We walked around it until we were standing at the very nose of the craft. And when Pierce paused there, I knew that he was about to make it open itself to me. I held my breath and waited.
Like every other portal I had encountered so far, the one leading into the Phaseship’s interior opened up without any mechanical manipulation, and only required a simple gesture. When he made it, a section of the hull parted like a clamshell into two halves, one of which rose above me, whilst the other lowered to reveal a small set of stairs. Then a group of tiny lights winked on, illuminating the treads.
Pierce stepped aside and gestured elaborately for me to enter. I reacted to his vaudevillian theatrics with a brisk nod of my head and made my ascent.
The control cabin proved to be an oval that was capacious enough to allow me to stand erect. It was lit by soft lighting at various points and the overall color scheme was a flat black, offset by silver accents.
A chair with a headrest was positioned at the very center of this space with a horseshoe shaped panel attached to it by an armature. From this arrangement, it was quite clear that it was intended to swing aside in order for the pilot to take their seat. I also noted a pair of what looked like small control sticks set in this panel, which indicated to me that the craft was either guided by both hands, or that there were some commands which might require ambidexterity.
In addition, the pilot’s chair was surrounded by four curved pieces of what appeared to be smoked glass. These were mounted at what would have been eye level for the chair’s occupant; one to the front, a pair to either side, and another to the rear. I was in the process of puzzling out their purpose when I took note of something else at the opposite end of the cabin.
It was a mechanica, with its metal arms folded over its chest, standing at attention in a recess that had clearly been shaped to accommodate its form. Metal arms held it in place and the thought that it was imprisoned in that niche by these devices relieved me greatly, although I could not imagine why the thing had been positioned there in the first place. Realizing that Pierce had joined me, I demanded justification from him.
“The mechanica are part of the standard equipment of any Phaseship,” he answered, waving me to silence before I could give voice to my objections, “they function as guardians when the pilot is away, and also serve as bodyguards. And should the pilot become incapacitated, they are fully capable of flying the vessel back to a safe location. They are also non-negotiable.”
“Very well then,” I told him. “As I have no choice but to endure the presence of that horrid thing, I shall leave it in its pen and procure something to drape over its form.”
“As you will,” Pierce replied dryly. “It can be activated by the Phaseship’s AI if the pilot cannot--or in your case, stubbornly will not--make the request. So I am unconcerned.”
The term “AI” caught my attention and distracted me from my upset. Mrs. Schrödinger had used it earlier in reference to herself and it had made no sense at all.
“What exactly are you referring to, sir?” I asked, “I have heard that term used several times since being brought here against my will. What exactly is an ‘AI’?”
“He is referring to me, Penelope,” a female voice said. Whoever she was, I took her to be about my age, and by her accent and diction, clearly the product of a good family. I looked about me, trying to locate the source of her voice, but failed.
“You have always called me ‘Blackbird’” she informed me, “in remembrance of your dear Elizabeth, and if you so desire it, I will continue to respond to that name. Otherwise, I shall gladly change it.”
“No,” I said, my throat tightening at the mention of my lost love, “that will not be necessary. Blackbird will do. Tell me, are you the ‘AI’ that Mr. Pierce here is going on about?”
“I am,” Blackbird answered. “By definition, I am an artificial consciousness designed to emulate human behavior, but I assure you that I am no inanimate clockwork. I am as self-aware as you are and consider myself to be a sentient being, with thoughts, emotions--and even dreams.”
“And where exactly are you?” I finally inquired.
“Why, I am all around you,” she replied. “You see, I am the Phaseship itself, or more correctly, I have been integrated with it so that we are one in the same. My purpose is to provide you with information and to render any assistance that you require to fulfil your missions. Among other things, this involves multi-dimensional and multi-temporal navigation functions. Shall I display some of the ship’s systems for you to inspect?”
“That shall not be required,” Pierce interposed. “We will be embarking on a short journey during which I shall be the pilot of this craft. Ms. Steele will only be along as a passenger. You two may acquaint yourselves with one another at a later date.”
“Very well, Bookman Pierce,” Blackbird responded, with what sounded like a slight trace of resentment. Even though we had only known one another for a few minutes, I found that I already liked her, and disliked Pierce all the more for his brusque manner. The man utterly lacked any couth whatsoever. Had I had a fan just then, I think that I would have snapped it shut and run it through my hand in order to emphasize just how much I hated him. Sadly, I did not, and resorted to merely glaring instead.
Indifferent, Pierce approached the pilot’s seat and the control panel swung away to accommodate him. He then took his place and it returned to its position. At the same time, a portion of the bulkhead behind me opened up and a smaller copy of the pilot’s chair unfolded itself. I sat, knowing without having to ask, that this was my assigned place for the excursion.
“What is our destination?” I inquired.
He glanced back over his shoulder at me. “The River of Time. Put your harnesses on. You will require them”
While I complied, he returned his attention to the controls. The cockpit came alive with light; the odd pieces of curved glass suddenly displayed images of the hanger that surrounded us, and strange geometric patterns materialized in the very air before the Bookman like mystical diagrams composed of pure alchemical fire.
