Heh, sorry for the immensely long wait between chapters. Reality stinks.
To say that my first day in the nineteenth century was somewhat awkward would be to render myself guilty of major understatement. For starters, it wasn't until about ten minutes into my time travel experience that I was able to think clearly enough to be able to identify that it was, in fact, the Old West.
Second, through all the historical facts I'd studied, Green Lake was scarcely mentioned, and those rare mention told next to nothing about it. It was cited as the name of both a fried-up lake and a similarly fried-up town, and that the town had been the home of Kissin' Kate Barlow before she became an outlaw. And I didn't even learn much about the place by reading about Kissin' Kate Barlow – only that, well, it was a standard Texan town. According to history, it may as well have never existed.
Third, the rest of the D-Tenters had no clue how to behave in this century. I recognized this situation from several time travel stories: the conscientious guy and the guy with no knowledge of the era (I hesitate to say "idiot") – or in my case, a whole slew of them.
But most importantly…
"Marty," Zigzag asked, "don't you think we should change our clothes? I mean, we're dressed like Oompa-Loompas or something."
"It won't be too bad," I reassured him.
"Yes, it will."
"No, it won't."
Yeah, we stuck out like sore thumbs. But to be honest, I really didn't care. Khiloash wasn't just a theory – it was the secret to time travel!
I guess having built this thing and made it work was reason enough for celebration. We partied and partied – and then I noticed something was amiss.
"Hey, where's Zero?"
Wandering around helplessly in the Old West in orange jumpsuits, looking for another person in an orange jumpsuit – what's wrong with this picture?
We saw what was wrong with that picture and chose not to wander around helplessly. Zigzag was right – we looked like Oompa-Loompas, which would be a bit of a shock to a typical nineteenth century Texan.
We came up to the first friendly-looking person we saw, and she introduced herself as Katherine Barlow. Just my luck. I think I was right to be nervous in the vicinity of such a notorious outlaw.
"So, Katherine," I said, being as careful as any sane person would be around this girl, "I'm Xylo." It made much more sense to use a crazy name the way the others did than to call myself Glen – or even Marty. Using a name that was an actual name would make me look like an outcast. I wanted to look equal.
Katherine looked at me kind of funny. Then she turned to Armpit and told him, "Why don't you come inside the schoolhouse? It's not in the best shape, but – "
"No!" I shouted, perhaps a little too loud. "Don't hurt him. Don't do anything bad to him. And please, don't kiss him!"
Katherine Barlow – I was still a bit nervous being around this lady – laughed. "Please, Xylo. You're panicking over absolutely nothing!" I remembered from the internet somewhere that she'd been a perfectly nice person before going completely berserk, so that calmed me down a bit. Come inside, all of you. Want some peaches?"
"No thanks," I said, and walked away.
"Well, goodbye! Oh, and one more thing – what kind of a name is Xylo?"
I ignored her. As we were walking, Magnet said, "You know, I kind of like the name Xylo better than Marty."
They got into a shouting match, and X-Ray and I stepped back. It turned out that Magnet and Zigzag preferred Xylo, and Squid and Armpit preferred Marty.
X-Ray ended the argument shortly after it delved into insanity by shouting, "Marty, Xylo, Tyrannosaurus. Does it even make a difference?"
The four shut up. The unlikely band of time trekkers reunited, marched around a corner – and stopped.
I stared in shock at what I saw: Zero, lying dazed on the ground; an African-American man down and out a foot away from him, having apparently bonked his head on something; a creature that was either a horse or a donkey – I'll admit, I can't tell the difference – who hardly seemed to know or care about the situation; and the earth littered with enough onions to fill a Camp Green Lake-size hole a quarter of the way full.
We just stood there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Finally, X-Ray broke the silence: "Uh, Marty? Is killing people a good thing or a bad thing?"
I couldn't contain a chuckle. "Bad. Usually."
