The Awesome Adventure of Abraham Lincoln-Chapter 1.5

You may be spared the crude, vulgar and somewhat bizarre account of what the Commissioner did in the Human Waste Removal and Sanitising Department. Suffice to say, human waste was removed, and sanitising happened. He rejoined Lincoln inside the library, where he found the former president looking at a strange helmet.

“Ah, I see you found SID,” he smiled.

“Apparently so,” Lincoln replied, studying the helmet with great attention. “And what a pleasure it is to find someone else who gives names to their headwear. I think we’ve got a new friend for you, Stovey,” he said to his hat.

“Oh no, no, I see what you did there, but no. Although my aunt has a bonnet she likes to call Doreen. Anyway, SID stands for Super Information Downloader. It downloads into your brain a vast amount of information, so you can find out about things quickly. Very handy for avoiding lengthy fill in sessions. Say for example, you wear to put it on your head right now.”

“Very well,” Lincoln removed Stovey, placed him carefully on a nearby desk, and placed the SID on his head.

“Perfect. Now if I were to programme in, say, world history from 1865 to present day, like so,” the Commissioner tapped the buttons on the side of the helmet, “then theoretically…”

But his words were interrupted by the painful cry of a tall, bearded man being forced an insane amount of information into his brain at one time. Which, if you’ve never heard it, is quite a memorable sound indeed.

“Yes, that’s exactly what would happen!” the Commissioner clapped. “Well, what we imagine would happen, anyway. We haven’t actually tested it out on humans yet. Thinking about it, it was a bit reckless of me to put it on you just now. Terribly sorry about that.”

“No need…to apologise,” Lincoln wearily removed the SID and handed it to his companion. “Should have realised it would…have been messy. But by gad, it’s worked. I know….I know everything. Computers, the atom bomb, the civil rights movement, rock and roll, the rise and subsequent fall of jazzercise, sliced bread, and all the wonderful inventions that followed it. I must say, things have developed greatly since my time.”

“That’s what I like about you, Lincoln,” the Commissioner shook his head admiringly. Any other man would have gone insane with all that knowledge going into his head like that. Hell, I’ve seen it happen to hamsters. Lots of hamsters going insane, needing little hamster therapy sessions and medication put into food pellets. But you, you’re no hamster. You’re special. You’re just the man we need. And that’s why it’s time to go see…The Director!”

The Awesome Adventure of Abraham Lincoln-Chapter 1.4

The hum of moving machinery echoed throughout the lift as the two men stood side by side. The Commissioner stuffed some more tobacco into his pipe, lit it and placed it to his mouth. As one would normally do with a pipe.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you mind if I smoke, Mr. President?”

“Go ahead, sir. Next to a dog, a pipe is a man’s best friend. Do you mind if I shadowbox?”

“Fine by me,” the Commissioner puffed on his pipe, leaving Lincoln to begin boxing against his shadow on the back of the lift.

“Well Mr. Lincoln, it’s like this. We’ve been getting a lot of weird activity from space. A lot of really strange stuff keeps happening lately, the sort of stuff that would make your hair stand on end. We’re not exactly sure what it is, but frankly, we don’t like it.”

“That’s awfully vague of you, Commissioner. Any chance you can be a bit more specific?”
“Not at this time, I’m afraid. It’s all classified, top secret, hush hush, top of the chain, need to know sort of thing. Only those who need to be in the know need to know.”

“Do I need to know?”

“Apparently not. Not even I’m really sure. But let me put it like this-last week alone, London was plagued by atomic bowler hats, Venice was menaced by a jetpacked moose and Chicago was attacked by solar powered showgirls.”

“That’s…very hard to believe.”

“I would have said the same thing, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Hell, I did say the same thing despite seeing it with my own eyes. If my eyes hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. Were it not for..,”

“I think I get your point, Commissioner. But I don’t see what that has to do with me. Even in my youth, the worst I ever had to handle was bears, Democrats and the Southern United States. I don’t know if I’m the type of person you need for these…these supermenaces.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sir. We think you may in fact be the only person who can stop these threats, which is why we went through all that trouble of resurrecting you in the first place.”

The Commissioner turned to Lincoln. “Mr. President, would you mind awfully not shadowboxing anymore? You’re making quite a lot of dents in the elevator.”

“Oh, sorry,” Lincoln put down his fists. “I’ll see you dead yet, you crafty swine,” he muttered to his shadow self.

“That’s better. Now before I take you to the Director, I think it might be best if we take a visit to the library. We need to get you up to speed with modern times.”

“Ah, delightful. I’m looking forward to seeing how things have progressed since I was…shot.”

The Commissioner glanced at Lincoln’s mournful expression. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I know it must be a painful memory.”

“More painful than you imagine,” Lincoln rubbed the back of his head. “One thing’s for sure, I’ll never go back to that theatre again. Terrible acoustics. Couldn’t hear half the words the actors were saying.”

