Tenochtitlan Time Travel Tour

The intercom system didn’t work, for a start. If it had, it would have broadcast a recorded message regarding the history of the Aztec Empire: what was known about Aztec culture, fashion, system of government, and cuisine. This message would have prepared the six passengers onboard for what they were about to see while their pod traversed the dark “time tunnel” bringing them to the distant past.

But the system didn’t work, and so broadcast wailing static and jumbled speech. Only the occasional word proved decipherable through syllabic structure, most notably the name of their destination: Tenochtitlan. That the pod was lit by a single, small bulb built into the ceiling, and the tunnel outside was as pitch dark as could be imagined, contributed to the eerie feel of the journey.

Lydia Carson wasn’t too upset by this. She hadn’t been afraid of the dark since childhood and she trusted the safety records of Time Travel Inc. She also didn’t mind missing the history lesson, as she’d earned a minor in Central American Culture back in her school days. In fact, she thanked the stars that she wouldn’t receive a surface-level, commercialized depiction of a subject she knew. After all, it’s possible to hurt yourself if you roll your eyes too hard.

Lydia never thought she’d get this far, to the point of taking a trip back in time a full millennia. When she first heard scientists had “cracked the time barrier” she’d been skeptical. And her skepticism had turned to horror as dependable news sources began reporting on the progress of the project. 

Could someone go back in time and change everything? Would she wake up one morning to find that the Nazis had won WW2 or that a dinosaur empire now ruled the globe? Would she wake up one morning to find she never existed? Was that possible?

Fortunately, time travel turned out to be limited. You could only travel to the past, and you couldn’t change anything, as temporal physics wouldn’t allow it. Some daredevils and revolutionaries had tried, and the rumors of their grisly ends were best left to tabloids in Lydia’s opinion. One witty scientist once quipped: “You can’t change the past… and for your own good please don’t try.”

There were only two things time travel was good for: history and tourism. You could go back to observe, learn, and correct the historical record. Or you could go back to have a jolly old time. As long as you kept out of sight, you almost certainly wouldn't get swallowed up in Mother Nature’s “temporal fixing.”

This led to a new industry: “Time Vacations.” You could now travel back to any period of time, take in the sights, sounds, and culture, then hop back to your own era a split second from when you left. For most guests, this meant transport in light-reflective (and thus effectively invisible) “person pods” that guided guests on pre-planned trips around their requested landmark of choice. Popular destinations include Leonardo’s Workshop in its heyday, Angkor Wat at the height of the Khmer Empire, and the 2005 Champions League Final in Istanbul.

The only real limitation, apart from the total prohibition on interacting with the setting in any way, lay in what the industry deemed “crowding the past.” Sending a few customers back to watch the last stone of Khufu’s Great Pyramid slide into position wasn't a big deal, but if you keep sending people back to that exact day without proper safeguards, then eventually a couple of these pods are bound to crash into each other.

As a result, the industry is mandated to keep careful track of every pop they send, cataloged to the exact trajectory in spacetime. With thousands of years of history to travel to, it was unlikely that any but the most famous days in history would grow crowded, but who knows how long temporal vacations would be a thing? Early vacationers from the 23nd century risk bumping fenders with futurists from the 30th. And who knows what crazy customs people from that far in the future might have. They probably wear tin foil clothes and listen exclusively to techno music. Best to do everything you can to keep your distance.

Lydia herself had scheduled a trip to exactly one thousand years ago. The travel companies liked sending people back in large, round numbers of years to make keeping track easier, so they gave a discount if you picked that option. This meant Lydia would get to see the legendary lake city a couple hundred years before conquistadors arrived bearing bibles and plague.

Lydia hadn’t planned on interacting with her fellow passengers at all during the trip. She was paying good money for a one hour experience, so she was going to use the full time to take in the sights her imagination had been conjuring since she was a little girl. It was a knock to her skeptical persona that she was even taking this trip, so she intended to enjoy every second of it.

But with the incessant static coming out of the sound system, the other passengers were getting antsy, and something would have to be done.

“Is there any way to turn that blasted thing off?” An older woman in a knit cap asked. 

“Probably ma’am. Probably.” This was a tall, middle-aged man with a London accent. “I think that large, white button is for contacting technical support, but then I guess they might not be any more decipherable out of this machine than the recording.”

