I also appreciated why he had frightened me so; a part of me had known what he represented. The same part that the Professor was now helping to reawaken.
“Excellent,” he said. “Can you define the components of six-dimensional space for me?”
Thinking on it, I found that I could, and took up a piece of chalk and began to draw. I started with a simple horizontal line. “The first component is length.”
Then I added a vertical line, creating a cross. “Then height.” Next, I drew a circle around the cross. “Followed by width.”
I immediately added an arrow which bisected my diagram at an angle. “Time is the fourth element.”
After this, I proceeded to create a duplicate of my design and linked it to the first, adding an infinity symbol. “The next is parallelity,” I explained.
With that, I drew another copy below and off to the side, joining it to rest with a line. “Finally, we come to alternality.”
He looked at my sketch and nodded. “Please describe these last two factors to me.”
I answered. “Parallelity is the capacity of the material universe to create infinite copies of itself. It’s opposite, alternality allows it to spawn unlimited variations. “
“And how do they modify the other four parts?” he queried. “For example, what prevents identical objects from occupying the same time and space and destroying one another?”
“The actions of parallelity and alternality,” I responded, and then even more information unfolded itself. “They work together to create the multiverse. Alternate timelines automatically come into play, and the two opposing forces never collide. An analogy would be a pair of oncoming trains that switch to separate tracks at the very last moment. The conflict simply cannot occur.”
“So, in summation, we could use broad terms and state that the multiverse preserves itself through the process of constant expansion and branching?” he inquired.
“It does,” I answered. I was certain of it.
The Professor took a long, satisfied draw from his pipe. “Yes, it does at that. So much for identical trains being blown to bits, eh?”
“Yes,” I replied. “So much for that.”
He gave me a wry look, and then asked, “But what about the paradox that might arise if say, one went back in time, met ones ancestors--and then murdered them? Wouldn’t that negate our very birth and create an inescapable paradox? Certainly, such a possibility tends to present a rather vigorous argument against even attempting time travel.”
“Not at all,” I told him, pointing at the extra universes that I had laid out. “As before, these two factors provide the pathway around such a conundrum by simply splitting existence into separate strands.’
“In one universe, I would, as you said, never have been born, but in another, I would have, thus guaranteeing my continued existence in at least one universe, and avoiding the problem entirely.” This seemed so obvious, that I was surprised that he had even asked me the question.
He chuckled, and smiled. “Indeed. I was merely testing your knowledge. Let me try another question; tell me, why do we perceive the River of Time as being composed of only nine universes? Based upon what you have just stated, there should be an infinite number.”
I pondered this for a moment. “There are,” I said at last, “but only these nine have the same general qualities, whereas further out, the rules which govern physical existence quickly become too alien to be considered part of anything that we would recognize as normal.”
He gestured for us to return to our seats. “Very well done, Penny. But enough of such complicated temporal mechanics. Let us return to the Fellowship of Aion, shall we? What is the common tongue that unites its members throughout the ages?”
The answer puzzled me. “Atlantean?” As far as I had always known, Atlantis was a fiction dreamt up by Plato. Evidently, this was not the case.
“You are quite correct,” Merriweather replied. “And as you have undoubtedly surmised, Atlantis is no fantasy, but a very real place in the 9th Universe. It is a highly sophisticated and technologically advanced civilization.’
“But to return to the language itself, it was chosen by the Masters in order for us to effectively communicate with one another regardless of our background. For that reason, it is also part of the lore that every Fellowship member must master. At the end of our session today, I will provide you with a special receiver that will allow you to translate it until you can recall enough to do without the device. To help accomplish this, I also want to introduce you to something else.”
He directed me to follow him over to his desk. There was a cloth pad sitting there decorated with the QWERTY key positions of a Remington Number 2 style of type writing machine.
In addition, two zones had been inscribed on it to the left and right of the key positions, shaped like the outline of human hands. And beyond all this, and sitting by itself, was a small metal pyramid with odd markings and a pyramidion, or capstone, made of what seemed to be green glass.
The Professor bade me to sit before it, and once I had taken my place, he instructed me to lay my hands upon the two silhouettes. At once, the glass at the top of the pyramid became illuminated and a hologram that resembled dense fog appeared above it.
“This is based on the same idea as the type writer,” he told me. ”Except, as you can see, there are no physical keys for you to manipulate. Instead, the pad that your hands are resting on senses the micro-movements in your fingers which occur when you think of moving them. These are translated into characters. Please, think of typing your name.”
As I imagined reaching for and depressing the keys, characters appeared in the fog, first in English and then in something that resembled ancient Phoenician (although with far greater sophistication and enjoying the presence of vowels). In short order, I was looking at my own name, written in Atlantean.
After this, a series of basic words appeared, both in Atlantean and their English equivalents, and Merriweather asked me to type out a sentence using them. Naturally, I was somewhat hesitant at first, but then as I proceeded to follow his instructions, I found that I recognized the terms without requiring the English translations at all. In fact, the entire exercise suddenly seemed childishly simple.
The statement read, “W'anx nem nekra ena'tai ast'a' mnim'an zoia.” I knew it for a quote from Cicero;” The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.”
