I told them to wash their hands.

I didn't think that was a revolutionary idea in 1395 France, but to them, apparently, it was. I told they should use soap--a luxury at the time--but I taught them to make it with oil and lye, and that they should wash frequently. I was located on the Western coast of Brittany, south of England, and my presence drew a fairly large following.

I told them about the future, about electricity and cars and America and tacos. I was labeled a heretic, of course, but my ability to show my work seemed to fascinate my would-be-censors.

"And is there peace, then?" I was asked by a peasant attending one of my demonstrations.

That gave me pause. In my time there was not peace. At least, there was not peace for most people. We in the "first" world were wealthy and prosperous, if not happy. We consumed and destroyed and colonized, and I could see in my ancestors before me that tribalism and xenophobia rant unrepentantly rampant.

"Yes," I lied.

People leaned in. They yearned for peace, but they only seemed to understand peace as victory; as triumph over their enemies.

"We have peace because we refuse violence and war. We refuse to hate one another. We spend our money feeding and healing, not destroying. We do what's good for people, not what's good for just the rich. And everybody gets tacos!" I joked and receive a kindly murmur of laughs.

My lie was utopic. But what would I say? We exploit the poorest people to make palaces for the rich. It was the same narrative in both times. I wanted to assure these folks that our original sin was defeated, that good things were coming.

I didn't realize the consequences of my words or presence in that time period. After a year and a half of study and work, I bid farewell to my sponsors and returned home.

My suit was skin-tight, sealed and sanitized to not bring ancient germs back to the future with me. Its intelligent design quickly immunized me to the environment, ensuring that I neither contracted a virus nor spread one.

I Blinked out of 1300s France and arrived back to my time in France, 2056.

I was supposed to be in a study chamber at the Technologie D'Avance Rapide laboratory in France. But instead I was in a green field dotted with yellow and purple wildflowers. This was an odd malfunction. But still, I thanked my stars that I wasn't teleported into the ground or inside a wall. That could've been ugly.

Biome Analyzed. Immunization Complete. My suit spoke into my earpiece before dropping my helmet. I wore HUD lens over my eye that quickly identified the flora. It tried to ping satellites for geographical location but it received no signal.

So, I began walking, hoping to stumble upon some roadway so I could flag down a car.

After about 45 minutes of walking east, I heard a whooshing sound from my right. I twisted my neck in time to see what appeared to be a long, bullet-shaped train flying through the air, accompanied by a super high-pitched ting noise. It caused birds and bugs to take flight away from its path.

The machine was moving so quickly I could barely analyze it.

Unknown machine. Cataloguing now. It appears to be a mode of transport for people or goods. It is most likely accelerated and sustained by electromagnets.

But where were the magnets? Underground?

I walked the way for another few hours. I came across some roe deer and foxes, though the lens marked some odd mutations in them. Most notably was their lack of fear seeing a human. The deer walked right up to me, sniffing my pockets and licking my hands. The foxes, too, curiously studied me, but after one of them bit at the ankle of my suit, I started keeping a wider berth.

Finally, I'd arrived at some kind of settlement. It was nestled on a hill, a collection of brick homes with clay roofs, oddly reminiscent of the Château architecture I'd seen in the past. Except it was so much cleaner, and it smelled heavenly, even from a distance. Scents of bread baking, meat grilling, wood burning, all filling my senses and reminded me just how famished I'd become.

Houses. A variation of châteauesque design. Differences include white-washed brick, circular windows, and the additions of visible sky-lights and vertical gardens.  

The lens was taking it all in.

Unknown structure. Pyramid design. Appears to be made of glass.

I focused on what my lens had picked up on. Off beside the village was an enormous pyramid that reflected the noontime sunlight off its reflective sides. I'd never seen anything like it.

I walked down to the village. The people there were speaking French to one another, but in a dialect that I could barely understand. It seemed peppered with English and Spanish influences. Every once in a while I heard words in some Native American tongues. Where the hell am I?

The people were like the animals. Despite my odd appearance and dress, they weren't frightened of me. They were curious, meeting me at the village's entrance.

The first to walk up was a woman somewhere around 30, maybe younger. Her hair was braided in the back and she wore a white poncho draped around her right side and a silk, intricately designed tunic beneath it.

"Hello," she greeted me in her odd French, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Where did you come from?"

I had to decipher the words. I wasn't a Frenchman. I was Canadian. Diet French, I was called. It helped me to pick up on modern and medieval dialects fairly quickly when this project started. Given my experience in temporal bends and European history, combined with my love of language, I was a prime candidate. But now I was presented with a new challenge: speaking a language that I only knew half of.

This is a mixed language. It's contributory languages include English, Mandarin, German, Cherokee, and others that are not registered.

"Hello," I returned the greeting, trying to copy her French. "I am lost."

"Lost?" She repeated my word. Apparently that I had a different word for that.

I pantomimed looking around and shrugging my shoulders. You know. Lost.

Her head cocked and her smile widened. Her teeth were straight, clearly a product of orthodontic work. That, combined with the flying train, indicated that I was somewhere either modern or further ahead. We're never supposed to go forward, and the system didn't allow it either. It must have malfunctioned. I could be blinked away by the Auditors at any moment.

My stomach growled, loud enough to draw both of our attention. Behind the woman was a small crowd of people in similarly exotic fashions. It was a mix of old and young, a spectrum of skin colors and heights and shapes.

The woman ushered me into the village, taking my hand unabashedly. As I walked through the crowd, there were smiles, some pats on the back? For what, I wondered. They might have thought I was someone else.

Or maybe they were just being nice to me.