He reached out to some of them and they responded to his contact, changing in form and size, while others he either ignored, or banished with a wave of his hand. Simultaneously, I realized that our vessel was rising from its place and turning about. There was no sensation of motion to warn me of this however. Rather, I knew it because the imagery on the glass showed us climbing away from the other Phaseships.
Once more, I was treated to a mysterious comprehension of what I beheld. I knew without any doubt that the glass was actually referred to as a ‘display screen’ and that it was the product of sensor input--although I could not cognate what sensors were exactly. Yet I was sure of their name.
Meanwhile, the Phaseship was moving along a tunnel that was quite similar to the one we had driven through into the wasteland. It was far larger though, and seemed as if it could have accommodated several of the machines flying abreast.
It took but a few seconds for us to reach the end of the passage, and then we were out and soaring above the desert floor at a tremendous speed. At last, the features of the earth shrank away and I could actually detect the curvature of the planet itself and even discern the last faint layers of its atmosphere. We were traveling into space itself, I realized, and I was awed. However faithful, my old steamplane could never have delivered me to such incredible heights, and the Phaseship seemed to be just at the beginning of its capabilities. As we entered the airless void of true space, I utterly forgot about Pierce. My eyes were riveted on the ‘display screens’ instead.
Where were we off to? The moon perhaps? Or even another planet? Anything seemed possible just then.
While I pondered this, the sable eternity of open space had enveloped us completely, and I experienced the sensation of weightlessness. Thanks to my harnesses, I remained in my seat, but I still felt uncomfortably queasy as my stomach protested the change. Fortunately, I was able to keep my nausea at bay and avo
ided an embarrassment.
Then I observed a rather peculiar phenomenon on the display screens, distracting me from my discomfort. A blueish-green light was beginning to form along our wings like St. Elmo’s fire. And the further that we travelled, the more intense that this effect became.
Simultaneously, the light from the stars was distorting and bending into curving, sinuous lines of illumination, and ahead of us, these lines were gathering into one intense point that was almost too brilliant to gaze upon. Still, we flew on, straight towards the center of this dazzling convergence, and before I could even cry out, we were in its heart.
An instant later, the darkness reasserted itself. But this time, there were no stars to greet me with their reassuring light. And the force of gravity, although far weaker than what I was accustomed to, had also returned.
The source filled the view screens; it was an immense object that most closely resembled a great bolt of lightning that had somehow been frozen in mid-strike. The thing was quite vast, and although I sought it out, I could not determine exactly where it originated, or where it ended. Rather, it seemed to be absolutely endless, winding its way through the featureless void like a fiery snake that possessed neither head nor tail.
I could make out every feathery tendril of it, and as my eyes traced over its length, I realized that it was not actually one single body, but a tight bundle of nine separate shapes intertwined with one another and overlapping in a flaming embrace. I also noticed that at certain places, its otherwise pristine brilliance was marred with odd patches of darkness that I found instinctively disturbing. There was something fundamentally wrong about these sooty discolorations that made them seem more like scars than anything else.
“We have arrived,” Pierce announced. “What you see before you is time itself, presented in its true form. We call it the Iter Neheh'djet, the River of Time and the void that surrounds it is the Nen Paa'ta, the No-When, a realm that is beyond the temporal universe. This is where we do our work for the Masters.”
By this point, I had had quite enough of all these allusions to my ‘duty’ to the Masters, and their mysterious purpose, and I did not hesitate to challenge him. “And what, sir, is this great work that you keep referring to?”
Pierce’s expression darkened. “We are engaged in a conflict, Ms. Steele,” he finally said, “a battle for temporal domination. We call ourselves the Continuity and our mortal enemies are the Deviators. No one has ever laid eyes upon them, but they are believed to be a race of intelligent reptiles hearkening back to the days of the great Saurians.’
“Their goal is to undermine the work of the Masters and supplant it with their own evil designs. They are utterly ruthless, and will not hesitate to destroy entire centuries if it suits them. Those blemishes that you see are places where they have wrought their mischief.”
“Then I am a soldier?” I asked, not quite believing my ears. “Surely, you jest. War is a man’s business and I am no mythical Amazon.” The very idea was preposterous!
Pierce’s expression remained as somber as the grave itself. “In the century that you inhabited, that may well have been true. But here, you are a warrior of the No-When like the rest of us.’
“And this, “he said looking around the cabin, “is your battle-steed. Did you ever wonder why we allowed the monoplane matches? Why we encouraged young women like you to take part in them when any comparable technology was forbidden to everyone else?”
In point of fact, I had not. The matches had always been something that I had taken for granted.
Pierce turned his chair around to face me. “In every century where the Masters seek recruits, they create opportunities for training and careful selection. The matches were preparation for a far more serious contest, with much greater stakes. And you, Ms. Steele proved yourself to be an excellent aviatrix, and a fierce competitor. You are more than suited to our conflict.”
I honestly did not know how to reply to this, and my head was fairly spinning at the implication that the game that I loved so thoroughly had actually been a preparation for war.
“Merely telling you all this is not enough,” he added, turning around to face the control console again. “You should see for yourself what is at stake with your own eyes.”
