Otto Chmura: Otto Chmura, #1

By Richard R Lockwood

Otto Chmura is a native of a 19th Century Poland dominated by time travelers. When he gets control of a time travel device he decides to imitate them and lead a more entertaining life in the 18th Century. Taking the future science and technology with him, he travels the timelines to a new past. His simple intentions run headfirst into his new powers. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard R Lockwood
• Release date: Aug 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201923532

Richard R Lockwood

Was born in Miami FL. Worked for the University of Florida until I retired. Been married to the lovely Cecelia for 40 years now, proof that I'm a lucky guy. Now living on the Nature Coast in Citrus County. Enjoy all kind of wildlife, especially reptiles and insects, so I'm pretty sure I'm in the right place. When I'm not writing I enjoy wood carving. Both of the heads beside me in the picture are cedar from the Chassahowitzka Forrest. I also love to walk my dog Bark Anthony. Probably need to go do that now. A Chronology of the Twins Alternate Universe novels and some thoughts and rationales - https://www.ricklockwood.net/Chronology.html My Books on Books 2 Read - https://books2read.com/ap/RaZ9Br/Richard-R-Lockwood  

Book preview

1

The High Tatras are not the highest mountains in Europe, but in the middle of winter that hardly mattered as they had enough ice and snow and sleet to satisfy any taste for such frozen effects. On one smaller rounded summit surrounded by taller sharper peaks, any observer bold enough to brave the snow storm might have seen, if they were close enough, a bronze shimmering field shaped like a globe. The field was about a meter tall, though the meter had not been defined in 1750, and seemed to waver a bit after its sudden appearance before deciding to stay, which was exactly what was happening.

Inside the field, the devices tasked with such chores were sampling the environment at different wavelengths. Finally deciding after a few seconds that there were no other similar devices within range, the field winked out, leaving behind a man sitting on his heels, his head on his knees. He raised his head and noticed the snow obscuring his vision, then sent an order to his air buffer control on the harness he wore. Moments later the snow began to avoid him as the air thickened around him. No longer having to worry about losing toes or fingers or the top of his head to the time field, he stood and stretched.

Mother of God, only a fool would be about now, he said in Polish, his native tongue, though he spoke several others. So why am I about?

Shoving the stray thought back where it belonged, he got to work. He moved carefully off the bald rocky summit to a small valley nearby. A pocket of his vest yielded a seed and he spent a minute scuffing the ice layer before setting the seed down and sending it an activation order. It would take the seed at least an hour to break up and process the rock around it to install itself, and another hour gathering raw materials before it could begin producing. The man lay down beside it in the storm and stretched out, the snow fell and melted around him, he took a nap.

The ready signal woke him and he sent his first order; a puff stick, capable of collecting and shooting compressed air. Looking like a simple straight wooden stick, it was a common self defense accessory for gentlemen of his old time. Ten minutes later it emerged from the small factory mouth and while the small factory went to work on his next order the man swung the stick about in a series of exercises to get his blood and muscles loosened up.

His next order, a heavy dark gray cloak with a hood, only took a few minutes and he donned it while he sent his last order to the factory, then sat on a boulder to eat one of his travel bars and sipped some water from a rocky depression nearby where the snow had felt the heat of the small factory’s activity. The factory signaled its completion again and he picked up the new seed. Dense and heavy, the metallic ovoid was slightly larger than his fist, the maximum size the tiny factory could produce. It came with a stringy traveling harness. He looped the harness over his left shoulder and gripped his stick in his right, put up his hood, then started making his way further down the mountains.

He had chosen this area for several reasons. He was familiar with it, though he’d never traveled about it in such severe weather. The surrounding region was sparsely inhabited because of the thin soil and the difficulty of moving animals around the poor trails. Ownership of any area here was certain to be vague, no one would be defending any of it or likely to challenge his passage, and if they did they would likely be bandits, he could deal with them without worrying about offending any higher authorities.

His boots extruded small spikes to make him less likely to slip. After another hour of careful slow walking, some up but mostly down, he reached his destination, a large frozen lake. It was entirely shut in by the mountains around him and had no outlet unless it had far more water than usual, which sometimes happened during the spring snow melt. He trekked along the frozen shore until he reached a decent sized level area, his puff stick blew debris and snow out of the way, he set his new seed down and activated it.

