It was by the sober sense of our citizens that we were safely and steadily conducted from monarchy to republicanism, and it is by the same agency alone we can be kept from falling back.
-Thomas Jefferson, Letter to Arthur Campbell (1797)
Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and Benjamin Franklin sat in the seats of the cramped time-carraige as the auto-pilot swiftly carried them on a precalculated course. George looked outside; all he could see aside from the blackness was the passing lights of incalculable infinities, storms in time and logic raging away.
"How do you drive this thing?” he asked.
Franklin shrugged. “I tell the computer when and where to go. It takes us there. Don't ask me how it works."
"You mean you don't know? You built it, didn't you?"
Franklin's eyes rolled. “Well, sort of... Here why don't you read this map and tell me where we're going."
Jefferson stepped in. “We don't need a map. We're going to Washington, DC. 1861. The inauguration of Abraham Lincoln."
"Why so far ahead?” Washington asked, “We were having fun in 1790."
"You were having fun in 1790. Besides, this isn't play anymore. This is work."
"What's so damn important in 1861?"
"It's a turning point,” Jefferson held up some papers with math scratched all over it, “You see... nevermind, you probably wouldn't understand this."
"What does this all have to do with Weishaupt? Before we saw him we were all set to travel the Everglades."
"Yeah,” Franklin piped up, “What's up with him?"
Jefferson shook his head, “It's not important. Here, put these clothes on.” Jefferson offered each a change of wardrobe. “You're going to stick out like a sore thumb if you don't."
There was a pause. Washington started to negotiate his new outfit. Something in the vehicle chimed, Franklin looked up. “We're almost there. Where do you want us to land?"
"Library of Congress. Keep us out of the way."
With that, the blackness of the outside faded into light of day. Cars, roads, and buildings all emerged as the whine of the vehicle's engine quited down to a quited purr. The wheels engaged the road and Franklin quietly drove into a small alley beside the Library of Congress.
"8:40 AM, local time. Library of Congress.” Franklin rattled off. “Any adjustments you want to make?"
Jefferson looked around, “No, this is fine. Everyone out, we're going for a walk."
The doors popped open and the three emerged from the vehicle. Franklin took a quick look up and down at it, was satisfied it was sufficiently discreet, and locked the doors.
Jefferson led the way up the steps into the Library of Congress. When a building supervisor confronted him on the other side, Jefferson showed some sort of pass and the three were allowed in unhindered.
"Ben, can you go find everything you can on Weishaupt, the 1789 election, and the French Revolution? Skim it, and bring back the important details.” Franklin nodded, then ran off.
Washington and Jefferson sat down at a nearby table. The room was rather empty so Washington spoke freely. “Why are we here Jefferson? What's so important."
"Nothing,” Jefferson snapped back. “It's just... something rubs me the wrong way. Weishaupt's not supposed to be in America right now. There's no definitive source that I can check to know for sure, but it just doesn't feel right."
"You know him.” Washington said, more as a question than as a statement.
Jefferson nodded, “We had a mutual student, part of an exchange program. He studied with me at UVA. Weishaupt and I kept in monthly correspondance on his student's progress."
"That's it?"
"The letters... got political. We discussed current events in our homes, our roles in them, our ideas for the future. Weishaupt had some fascinating thoughts, ideas that could get him killed in his home country. I urged him to come to America, but he was determined to effect change at home."
"And the student?"
"Brilliant. Off the charts. Together he and I worked out this theory, these equations. You see, in any society sufficiently large, the individual actions of each person becomes relatively unimportant. What matters are the interactions of various groups. If you were to model them... well you would see that even the subtlest push could affect society in a large way."
"You mean you could control it?"
"Very good,” Jefferson nodded, “Yes that's exactly what it meant. Anyway, the second this student and I realized the implications of our work, I stopped everything. I sent him home, sealed up the papers in my vault, and prayed the whole thing would go away. Imagine what would happen if those equations got into the wrong hands."
"And now he's told Weishaupt, and Weishaupt wants America."
"I don't know for certain yet, but it appears that way."
