Author's Note

What's a Leapgate, you ask? The word comes from a dream I had. I woke up with the phrase "Voyagers' Leapgate" running through my head. I was like, "WTF is a Leapgate?" It took me a few days to figure it out; once I did, it seemed the perfect title for what promises to become a series. Exactly what a Leapgate is will be explained in the sequel to this story.

Jake Crepeau
August 2010

WARNING:

It's a sad commentary on the hypersensitivity of today's society that I have to write this warning to protect myself, but here it is: This story deals with racism. The attitudes and language portrayed are those of the era and don't even come close to my own feelings, so hold the flames, please. ;D

Disclaimer

Voyagers! and its associated characters are the registered trademarks of Scholastic Productions, James D. Parriott Productions, and Universal-MCA Entertainment. This story is based on characters and situations created by James D. Parriott and is provided for entertainment purposes only; no copyright infringement is intended by the author.

Voyagers!
The Leapgate Chronicles #1:

In All but Name and Blood
by
Jake Crepeau

Chapter 1

Boston, Massachusetts; November 25, 1692

It was cold when they landed, their breath misting before their faces with each exhalation. The wind moaned mournfully through the mostly bare trees, and Jeffrey hugged himself in a vain attempt to ward off its bite.

"Definitely winter," Bogg remarked as he opened the Omni.

"Tell me something I don't already know," Jeffrey chattered.

"Okay. Were in Massachusetts, and it's 1692. Outskirts of Boston this time." They looked around the small farmstead. A cow and a few sheep ate from a haystack in a fenced paddock alongside the barn; several chickens in a small pen pecked at a scattering of cracked corn. There were a field of bare, broken cornstalks left from the harvest, and a full corncrib. The small house was tightly shuttered against the cold, though only a thin wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, indicative of a banked fire. "Now that's odd," Bogg muttered, starting toward the cabin.

"What is?"

"That." He pointed to the chimney. "Nobody banks a fire this late in the day, not when it's this cold."

"Maybe they're sick and couldn't build it back up this morning."

"Maybe." They approached the door and knocked; when nobody answered, Bogg pulled on the latchstring and opened it. Both were relieved to find the cabin empty; sickness in this time zone was frighteningly often fatal. They wondered where the people had gone, even as they perused the clothes press to see if there was anything that would fit them.

More appropriately clad and carrying their own clothes in a seed bag they'd found in the barn, they headed into the town proper. Jeffrey found it hard to identify this small rural community with the great city he knew, especially since there were so few people about, even among the shops. They found the reason in the town square, which seemed to be packed with more people than the town could possibly hold. A gallows had been erected at one end, and the mob jeered as a woman was escorted toward it.

"Let's see you raise the shade of Lady Phips to save you, witch!" someone taunted.

Jeffrey's jaw dropped. "Huh? Bogg, I thought we already fixed this!"

"Let's get out of here first, and then we'll talk," Bogg said and led the way. When they had left the crowd behind, he said, "I thought the witch trials were in Salem."

"That's where it started. By the time it was over, it had spread across three counties."

"What ended it, if we didn't?"

"It was a couple of things, but the last straw was when they accused Governor Phipses' wife after she signed a release for a friend while the governor was away. Now it sounds like she died before she could do that, and that's all wrong. But what I want to know is how come we're fixing this again."

"Parallel time streams," Bogg replied. At Jeffrey's blank look, he bent and drew a line in the dirt. "This is the main timeline. Every time a decision is made, it branches." He drew several lines branching off from it. "So if this one," he pointed to one of them, "is where we saved Abbiah Folger, we could be in this one now, where something different went wrong. Any idea how Lady Phips might have died?"

After a long silent moment, Jeffrey shook his head. "I can't think of it. There's something in the back of my head, but I can't remember it."

"Well, can you at least give me a likely target date?"

Boston, Massachusetts; September 19, 1692

It was late afternoon this time, the daytime warmth of late summer just beginning to give way to evening's chill. Finding the governor's residence proved no difficulty; the stately three-story home with its whitewashed clapboard walls stood in sharp contrast to the rough plank structures and log cabins that made up the rest of the town. Large trees surrounded the manse, shading it in summer and sheltering it from the winter winds. Behind it were the stables and the carriage-house, and it was here the pair secured employment as stable hands. It wasn't a position likely to give them much access to the governor and his wife, but circumstances brought them into contact the very next day, when Sir William Phips ordered his coach brought around.