“Or the footsteps of an assassin, eh Mr Lincoln?” the Commissioner bumped elbows, and instantly regretted it. Not only had he bruised his elbow against Lincoln’s biceps, that were like unto a thing of iron, he also realised that, relative to Lincoln’s time awareness, the joke fell on the socially unacceptable side of the ‘too soon’ line.

“Ah, here we are!” he sighed in relief, as the lift opened up to the library. “Welcome to the Information Super Storage Facility!”

“The what?” Lincoln was roused from his melancholy by confusion.

“Forgive me, I mean, welcome to the library. Sorry, but it’s the policy here at WIPE to make sure all our rooms have the most extravagant names possible. So the library here is the Information Super Storage Facility, the meeting room is the Consultation and Advanced Decision Making Nexus, and the garage is the Shelter for Advanced Vehicular Assistance Machines.”

“That must make things…very confusing.”

“It can take a little while to get used to, yes. And good luck trying to fit all the names into the guidebook. It took us a team of cartographers just to get the entrance map looking good.”

The Commissioner typed his access code into the library’s security lock, and invited Lincoln inside.

“Aren’t you coming too, Commissioner?” Lincoln asked.

“I’ll join you in a moment, Mr. Lincoln. Right now I got to make a visit to the Human Waste Removal and Sanitising Department.”

The Awesome Adventure of Abraham Lincoln-Chapter 1.3

“Good to see you up and about again, Mr. President,” the Commissioner held out his hand.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Lincoln took the hand and shook it. “Although you may need to fill me in on a few details. I got a feeling I’ve missed out on a century or two.”

“Well, I’ll get them to give you a full debriefing later. But to sum it up, you’ve been resurrected by super science to battle the forces of evil that threaten to destroy the United States of America. Also the world.”

“That seems reasonable,” Lincoln nodded. “And who might you be?”

“I’m the Commissioner, in charge of WIPE, the World Institute for Protection in Emergencies. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lincoln.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. Though, if I may be so bold sir, I would suggest your organisation take a more…pleasant-sounding name.”

The Commissioner winced. “You’re not the first person to say that, Mr. President. But I’m afraid all the good acronyms have already been taken. It was either this or the Society for Help Involving Terrorism. But I think you can see the problem with that.”

“Indeed,” Lincoln rubbed his bearded chin. “It’s somewhat confusing. People might think you were helping them with terrorism. And I assume you do more than just fight terrorists?”

“We do indeed, so we went for a more general name. I think it’s for the best.”

“Quite right. Reminds me of the time we set up a secret establishment of coloured fellas to infiltrate and rescue slaves from southern colonies. We didn’t want people to get confused between them and regular folk we were trying to save, so we called them ‘Black Ops’. But I’m sure I’m boring you.”

“Oh no, not at all. It’s always interesting to hear dubious and slightly racist facts about history.”

“Mr Lincoln, sir!” Dynamite, after much internal debate and consideration on what was the most appropriate thing to do to a former corpse of a former president, snapped his legs together and gave a salute, in what he hoped was a respectful manner.

The Commissioner sighed. “Mr Lincoln, allow me to introduce Blake Dynamite, agent of WIPE. Jeeze, Dynamite, way to be slow to salute. And you call that a respectful manner?”
“I’m sorry, I’m…sorry,” Dynamite felt more embarrassed than a man in a nunnery who had been caught by the mother superior with his belt around his ankles.

“Quite alright, Mr. Dynamite,” Lincoln smiled, extending his hand. “More respect than a good old boy from Kentucky like me deserves.”

“Gosh,” said Dynamite, who was the sort of person who said things like that. “You gotta be kidding me, right? I mean, you’re freakin’ Abraham Lincoln…sir,” he saluted again, a little worried that he’d been disrespectful. “Freer of slaves and democracy and Mom’s apple pie.”

Lincoln gave an embarrassed grin. “I’m not sure I can claim credit for any of those things, young man. Though I do like to think I did everything I could to help my country when she needed me.”

“And it’s exactly that attitude that led to us resurrecting you,” the Commissioner explained. “Well, either you or Teddy Roosevelt. But you’ll be happy to know you won the coin toss.”

“It was a penny,” Dynamite smiled.

“Oh, that’s…good to know,” Lincoln smiled back pleasantly, trying not to upset the clearly soft-headed lad. The Commissioner merely rolled his eyes.

“Dynamite, let’s not hold up the President with foolish remarks and idiocy. I’m sure he wants to know more about why he was brought here.”

“I have to admit, I am a little curious,” Lincoln nodded.

“Naturally. Follow me, Mr. President. Dynamite, you stay here and…erm…check for bugs or something. Make sure our enemies aren’t spying on us.”