While he said this, the Phaseship began to descend towards the River of Time, and as it did so, a series of numbers appeared over each and every filament. I realized that every part of its enormous length had been systematically catalogued to make navigation possible. Leaning forwards for a better view, I was able to understand the figures; they represented specific years, months and days.
If anything, the sheer number of these labels only served to emphasize the sheer complexity of the River. As near as I could tell, there were millions, if not billions, of separate notations. It was enough to send a mathematician into an unrecoverable fit of madness.
By now, the Phaseship was closing on one of the fiery branches of the River, and then it was being surrounded by its light. There was the reverse of what I had experienced during our departure from my world, with the same eldritch fires, and the bending of the light.
When it died away at last, I beheld a familiar sight; it was the mountains that surrounded my city, bathed in moonlight. Even though I was aware of their unreality, my heart rose at the sight of their familiar shapes. For the briefest of instants, I found myself wishing that Pierce had finally decided to show me some compassion, and was returning me to my home.
This however, was not to be. Although the mountains and basic geography were the same, the metropolis that appeared on the screens was utterly foreign.
“Behold your fair city,” Pierce said. “As it knows itself in the 2nd universe and its 21st century.”
I was both appalled and fascinated by the sight. Despite a few familiar structures here and there, the architecture of the city that I had known had been supplanted by sterile looking boxes that blazed gaudily with light. They were, I realized, the living, breathing versions of the sad remains that I had witnessed in the wasteland.
The streets beneath them were filled with motorcars much like the ones that the Bookmen drove. But their numbers were so great and they were driven with such abandon that in many places, the roadways were choked with them, and they could not move. It was absolute chaos.
Only one new structure in all of this managed to please me. This was a delicate white tower surmounted by a disk set with glass windows. It rose all by itself on three great legs to overlook the sprawling eyesore that surrounded it, and it reminded me at once of an elegant heron that had somehow managed to find itself standing in a rather unappealing muck, but still hadn’t taken flight to escape its misery. I daresay that I even felt sorry for it, given the ugliness of the rest of the city.
“Can they see us?” I asked, inclining my jaw towards the clotted masses of motorcars.
“No,” Pierce answered. “The Phaseship can alter its appearance to whatever form it requires to pass unnoticed, but even if it lacked that capability, in this particular age, the inhabitants are too distracted to be aware of very much. An infernal device known as the ‘smartphone’ has them completely in thrall. Apparently, it enables a practice called ‘texting’ which leads to many deaths due to the carelessness that it inspires, and another, called a ‘selfie’ has made them prisoners of their own image, much like the legendary Narcissus. And like him, they are just as doomed to drown in their own vanity.”
“How dreadful,” I remarked.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “Unlike your age, they did not have the wisdom to reject William Henry Gates and his ilk, and this is the result.’
“But enough of this slave-world. I only brought you here to appreciate the vast differences between the universes--and to prepare you for yet another. Let us be away.”
The next world that Pierce brought me to made me feel as if I were Dante, being shown the nethermost region of the religionist’s hells. The landscape that I beheld was a shattered place, very like the
wasteland that surrounded my Seattle, but this time it was no dead thing, but a dying one.
Once more, I beheld the great square buildings with all their soullessness, except that now, they were on fire along with everything else. Foul-looking smoke and lapping flames seemed to come from everywhere, and when I caught a glimpse of the ground, I saw the twisted remains of the motorcars, and in places, the corpses of their drivers. Even the horizon offered no respite, for there, great mushroom-shaped clouds were rising into the air and spreading destruction on a scale that my mind struggled to comprehend. It was horror incarnate.
“Take me away from here,” I begged, eager even for a return to the wasteland. Anything was better than this.
“Not until you learn what it is,” Pierce replied pitilessly. He continued to guide our craft on a leisurely course, making certain to afford me the clearest possible view of the devastation.
“Then tell me, you blackguard,” I retorted.
“This world was like the last one,” he answered. “Until the Deviators came and changed it’s time stream. They altered its direction, and brought it into conjunction with disastrous probabilities--other time streams that were inimical to sustained life. That is what we fight, Ms. Steele; the wholesale obliteration of entire realities in the name of chaos.”
Again, a secret well of knowledge opened up within me, and I was allowed another brief moment of insight. It assured me that he was telling me the absolute truth.
The technology existed not only to change the fates of individual men, but the very realms that they dwelt in. I even thought that I knew how this was accomplished.
It was a fleeting image, but nonetheless an illuminating one. I had a vision of the Phaseships gathering strands from the great temporal river and weaving them together in ways that changed their nature, much like cosmic spinners creating a new fabric, but composed of time itself.
At the same time, I was reminded of Pierce’s statement about the preparation that I had unwittingly received as a monoplane pilot, and I understood that it had involved far more than simply being given the opportunity to fly. The very rules of the game that I had participated in were equally as vital. Our innocent competition to seize the banner and fly it to the goal, and our playful efforts to defeat one another were nothing less than precursors to a far more serious competition. And the stakes in this new struggle were life and death itself, with no cup going to the winners, nor any salute awarded to the vanquished.
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