Bogg and Jeffrey were tapped to bring the horses out and hold them while a third hand hitched them up; as they worked, other servants brought the governor's luggage from the house and loaded it. When everything was done to the driver's satisfaction, he sent Bogg to inform the governor that his carriage was ready, then started the matched pair of chestnuts pulling the vehicle around to the front.

As he watched Bogg head toward the house, Jeffrey's peripheral vision registered movement near the rear door, and he turned to watch a young scullery maid come out, about his own age. She was using both hands to carry an oak bucket of dirty dishwater, which she emptied of its contents before turning to go back inside. Once again, both hands were occupied carrying the heavy wooden bucket, preventing her from raising her skirts to walk, so it was nearly inevitable that the hem ended up under her feet, almost tripping her. She recovered and made it inside without mishap, but the incident triggered the elusive memory, and Jeffrey darted after Bogg.

"I hope you remembered something, kid; I've got a feeling we're running out of time," the older Voyager remarked when his partner caught up to him.

"We are out of time," Jeffrey said urgently. "She should be coming downstairs right now to see the governor off…"

He did not get a chance to finish; having also seen the scullery maid's near-accident, Bogg guessed the rest and bolted for the door.

He found Sir William waiting in the hall, and his wife just starting down the stairs. Whether or not the Phipses' status as Puritans was genuine, or merely a matter of political expediency, they had certainly adopted the manner of dress; Lady Phips' gown was a plain gray, modestly buttoned to the neck, though it was adapted to her station with a small amount of lace trim edging the collar and cuffs. She was halfway down when she turned to issue an order to the maidservant at the top of the stairs, but the order was never given, supplanted by a startled cry as she stepped on the hem of her skirts and began to fall. Bogg had started up the steps as soon as the lady had turned and was there to catch her as she stumbled. He maintained a steadying hold long enough for her to regain her balance.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly, a hand over her breast as if to keep her pounding heart from bursting through her chest. "I—"

She was interrupted by a sharp gasp from the maid still on the top landing. "I knew it!" the girl cried. "It's that wicked Goody Pryor; she's cursed you because you argued with her yesterday!"

"Such nonsense!" Lady Phips shot back. "Prudence is a God-fearing woman; she's no more a witch than you are, Mariah, and I don't want to hear another word about it!"

"Thank Heaven you're so quick," Phips told Bogg, relief evident in his voice as he took hold of his wife. "Are you all right, dear?"

With a bow, Bogg took his leave and rejoined Jeffrey outside. Checking to make sure no one else was in earshot, he opened the Omni and let out a sigh of relief. "Green light," he said.

"All right," Jeffrey breathed.

"I'm surprised you had such a hard time remembering something like that."

"It was only mentioned in passing in one book. I read so many others that I guess it kind of got buried; since she didn't actually get hurt, I guess nobody really thought it was important."

"A maid said something about someone named Prudence Pryor cursing Lady Phips because of an argument yesterday."

"I don't know the name, but that's okay; that must be the lady they were going to hang in that other time zone. The maid reported her, and she was arrested, but Lady Phips ordered her release."

Bogg nodded. "That fits; she told the maid that accusing Prudence was ridiculous."

"Yeah, well, somebody believed it, because they accused Lady Phips. They figured if she would release an accused witch, she must be one herself. When Sir William got back and found out about it, he put a stop to the whole business." He let out a sigh of his own. "That's as close to a failed assignment as I ever want to get."

"You and me both, kid," Bogg grinned as they headed back toward the stables, planning to Omni out once they were out of sight of the rest of the stable hands. "But I just learned something important."

"What's that?"

"Your history's not infallible."

"I never said it was!" Jeffrey protested.

Bogg chuckled. "No, but I was beginning to think it was," he admitted.

Both whirled, startled, as an unfamiliar voice proclaimed, "And that's why Voyagers are supposed to carry Guidebooks." The man approaching them held one in a hand. He was tall, with a mass of unruly brown hair. Though clean-shaven, his beard was evident in the blue shading covering his lower face, making Bogg's "five o'clock shadow" look like a fresh shave in comparison. His features managed to be soft and angular at the same time, giving him a somewhat wolfish appearance, which his good-natured grin accentuated as he held out a hand. "Voyager Walter Price," he introduced himself. "They sent me out to deliver your new Guidebook; since you took off so fast after the trial, they didn't have a chance to give it to you then." He handed over the Guidebook, which Jeffrey then took from Bogg. Both men chuckled at his eagerness as he began to leaf through it. "What happened?" Price wanted to know.

"Jeff couldn't remember until nearly the last minute what went wrong here."

"I almost let you down big-time," Jeffrey said quietly, looking up from the book.