“And we’re not supposed to contact them while in the tunnel,” the older woman added, “not unless it’s an emergency, which sadly I don’t think this counts as.”

A young boy, perhaps eight years old, started to cry, and pressed his face into his mother’s welcoming hug. Lydia realized he hadn’t made a peep up until this point, through a considerable wait in line and at a counter, and counted that to his credit. Best to get the situation sorted before they arrived.

“The controls are listed in this pamphlet I believe,” she said, pulling out a thick leaflet she’d received with her original promotional materials. She flipped through the tiny pages, her mind just briefly glancing over a set of safety instructions:

• Your People Pod is your friend.
• Do NOT attempt to leave your People Pod while in motion.
• No one from outside your People Pod can see or hear you. Do NOT attempt to contact them in ANY way.
• Phones and cameras are prohibited. Do NOT attempt to take pictures of your trip.
• Tell all your friends and family about the great time you had. The past is a big place, and welcoming of visitors.

Lydia skimmed to the proper page, bearing a picture of the controls featuring a set of knobs and that distinctive white button, plus a metal panel with an old-fashioned keyhole. She scanned over the labels.

“The center knob is volume control. You can’t turn off the recording but you can turn the volume all the way down.”

“Center control.” The tall man repeated, moving his hand to the correct knob and giving it a twist, the wrong way at first which filled the pod with an intense howl of static, including that distinctive four-syllable, garbled “Tenochtitlan”, until he swung it back again. The static didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now so muted that all six passengers sighed with relief in concert.

“Thank the stars for that.” This was the sixth passenger, an old man with a distinguished gray beard who caught Lydia’s eye. “And thanks to you for sorting this out. I’m wretched with machines. Born in the wrong era I suppose.”

Completely against her plan going in, Lydia smiled at the man and asked his name. “Arthur Covington,” he said and smiled back. And as they emerged from the time tunnel into the bright sun of one thousand years ago, Arthur mentioned that he was a historian who had become “somewhat addicted to trips of this type.”

“Look! Look!” This was the young boy, who just then leapt up, taking his mother’s hands in his and pulling her to her feet such that they might get closer to one of the Pod’s great clear windows. For suddenly a city on a lake sprawled below like nothing they’d ever seen before.

“Have a look at that,” the tall man said, and waited 'til all the shorter folk had chosen viewing spots before he stood. “Built right over the lake, and into the lake even. Look at the gardens.”

Lydia knew a few things about this, but felt the urge to get everyone involved. “Arthur, since our radio narration is out, perhaps you can fill in.”

“Oh?” Arthur said, his eyebrows raised, “Yes I suppose I could.” Then he cleared his throat theatrically, and began:

“Tenochtitlan is a beautiful city, but building on the lake was a practical decision. The Aztecs didn’t have horses or oxen for carts. Imagine having to carry every single object you ever needed to move. But with a city surrounded by water, you can bring most goods in and out on canoes. You see, there’s more people on boats than on the bridges in and out.”

By this time, the young boy was pressed up against the window, gazing down at the hundred little boats in the crystal water. At last he let go of his mother’s hands such that he might shade his eyes for a better view.

“Use the ocular young man, it’s that clear glass piece next to you. Here I can show you.” This was the older woman, then she caught the eye of the boy’s mother. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I suppose I’m just so happy to see a child enthused. My name is Martha.”

The mother smiled back at her. “I am Itzel. My son is Aapo. You may show him.” The two women shook hands, and then Martha moved off to show Aapo how to affix the glass ocular  device.

They were closer to the city now, and Lydia found Arthur’s narrative fading from the front of her mind. At first she followed a canoe, laden with beans and squash, as it arrived at an indented nook near a market. People crowded around, men and women, to scout the produce. 

Lydia noted the clothing they wore, she’d always imagined more visible skin in the hot central american sun. Yet most Aztecs wore a robe of some sort, mostly white with dashes of color: predominantly red but also brown and gold and sky blue. Only male laborers went bare chested. She’d seen far more skin on a visit to Miami.

“... there, look, you can see a warrior practicing now…”

Lydia snapped to follow Arthur’s direction. They were swooping toward the central area of the city, with its grand pyramids and temples. The historian was gesturing towards the side of one building.