"What's to stop you from stopping him, making changes of your own?"
Jefferson shook his head, “I don't know enough yet. I need to know what he did, and when. I need to know who he talked to, exactly what social buttons he pushed and how. Plus..."
"Yeah?"
"Well, the equations imply the need for a second society. One underneath the controller, hidden from view of the primary society. Without it the equations become chaotic and any introduced changes will likely disappear within a generation."
"Does Weishaupt have this secret society?"
Jefferson nodded. “He could. When he was in Germany, he organized the Illuminated Seers of Bavaria, also known as the Order of the Illuminati. The organization failed, Weishaupt's poor organization was mainly to blame."
"But..."
"I don't know. It's possible he took the organization underground and only made it appear to fail. If he's started recruiting in America, we could be in a lot of trouble."
"Well, we have a time machine. Surely there's something we can do. Kill his parents while they're on the crapper or something."
"You have a crude mind. Regardless, Franklin's machine has limits. We can't go back that far. We'll only be able to fight him after he's amassed influence. And we need proof. We need to know for sure that he's changed something before we go back."
Just then a shot rang out in the distance. There were screams. Seconds later someone brought the news inside.
"It's Mr. Lincoln,” a small boy said, gasping for breath. “Someone's shot him."
Washington looked up. “Did you...?"
Jefferson shook his head, “No, this counts. Let's go."
"5:30 PM local time, February 25, 1861. K Street Northwest,” Franklin read off, “You have 1 week gentlemen, good luck."
"Thanks, Ben,” Jefferson said, climbing out of the car, “Keep her safe, we'll meet up at the townhouse."
Jefferson joined Washington on the street, closed the door, and Franklin was off with the time machine.
"Now according to Franklin's records,” Jefferson said, “Lincoln was not shot on his inauguration day. Lincoln lives on for quite a bit, filling out 2 terms in office."
"How is that possible? I mean he was just shot. Somebody did that."
Jefferson nodded. “Somebody who wasn't supposed to before. Either we changed something, or somebody's mucking about where they don't belong."
"Just like us."
Jefferson shrugged.
Washington went on, “So who the hell cares? So the future is different. It hasn't happened yet, what does it matter? You got what you came here for, let's go home."
Jefferson sighed. “Are you hungry at all?"
"Starving. So can we go?"
"No."
"Whatever. When are we? Can we split a pizza?"
Jefferson shook his head. “Too early, that's 1900's."
"Huh. Well what can we get?"
"I don't know."
The two walked along the street, and eventually settled on a nice looking diner and had a brief meal. After a brief exchange about the extraordinary expense of their meal, they finished and went back outside.
"You know, if you need money you should just use Franklin's press,” Washington suggested.
"That money doesn't exist here. We'd be causing inflation."
"It doesn't exist anywhere. That's why they call it a printing press. It's not like we're bringing in money from the future or anything."
"What do you know about economics? I don't see your boy around here anywhere."
"That boy has a name, you know. And Hamilton is a bright kid. You could learn a thing a two from him."
Jefferson snorted, “I'd sooner trust the nation's economy to a tortoise."
"Well, it's clear we've reached an impasse. Why don't we try not talking for a while?"
Jefferson pondered the fact that that may have been the most intelligent suggestion Washington uttered in recent history. Or not-so-recent history, Jefferson thought, remembering the year. And so the two walked silently onward in the direction of the center of the nation's capital.
When the two reached their destination, they stopped to take a breath. “Yep, this is it,” Washington said, “The Presidental Mansion."
"Actually,” Jefferson said, “it's called the Executive Mansion now, or just the White House."
"I always hated that name."
Jefferson snorted. “You would,” he said.
"So, do we just go in?” Washington asked.
Washington looked around. No security, no fences, no guards. Just a house on a hill. Simple enough, but still breaking and entering. Washington pondered the ethical considerations for a moment, then walked on up.
"No, no, idiot!” Jefferson admonished. “Lincoln doesn't live there yet. Buchanan is still the President for now. Besides how exactly do you propse saving a man's life a full week before he's supposed to be shot?"
