Adjacent to this duo was a ceramic pitcher. It was quite old, and had clearly been reconstructed from fragments gleaned from an archeological dig. Even so, the design painted on its surface was still quite clear, consisting of black on white patterns that resembled hourglasses offset by arrow-bursts. According to a small card written in a hand that I recognized as my own, the pitcher originated from a people known as the Anasazi, in Northwestern Arizona. It also verified the antiquity of the pottery; 950 AD.
“Anasazi?” I inquired, cocking an eyebrow.
In addition to his expertise in the physical sciences, Merriweather also had a penchant for studying the cultures and peoples of North America. Not on a professional level, but more of a hobby (although had he wished to, he might have asserted himself as an expert on the subject). He considered my question for a moment, and then answered it.
“A Paleo-Indian people, famed for their cliff dwellings. As I recall, the name is not what they called themselves, but what their enemies used to describe them. I believe that Anasazi is actually a Navajo word meaning ‘ancient enemy.’”
“Interesting,” I replied, grateful for this knowledge, but wondering how it would figure in the overall scheme of things.
There was one final item that demanded my attention. It was the tenth and perhaps the loveliest thing in the entire collection; an Ourboros fashioned into a rather attractive bracelet.
However, I could not initially identify the substance that it was made of. While it was clearly metal, it possessed the qualities of both copper and gold, lending it a lustrous coloration that beguiled the eye and fairly begged to be worn against the skin.
Then, I knew. It had been fashioned from none other than orichalcum, a metal mentioned in my universe by Plato, and associated with Atlantis. The bracelet was a thing of myth, made real.
Before I could ponder this at greater length though, a bell sounded and I automatically looked towards the entrance to my rooms.
A visitor perhaps?
Of all the bizarre things that had occurred so far, this was certainly the most unexpected. I immediately concluded that it was Jenny, or worse, Pierce, come to torment me anew.
Professor Merriweather stood aside as I went to the portal and opened it. I was greeted by none other than the sight of Edward Simpson Darrington, dressed in a Bookman’s uniform. Our eyes met, and I made to say something to him in greeting, but the strain of all I had been under, and his physical presence conspired to overcome what little strength I still possessed. I immediately threw myself into his arms and commenced to weep miserably.
“Oh Edward,” I sobbed. “Dearest, dearest Edward. I thought you lost as well!” I felt his strong arms come around me and I surrendered to his embrace, bawling my eyes out onto his tunic. “This has all been so terrible,” I cried.
Stalwart friend that he was, he let me give vent to my emotions, and finally, when he knew that I was ready, he lifted my chin to meet his gaze.
“I am frightfully sorry, Penny,” he said. “I would have been there for your Awakening, but other business detained me. I know that this has all been very hard for you.”
“Please, tell me this is some kind of awful dream,” I pleaded. Right then, I desperately wanted to hear that very thing. And to be told that he would return me to my home, my father and everything else. That all would be made well again. Never before in my entire life had I so desired to discover that I had been deceived.
No such reassurances came from him though. Rather, he gave me the same sad, gentle smile that I had received from the Professor.
“Truly, I wish that I could,” he said. “But it is all too real. Everything that you have seen and heard tonight is the truth, however terrible. Our world is an illusion, and this my darling, is the reality.”
Coming as it had from the Professor, and now him, I had no choice but to accept it and succumbed to a new bout of lamentation. At last, thoroughly exhausted, I let him lead me through my parlor to the neighboring bedroom. It was just as warmly-appointed as everything else, with a great four-poster bed, and after helping me with my boots, he made me lie down and drew the covers over me.
I did not protest, but welcomed this attention. My body suddenly felt as if it were weighted down by heavy stones, and I could barely keep my eyes open. I felt him kiss my brow, and then heard him speak.
“Rest, Penny,” he said. “You will need it. For tomorrow, you will learn why all this has been done, and what your role is destined to be.”
I took this for a dream. It was not though. It proved to be as real as all the rest.
CHAPTER 5: The River of Time
In which I am introduced to the Phaseships, and the great River of Time. I begin my lessons with the Professor, and meet my squadron mates. Then I learn a surprising fact about Pierce and watch my first ‘movie’.
When I awoke at last, I briefly wondered if the entire adventure had been nothing more than a fantasy. It was childish of me, I admit, and more wishful thinking than anything else. The Bookman’s uniform that I was still clothed in--my uniform--I reluctantly reminded myself--compelled me to confront the reality of my situation more forcefully than a pail of cold water might have accomplished.
This was my new world, whether I desired it or not. And I most certainly did not.
Grudgingly, I rose and inspected my apartments. I was pleased to discover a very conventional bathroom and lavatory, and that someone had set out a fresh uniform for me. Once I had refreshed myself, and changed into clean garments (with equal unwillingness), I went out into the parlor.
The false window displayed a rather beautiful morning, complete with the sounds of extremely realistic birds, and although I was aware it was an illusion, I must admit that it added to my cheer.
I took a long moment to watch and listen. Then I realized that despite the terrible strangeness of the night before, I was utterly famished.