“Yes sir!” Dynamite saluted, as he began to comb for any electronic spying devices. Or non electronic spying devices. He wasn’t picky.

“Do you really have enemies that can listen in through walls that thick?” Lincoln asked, as he and the Commissioner walked up the dark corridor.

“Not really, I just wanted to get away from him. Oh, excuse me a second.”

The Commissioner turned to the robot sentry, as he passed it by.

“Listen up robot, from now on the password is ‘I’m a stupid farm boy with a bad haircut’. And it’s compulsory to say the password coming this way. Got it?”

“Affirmative,” the robot sentry gave an almost joy-like expression.

“What does that mean?” Lincoln asked, as they continued onwards.

“It means that our friend Dynamite is going to have to endure a little public humiliation. Or lasers to the face. Either way, I’ll sleep well tonight.”

“Lasers, you say,” Lincoln mused. “Fascinating.”

The Awesome Adventure of Abraham Lincoln-Chapter 1.2

The Commissioner typed in the sequence that would revive the illustrious Illinois legislator.

“1, 2, 0, 2, 1, 8, 0, 9,” he muttered as he pressed the keys. As the machines whirred into life, he frowned and turned to Dynamite.

“Do you think that was too obvious?”

“What was?” asked Dynamite, trying not to be distracted by the electricity surging through the air.

“Using Lincoln’s birthday as the code. I mean, at the time it just seemed easy to remember, but looking back I kinda wish I’d used something less obvious. Like maybe his wife’s birthday, or their marriage date. Or maybe the day he became president or something, I mean, that’s not exactly public knowledge.”

“Sir, with respect…” Dynamite fell to the floor as a hurricane-like force shuddered through the room, the result of a burst of energy generated by lamps with the power of a solar flare.

“Didn’t even have to be a date,” the Commissioner continued, seemingly oblivious. “I mean, really the whole numeric code thing was just something we thought a good idea. Could have been any sequence. Might as well have used Abraham, or Gettysburg.”

“Sir, I really don’t think…” Dynamite had to roll to avoid being swept away, his mind struggling with the physics of it all.

“No, you’re right, that would have been just as obvious. Should have used Henry Ford, he played Lincoln in that film you know. No one would have guessed that.”

“Sir!” Dynamite was now being pushed against the wall, the light’s power so intense as to repel him with the force of 10 elephants, or 20 elephants that weren’t trying as hard.

“Then again, there’s no point being too complex is there? That would be just as bad,” the Commissioner looked over at Dynamite. “Oh get a grip on yourself, man! Haven’t you ever had to stand at the centre of a light explosion before?”

“To be totally honest with you sir…no,” Dynamite admitted. “I mean, how is this even possible? That’s just light, it shouldn’t be able to do that!”

The Commissioner shrugged. “What am I, a scientist? Solar power apparently revives dead people, or so the lab boys tell me. Makes sense, when you think about it.”

“I don’t think it does, sir.”

“Well think about it some more. Why else would we bury dead people underground, where there’s no natural light? So there’s no chance of them popping up again and claiming on the life insurance. Can you imagine what a world that would be? Insurance companies would be bankrupt! And then what would happen if your car got broken into?”

“It’d be a real pickle, sir,”

“Damn right it would. ‘Course, you need a lot of solar power to do it. Especially with a guy that’s really dead.”

“And you’re…absolutely sure…this works…sir?” the G-forces were making it hard for Dynamite to speak.

“Well, we tried it with Kennedy last week, seemed to work then. Little too well, if you know what I mean. He’d sexed up half the women in the facility before we caught up to him. Maybe he was making up for lost time,” the Commissioner laughed. “Get it? Because he’d been dead, and he liked to…oh, you’re unconscious. The hell with you then.”

As suddenly as it had started, the solar beams stopped, leaving the room in partial darkness again. The Commissioner gave Dynamite a kick.

“Wake up!” he hissed. “You’ll want to tell your grandchildren about this. If the solar power didn’t make you sterile, which to be honest, it might have. I didn’t really think to check that out.”

Dynamite got up from the floor and stood next to the Commissioner, as they both saw a sight that only 7 other people had ever seen before. The newly revived corpse of the 16^th president rose from the metal table he had been lying on, adjusted his hat and stood before the assembled crowd. No wait, company. Two’s company, three’s a crowd. He spent a good moment or two in some puzzlement, before realising the significance of what had happened.

“Abraham Lincoln…is reborn.”

The Awesome Adventure of Abraham Lincoln-Chapter 1.1

Time: Tomorrow, last month, next year, one hour from thirty minutes ago.

Location: Undisclosed bunker in the heart of the USA

“I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t have to believe it. It’s true. You just have to accept it.”

“But it’s unbelievable.”

“I just said you didn’t have to believe it. I wish you’d listen to me more.”

