The Spectre of the Future One

DISCLAIMER: I do not own either A Song of Ice and Fire or A Game of Thrones. I do not own Daria Morgendorffer either. This story is based on my research on the real Oregon Trail, not on the computer game with the same name.

I am writing this story for amusement for fun and for ego gratification, not for profit. If you are enjoying this story, please write and post a review.

Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail

Despite my misgivings about the North Platte's water quality, I joined the Mormon women for their bath. We immersed ourselves in an eddy where the current wasn't so strong and washed as best we could. I returned to the campsite later that afternoon feeling cleaner than when I had left.

"So you finally got your bath," Kara when I arrived back at the camp. "How do you feel?"

"Cleaner," I said. "If I had my way, I'd bathe in a tub with warm boiled water. But my dunk in the Platte was better than nothing."

"So how was bathing with the Mormons?" asked Kara.

"Strange," I said. "The bathers were all women and girls. Most of them were foreigners who'd crossed the Eastern Ocean from England or Scandinavia. I think one or two might have been from the North but they didn't want to talk to me. They called me a Gentile. They also had things to say about my tattoo."

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," said Kara.

"I've had it for several years now," said Daria. "I don't show it off to everyone."

"Where is it?" asked Kara.

"It's on my upper arm," said Daria,

"I'd like to see it," said Kara.

"All right, I'll show you," I said. The tent flaps were down, so I could show it off without offending the rest of the wagon train. I unbuttoned my blouse and let the sleeves slide down to my elbows.

"By the Seven," said Kara. "You do have a tattoo. It looks like some Great House's herald. What does it mean?"

"It's a mixture of Westerosi and European elements," I said. "The Stag is the House Baratheon, of course.."

"But what are the other elements?" asked Kara. "I don't understand why the stag is wearing a red cap instead of a crown or why that angled bar is running across the shield in the background."

"The cap is a Phrygian cap, worn by republicans and freed slaves," I said. "It is a symbol of equality. That bar you see running from upper right to lower left is the Bar Sinister. In European heraldry, that is a sign that the founder of a house or line was not the child of a marriage."

"Do you know any of King Robert's children?" said Kara.

"Let's just say I've met some," I said, thinking of Rikka and some of the others I'd met later. "They were mostly children. The only other thing I'll say is that they're much better off away from Planetos."

"What are they like?" asked Kara.

"They're people," I said. "True, they were immigrants in a strange land, but they were just people. More headstrong than most, but just people."

"What is a Gentile?" asked Kara, changing the topic.

"When dealing with Mormons, a Gentile is someone who is not a Mormon," I said. "When dealing with Jews, a Gentile is someone who is not Jewish. The Mormons consider Jews to be Gentiles. Jews consider Mormons to be Gentiles."

"That sounds confusing," said Kara.

"It sometimes confuses me too," I sighed. "Can I help with breakfast?"

"I've done most of it, but you can help with the cleaning," Kara replied.

I pitched in, wearing my old clothes for the last time. I'd keep and wash my underwear, but I was going to ditch my skirt and blouse. I'd probably have to wear the Emigrant's girl's dress tomorrow, but I would no longer look like an escapee from a freak show.

I turned in that evening wearing a used petticoat. This wasn't the mountainous country we'd be traversing later, but it wasn't warm either. I dreamt about finding myself in a room facing Grandma Barksdale and Mrs. Ashfield. I was wearing my Emigrant's dress. Grandma Barksdale was criticizing my clothing. For some reason she sounded like Quinn: not the maturing college girl I'd left back in the Twenty First century, but the shallow, fashion-crazed brat from high school.

"Like she really ought to wear a grown-up's dress," said Grandma Quinn. "That hem is way too short. And the sleeves! My God, the sleeves! One of them ends at her knuckles! You'd think that she's take better care of her appearance!"

"Shut up, Quinn!" I growled out loud, then woke up.

"What did you say?" said Jilla.

