There is an old adage that reads “Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.” This adage has been attributed to many authors, philosophers, and even a stockbroker living in Trenton, New Jersey in the late 1960s, but they all had something wrong. Not a single one of the lot took into account the possibility that somewhere along the way history would be torn to shreds and pieced back together by a scholar, a monk, and a priest. What sounds like the start to a really funny joke actually set into motion a chain of events that echoed across time and space.
This group, commissioned by the first Father Time, had access to a library that had been ransacked and partially burned, and also to a history book in which every other page had been meticulously cut out. The aftermath was that history was pieced together using fiction to fill in the blanks. The Earth had been created by mice as an experiment (or created by God, Clifford‘s Teacher at the University had been a staunch supporter of this theory, if he‘d even existed, that is), after which time dinosaurs arose and dominated the landscape for some time, up until an ice age had forced a giant hairy elephant, a tiger, and a sloth to rescue a baby.
The baby, it was conjectured, had founded the University of Oxford, and then went on to rename himself Nobel. There was the first and second World Wars, and then there were five more world wars, each using the same weapons technology as the second. Once the wars were over it was realized that the planet’s population had been decimated.
The survivors huddled together in a large valley between two mountain ranges that eventually came to be known as the Mountains of Antiquity (Antique Mountains) to the east and the Mountains of Convenience to the west. The valley came to be called Historia, and a great city was devised on the models of cities found drawn in scrolls and books in the burned out library.
There have since been seventeen Father Time’s and, if a certain mouse General has his way, Clifford Jenkins will be replacing the current one. Of course, Clifford is passed out on a makeshift cot in a sentry station. He’s just been told that his life is bound by a history book that he used at the University in Nostalgia (or did he?) and that even though he once opened it every day (or did he?) he can no longer open it because he’s not allowed to know the ending.
The cot was very uncomfortable. Even in the fitful nightmares he was having while passed out, Clifford’s subconscious was standing in the corner of his skull complaining loudly about how uncomfortable the cot was.
He opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he noticed was that it was nearing dawn in Historia. The second thing he noticed was that Schrodinger was not there. Doctor Sora Thii was standing a few feet away, looking out a window.
Clifford pushed himself into a sitting position and then moved his injured leg off the edge of the cot. He put a small amount of pressure on it, just to see if it could hold his weight. There was little pain, and so he stood up.
“Mr. Jenkins,” Sora Thii said, turning to face him, “You’re up.”
“Where’s Schrodinger?”
She stepped closer to him, “The General went on a secret mission with Slagthor.”
“Ah, Mittens.” Clifford grimaced as he took an awkward step, “Not so secret of a mission if you’re telling everyone, is it?”
She laughed, “You are part of the group. I figured it safe enough to tell you.”
Clifford straightened his shirt, “Well, I have to go on. Tell Schrodinger that I had to. He’ll understand.”
“No, you can’t. General’s orders. You are to remain here until he gets back.”
He looked at her puzzled, “I’m not a soldier. He’s not my General. I’m going on.”
She moved to block his path, “No!”
For a brief moment Clifford Jenkins could not understand why this doctor who had been so subdued and docile was suddenly stopping him. His brain began to whir, the synapses firing at about 8500 rpms. He would’ve thought that you could see smoke coming from his ears if he’d been able to think of anything other than Sora Thii.
She just stood there, blocking the door that would lead on toward the pyramid. He studied her, and then he blinked. In that moment, everything changed.
He once thought Sora Thii was beautiful, and she was to him. But now she was scary to say the least. Her skin was somewhat decayed, and seemed to decay more with each breath. Her clothes were tattered and her hair thinned. The eyes that had captivated more than one of his passed out dreams were now sunken pits on a marred face.
He drew back a bit, and did so suddenly. Sora Thii revealed a long dagger and began moving toward him in jerky motions. He stepped backward and found himself talking, “No no no no, you can’t. I need to move on. Schrodinger, your general, he knows that I need to. I’m not even supposed to be here. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I mean, one day I’m sitting at home, the next day I’m walking toward...”
To explain what happened next in Clifford’s mind would require three blackboards, eighteen cases of chalk, a professor of theoretical physics from MIT, and a congressman to make you believe it all. I’ll try to explain it for you.
Clifford had been babbling nonsense from the moment Sora Thii produced the knife. He’d been backing up to draw her away from the door, hoping he could move past her quickly enough. He was also rather confused and terrified about her sudden change. As he tried to fit everything together in his head, a small gem of knowledge appeared. He simply rearranged the letters in her name. Let’s get back to the action...
“...Historia!”
The half-decaying doctor stopped. She tilted her head sideways, much like a puppy, “What?”
He just blinked, “Historia. You are Historia. Your name has the same number of letters, and is in fact a jumbled up version of Historia. You were never on our side.”
He was shocked to hear himself say “our side.”
Sora Thii gripped the knife even tighter, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Clifford smiled, “I think I do, actually. Father Time sent you to infiltrate Schrodinger’s army. You hid yourself as the doctor, taking on a rather pleasing form, I might add. Once you were positioned at the sentry station you were going to take out all the soldiers that Schrodinger brought and end whatever threat he posed to Father Time. Is that right?”
She grinned very evilly, “Not even close.”
He allowed himself to look disappointed, “Oh well.” He picked up the gun he’d been so deftly maneuvering to and fired once, shooting the good doctor squarely in the forehead.
“I never realized you were so good with guns, Clifford Jenkins.”
He spun around to see Schrodinger standing on a ledge behind him, “What was that?”
The mouse scampered down and jumped up onto the cot, “That was Historia, just as you said. I think you were right in saying that much, but I don’t think she had any love for Father Time. I’d say that she realized you could undo her, and she wanted to stop you.”
“So why was she all decayed?”
“This city is dying Clifford. I figured that you would’ve caught on to that by now.” Schrodinger said, once again grinning.
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