Call headquarters, have you terminated.

The air was filled with wafts of smoke, and the clamor of voices, and sometimes the jostling of an unruly patron. The smell was a strange melange of tobacco, whiskey, blood, sweat, and urine. Jim took it all in as he took a long swig of his beer. He didn't mind. It was authentic, it was really, it was probably the most amazing thing he had ever experienced. Better than the birth of his first child, bad as it was to admit that to himself, better than getting his P.h.d, better than sex. It was history alive, in the flesh, walking into an old newsreel. When they had first entered through the door into the dark alley and walked toward the street he could hear the clopping of the hoofprints. 'Now this is probably going to blow your mind so be prepared.' Jim had nodded and they emerged from the alley. It was hard for Jim to identify exactly how he felt as he walked into it. There it was, New York City, 1885. Men in top hats and frock coats, ladies in hoop skirts, sometimes with a parasol. The newspaper boy's hawking the morning paper. Men doffing their cap's to one another. 'That always makes people smile.' Ben said as the had walked down the street. 'You see going back is just like going to a different country,' he said. 'Different customs, different social mores, different etiquette.' Ben was explaining this as they were walking down the street but no one seemed to notice them. 'In many ways its just like being in the city today, people pretty much ignore you.' They had mostly. The barkeep was a large Irishman with a handlebar mustache who grunted as they had ordered. Ben had given him 40 dollars in greenbacks which had been more then enough. 'The past is cheap.' Ben explained. They their journey in the 50's going to a bar on the corner populated by greasers and factory workers. Then they had tiled back a few pints in a speakeasy in Brooklyn in the 20's and Jim had watched a young Louie Armstrong play. Ben seemed to know someone in every decade. Have some kind of contact in that era. That was his asset, Jim thought as he watched him singing a having a boisterous conversations with a couples of Irish workers. Jim pondered what he would tell his colleagues who had told him about historical travel. They hadn't gone themselves but they had told him the rumors. Ben had made him sign a confidentiality agreement, and Ben wouldn't tell them anyway. If everyone found out the past would become like and old remote swimming hole discovered by the general population. A once pristine location now littered with beer cans and crowded all the time. 'I usually only take one person back at a time.' Ben explained. 'The more people you take back the more frequent the anomalies become. The more likely they are to recognize you as an outsider.' It was hard to remember it wasn't exactly the past, it had the same characteristics but it wasn't exactly the same. Alternate universes' but damned if it wasn't close. Jim finished his beer. 'Can I get another?' Jim asked the Irishman. He noticed Ben sauntering over from the other side of the saloon. 'How you doing over there bud?' Ben asked as he approached. He had finished his fourth beer, he had had one in the 50's, two in the 20's and now 4 in 1885. 'This is really something.' Jim slurred, taking a draw of his beer. 'Yeah it is, good people here too.' Ben knew most of the regular patrons of the saloon by name, and a few more things about the. Al who liked to sit at the end was an old Civil war vet, Ben had found that out one time after he'd had a few and had started talking to Al. Al had told him about Antietam, Gettysburg, and a half dozen other battles Ben had never even heard of. It was come out all at once, as if Al had just been waiting for someone to ask him. A cannonball had taken off his leg a Frederiskburg. He had been struck by a minieball three time in the arm, hand, and chest. Tough old bastard, Ben had thought. This is my calling, Ben thought as he looked around the saloon at the various patrons. This strange niche was what I was put on earth to do. 'Shouldn't we head back soon?' Jim asked finishing the rest of his beer. It was far better then he had expected. 'Why do that Jimmy my boy? Another round for everyone at the bar!' Ben raised his glass. A few of the patrons raised their glasses in reply but most just grumbled. Ben put down the remainder of his cash on the table. It was just enough to cover it. 'Alright let's head out.' Ben motioned to Jim. Jim stumbled up, it was getting late. 'There might be a few ruffian's out there, so watch your step.' Ben said loudly as they walked out. The night was clear and cool, with a full moon. 'You see, this is what your money can get you.' They walked down the gas lit street in silence for a minute, watching the stars. 'Do you really think you should have engaged them that much?' Jim asked, breaking the silence. 'No you see, you should refrain from engaging with them. But me they know me, recognize me, and if they think that you're with me they are less likely to hone in on you. They think I am some kind of travelling peddler right now, and your'e my friend from out of town. That's usually the best thing to do. Say you're from out of town, or a foreigner, they love that.' 'So as long as I'm with you they won't see me as an outsider.' Jim said. 'Exactly.' It was more of a theory than an established fact, but so far it had proven true. The incident in 1992 had shaken his confidence slightly, but now he felt it back. He knew these people, knew the past, knew how to navigate people through the static worlds. 'Here it is.' Ben said as they approached the alley. He had placed his Handkerchief on the barrel on front of the alley to mark it. Ben led the way, stumbling slightly as he went. Ben fumbled in his pockets for a second before producing the device. A little remote control. He pressed a few buttons and the door opened. 'Well,' Ben slurred. 'Back to our shitty time.' He walked through the door. Jim paused for a second looking around. All was silent, but something didn't feel right. He could feel eyes on them the whole time they were walking out of the bar. Paranoia, maybe Jim thought. Maybe not. As Jim walked through the door he was sure someone was watching them. They didn't look much like demon's Mary thought, the two men who had passed through the wall. Or angel's or any kind of wizards she had read about. Just average people. Still she had had read that the devil would appear in different form's sometimes, to work his evil among the good people. Still the men didn't seem like devil's or evil, but there was something about them. Something off, she had heard that one of them lived nearby, a peddler of some kind. Mary had been on the street's for two years since her parents had died. She had learned to observe, to study the vast arrange of character's she ran into on the street. It was a necessary component of survival on the street. She had observed every kind of gambler, hustler, brusier, pimp, there was. That one was no peddler. Maybe he did live in the brownstone across the street but he wasn't from there. She wasn't sure where he was from. But she was going to find out. The next time they go through, I'm following them she vowed.