thing, especially the military here (aside from that magazine thing about 'second life' game ?)
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbS3_mbh7_g
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbS3_mbh7_g
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yup!
Turns out Santa is real, apparently Chinese, and he brought Browning M2 machine guns mounted on pickup trucks.