Blake Dynamite had managed to break into the ranks of WIPE, the World Institute for Protection in Emergencies, based primarily on the fact that he had an action hero name and an enlarged chin. As far as actually being qualified for his job was concerned, he was far from what was needed in a WIPE agent. His lack of imagination and professional cynicism meant he was not cut out for some of the more fantastical elements of his job, a fact which did not escape the mind of his superior, The Commissioner, who had tried for years to get Dynamite killed on some exotic mission to Mars, or similar locale.

“Sorry Commissioner, it’s just so hard for me to get my head around. I mean, the fact that the legendary Project Pendragon is real is one thing, but to find out what it is…it just makes my head spin.”

“Head spinning? Sounds like a case of the deadly Spinnichi virus. Very nasty. Only one cure for that…death itself,” The Commissioner reached for his gun.

“Oh no sir, my head isn’t actually spinning, that was just a metaphor.”

“Oh. Pity,” The Commissioner re-holstered his gun with a sigh. “Well, if you do feel anything, let me know as soon as possible, alright?”

“Yes sir.”

“I mean it. Even the slightest twitch, you come right out and tell me, got it?”

“Got it, sir.”

“I mean even the slightest suspicion that your head may be about to spin, I want you to scream at me to shoot you, understood?”

“Erm…understood, sir.”

“Good.”

The two men approached a large door guarded by a single robot sentry, which promptly aimed its laser cannon at them.

“Halt. Password request.”

 The Commissioner, unfortunate enough to have been given the same name as the famous Batman supporting character, had been permanently positioned in his role thanks to the infamous humour of the military. Normally the army didn’t have any Commissioners, unless you counted the Salvation Army, which nobody did. Gordon had been granted the rank as a specialist position in the WIPE organisation, a subsection of the US Military, which pretty much gave him carte blanche around the entire building, including knowledge of every password.

“Beef jerky.”

“Password incorrect,” said the robotic sentry, his laser cannon warming up.

“Oh damn. Er, is it ‘Pastrami and noodles?’

“Negative,” the cannon’s shriek got louder.

“Damn, what was I eating last time I came by here? Good thing I keep all my receipts in my coat.”

The Commissioner reached around his trench coat pocket and pulled out a bunch of paper pieces.

“Ham on rye?” he read from one. “Italian dressing? Cigarettes and chocolate milk? The Zen Guide to Cabinet Arranging?”

“Negative, negative, negative, negative,” said the robot sentry, a smile appearing on his metallic face as his finger pulled tighter on the trigger.

“Oh for the love of crap…how inebriated was I? I didn’t say ‘Swordfish’ again, did I? Last time I did that, half the department managed to break in here. Had a hell of a time working all those amnesia pills into the cafeteria’s shepherd’s pie.”

“Nega-tive,” replied the robot sentry in a sing-song voice, the laser cannon now screaming as if ready to burst.

“Fine, screw it, the password is now ‘Turn that blinking laser cannon off.”

“Afirmative,” said the robot sentry, sadly deactivating his laser cannon. He would never get to shoot anyone if The Commissioner kept changing the password. The door opened up to reveal a pitch black room, with the appropriate lights hanging down from the ceiling which lit up as they walked along.

“Can’t say I’m surprised you didn’t work out what Project Pendragon was about, Dynamite,” said The Commissioner. “It’s so obvious even a child could understand it.”

“…I don’t get it, sir.”

“Exactly. Come on, man, it was obvious! Pendragon, Arthur Pendragon, King Arthur, prophesied to return when England was in danger. What else could it be?”

The two walked in silence for a while.

“Dynamite, I’m asking you a question.”

“Oh, sorry sir. Thought you were being rhetorical.”

“Well I wasn’t. Idiot. Here we are.”

The Commissioner pointed ahead into the darkness.

“I don’t see it, sir.”

“Well of course not, Dynamite. It’s appropriately dark over there to keep up the suspense. Turn on the lights, will you?”

Dynamite groped his way to the wall and waved wildly to find the light switch. After several minutes he eventually found it, and turned it on. What the light revealed made his knees quiver in surprise.

“Oh my God…is that…oh God!”

“Oh pull yourself together, Dynamite. It’s only the well-preserved naked body of former US President Abraham Lincoln strapped to some fantastical device that’ll bring him back to life.”

“Oh, I get that sir. It’s just…I had no idea the ex-President was so…tall, sir. In the er…trouser department.”

“Why do you think we don’t allow women on this floor?” The Commissioner asked. “Now hand me that package.”

Dynamite handed over the parcel he’d been carrying, which The Commissioner unwrapped, revealing a pile of clothes and a stove-pipe hat.

“Help me get him dressed,” he ordered. “We don’t want to embarrass him.”

After several minutes of dressing, The Commissioner finally placed the hat upon the comatose body’s head.

“Alright, Mr. President,” he whispered. “Time to face the future.”