"No way," Bogg reassured him. "It's not your fault historians in your time didn't think it was important. If you ask me, I think it's a miracle even one mentioned it."

"He's right," Price agreed. "If it wasn't for the original project that made direct observation of history possible, there's a lot of critical details that would have been lost entirely."

"Original project?" Jeffrey asked, smelling a tale of the Voyagers' origins. "Bogg, how come you never told me about that?"

"Because he doesn't know any more about it than I do," Price answered. "All any of us knows is that the Founder ran that project in the late twentieth century. That's all they tell you in Voyager school; apparently it's some kind of deep, dark secret. Even the folks with Archive access can't find any information about it."

"Makes sense it would be hidden," Bogg said. "I doubt that Drake's the only Voyager who ever went bad; imagine the havoc somebody like that could cause with that knowledge."

Price shuddered. "No, thanks! Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to get back."

They made their way to a secluded area; after Price had left, Bogg and Jeff quickly changed back into their own clothes and Omni'ed out.

Tientsin, China; June 13, 1900

"China?" Jeffrey cried in dismay upon hearing their location. "Bogg, I don't know anything about China!"

"Then I guess it's a good thing they caught up to us to give us this," Bogg said and opened his Guidebook.

Jeffrey waited quietly as he read, feeling utterly useless for the first time. Idly he watched the column of soldiers marching past, with a civilian among those at the head. Men of four nations marched together; he easily spotted the American Marines, and he'd seen enough old movies to be able to identify the uniforms of England and France in the mix. Only when he saw their features, however, was he able to identify the fourth nationality as Japanese.

Under other circumstances, he probably would have been thrilled at the sight, but right now, all he could think about was the Guidebook. Its loss had been the reason the older Voyager had given up trying to leave him somewhere; what would happen to him now that Bogg no longer needed his input?

For his part, Bogg felt a thrill of elation as he glanced back and forth between the book and the marching troops. So much did he enjoy having Jeffrey at his side, he hadn't even realized he'd missed the book and the feeling of confidence it gave him. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad—he could think of a few people who would have called it a crutch—but he did know that he suddenly felt in control again. A wave of enthusiasm washed over him, which he managed to quell before the inevitable stream of words came tumbling out. The kid's ego had been bruised enough back there in Boston, and now, for the first time since they'd met, he could not provide any kind of assistance. If he said the wrong thing now, he could end up doing irreparable damage.

A name seemed to leap at him from the text, a Western name, and he frantically flipped pages. He didn't know who Herbert Hoover was, but every alarm in his head was going off—and no wonder, he thought as he read the entry on Hoover. A future American President in a war zone was a recipe for a red light if he'd ever heard one.

As if on cue, the shooting started; the troops scrambled for whatever cover they could find. Wordlessly, he passed the book to Jeff and bolted down the trail at a half-crouch, to spring cat-like at Hoover, hitting him from the side with enough force to carry them both a foot or two from the target area. They skittered behind a rock outcropping, joining an officer who was crouched there, attempting to return fire. "Are you all right?" the man asked.

Upon receiving a nod from the slightly dazed Hoover, Bogg replied, "We're fine, but we need to get him back to the city."

"No," Hoover interrupted firmly. "Captain, we still have two or three miles to go, and I'm not leaving 'til I get you there."

"Are there any more peculiarities in the territory between here and there?" the captain asked.

. "No; it's pretty much straightforward from here on out."

"Then we can find our own way from the maps you've provided. Your friend's right, Herb. We have to be here; you don't. Consider your duty discharged and get back to your family."

~oOo~

Jeffrey's heart was in his mouth as he watched Bogg push the civilian out of harm's way. Once he was sure the two men were out of immediate danger, he took a moment to peruse the entry in the open book Bogg had handed him, to find that, as a young mining engineer, Hoover had spent time in China working for a mining company there; when the Boxer Rebellion had broken out, he had been asked to guide troops of the Eight-Nation Alliance to their objective because of his intimate knowledge of the area. Once the shooting started, he was supposed to be sent back to the city, and Jeff knew that the Omni would probably remain red until they got him there. He looked up, trying to find Bogg, but he and Hoover had vanished from sight.

At that, the boy had all he could do to stay put. There was no way Bogg would leave him alone for long this close to a battlefield, he told himself. He had probably found better cover, either to wait things out or to make his way back here by a safer, if more circuitous, route. But waiting for him to return wasn't doing his nerves any good; he was on the edge of panic when the nearby underbrush began to rustle. He was halfway to his feet when Bogg called out to identify himself; a moment later, he emerged from the foliage with Hoover in tow.

