Daria on the Trail: Daria Phone Home One

DISCLAIMER: A Song of Ice and Fire was written by George RR Martin and is his property. Daria and Morgendorffer is the property of MTV Viacom. I own neither franchise and neither expect nor deserve any sort of financial compensation for this work of fiction.

This story is based on my research of the REAL Oregon Trail and not on the computer game of the same name.

If you are enjoying this work of fiction, please write and post a review. It would very much be appreciated.

Warning: Foul language included in this chapter.

Today was when we'd finally reach Fort Caspar. I pulled my cell phone out of my hand bag and looked at it for the first time since I'd used in at Fort Laramie to photograph Bethany Ann and her husband. Should I or shouldn't I? I'd had a limited charge, no reception, and no hope of being able to call my family and tell them about my situation. Not that I was surprised: as I remembered, both Fort Laramie and the town next to Register Cliff were small, out-of-the way places and I doubted that either one of them would be close enough to a cell tower even if the walls between this continuum and mine were thin enough to let me try.

It was not a new concern: I'd thought about the matter as our wagon train slowly plodded along the trail. I wanted to try calling my family sometime before the battery went completely flat. So when and where should I try? We'd be reaching the Platte River Station sometime today. Platte River Station had an Army post, a Pony Express station, and the Guinard Bridge over the Platte.

But that was during the late 1850's. Back in my universe's Twenty First Century, though, the site had a different name. The site of the Fort and Guinard's bridge were both in a small city called Casper. I didn't know much about Casper except that it was much bigger than Fort Laramie and probably had half-way decent cell connections. If there was a chance that I could connect to a cell-phone network, I could do it from there. That was assuming that the barriers between the worlds were thin enough that my call would go through and that my cell phone's battery didn't crap out while I was talking.

So who should I call? I wanted to call someone with time enough to let me talk. I wanted to talk to someone who would listen and hear me out before my phone went dead. Jane was my first choice, followed by Mom. Jane was better at handling the weird stuff, but there was a big problem: would Mom and Dad believe her when she told them that I was in an alternate universe's 19th century? I doubted it.

At the right time and the right place, Mom would have been a better choice. Mom was passionate but organized and could put a damper on whatever hysteria was going on back in the twenty-first century. Mom could call off the bloodhounds or whoever was looking for me, maybe put my things in storage, or at least keep paying my cell phone bills so I'd be able to scream for rescue if I emerged back in my proper time and universe. On the other hand, I could imagine trying to get through and having our conversation interrupted by Eric Effing Schrecter or one of her big-time clients who'd decide that that was the perfect time to call and to hell with the fact that I was stuck out in Nebraska Territory in an alternate universe in the year 1860.

Aunt Amy was my third choice. I'd kept up with her while I was at college and next to Mom in lawyer mode, Aunt Amy was still the coolest and most collected of her sisters. Amy would be less emotionally involved and I could talk to her before Mom or Dad gave into hysterics. I could imagine her actually hearing me out instead of having hysterics before my battery went flat. That was assuming I could get through. I wasn't sure I could, but I had to try.

After travelling all morning, breaking for a Noon meal, and then traveling for a couple more hours our pace of travel began to slow down from a slow walk to a crawl and I realized that we'd come to the Platte River Bridge.

Guinard's Bridge was a structure that I'd probably have sneered at back in the Twenty-first century, let alone driven over it. It was a long structure composed of multiple beams stretching over several pilings over the Platte River and the Platte River Bottom lacking trusses or what I thought of as adequate bracing. Back in the Twenty-first Century, it was too narrow e to be classified anything but as a one-lane bridge, assuming that the Wyoming state highway department would allow anyone to use it as a public roadway. It was built almost of wood, with a plank deck and long wooden walkways for the animals and wagons to cross it. If it wasn't for the fact that I saw several wagons crossing it and the fact that our wagons were considerably lighter than even the lightest automobiles back home, I might have balked at crossing it. Still, it seemed to be doing the job, so I decided that it was safe enough.

Our company stopped just before the bridge. I suppose so we could dig out money to pay the toll. I was looking in on my patient when Kennard came back to the second wagon and told me that Captain Trout needed me to talk to the toll keeper.

I followed Kennard but at a whim, I turned on my cell phone and photographed the bridge. I'll regret this later, I thought after taking the picture and then turning my cell phone back off.

I decided that it was safe enough to leave Buckley alone for a few minutes and walked up to Captain Trout's wagon, where I found Captain Trout talking to the toll-keeper.

"Yes, Captain?" I said.

"I'm having difficulty talking to this man," said Captain Trout said in Andal. "Could you please help?"

"I'll do my best," I replied in Andal.

"Good afternoon," I said to the toll-keeper.