"Oh, I don't know, I was thinking of something along the lines of, 'Somebody's going to shoot you!'"
"Oh yes,” Jefferson said dryly, “I'm sure that will go over real well. And when you tell them your information comes from a recent trip to the future, what do they say? Do they thank you and send you on your way?"
"Well then, why the hell are we here?"
"I would say, probably the same reason those two are here,” Jefferson said, pointing at a couple of figures on the opposite end of the lawn. The two figures were pointing at various places along the lawn. They could've been tourists, or planners for the inauguration, but from their continuous cautious glances it was clear that they thought they were doing something they shouldn't. The two instantly spotted Jefferson's gesture and spun around, beginning to walk the other way.
"Those bastards,” Washington swore quietly. “I'll get them."
"No,” Jefferson said chidingly, “you won't. What are you going to do? Shoot them in broad daylight? Kill our best leads? We have a full week yet. Come on, Franklin's waiting."
The three man huddled together in the dimly lit Georgetown townhouse. On the table below them lay bundles of papers, each one describing a different plan of attack. As varied as their options were, their time was just as limited, and each passing minutes closed the door on another opportunity.
At the head of the mess was Thomas Jefferson. His hand aching, his jaw sore, and his eyes weak from being open for so long, he ran another plan through his equations.
"We just don't know enough, fellows,” he said, breaking the hour long silence.
"What do we need?” Franklin asked.
"Well, we know that an undisclosed number of assailants, a minimum of 3, are planning an attack on the future President of the United States of America. We know they are armed, we know they are firm in their intent, and we know the time and place they intend to strike.
"What we don't know is who leads them. We don't know the location they intend to shoot from, whether their attempt is to be by high-power rifle from a distance, or by concealed pistol at near-point blank. We don't know what makes this happen now when it didn't happen before. And we don't know why whoever is behind it wants to do it."
Franklin spoke up, “Is there anything we can do?"
"Not really,” Jefferson said defeatedly. He put his pen down and got up for a glass of water.
Washington stood up as well, “I don't understand. What's so bad about Lincoln's death that we have to prevent it. Just because it's different from the events we remember doesn't mean it's our responsibility to fix it."
Jefferson sighed for what had obviously not been the first time. “George, Lincoln's death is a turning point for the nation. Without Lincoln's leadership during the civil war, the confederate states will succeed in seceding from the union. With the nation weakened, we'll no longer be in the economic position to remain free from the tyranny of other major powers."
"So why not go forward and stop the civil war from happening at all?"
"We ran through this already, George. The secession of the Southern states is inevitable. It's the timing that's important. It has to be done under Lincoln's watch. No Lincoln, no USA. It's that simple."
George sighed and retook his seat. “There's got to be something we can do."
Jefferson ticked off the possibilities on his fingers, “Economic warfare is out, we don't know who we're fighting. Social planning is useless, Lincoln's already been elected. Negotiating is also out; we don't know their motivations."
"We could always... fight them,” Washington suggested.
"You mean hand to hand?” Jefferson asked doggedly.
"No, with pistols and the such. Anything to get Lincoln to safety."
Jefferson scratched his head. The direct approach hadn't occured to him. He pushed a few numbers through the equations. A little tug here, a gentle prod there, and sure enough, he could get the Secret Service to originate a little earlier with a simple scare.
"The problem is...” Jefferson began.
"...getting to Lincoln,” Franklin finished for him, seeing where the train of thought led.
Washington spoke up, encouraged by the potential success of his idea. “We could go for him at the same time. During the inauguration. Security's low, the public's invited, and hell, we might get a good bead on our adversaries."
Jefferson nodded.
"Sounds dangerous,” Franklin said.
Washington agreed, “The key is to beat them to the punch. Steal their thunder. A random shot into the air during the ceremony, a quick escape, and by the time our foes know what's happened, Lincoln's already been rushed to safety."
"Sounds like a plan,” Jefferson said, “Now we just have to avoid getting ourselves killed in the process."