~oOo~

Safely behind the city walls, they saw Hoover reunited with his family, then made their way to a deserted alley where they could Omni out unobserved. Noting Jeffrey's uncharacteristic silence, Bogg said, "Your school didn't teach Chinese history, did it?"

"No. I never even heard of the Boxer Rebellion or the Eight-Nation Alliance. We just studied American and Western European history, and most of that was just bare facts. Most of the details I got from extra reading, and from talking to my dad. He specialized in Western history, though, so I don't think he knew much about China, either."

Bogg decided it would be unwise to point out America's involvement as something Bill Jones likely would have known about, and instead said only, "Well, I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. It's a big world, kid, and no one person can be expected to know all its history. That's what this is for," he added, indicating his Guidebook.

"Well, I sure wasn't any help," Jeffrey groused. "That's the second time in a row I've just been dead weight."

Suddenly realizing exactly what the boy's problem was, Bogg dropped to one knee so he could meet his eyes. "Jeff, this is not a trade-off," he said. "Just because I have my Guidebook now doesn't mean I'm going to leave you behind. You said it yourself: We're family." His eyes dancing mischievously, he added, "You're stuck with me, kid."

Still sounding uncertain, Jeffrey asked, "Even if we keep landing in places where I can't help?"

"Your knowledge of history may be why I didn't leave you in France, but it's not why I keep you around now." Then a thought occurred to him. "Haven't you noticed that, until now, we've only been to places you knew something about?"

Jeffrey's eyes widened. "I never thought about it before, but you're right."

"Now I don't pretend to understand how the Omni's control system works, but if it always drops us right where we need to be, I think it's reasonable to assume it somehow knows where your expertise is, and where it isn't. Now that we've got this book, maybe the system's decided it's time to broaden your horizons a little. And you know what that means, don't you?"

Jeffrey shook his head warily.

"It means it's time for you to start learning to use that book yourself."

As he'd expected, that brought a smile to the kid's face. As he got to his feet, Bogg knew he had to admit the kid's doubts were largely his fault. If he hadn't been so busy trying to prove things to himself, he might have realized Jeff's confidence was on thin ice before it had started to crack. It was going to take some very careful handling to get him through this, and the ex-pirate wasn't sure he was up to the task.

London, England; December, 1879

Voyager Sharon Fields picked herself up and looked around. She was in a back street of a city on a very cold night, and the gaslights did little to dispel the gloom. Big Ben's distinctive melody told her where she was even without her Omni's readout; the hour—ten at night—told her why no one was abroad. Opening the Omni, she made a face at the green light. She would have relished a vacation here; she loved Victorian England despite the attitude of most of its citizens about people of color. At least it wasn't quite so bad here as in the United States during the same period. Alfred had a preference for this time zone as well, and they planned to settle here together when they retired. But she had just come from Voyager Headquarters after recovering from injuries she'd sustained on her last assignment; there was no way she could justify a layover now. With a resigned sigh, she reset her Omni and was about to activate it when the sound of a voice calling her name caused her to whirl in startlement. Relaxing as she recognized the owner of the voice, she smiled at the tall, slender man who stepped out a doorway. "Alfred!" she cried happily as he caught her in his arms. Their lips met in a passionate kiss; when they came up for air, she said, "I missed you at Headquarters."

"What brought you there? Tell me inside; it's freezing out here."

Daytona, Florida; November 2, 1916

Jeffrey read off their location and let the red light speak for itself before he closed the Omni and handed it back to Bogg.

"That might have something to do with why we're here," Bogg remarked, indicating the grim scene across the road from where they'd landed.

A charred pile of rubble was completely unidentifiable as to what it might have been; a handful of black women was picking through the debris for anything they might be able to salvage from the ruin.

Before they could even start toward the site, however, their attention was claimed by a third Voyager's landing, only a few feet away from them.

She stood up, brushing the sandy soil from her jeans, and checked the holster-like affair holding her Guidebook before she looked around herself, freezing momentarily at the sight of the pair looking directly at her. Bogg held his vest open so his Omni was clearly visible on his belt, and the woman sagged in relief, eyeing her male counterpart appreciatively even as he admired her. Of average height, she wore her long dark hair in a single braid coiled twice around her head; its color framed a clear café-au-lait complexion. Like most women in the field, she wore no makeup, nor did she really need it. She was one who never needed to pluck her eyebrows, as they formed that perfect arch by nature alone; long, luxurious lashes of her very own framed clear brown eyes. "I'm Sharon Fields," she introduced herself.

"Phineas Bogg. And this is Jeffrey."

She raised one of those finely shaped eyebrows. "So this is our youngest Voyager," she said.

