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The Future is in the Past
A low pitched hum sounded as the time bubble carrying three men materialized on the French grassy hill. Several sheep turned and witnessed the extraordinary event. Then, unimpressed with technology that traveled 600 years through time, the sheep returned to feed on the thick ground cover. The time traveler, dressed in medieval clothing, stepped out of the vehicle.
“This is Southern France 1529,” the first guard said. “No locals have spotted us yet. This is where we have to leave you.”
“Good luck with the plague and the inquisition,” mocked the second guard. “You'll have a fun time in this era.”
“Forget him,” the first guard said to the time traveler.
“I never did anything to hurt society. I was just too much of a threat to the party in power,” said the time traveler. He carefully removed a replica old fashioned wooden cart and a few basic supplies from the time bubble.
“Things could be worse,” said the first guard. “You're not in jail. You just got caught on the wrong side of a political debate. The powers that be currently judge that the best punishment for political prisoners is to sentence them to the past.”
“Good luck trying to change history chump,” said the second guard. “Any changes in the past create a new alternative time-line and do not affect us in the present.”
“He knows he can't change our future,” said the first guard to the second. Then the guard reached over and shook the time traveler's hand.
“The village of Montpelier is about five kilometers south of here,” the first guard said. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Since I know a little about medicine, I figure in these dark times, I could be a great doctor,” said the man. “Since I already know history, I figure I could do well as a seer.”
The guard sealed the bubble door and flipped the return controls. The time bubble dematerialized with a deep, low hum. Suddenly the time traveler was alone in the quiet French field—forever stranded in a dangerous and volatile time period. A light breeze blew through his hair as if reminding him that he was part of this strange, backward world now. He grimly pushed the cart towards a dirt path, that appeared to lead to the village.
As he steadily walked on, he wondered if he would be able to survive the black plague and the terrible church inquisitions and somehow find a place for himself in this dark era. He was lonely and afraid.
The nobleman strode through the old wooden doorway of the Montpelier village apothecary and suddently all conversation stopped. From the bright and rich clothing of the man, it was clear he was from the royal palace. The time traveler, and the two customers that were in the poorly-lit shop, stared at the nobleman in a curious combination of amazment and fear. The time traveler stepped out from one of the cluttered shelves and into middle of the room—where the light was better. One of the customers nervously accidently knocked a jar of Rose petal herbs to the floor. Then there was silence. The royal nobleman's presence in a common shop meant ether very good news or very bad news.
“Son Altesse Royale Catherine Queen de la France souhaite à une audience avec le prophète. (Her royal highness Catherine Queen of France wishes an audience with the prophet.)” The nobleman announced.
“Je suis il. (I am he.),” replied the time traveler.
“Quel est votre nom ? (What is your name?)”
“Michel Nostradamus,” replied the time traveler.
C'est le nom. La Reine voudrait que vous veniez au château. (That is the name. The Queen would like you to come to the castle.)
Nostradamus smiled. His fame had grown quickly. He briefly wondered what future generations would think of him when they realized that he correctly predicted the death of King Henry, the French Revolution, the London fire, World War II, and the atomic bomb. It was easy to predict the future when you had already read the history books.
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