"Good afternoon, Miss," said the toll-keeper. He was a young guy, about my age. Back in the Twenty First Century, I would have assumed that he was probably part-Mexican. He had an accent, and didn't seem that confident with his English. Quebecois, possibly? There had been a fair amount of French-speakers in the Louisiana territories back in the early 19th century.

"Do you wish to continue this conversation in English or French?" I asked, changing from English to my rusty French.

The toll-keeper smiled at me and said "Français, Madamoiselle."

"What were you saying to le Capitain Trout?" I asked.

"Le peage," said the toll-keeper.

I switched back to Andal. "He wants to discuss the toll," I said. We then got down to business. At first, Louis wanted Captain Trout to pay the toll for the Company right then and there. Captain Trout refused, saying that each family would pay their own tolls. Louis quoted a rate, Captain Trout scoffed, and the two set to haggling, eventually agreeing on what Louis said was a discount. Captain Trout paid the toll for his first wagon and animals and then for his second wagon and animals. There were also separate charges for the guys; ladies, on the other hand, got to walk across for free.

Captain Trout thanked Louis and turned back to his wagon. I set to do the same, but Louis said "Ah, mademoiselle."

"Hein?" I said.

"It is a pleasure to speak French with an attractive young woman such as yourself but your accent is terrible," he said.

"Mercy bowcoup," I replied, letting him have my Texas accent full-force.

Our party rumbled across the bridge shortly afterwards and I realized that I'd been too snobbish. This bridge was remarkable in its own way. Building any sort of bridge out here in the middle of nowhere had been one hell of an accomplishment. The Golden Gate Bridge this wasn't, but it was a long wooden bridge built out in the middle of nowhere using timbers that must have been brought dozens of miles from some distant forest to be shaped into bridge timbers.

The fort at the edge of the Platte River bridge was directly across from where we'd stood earlier and our teams had to make sharp left turns to avoid the barracks and the parade ground. We went a couple of more miles and then Captain Trout called it a day. Captain Johnson had halted his company next to us and both we and they set about setting up camp.

I've said it before, but setting up camp on the Trail was a pain in the ass. Not only did you have to stop and circle the wagons, but you also had to unyoke the oxen. After that you set about unloading the wagon so you could set up camp and cooking fires. It was a disagreeable but necessary chore, but tonight it had one benefit: we'd be off-loading Buckley and leaving him to the tender mercies of the Fort's physician.

As it turned out, the doctor was out and we were stuck with Buckley one more evening. I got to feed him and water him and wipe him one more time and thank God or somebody that I'd be able to foist him off on somebody else.

After dinner, I looked at my digital wrist-watch. I'd bought a mid-grade sports watch that kept two times: one for whatever time zone I cared to be in and another that kept the time zone from wherever I had been. I'd reset one of the functions to by-guess Rocky Mountain emigrant time while keeping the other one set to Eastern Daylight Savings Time. I looked at the Eastern Daylight Savings Time display: it was just after 9:00 PM.

I walked over to Captain Trout. "Captain, I need some alone time," I said. "One of the few things I'd brought with me is a cellular telephone. I'm hoping that the barriers between worlds are thin enough here that I can call my parents and tell them what happened to me."

"Do you honestly think you can do this magic?" said Captain Trout.

"Penetrating the barriers between worlds is not a skill I possess, ," I said. "Still, I can hope that my device might be able to do so. It may not work but I have to try."

I pressed the "On" button and prayed that it would work. The screen turned to its usual electric blue, then I did a battery check. My cell phone's battery charge was lower than half-charge. I scowled but wasn't surprised. Small wonder: I'd shown it to the Trouts and I'd shown it again to the Ashfields, and then kept it off.

I then entered Aunt Amy's phone number and pressed the "Call" button. I was elated to see that I was connecting to a phone network. My elation was dashed by consternation: my call was interrupted by an automated phone company message that my account was delinquent and that I needed to make a prompt payment if I wanted to make or receive any calls. I looked at the phone and swore viciously. I'd sent the jerks a check before I left, but how much time had lapsed since my departure I'd been taken from my home universe? Subjectively, it's been nearly a month since I crossed over. Over there, who knows? Weeks, months, maybe? Probably not longer: my parents would probably have cancelled my service.

I wondered how I could pay them. Mom and Dad had probably frozen my accounts back home, so I probably couldn't use my debit or credit cards. But those weren't my only resources. I'd kept a couple of loaded bank gift cards for emergencies. I didn't know it the phone company thought they were good enough. This was an emergency and I had to try it whether they worked or not.

I switched over to the payment menu and entered the gift card's numbers and pin, praying that my card's numbers wouldn't be rejected. The phone company's computer took its own sweet time processing my payment. Running down charge while I'm stuck here in an emergency, I thought bitterly, thinking up more curses to heap on the accounts department's heads and the cell phone's automated system kicking in. "Payment accepted," said the recorded voice at the other end of the phone. "Your confirmation number is…". I hung up and looked at my phone's charge. I'd lost yet more of what little I had left.