“That’s the house of song. I’m trying to remember the Aztec name… cuicacalli if I’m pronouncing it right. It’s just a single warrior without his regiment, there by the outer wall.”

“He’s got a shaker stick, like a maraca. And he’s singing, you can see his mouth. I can just barely hear him. He sounds like a crooner!” This was Martha.

The singing man spun and leapt in the air, and shook his stick around in a wide arc. He wasn’t dressed in full warrior garb of jaguar skin and plumage, but he held a single, large blue feather in his off hand as he shook the stick. He also had spectators: a couple of women, a young girl and two boys. Family out to see their cousin practice, Lydia guessed. She took up an ocular set, suddenly intent on reading the expression on the man’s face.

His skin was dry despite the activity. He was dressed far lighter than he would in full battle regalia, so this must be light exercise for him. And his eyes were so focused they appeared endlessly brown. Yet at the same time, she noticed his mouth turn upward, and then his pupils suddenly flick to the side. She cast the viewer in that direction, to the onlookers. One of the women held an intense gaze to match the warrior, and she made no motion to suppress her smile.

Lydia felt herself gasp. She set down the ocular and backed away from the window. Four of the other guests were still staring down at the city. Arthur was saying “... some might find it unlucky that there’s no ceremony today. But I’m not sure I’d have had the stomach to watch a human sacrifice. As I understand it, they aren’t common.”

“Those days must be in high demand, then. I know a few blokes who would pay good money to see a bloody execution legally.” This was the tall man.

Lydia felt that her eyes were wet. She was overwhelmed, but why?

“Are you alright?” Itzel was at her side.

“Yes, I think so. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it’s the voyeuristic nature of what we’re doing. Or that, or that the people we’re watching…” Lydia considered what she wanted to say, about how these people were doomed, basically already dead. That in one sense they were right there with them, not 100 meters away, but at the same time they were gone forever. “It just struck me how strange this is, to be watching people that we’ll never get to meet, people who will vanish the second we return to our own time. Does that make sense?”

“It is a lot.” Itzel replied calmly. “But you know, I brought my son here to see his roots. We are from Guatemala with blood that goes back to this time. These people will never know us, but they’re helping keep us alive and we’re helping keep them alive.” In the moment, this all made perfect sense to Lydia

The two women chatted for several minutes, about family and trips and school and history. For those minutes, neither cast a glance outside to the majestic world playing out below them. By the end of their talk, Lydia felt much better.

And for the rest of the trip, she chatted easily with the other passengers while watching city life play out below. It turned out the tall man’s family had given him the trip for his birthday, and that “I’d better come back with some fun stories or they’ll think their gift was rubbish.” His name was Jim.

Martha also felt pressure to enjoy her trip. She and an old school friend had planned this vacation together, but that friend had fallen ill with the flu. Martha had intended to cancel entirely, but her friend insisted Martha go ahead without her. “She said she’d unfriend me if I didn’t. I wasn’t willing to take that chance!”

Together they soared over the three great bridges of Tenochtitlan, watching the faces of traders and visitors in various states of awe or comfort with the grandest city any of them would ever know. They floated past the large red-roofed houses that held extended families, and the smaller, yellow-thatched houses that served as homes for the poor. 

And just as their Pod rose again for one last loop around the city before slipping back toward the time tunnel, a procession of priests emerged from one of the central temples wearing masks. Aapo rushed to the viewer to get a better view. “Birds! Bird masks! All colored feathers!” He shouted. The other passengers cheered.

“A Huitzilopochtli ceremony perhaps. Oh to think we almost missed them!” Arthur said.

“Great eye Aapo! And so fast!” This was Martha.

Aapo rushed to hug his mother. They beamed at each other.

Within seconds they were back in the darkness of the time tunnel, with only the small bulb in the ceiling illuminating the pod. That low light, which had seemed so eerie on the trip out, now felt calm, relaxing. An odd feeling struck Lydia that she normally would have dismissed as mawkish, about how nice it was to form connections with people, whether or not you’d ever see them again. An impulsive thought tugged at her.

“This is a silly idea but, would any of you like to exchange contact info? Oh I don’t think I ever said my name. It’s Lydia. And I’ve had a very nice time meeting all of you.”