"A dream," I replied, then did my best to go back to sleep.

I woke up the next morning just after sunrise. Enjoy sleeping in while you can, girl, I told myself. You'll be getting up earlier when we get back on the trail.

I helped Kara cook and serve the breakfast. I had scrounged tea and a kettle earlier, so I had some tea. I was nervous. I'd spent time mentally organizing my lecture about dirigibles: what I knew, what the Germans used them for during World War One, what the Navy from my past thought to use them for, their layout, and what salvagers ought to expect. I was so distracted that I nearly burned my hand.

Kara noticed. "Daria, pay attention," she said.

"Sorry, I was distracted," I replied.

I did keep my act together while serving breakfast. Captain Trout was bemused and a little proud that I'd be going up to the Fort to lecture the soldiers. Willem and Kennard knew I was going but didn't know why.

"So what are you going to talk to those soldiers about?" asked Willem.

"I'll tell them what I know about airships," I replied.

"What's an airship?" said Kennard.

"Think of it as a very big balloon," I said. "Have you seen a balloon?"

"We saw one in St. Louis," Kennard said self-importantly.

"Good, that saves me a lot of explaining," I said.

"A dirigible is a very, very big balloon that you can guide and steer to go different places," I said.

"Do such things exist?" Willem said wonderingly.

"Not in this world," I replied. "But they existed in the world I came from. From what the soldiers say, one crossed over from somewhere and crashed somewhere north of here. I suspect that the soldiers want to go visit the wreck for some reason or other."

"Did it come from your world?" asked Mr. Trout.

"No," I said. "The United States only had four of them. One crashed east of the Great River, two crashed at sea, and the other one was dismantled."

"So what was it doing north of here?" asked Kennard.

"I don't know," I said. "I wouldn't have tried to fly across the country north of here. The mountains are too high and the chances of crashing are too great. I suspect that it was brought from somewhere else."

"Who?" said Mr. Trout.

"I don't know," I said. I shrugged. "God, maybe?"

-(((O-O)))—

"About 10:30, I heard an American woman's voice asking if this was the Trout's tent.

"Yes, it is," I said. "Come on in."

To my surprise it was Mrs. Ashfield. And Mr. Ashfield. Lieutenant Ashfield, actually.

"You must be Lieutenant Ashfield," I said. "How do you do?"

"And you must be Miss Morgendorffer," said the Lieutenant. I wondered where he was from. At a guess, Virginia or the Carolinas.

"Not that I'm displeased to meet you, but what brings you by our camp site?" I said.

"I understand that you will be addressing the officers this afternoon," said Bethany Ann. "I'd like you to have this dress. It's an older girl's dress, but it would be far more suitable than that thing you are wearing."

My eyes started watering. I really didn't expect this sort of gift. "Thank you, I said. "I appreciate it very much."

"And I wanted to meet you," said Lieutenant Ashfield. "Bethany Ann told me about her encounter with you."

"Like that she or her counterpart managed to put the wind up at least four generations of descendants?" I said.

Lieutenant Ashfield laughed. I decided that I could like this guy.

"So you're not sure that you're Bethany Ann's descendant?" he said.

"I don't mean to sound impolite, but I'm not sure that I am," I said. "The Arch's presence in this world and the Westerosi I've met here are pretty compelling evidence that this is not the one I came from. Mine didn't have an Arch, just an incursion that dropped several dozen Westerosi in various places across the United States."

"That's not why we came to talk with you," she said.

"And not about dirigibles, either, I suspect," I replied.

"No," said Lieutenant Ashfield. I looked at him. He was a handsome, well-spoken guy, but I kept remembering that his counterpart would be dead in just three years.

It was time to bite the bullet. "About the future?" I said.

"Yes," said Bethany Ann.