"You know about me?" Jeffrey asked in surprise.

A fleeting frown, hidden so quickly the boy wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it, crossed her face before she replied, "I just came from Headquarters; the place is still buzzing over the trial." She checked her Omni and asked, "Any idea what's going on?"

"We just got here ourselves," Bogg told her.

"Then why on Earth did this thing decide to drop me here?" she wondered.

"It's like when we dropped in on Olivia," Jeffrey pointed out, but Bogg shook his head.

"She was already well into her assignment, and she was in trouble; we were sent to help her out of it. This…just doesn't make sense." He looked at Sharon, who was already leafing through her Guidebook. "We were just about to head over there to see if that's our problem."

"At least your instincts are right on the mark," Sharon replied. "According to this, that should be Faith Hall."

"Faith Hall never burned," Jeffrey said.

"What's Faith Hall?" Bogg said, deliberately resisting the urge to go for his own book. "Sounds like a church."

"Actually, it's a school for black girls," Jeffrey told him. "In a few more years, it's supposed to merge with Cookman College, which was a school for black boys." If anything, Bogg looked even more confused; Jeffrey rolled his eyes and said, "Do you know about the Jim Crow laws?"

His face cleared. "Segregation laws, weren't they?"

"Right. Before people built schools for them, black kids couldn't go to school at all, because 'white' schools wouldn't let them in. Mary McLeod Bethune founded hers in 1904; by 1910 it had outgrown the original building, and they moved into this one. Look it up," he added with a sly grin.

"Do I really need do?" Bogg shot back playfully. "It sounds like you're back in your element."

"You said you were going to show me how to use it," Jeffrey reminded him.

Bogg was just opening the book when Sharon looked up from her own. "So the rumors are true; you hardly need a Guidebook with him around, do you?"

"They might as well have saved themselves the trouble of chasing us down to give us a new one," Bogg replied proudly.

It was a statement that went further to ease Jeffrey's mind than all the earlier reassurances could have, and he pulled himself a little straighter. Sometimes grownups had a way of saying what you needed to hear, whether they believed it themselves or not, but when they said it to another grownup, you could be pretty sure it was true.

Bogg turned back to him and began showing him how Sharon had found the entry identifying the ruined landmark; as they read what its proper history should have been, Bogg paused at the mention of the Ku Klux Klan's Hallowe'en march on the school. The name sounded familiar… "Aren't those the guys in the white robes and the funny-looking hoods? Where'd they ever get a name like that?"

"My dad told me that nobody really knows for sure, but they think it probably came from a Greek word."

"So now we just have to find out how something only meant to scare them turned into that," Bogg concluded, and the trio crossed the road, causing the salvagers to eye him and Jeffrey suspiciously.

Sharon spoke first. "It's okay; they don't mean you any harm," she said.

One of the women smiled sadly. "Most folks around here don't," she said apologetically. "But after the other night, we're all a little skittish."

"What happened?"

"You've heard the Klan started up again last year, haven't you? Well, they marched in front of the school two nights ago, robes and burning crosses and all. Scared the living daylights out of us, though the students thought it was a Hallowe'en parade and wanted to watch."

"I wouldn't have thought they'd dare do a thing like this, not here," Sharon said. "Not with the people you've got on your side."

"I don't think they meant to," the woman replied. "But somebody hiding in those woods over there started throwing things at them. Hit the cross one of the men was carrying and knocked it right out of his hands and onto the front porch. We tried to put the fire out, but it spread so fast, the school was burning before we knew it. Thank God nobody was hurt, but Mary is going to be heartbroken when she gets back."

"We could nose around and see if we can find out who they were," Bogg suggested.

"Thank you for the offer, at least," the woman replied, "but don't waste your time. Rich and powerful friends or not, the law won't do a blessed thing about it, even if you can find those men. They never lift a finger when the victim is a Negro. Justice isn't for the likes of us," she added bitterly.

"That's just plain wrong!" Jeffrey protested hotly.

It brought a wan smile to the woman's face. "Maybe with the help of people like you and your father, things will change someday," she told him, "but right now, we're on our own."

"Is Mrs. Bethune away?" Bogg asked.

"She left town on business the day before this happened," the woman replied, indicating the ruins around them. "We're expecting her back tonight."

"Is there anything we can do to help here?"

"Thank you kindly, but no. Even knowing what was here, we're having a hard time picking things out."

"Then we'll let you get back to work. Give our condolences to Mrs. Bethune when she comes back."

"I'll do that, thank you, Mr.—Lord have mercy!" she cried when they vanished before her eyes.