One glaring problem presented itself; I hadn’t the faintest idea of where to go and break my fast. It had been the one thing that Pierce had simply neglected to mention, and yet I was absolutely certain that clones like myself required some form of sustenance. As I debated whether or not to leave my rooms and explore the complex in search of a breakfasting room, a rather curious thing occurred.
A woman, dressed in a very conventional maid’s uniform suddenly materialized in the center of the parlor and curtseyed to me. What was even more bizarre was the fact that I could see right through her form as if she were a ghost.
I quickly deduced that she was another ‘hologram’, and therefore felt no cause for alarm. Instead, I acknowledged her just as I would have with a real person.
“Good morning, mum,” she said. “Will ye be wantin yer breakfast then?”
Again, I nodded. “I take it that you are my maidservant?”
“That I am, mum,” she replied. “I’m yer personal Ay-Eye. Me names Mrs. Schrödinger, on account of ta’ fact that I is--n’ well--I isn’t. I’ll see yer meal fetched to ye right away.”
“Indeed? Very well then.”
This earned me another spectral curtsey. Then the apparition’s features knotted with concern. “There’s one small thing, mum. ‘Aving no hands, I’ll have ta get one of t’ mechanica to bring it in. I hope that ain’t a problem fer ya.”
I was about to inform her that this was in fact a very great problem, as I had no desire whatsoever to see one of those silver horrors come anywhere near me, when I stopped myself. Mrs. Schrödinger’s dilemma was quite undeniable, and so was my hunger. I resolved to agree to her request, and meet the situation bravely.
“So be it, Mrs. Schrödinger,” I told her. “You may admit one of those creatures, but only one, and only for as long as it takes for it to complete its task. Then it must depart. I will not tolerate its presence any more than is absolutely necessary.”
Mrs. Schrödinger smiled. “Straightaway, mum.” Then she closed her eyes and her lips moved as if she were in conversation, although I could not hear her wor
ds.
Barely a few seconds passed before the bell over the door rang, and Mrs. Schrödinger waved towards it. The portal opened, and a mechanica, bearing a table, a chair and a covered tray, entered. It took every ounce of my self-control to remain where I was and not flee from its presence. Yet I managed, and stood by while it put down the furniture and began setting out linen and silver ware. Finally, when the table had been set, the thing pulled back the chair and waited as if it actually expected me to allow it to seat me. This was as much as I could stand.
“I shall seat myself, you monster!” I exclaimed. “Mrs. Schrödinger, see this thing out.”
“Very well, mum,” she answered regretfully, “but you’ve got Old Fred ‘ere all wrong. E’s really a likable bloke if yer give ‘im ta chance.”
I pointed to the door and stood my ground. “At once, please.”
She closed her eyes and engaged in another silent conversation, and the mechanica’s eyes flashed a green color, which I took to be an affirmative of sorts. This was confirmed when a metallic voice issued from somewhere within its innards.
“N'che se'dem,” it said. “I obey.” It promptly released the chair and marched out of the room like a nightmarish toy soldier.
The instant that it had departed, I let out my breath and went over to the table to lift the lid on my tray. To my great delight, I was greeted by a proper English breakfast; back bacon, eggs, British sausage, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, black pudding, toast, and of course, tea.
I immediately forgot all about the hideous machine, and sat down to enjoy my meal. My only regret was that it did not include the latest periodicals, but this was perhaps a small blessing. I think that had I been able to read about the goings-on in my former home, it would have only managed to depress me.
Halfway through the repast, the bell rang again, and Mrs. Schrödinger announced my visitors. “It be Professor Merriweather n’ Mr. Darrington coming ta call mum. Shall I let ‘em in?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied, hastily blotting my lips and rising. I felt a little guilty about my solitary feast now, and hoped that my callers had already breakfasted and would not take any offense. I also decided that I would tolerate another visit by ‘Old Fred’ if I could at least get some more tea and cakes to entertain with.
“Oh” Merriweather said as he entered. “I am so dreadfully sorry for disturbing your meal.”
“No apologies are required, Professor,” I said, offering them my hand. “Can I at least offer you some tea?”
“No thank you, my dear,” Edward responded. “I’m afraid we haven’t the time for it. You see, we’ve come to fetch you. Pierce is of a mind to show you something rather important.”
“Pierce, “I grimaced. “Why do you even follow him? I should think that there are enough of us Free Radicals here to send him on his way with a boot to his hindquarters.”
The Professor shook his head. “It is not as simple as that, Penny. I needn’t remind you that we are no longer Free Radicals, or even free for that matter, and although he is a loathsome fellow, the man serves the Masters as we do, and performs a necessary role. It would be much better if you tried to simply accept all of this. Things are always difficult for you at this stage, and concentrating on Pierce only impedes the process.”
“Professor,” I replied, “please forgive my directness, but I cannot help but notice that at every turn you keep bringing up the fact that there are other ‘me’s’ lurking about somewhere and I think that it is high time that we discussed this.’
“Tell me, what has become of them? Where are my copies? And do I have any reason to worry that one of them will return and banish me from these very rooms?”