Given all that I had learned about clones since my Awakening, this took on an entirely new and profound meaning, and I wondered if the great Roman statesman had secretly been a member of the Fellowship. The double-meaning of his words was simply too obvious to be overlooked.
I did not press the Professor however. He had called up another series of words, and I had a new quote to decipher.
We went on like this for half an hour. Finally, Merriweather was satisfied with my performance and called a halt to the session.
“Well done, Penny,” he said. “A twin of this pad, or as they call it, an ‘interface’, has been installed in your rooms, along with the projector. It will allow you to study and master Atlantean. Please organize your schedule so that you have some time each day to study.”
“Of course,” I agreed. Already fluent in German, Italian, French, Latin, and possessing some familiarity with Russian, I was more than willing to add another language to my repertoire. I had always held to the belief that the cornerstone of a quality education was the ability to converse in multiple tongues.
“I believe that we have made a very good start today,” the Professor announced, “but I do not wish to overtax you. We shall meet again tomorrow, and endeavor to re-learn other things. In the meantime, I think that it would be appropriate for me to introduce you to your new squadron-mates. ”
He led me out of his rooms and into the hall. We had only gone a short distance before we entered a room that reminded me of the boardrooms that my father tended to frequent, although it was far more Spartan. The space wa
s dominated by a large table, around which sat my new companions.
Fortunately, Pierce was not in attendance, brightening my mood considerably. As for the rest, all of them were in the Bookman’s uniform, and they were a rather odd lot.
One was a muscular, well-built fellow with strong features, a pencil thin moustache, close cropped blond hair and a prominent dueling scar. He appeared to be of Nordic descent and also wore a military decoration over his left breast. It was the Iron Cross, and this identified him as the owner of the Phaseship that I had seen out on the tarmac.
The individual sitting next to him was just as unique. She was a small colored woman with dark, shoulder length hair and eyes, and she possessed an olive complexion that strongly bespoke of Middle Eastern heritage.
Another woman sat across from her. Like the man, she seemed to be of European ancestry, and her fiery red hair (which was cut as short as a man’s) and porcelain skin suggested Irish descent. This was only compounded by the fact that her alabaster complexion was offset by a riotous band of freckles.
The last member of the assembly, another male, was also dark complected, with deep penetrating eyes and thick, wavy black hair. Again, I concluded that he was from somewhere in the Middle East, or possibly even India (as he was significantly darker than the first woman). Of course, all of my assumptions were based on the expectations of my world, and were quickly proven incorrect as the Professor made the introductions.
“Ms. Steele, may I present Hauptman Manfred von Knectenberg,” he began, referring to the blond man, “late of the 4th universe, 20th century, and a veteran of the Imperial German Air Service?”
“It would be my pleasure, “I replied. As I said this, I read the numbers on Von Knectenberg’s collar, “4/20” and they suddenly made sense. Mine, I recalled, read “3/19,” and I realized that this designated me as someone hailing from the third universe and the 19th century.
It also engendered a mystery, for I was reminded of the markings that I had observed on Pierce’s collar, “X/X”. Did this mean that he hailed from some place known of as the 10th universe, and the tenth century, I wondered. If so, then this seemed at odds with what I knew about the nature of the River of Time and its nine universes.
Or was it possible that it signified something else which had nothing whatsoever to do with Roman numerals? I decided that I would find out, when the opportunity presented itself and etiquette allowed.
In the meantime, Von Knectenburg had risen, and clicked his heels together in the Prussian manner. “The pleasure is mine, Fraulein Steele. Welcome to our little group.”
I returned his greeting with a polite nod of my own, and replied, “Ein Vergnügen, mein Herr, ich bin mir sicher.”
This seemed to please him greatly, and he smiled and kissed my hand. “Und ich, Fraulien.”
“And may I also present his wingman,Seren Ziva Meier?” Merriweather went on, “Captain Meier is a former pilot with the Israeli Defense Force, 9th universe, 21st century?” He was referring to the dark haired woman and it took me a moment to understand exactly what he was telling me.
“Isreali?” I asked, suddenly at such a loss that I forgot my manners. “As in an Isrealite?”
“As in a native of the Jewish state,” she answered evenly. “And shalom.”
The Jewish state? I wondered. To a Zerodian such as myself, the concept of an entire nation basing itself on a single faith, or even a collection of them, strained the imagination. The few Jews that we had in my universe, such as Mr. Weisman, were oddities and nothing more. Certainly not a group that possessed enough numbers or influence to establish a sovereign state.
Still, I could not deny her lineage. “A pleasure,” I finally replied.
The professor then directed my attention to the other woman. “May I also present Major Cassie Sixkiller, previously attached to the 91st Fighter Attack Wing, Confederate States of America, and a veteran of their unfortunate war with their northern neighbors? She comes from the 5th universe, 20th century.”
Again, I was caught unawares. “I do beg your pardon, but did you just say the Confederate States of America?”
Major Sixkiller extended her hand to me and not knowing how else to respond, I shook it.