Feeling safer now that he had made progress on his initial tasks, he sat down on a rock nearby and reviewed his agenda. As he had so many times in the last few months since he had decided to go with the plan, he concluded it might not be the best use of his time but it was an interesting way to live his life, a life that might last for centuries if he was lucky and did nothing stupid.

Do nothing stupid, he sat and thought, that’s the key. Is traveling into the past stupid? Or is it just a way to make life interesting? He had already had a long and full life, had raised a large and prosperous family, he spent some time on the memories of each of his favorite lovers, then consigned them to his past when the new factory announced its installation was complete.

An hour later it sent a ready for service signal; it had processed enough rock below it into pre-construction material. His first order was for a small lifting barge, two meters across, the largest that could be produced by this modest sized factory. An hour later it emerged from the factory under its own gravity control, a tall white tube oriented up and down as it was manufactured. It spent several minutes stretching out and shortening itself until it was a flat white disk, half a meter thick and two across. While that was happening he ordered a new full size factory seed. When that was done he slung the new seed beneath the new barge, sat upon the center of it and arranged his cloak, then ascended into the still falling snow and headed north east.

2

His destination was a ruined castle, built by an Austrian noble as a hunting lodge and retreat a century before. There was a possibility it might not be there, of course. When one traveled the timelines anything might happen, some said anything had to happen, but he had alternate sites chosen if it wasn’t there or if it was inhabited. Fortunately it was there and similar to what it had looked like in his old time. It had no roof or gate, still, it’s an improvement over what I had an hour ago, he thought with some slight amusement as he descended through the lightly falling snow into the snow drift filled courtyard. There was a possibility of other humans, or perhaps even wolves, sheltering from the storm in the ruins, but his harness detected no other life signs. He placed the new seed in the middle of the courtyard, then sent the activation order.

This larger factory would take several hours before it was ready, perhaps even a day on this solid granite. He sent the little barge around the castle in an outward spiral to make sure there was nothing in the area to worry about, then headed for the nearest town, the white disk barely visible cruising through the air. I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the mother of all snowflakes?

Zakopane was a tiny town nestled along a narrow frozen stream. Situated on the map between Poland, Slovakia, Russia, and Prussia, nothing much ever happened there beyond the odd travelers or soldiers passing through.

The snow was still falling as he approached from the east. He set down in the white barge, confident it would not be bothered by anyone of this time even if they saw it among the snow drifts. He set off with his stick in hand and his cloak covering him, the air buffer shut off for now in case any of the locals saw it and accused him of sorcery. That would be a setback and he would have to take measures or start again, the thought of hunkering down and enduring the time transition so soon did not appeal.

He found a small travelers inn where two dirt tracks crossed and pulled the heavy door open. There was a complaint as he stood in the doorway long enough to let his eyes adjust to the poorly lit interior, then he entered and swung the door closed behind him.

Sorry, friend, I couldn’t see, he said, more to let them know he wasn’t hostile than to apologize.

Don’t mind Franz, a man came up wearing an innkeeper's leather apron. None of us were expecting any travelers in this weather.

Is there anything to eat or drink?

Not much, but we can find something.

The traveler held out his hand and when the innkeeper held out his own, dropped two silver rubles into the open palm, I’m Otto.

The innkeeper may have been surprised to feel real silver but he hid it with a nod, I’ll bring the best we have, Pan.

No hurry, hot is better than fast, replied Otto as he moved over to a rough wooden table and sat.

The sole other occupant of the small inn, Otto assumed this was Franz, asked, Where you from, Otto?

Not here.

Hah! I knew that!

The innkeeper returned with a mug of warm wine, Don’t bother the Pan, Franz, I’m sure he has better things to do than amuse you.

I’ll buy him a drink if he’ll sing us a song, said Otto, but you’re right, I don’t feel like talking.

Franz was happy to comply and launched into a drinking song as soon as a fresh mug appeared before him.

After a minute, Alright, I’ll buy you another drink if you’ll shut up.

I’ll happily shut up, but first let me thank you, Pan, said Franz as he lifted his mug in a salute.