I looked at them, then closed my eyes. It hurt to see them. Bethany Ann was also the next best thing I had to family here and her husband was also family, even if he was dead and gone before Bethany Ann bore the next generation. They clearly loved each other and they looked like a cute couple. In my world, their marriage would be violently broken when Major Ashfield, CSA, would be killed in combat fighting against the Union Army.

"I'm warning you," I said. "If you really want me to tell you, I'm going to tell you in advance that what happened to your counterparts is going to be grim for the next five to six years.. You can back out now if you want."

"I've heard," said Lieutenant Ashfield. "We got a couple of the Dirigible crewmen drunk and they told us of a war." Now I remembered the Lieutenant's name. It was Marcus Ashfield.

"I don't know those men," I said. "I don't know their history, but I do know what happened in the history where I came from. There was a war. A lot of it was fought in Virginia and if the Union breaks up and Virginia secedes, a lot of northern Virginia will become a battleground for several years."

Both of the Ashfields went white.

"If I was planning to stay where you are, I'd start laying in supplies—things you need that you can't make locally. Your coast will probably be blockaded. That happened where I came from."

"You're going to face inflation. The secessionist government's paper money won't be worth spit. I'd put any savings I had into specie, not bills. I'd also think of at least one very, very good hiding place for your savings and use them."

"That's rather—bleak," said Marcus.

"Yeah," I said. I stared at him briefly, closed my eyes, exhaled, then opened them again.

"Would you rather that I tell you pretty lies or would you rather be prepared for hard times ahead?" I said.

"What about our slaves?" said Bethany Ann.

Damnit, I thought. I didn't want to talk about slavery at all.

"You might seriously consider giving your staff extra reasons to remain friends with you and to stay loyal. I don't think that the Union Army would respect property rights in rebel territory. "

"You're suggesting manumission," Bethany Ann said dangerously.

Here it goes, I thought. "My politics and personal beliefs aside, I think that free people are more likely to be loyal than slaves."

"You talk like an abolitionist," said Bethany Ann, her eyes narrowing.

"I think the country will be better off without slavery," I said. "A modern society can and will function well enough without the Peculiar Institution. Ours did and does, wherever it is."

Bethany Ann looked daggers at me and I was reminded of Grandma Barksdale's quip about what happens when you put two Barksdale women in the same room together and leave them alone for an hour: they'd start fighting. The old girl was right. She continued to glare at me and I saw that the family stories were true. She was one scary woman.

"Theory," she said.

"History," I replied, staring back at her. I was through stepping around the slavery issue and I wasn't backing down.

We continued to glare at each other. I think Bethany Ann wanted to go at me but managed to hold herself back.

Bethany Ann turned to her husband. "I think we should leave," she said.

"I thank you again for the gift," I said. "I'm sorry that our visit is ending this way. I think you've got the grit to survive. Good luck."

She turned away and left the tent. Marcus continued to look at me for a while. I looked at him, thinking about what happened to his counterpart. I decided that I couldn't just let him walk blindly into his counterpart's death.

"Marcus," I said. "Please stay a moment." He looked at me.

"Two things. On a lighter note, you now know why Cassandra of Troy wasn't popular at parties," I said.

"On a darker note, should it come to a shooting war, don't forget to duck."

Author's Notes:

I'm not really happy with this chapter. I should probably re-write it and I should have had Daria and Bethany Ann go at it hammer and tongs. I'm selfish, though, and I want to get Daria back out on the trail and headed west.

I would say that Daria is emotionally torn here. Despite their profound political and attitudinal differences with each other, and Daria's unspoken belief that she is on the side of the Angels, Bethany Ann and her husband Marcus are the closest thing she's found to blood kin on this trip. She is very much aware that some version of the Civil War is likely to break out within a year or two and that she and the Ashfields will be on opposing sides. She's also aware that the Ashfields' slaves are also going to suffer as the Civil War progresses and will worry if her advice to the Ashfields will add to their suffering. At the very least, I expect Daria to have some bad nights when the Trout wagon train goes back out on the trail.