Chapter 1 – Tourists?
A letter to the administrator of the 1ST Electronic Warfare unit in Vladivostok proper:
October 12, 2025
Dear Administrator,
Your device, the so-called “Wormhole Generator” has been of great assistance during last month’s Gondwanan incident. We are eternally grateful to you for engineering the idea for the device and to Major Alexei Mikhailovich Kazansky for overseeing the project and reporting to us. As a token for your efforts, the glorious Krasnorussian government has decided to grant additional funding to your research in the form of руб2,125,000.00 (Two million one hundred twenty-five thousand Krasnorussian Rubles.)
In return, the glorious Krasnorussian government would require you to lease your “Wormhole Generator” to the public for use as an entertainment device/time machine for leisure. The proceeds from users will go to the funding of our glorious and heroic Red Army.z
Your cooperation is expected, comrade. If you do not do as your glorious government requires, we will appropriate your funds for use in the glorious and heroic Red Army. We await your reply, comrade.
Yours truly,
Adm-Fl. O. D. Rimsky
Fleet Admiral of the Red Navy
“Those sons of bitches…” muttered Maj. (formerly Capt.) Dr. Voronov, the administrator of Vladivostok’s 1ST Electronic Warfare Battalion. “These bureaucrats are always looking for more ways to make money. I know what I’ll do – I’ll just march up to this… this… Admiral Rimsky and tell him where to shove it!”
He crumpled the note and threw it away into a trash can, setting it on fire with a lighter. He then stood up and stormed out of his office into the corridors of the Red Army technology center where he resided. He grumbled absentmindedly while looking at his feet, when he suddenly bumped into someone.
Voronov fell on the ground, while the one he bumped into dropped a folder he was carrying. Voronov shook his head and said out loud, “Watch where you’re going you stupid o—oh shit.”
He looked up to see a man in a red parade uniform staring down at him. It was Maj. Alexei Kazansky, his former military supervisor and correspondent to the Vladivostok Chiefs of Staff during the Gondwanan incident.
“Watch where I’m going indeed.” He said to Voronov, arms crossed.
“I apologize for my clumsiness, comrade Majo—hey, wait a minute… I’m a Major too! So what should I call you?”
“Just comrade. Now help me pick up my stuff.”
“Yes, comrade.”
“Ew. That sounds like something from that retro game – y’know, Red Alert 3? The one where—“
“Yes, comrade.”
“Shut up.”
“Ye—“
“One more word out of you and I’ll have you shot in the ass!”
“… okay, comrade…”
“Zippit.”
Voronov picked up Kazansky’s folder and arranged the papers inside. He took a look at one of them and read the header, “Krasnorussian National Department for Tourism.” Scribbled in red ink below that in Kazansky’s penmanship was, “National Department for the Amusement of Rubbernecks.”
“What’s this?” asked Voronov.
“Surprise! The Red Army assigned me to take the maiden voyage of the Wormhole Generator – to Vladivostok harbor… in the 18TH century!”
“What the hell do they think they’re doing?!” shouted Voronov.
“Do you have any objections, comrade?” asked Kazansky with a smirk.
“Objections? Objections? This is a highly unstable wormhole generator, comrade! Plus, it’s not even true to its namesake! It’s a wormhole locator, not a wormhole generator! The path you’re looking for might not even exist!”
“Calm down, comrade. I’m sure there’s bound to be a wormhole like that somewhere in outer space.”
“But consider this – what if you won’t come back? What if you’ll be lost forever?”
“Nonsense. It’ll be your responsibility to bring guests back home. After all, you’re the park manager.”
“Park? What park?”
“They’re erecting a new time travel theme park near the base, comrade. They plan to showcase the 750 year old history of the city! Perhaps when we get the bugs fixed, we can take them to other places as well!”
“Is the Red Army mad?! Do they know that they’re tampering with the fine fabric of history itself?!”
“Of course, we’ve taken the necessary precautions…”
“Pray tell.”
“You know the new NT-01 Stealth Tank?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re using its cloaking technology to make the tourists invisible!”
“What if some little kid shouts in the middle of the tour?”
“Oh… I guess we’ll have to shoot him then.”
“See? You people are obviously unprepared.”
Voronov walked down the hall, away from Kazansky. The chem trooper caught up with him and said,
“Wait, wait, wait. We’re still in the experimental stage. There are bound to be a few bugs. You have to let me test it for the maiden voyage. If I’m unsatisfied, the whole project will be cancelled, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Voronov froze in his tracks when he heard the word “cancelled”. He then turned to face Kazansky, a big grin spread across his face,
“Well, no comrade, I wouldn’t want that at all.”