Otto dug into a thick lamb stew for a while, enjoying the sensation of filling his stomach after slimming down for two weeks before using the time travel field. The harness had a training mode and it had taken him some time before he fit safely into the field. Now he could fill back up  unless he decided to resume his time travels. Or he could wait until someone invents a more comfortable way to travel through time, but such research was illegal in Otto’s 19th century; time traveling was reserved for the Fleet and royal family. He had won the harness in a bet and waited years thinking about the device before finally deciding to chance it.

He cleaned the bowl and sat back, then gulped down the last of the wine. Resisting an urge to belch he said, I think I’m lost. This isn’t Krakow, is it?

No shit, brother, said Franz. This isn’t Krakow at all.

You’ve got a ways to go, friend, said the innkeeper. Is your horse outside?

I like to walk.

It’s good for the digestion, agreed the innkeeper. Might not be the best time for it.

I was looking for an old castle, a ruin, the Stieglitz place.

Never heard of it, but there’s an old castle, 15 versts as the crow flies southwest of us.

There’s several abandoned houses, added Franz, but that’s the closest ruined castle. I hunt up there sometimes in the spring.

I’ve got the deed to it. I won it at cards from a Prussian in Berlin. He won it from an Austrian, so it’s probably a fake, but if no one else lives there I might try to make it go.

A lot of work, my friend, said Franz. There’s a lake nearby, but you’ll have to import everything. Even the trees are sparse up there.

You’ll do some walking, said the innkeeper. If you pass through often going to Krakow I’ll give you a discount on meals.

Otto shrugged, I’m not short of money. He stood and grabbed the cloak, settling it about his shoulders before grabbing his stick. The stew was good.

Thank you, Pan. I hope we see you again.

Otto nodded as he went to the door, then out again into the snow.

3

Once again on the little barge he headed back to his second factory. While he had been away it had enough time to produce a guardian black mastiff and was just finishing up a portable habitat. He activated the mastiff and after a quick check ordered it to answer to the name Fritz.

It acknowledged directly to his neural lace, *Yes, Master.*

He grabbed the habitat when it was done and set it on the barge, then snapped his fingers for Fritz. After the mastiff leaped aboard he returned to the castle.

The snow had begun to ease up, but a glance at the sky made him think more was coming. He looked around at his new claim. The stone work was still mostly in place, but any wood had either been burned or taken away. In Otto’s time a century later it was still a ruin.

He set up the habitat on an upper stone terrace and started it. As it unfolded and set itself up for housekeeping he looked around the slopes beyond the walls but the snowfall hid most of the view, which even in the spring wasn’t that much. Not the dramatic Alps further south, but lots of privacy, which is why I’m here.

Now he had a civilized place to relieve himself. He ordered Fritz to closely inspect every room of the ruin, then patrol around it, then dozed on the camp bed in the habitat. His new factory came online while he slept and its notification woke him. He checked that it had a complete copy of the engineering archives from his harness, then ordered it to produce a standard Fleet Marine gunship.

*Estimated time of completion 6 hours, 23 minutes,* came back from the larger smarter factory.

Otto summoned Fritz and got back on his barge. It was getting dark as well as snowing, but the cowl of his cloak was capable of giving him a virtual display of anything close by. He headed for Krakow and spent an hour observing Poland’s ancient capital from the air. Wawel Castle was where it belonged and so was the University. His information about other parts of the city was vague for this time, but he assumed it must be close enough. The innkeeper and Franz had spoken the proper language, the street signs and monuments he saw were properly named, he concluded he had arrived in a suitable place for his plans. If things were this similar in Poland, he ought to be able to count on things in other nations being close enough as well, though he was prepared to be flexible, particularly in political matters. Poland had been a mess before the time travelers had arrived in Otto’s old timeline. He had planned his arrival at a time before theirs in hope that they would not collide and argue over who had more right to the place, knowing he would likely come off second best. He had a few more hurdles before he could relax and be secure, but he was working down his list and was more confident in his planning as the hours went by. But now, another hurdle was coming up.

The factory was finishing the gunship stern when he arrived back at the castle. His presence alerted the warship as he guided the barge