“He did,” she answered with a pronounced drawl, “and in case you’re wonderin, Sixkiller is from my father. He was Cherokee. I got my good looks from my Irish mom.”
“Very pleased to meet you,” I responded. It was becoming abundantly clear that the Masters preferred to impress an extremely diverse group of people to work for their cause, and this was quite a new experience for me. Until then, I had not been well acquainted with people of other races, or of mixed heritage, and while I certainly did not consider myself to be a racist, the concept was still rather remarkable. In my universe, only white Europeans had ever exerted any significant effect on the world’s affairs.
The final member of the group only reinforced this odd development and added another layer to it. He was the fellow with the wavy black hair and compelling gaze.
“Lastly, it is my honor to introduce Wing Leader Hamilket of the Golden Scuas, Royal Atlantean Air Guard, 1st universe, 4th century,” Merriweather stated. “He is your squadron commander.”
Hamilket responded by placing his right fist across his breast and bowing slightly.
“It is a delight to meet you, Lady Penelope,” he said. His accent was quite odd; it seemed to be a cross between what one might expect to hear from someone with Arabic ancestry, mixed with something else that was utterly unidentifiable.
“I regret that my Assistant Squadron Commander could not be here to add her own greetings, but she has been unavoidably delayed. With luck, she will arrive in time to join us.”
I nodded in understanding and acceptance. Then Hamilket continued. “I imagine that we must present you with a very perplexing picture. And as the wise men from my fair land always remind us ‘Ben n'ne we'met ant'a liib’, ‘Understanding is the food of the mind.’ Yours must be famished after receiving only tidbits.”
He was quite correct. It was as if I had been shut away on some desert island, and upon my return to civilization, found myself desperate for news. Just by their mere presence, and what little had already been shared with me, this group clearly embodied the very spirit of the Empyrean; a larger and more fantastical universe than I had ever dreamed possible.
“Indeed, sir,” I told him. “I am quite interested in hearing everyone’s accounts.”
“Then I ‘spose I should go first,” Major Sixkiller offered. “The last time we explained it all t’ ya’ll, Manfred here went and screwed it all up.”
She flashed him a pejorative look and went on, “Like I told You, I’m from the CS of A. We started out as English colonies. Then we kicked King George out and became our own country.”
“Kicked him out?” I had no idea who this King George was, but I was appalled at the idea that Englishmen would ever stoop to such a low thing. “Whatever for? He was your sovereign.”
“Was,” Sixkiller answered. “Taxation without representation, and a whole wagonload of other shit. Anyhow, once he was gone, things went fine for a while, but then the southern states got the notion to go their own way. President Washington couldn’t stop it--he didn’t have much of an army back then--so off we went.’
President Washington? The only Washington that I knew of had been a traitor. He and his group of rebels had all been hung in the Boston City square on the 4th of July, 1776, thus guaranteeing the stability of English rule over the colonies and ultimately North America. We even had a name for that event, ‘Patriot’s Day’ and it was celebrated as a great victory for the Crown and the Masters. Although I had no doubt that the woman was telling me the absolute truth, at least as far as her universe was concerned, it still sounded quite foreign to my ears.
“We started the CS of A,” she explained. “There were a few wars here and there with the North, and one with Mexico, but it wasn’t until my time that things got reall
y bad.’
“By then the North was using slaves in their factories, and that’s what started the whole abolitionist movement. Robert E. Lee didn’t care for what they were doin up there one bit, and he got everyone all riled up. Then to make things worse, the Northerners started workin on the bomb.”
“The bomb?”
“Yep, the A-Bomb,” she said. “You don’t have it in your world, but you did. That was what you saw when Pierce took ya’ll for that little car trip of his. The atomic bomb did all that. A single nuke can take out an entire city.”
“That is horrible!” I exclaimed. “They must have been complete lunatics to conceive of such a barbaric weapon.”
“Well, Ziva here might disagree, but I’ll let her have her own say,” Sixkiller returned. “Anyhow, President Davis said enough was enough, so we declared war on the North.’
“The worst part was the drive for Cincinnati. That’s where I saw most of my action--and that’s where I got it.’
“I’d been flyin night missions in my Viper--that’s an F-16 if ya’ll didn’t know it, by the way--and I was helpin out the boy’s doin the amphibious operation on the Ohio. Dropped a shit-ton a napalm on those Yankee bastards, n’ dodged SAMs all the way.’
“I made it through the whole darn thing without a scratch and then, bam! A goddamned drunk driver takes me out when I’m goin back to my quarters t’get some shuteye. Next thing I know, I’m lying here and Awakening. Hell of a way to go after all that, don’t you think?”
I nodded sympathetically. I could well imagine what the poor woman must have gone through. Although she hadn’t mentioned him, I strongly suspected that Pierce had had everything to do with her violent demise. He was after all, a right and proper bastard.
“But enough about me. I ‘spose you’re wonderin what ever happened to merry old England,” she said. “They wanted to help out the North, but they weren’t in any position to tangle with us, so they held back, and from what I heard later, the North fell.” She looked over at Ms. Meier, who took this as her cue.
Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Page 14