I re-entered Amy's phone number and pressed the "call" button. The phone connected, then rang once, twice, then someone picked it up and said "Hello?". To my relief, it was Aunt Amy.

"Hello, Aunt Amy?" I said. "This is Daria."

"Daria?" said Aunt Amy. "Where the Hell are you? You've been missing for weeks and Jake and Helen are having hysterics! Why the Hell haven't you called?" It was good to hear Amy's voice but I could tell that she was not only relieved to hear that I was still alive but angry that I hadn't checked in.

"I can tell you, but my cell has a low charge and I don't know how much I can say before the phone goes dead," I said. "I need at least two minutes without interruptions to tell you what's happened. Can you do that, please?

"Go ahead," Aunt Amy said skeptically.

"You know how Rikka got to the US?" I replied. "Someone or something transposed Rikka and her sisters to the US over ten years ago. Well, someone or something transposed me from school to someplace else."

"You aren't in Westeros, are you?" Amy interrupted.

"Thank God, no," I said. "And please don't interrupt. I got shifted over to a parallel Earth, only it's 1860 and the Wild West. That's 1860 AD, James Buchanan is in the White House and Abraham Lincoln is just an aspiring politician. I got dumped in the middle of a campground with a bunch of westbound pioneers headed to Oregon. They took me in over three weeks ago and we've just arrived in the equivalent of Casper, Wyoming."

"So why the hell didn't you go east?" said Aunt Amy.

"Because I'm scared stiff of contracting some disease I'm not vaccinated for and sanitary conditions in the here-and-now make most Third World countries look good," I replied. "Getting to Oregon might be dangerous, but it's safer once I get there."

"You could get with family," said Aunt Amy. "We did have family there."

"Two reasons," I said. "One, I'm certain this isn't really our Earth. It's got a dimensional porthole and lots of Westerosi and Americans are going back and forth. Ours didn't have one. Two, I don't want to mess with our relatives. William Barksdale is a foam-at-the-mouth pro-slavery Fire Eater and I've already had a run-in with Grand Bethany Ann Watkins. Her hubby Marcus Ashfield was posted to Fort Laramie and she and I do not get along."

Aunt Amy gave a startled chuckle. She'd heard more stories about Bethany Ann than I did.

"So what do you want me to do?" said Aunt Amy.

"Tell Mom and Dad that you heard from me, that I'm all right, but I can't come home yet. Tell Mom and Dad to keep my cell phone account active. If I can get the battery charged up, I'll either call from here or possibly Boise, Idaho. Also, tell Mom, Dad, Quinn, and Rikka that I love and miss them and that I want to come home. You, too."

I was beginning to tear up. "I'm going to send a couple of pix I've got on my phone as proof-of-life, then I'm going to call Mom. You've still got that Antares e-mail, don't you?"

"Yes," said Aunt Amy.

"Take care," I said. "Tell everyone I'm all right. I love you." I hung up, tears welling in my eyes.

I looked at my cell phone battery charge. I had even less than I did before. I opened up my photo file function and clicked on three images: one showing me standing next to Bethany Ann, Marcus, and their daughter, the next showing the Trouts, and the third showing the wagons crossing the bridge. I then attached them to an e-mail and sent them to Aunt Amy.

When I was satisfied that I'd sent them, I entered Mom's number. The battery was now in the yellow zone, but I thought still had a couple of moments to talk to her. I pressed the "call" button.

Mom picked up after the first ring. I could hear the strain and worry in her voice.

"Hello, Mom, it's me, Daria," I said. An ugly thought occurred to me. Some trolls were probably already tormenting her. I had to give her evidence that it was really me, not some sick tormentor. "It's really me," I said. "I used to have that awful bowl haircut when I was little, you sent me off to Camp Grizzly, and when Erin got married, I wore that awful bridesmaid's gown."

"Who?" Mom said, then "Daria? Where the hell are you? We're all worried sick! We haven't heard from you in weeks! Are you all right? Why the Hell haven't you called?"

"Long story," I said. "I got shifted to another world, it's July, 1860 here and I told Amy that I'm on the site of Casper, Wyoming." While I was talking, I began to hear the noises I expected and dreaded: my cell phone's battery was going flat and the signal was breaking up. At best, I had only seconds. "I'm all right. Give my love to everybody. I miss…" The signal was breaking up. I heard more static noises, the swords "Lost Signal" appeared on the screen, and I knew my call was over. I looked at the battery charge display. It showed solid red inside the outlines of a AAA battery, then the screen dimmed as the phone shut itself down.

I powered off my phone, tears swelling as I realized that my contact with the Twenty-First century and my family had just been broken.

I staggered back into camp in a state of grief and shock. The moon was up when I reached the Trouts' wagon. Kara saw my expression, her face full of concern.

"Well, how did it go? Did you succeed?" she said.

I broke down and started crying.