Laurie Boris

Author’s note: I wrote this piece in 2017 but for some reason didn’t publish it. Today, sitting down to write some flash fiction, a sequel popped out. So I figured I should post the first story before I get to the second one. As always, thank you for reading.

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Thomas Jefferson could not believe any of this was real. Perhaps he’d had too much apple brandy and nodded off in his favorite armchair on the front porch and was having a wonderful dream.

Again he brushed his fingers against the metallic walls, over the strange panel of what Ben Franklin said he would use to control this odd contrivance. Thomas had once envisioned a type of ship that could lift off the ground, made a few sketches, but that was years ago, in a fit of fancy, to entertain his grandchildren. Never had he imagined he could escape the bounds of earth without moving at all; never had he—

The very air next to Thomas shivered, and into the seat adjacent to his popped a fusty and quite discontented little man. The man, whose expression shifted from confusion to annoyance, emitted a harrumph at where he found himself, as if this event had not happened for the first time. “I was perfectly content in Massachusetts, Franklin, now will you kindly explain what is this foolishness and why it was so important to—”

Old Ben laughed. Dear God, Thomas had missed that laugh. No. It had to be a dream. The esteemed Dr. Franklin had escaped his own mortal bounds years ago. And yet here they all were. Just as they had been in Philadelphia during the hottest summer he could recall.

“Mr. Adams, I will kindly explain my own foolishness if you keep yours to a dull roar.” Franklin gestured to the instrument panel, to the turning gears and flashing lights of a design Thomas could not in his mind disassemble. “I have created”—Franklin paused, in what Tom recognized as the showman’s flourish he often used in Congress—“a device that will permit us to travel forward in time.”

John Adams’ mouth opened and closed like a fish in distress.

Jefferson could not resist. “Dr. Franklin, I do enjoy the few moments when our friend is rendered speechless. Good afternoon, John.”

“Yes, hello, Tom.” He spun back to Ben. “Travel forward in time? Seriously, have you been into your cups? And everyone else’s as well?”

“Perhaps,” Franklin admitted. “But once I figured out how it could be done I couldn’t resist. And I could think of no two better men to accompany me on our maiden voyage.”

Adams’ fingers tightened on the armrests. “Are you meaning to say you’ve never tested this monstrosity?”

Franklin made a coy shrug.

“John.” Tom gave his old friend a gentle smile. “Just take a good breath and consider the possibilities. This experiment we undertook in Philadelphia. The war we fought for our independence. The young country we both led. The concerns we have spent much of our retirement expressing in our correspondence. Aren’t you the slightest bit curious to know if it has stood the test of time?”

“Frankly, no,” Adams said. “If God had intended me to have that knowledge, He would allow me years enough to see it for myself.”

“I fear we will not have so many years,” Thomas said. “I have no answer for Dr. Franklin’s presence, as our God does work in mysterious ways. But think on it, John. I know, better than most, that deep in your breast beats an inkling of curiosity.”

A long sigh escaped the man from Massachusetts. “Fine then. Let us see what God and our labors have wrought.”

Then Franklin went to work, giddily tapping on buttons and turning dials. It was the oddest sensation. Like an ocean wave swam its way back and forth over Thomas’s body. As if he were the ocean himself. Adams looked distinctly dyspeptic. Then, finally, the craft and the sensations stilled.

“Have we arrived?” Thomas asked Ben.

“More importantly,” Adams said, “where and when have we arrived?”

“The seat of our modest government, two hundred and some years hence.” Ben pushed some buttons and pulled a lever, and inch by inch, a door at the side of the contraption slid open. Thomas strained to see and hear and smell this new land they’d travelled to, but before his mind could fit all the pieces together, the three of them had been whisked out, as eerily as they’d been spirited into the conveyance. Which had now vanished.

Adams, as usual, seemed the most disturbed. His head spun left and right and he rounded on Franklin as if he’d just committed treason. Franklin merely flipped a hand and strode forward. “It’s all taken care of. Tom, tell him not to worry so; it’s bad for the digestion.”

Thomas was about to say something similar when he noticed that not only had the craft disappeared, they themselves seemed to be invisible to the veritable hordes of people they were now walking among and sometimes straight through. Men and women, of all nationalities and cultures. Shocking in their dress, some of them.

“This is it?” John said. “This is our United States? This is our Washington?”

“The very same,” Ben said.

While Thomas and John were both absorbing how all had changed, Franklin was, as always, Franklin. Nothing seemed to ruffle that old turkey’s feathers. He stopped at a large, domed building, and as if he owned it, began striding up the granite stairs. The gout of his corporeal body seeming to not disturb him in the slightest.

“Gentlemen,” Franklin said, guided by some unknown force through doors and down corridors, “I give you our Congress.”

Jefferson held his breath. At the size of it. At the people—black and white, men and women. This truly was a dream. One in his private thoughts he’d hoped for, but never could believe. He slid a glance to Adams, and it was as if they were in agreement. If this was in some way, shape, or form not a dream, they would have much to discuss in their upcoming letters.

“Well,” Franklin said with a smirk. “From the arguments, I gather not all has changed in the future.”

As Franklin ushered them out, a question came to Thomas’s mind but he dared not voice it. Adams beat him to it. “Franklin. Is the office of the presidency still intact?”

“My sources tell me it’s not far,” Franklin said. “Let’s find out.”

After a short walk, Franklin stopped. Adams’ mouth again dropped open. Thomas could not immediately find the words.

“This looks…” Adams swallowed. “Franklin. This has a frightening resemblance to the palace at Versailles. This surely cannot be where…”

“Just wait,” Franklin said with a sigh.

A large man with a disturbingly orange complexion walked by. He was trailed by such pageantry, such puffery—surrounded by so much fawning flattery that he might as well have been a king. Or worse. The orange man stood before a small crowd that seemed to hang on his every utterance. Had the language changed so drastically? Was it indeed still English they were speaking? The tone with which he addressed the men and women dripped of disdain and impatience. He even cursed like a sailor at one of them for asking a question he apparently did not like, and Thomas could almost sense the intake of John’s breath.

“This man was indeed elected?” John sputtered. “By our people?”

“Truly, yes,” Franklin said. “As a wise man once said, we get the government we deserve.”

John’s eyes narrowed as again he turned accusingly on the good doctor. “You knew of this. This was not the maiden voyage of your contraption. You’ve been here before!”

Franklin lowered his gaze like a child caught in a lie. Then lifted his head. “True. I have.”

“Why, Ben?” Thomas asked.

“Well, look at him! And believe me, it gets worse. Much worse. I needed witnesses to see for their own eyes what has become of our experiment. Of all the men I’ve met, you are the two I’ve trusted most.”

Adams pulled himself up taller, which only made him look more like a popinjay than he already did. “Franklin, can you still specify where your conveyance will take us?”

“I got us here, didn’t I?”

“Then get us to Philadelphia, 1787.” He glared at the orange man. “We have some changes to make to that Constitution.”