Gondwana dimension, 2007. The prophetess Valeri marched down the halls of King Charnaiz dir Castillon’s royal palace. She had an important message for the king, and it concerned another world.
The Adrianic royal guardsmen saluted as she passed them by, and watched her as she entered the audience hall of the king.
“Your Majesty…” she said, “the Krasnorussians are at it again!”
“At what again, prophetess?” replied Charnaiz, balancing a blue jewel on his fingertip.
“They are attempting to alter the space-time continuum!”
“How so?” the king asked, still outwardly dissatisfied.
“It’s the wormhole generator, sire – they’re using it for leisure!”
Charnaiz fumbled with the jewel for a moment, and caught it with his foot before it dropped to the floor. “Those idiots! I need Kyurdin. We have to stop those fools before another catastrophe befalls our dimension!”
“Yes your majesty – I will fetch him at once!”
Krasnorussia, 2025. Voronov sat high up in the control booth of a steel-walled hangar, a makeshift teleportation chamber. As Electronic Warfare crews scrambled to their safety bunkers, Voronov said over the PA system, “All right, Major Kazansky, this will only take a minute. Please be advised that while we set up the system, you are not to enter the portal until I give the ‘go’ signal. If you do, however, I assure you it will be the most unpleasant experience in your life – or it may even kill you in worst case scenario.”
“I understand, Major Voronov!” said Kazansky, feeling a little awkward calling this man who used to be under him by the same rank as his.
“Beginning phase 1… Control Team A stand by…” Voronov said.
Kazansky was behind a fiberglass safety bunker together with a blond woman of medium height. This was Lt. Natasha Kalashnikova, his adjutant and personal secretary.
“Well, are you excited?” he said, nudging her with his elbow.
“Whatever, comrade major.” she muttered.
“Oh come on, woman, where’s your gusto?”
“In San Francisco, together with my heart.” she replied, snorting.
“Um… okay…” Kazansky said, rolling his eyes.
Suddenly, the lights turned red and Voronov spoke through the PA system, “Okay, comrade – you may now enter the portal. But please take note – be prepared to experience extreme pain as your molecules will be disassembled during transit.”
The fiberglass shell opened, and Kazansky saw that the whole room was filled with the sound of roaring wind. The portal was sucking everything in! Kazansky took his pack and his rifle, while Natasha sauntered after him. The two got close to the portal, but suddenly, another portal opened parallel to it!
Charnaiz, Valeri and a man in blue armor carrying a large backpack and a long sword were thrown out of it. Charnaiz screamed to Kazansky,
“Close the portal!” Before being sucked into the wormhole generator’s portal himself, with Valeri clinging onto his cassock. The man in blue, Kyurdin, was desperately trying to grab a hold of something to prevent being sucked inside, but instead grabbed onto Kazansky’s collar and Natasha’s breast instead… That being said, the other three were sucked into the portal, right before it shut down and closed.
Back up in the tower, Voronov held his mouth open in shock. “This is not good.” He said, scratching his head. “But then again, maybe it is! If Alexei Mikhailovich isn’t satisfied, he’ll allow me to bring him back! Wait… uh oh. Do I know how to bring him back? Shit! I designed a car without brakes! What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?”
As he said this, Voronov was in a state of panic, flicking off switches and punching buttons in the control room, trying to figure out a way to bring the group back.
Vladivostok, Russian Empire, 1750. Kazansky, Natasha, King Charnaiz, Valeri and Kyurdin fell into the ice cold water some distance away from Vladivostok harbor.
“This is so cold!!” Charnaiz said, flying out of the water and landing on a sheet of ice.
“This isn’t so bad…” Kazansky muttered. He was used to this kind of water. He was from this city, after all. Natasha was feeling the same way, while the Gondwanans, not used to this extreme ocean cold, slowly climbed out of the frigid waters.
Suddenly, a ship pulled up to them – a 225 foot long Imperial War Frigate, with an intricately carved Peregrine Falcon as the ship’s figurehead.
Ropes were let down from the sides of the boat, and the crewmen, wearing black headscarves which covered their faces from the scalps down to the nose, looked down on them with a curious air. They then began coaxing them up the ropes in Russian. The group started to climb, a bit alienated, and a little cautious at the same time. Charnaiz didn’t want to fly to the boat – the cold had sapped him of some of his energy, and he didn’t want to make a scene. Major Alexei Kazansky felt something familiar about this boat and who owned it…
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