“Have no fear on that account,” the man assured me. “They are all elsewhere, fulfilling the Master’s bidding. Only one of them has any reason to deal with us, and her tastes are rather more--“
“Rather more--?”
“Um--contemporary,” he finally said. “When she stays here, she has her own rooms that suit her unique tastes. She has always been more than content to leave you be.”
“Well,” I replied archly, “How utterly gracious of her.”
“Yes,” Edward interjected. “Louise is a bit of an odd duck, but she is quite understanding.”
“Louise?”
“As in Louise Brookes,” the Professor elucidated. “No relation to poor Elizabeth’s family, but the silent film star.”
“The what?”
“That is something that will have to wait, Penny,” Edward interjected. “We really must be off. Pierce is going to take you up in your Phaseship and show you around.”
I did not bother to press him for details. I knew that my answers would only come to me through direct experience. That I had learned, was the way that Pierce preferred to teach.
We walked together to another part of the complex, and Pierce met us at one of the non-descript doors that filled the place. He was as dour and taciturn as ever, and I made certain not to wish him a good morning. Although this was ungracious of me, I left it to my companions to award him any courtesies, and simply maintained my silence. Naturally, boor that he was, he was wholly unfazed, and led us through the portal and into the space beyond without making any remark.
The contents within made me momentarily forget my hatred for him and stare in wonderment. The room was large and closely resembled a conventional hanger. And in its midst, were the Phaseships.
I hadn’t known exactly what to expect, but from the hints that the Professor and Edward had dropped along the way, I had naively assumed that I would be viewing some advanced variant of my old monoplane, with most of the features of an improved steam driven machine. In this, I had utterly failed to fully anticipate the brilliance and inventiveness of the Masters.
The Phaseships were parked in neat rows, and all of the same design. Instead of the riotous patterns of color that I was used to seeing on a monoplane, they were uniformly black, with a gleaming finish that easily rivaled that of the finest coaches.
They possessed no fuselage, nor tails of any kind whatsoever, but instead were great V-shaped wings with edges that appeared sharper to my eye than the edge of a cavalry sword. And on the wings themselves, there were no numerals, nor any national insignia. Rather, they sported a curious design that had been rendered in a brilliant blue: two opposing triangles which joined one another to form a stylized hourglass. It took me a moment to realize that what I was looking at was the genus of the gold hourglasses that we wore on our collars. Seeing the understanding in my eyes, Pierce nodded.
“Now you begin to understand, Penelope Victoria Steele,” he said. “Time really does fly.”
For the first time ever, the insignia of the Bookmen took on a slightly more benevolent cast and I nodded dumbly in agreement.
This is what the Hourglass in my Kunstschränke means, I thought, examining the craft more closely.
Although I searched for them, these sleek ‘flying wings’ possessed no discernable ailerons or flaps. And even more puzzling was their means of motive power. I failed to locate any form of propeller, or a nozzle for releasing steam jets.
When I remarked about this, Bookman Pierce not only assured me that they could fly, but could vastly outperform even the fastest steam-plane that my mind could possibly imagine. On that score, I resolved to wait, and be convinced.
Moving on, I also struggled to locate the cockpit. Where one should have been, there was only a large bulge, located at the junction of the “V” and after several minutes, I finally realized that it did in fact exist, but was completely enclosed. However, I could not spot any kind of door to admit the pilot, and the interior itself was impossible to view through what I assumed were its windows. These were coated with an opaque finish that hid all of the vehicles secrets from the outside world.
Without any question, the strangest thing of all about the Phaseships was the absence of landing gear. Instead of wheels, or skis, or anything of a similarly logical nature, they simp
ly floated off the ground like Indian fakirs. I believe that Pierce actually managed his best facsimile of a laugh as I looked underneath the vessel and found myself gazing at nothing but thin air.
“How is this possible?” I stammered. “What manner of force supports this craft?”
“I know not,” Pierce replied. If anything, his answer was even more surprising than the marvel floating in front of me. I had thought him privy to most, if not all of the secrets of the Masters.
“How can that be?” I challenged.
“I will answer that with a question,” he replied. “In your old world, are there not clocks aplenty?”
“Why yes,” I answered. “Of course there are. Clocks are everywhere, as you yourself should know.” I pointedly looked to the twin hourglasses on his collar.
“And although they are familiar to you,” he inquired, “can you explain their internal arrangement to me? What each gear or spring does, and why?”
“No,” I admitted. “I cannot. I am no clockmaker.”
“Nor I,” he responded, giving me a dry smile. “One does not have to know the workings of a technology to use it. It simply is, and once it has been assimilated, the user can proceed from there.”
I nodded, forced to concede his point. Even so, it would have been marvelous to know the agency behind such an amazement.
Taken as a whole, the Phaseships seemed to be more things of magic than any science that I had ever been acquainted with. I was suffused with wonder.
“Shall we inspect the interior?” Pierce asked.
There was no question at all about accepting his invitation. I bobbed my head in a most undignified manner, and waited eagerly to see what wonders awaited me within this marvelous craft. I had not fully come to terms with all of my feelings yet, but I found that I was very much in love again. This time, it was with a machine.
Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Page 11