Not that there would have been very much time to devote to such questions. I still had Hamilket’s wishes to honor, and mindful of this, I breakfasted, dressed, and went to meet with the Professor.
This time our appointment was not to take place in his quarters, but at his laboratory, which was situated in a separate part of the facility. I must admit that I expected to encounter a duplicate of his basement workshop, or something similar, and thus, I was wholly unprepared for what awaited me when I arrived.
Rather than being a small, close place, Merriweather’s new laboratory was housed in a spacious chamber, easily the same size as the one which had sheltered the Phaseships back at the wastelands base. It was also brightly lit and its center was dominated by a horseshoe-shaped control station, surrounded by concentric rings of low platforms.
At each one of these, mechanica were hard at work, monitoring various experiments. I recognized only a handful; most of the tasks that they were performing made no sense whatsoever to me. As for the Professor himself, he was seated at the control station, looking more like a concert pianist surrounded by his orchestra than a researcher, but his white lab coat firmly asserted his true profession.
Seeing me enter, he left his seat and greeted me with a warm smile. “Welcome, Penny! Now you see where I spend most of my days.”
I joined him and nodded. “Indeed. This is quite a change from your old digs.”
“Oh, you simply have no idea, my girl,” he answered, beaming with obvious pride. “When I awoke, the Masters set me straight to work, helping them to broaden our knowledge of Time and our adversaries.’
“The science that I have learned here beggars everything that I ever knew back in my old life! Why I have an entire section dedicated to the study of the electrical sciences. I have yet another devoted to the effects of magnetism and its effect on time, and another where I study the finer properties of light.’
“Did you know that a simple light beam, focused to the right level of intensity can transmit information just as clearly as any telegraph wire? Better even?”
Then he remembered himself. “But just listen to me, carrying on like an excited child babbling about his toys when there is more important business to attend to. Please, may I offer you any refreshment?”
I politely refused, and took the seat that he offered me. As I did so, I spotted another human, also attired in a white lab coat. It was Edward, and when we made eye contact, he came over to us.
“Good morning, Penny,” he said, giving me an affectionate hug. “A bit of a change for me too, eh wot? I do what I can to help the Professor by keeping the mechanica in line. And Jenny makes certain that I don’t step on everyone’s toes too much.”
“Do not let him mislead you,” the Professor retorted. “Edward here has proven to have quite a head for science. Frankly, without him, or Jenny, I’m not certain that I could run this place.”
Edward shrugged off the compliment, then, “Perhaps when you become more accustomed to your life here, you might consider joining us? Jenny and I certainly wouldn’t mind an extra hand, and the Professor told me all about the work that you and he used to do together.”
His remark brought those halcyon days sharply to mind, and with them, the ghosts of Elizabeth and of all that had been familiar. This must have shown on my face, because Edward quickly apologized.
“I’m terribly sorry Penny, I didn’t mean to open up old wounds,” he said. “Deucedly insensitive of me. I keep forgetting that this is a fresh incarnation for you.”
“Please, do not concern yourself,” I said, waving it away. “There is still a great deal that I am becoming accustomed to and I suppose that it will simply take time.”
Of course, I was being polite. There was far more to it than that. After spending most of my life pursuing forbidden knowledge, the offer that he was making should have been irresistible. After all, I was being given the chance to discover secrets that were far beyond anything I could have ever dreamed of, and without interference of any kind. I would be able to advance my studies with the blessings of the Masters themselves. The possibilities were limitless.
And yet, I found that it had no appeal. It was like suddenly being served a meal that I had long hungered for, only to discover that it had no taste at all. Perhaps this was because of the trauma I had suffered, and perhaps not. What was certain was that while I was glad for Edward and the Professor, I had no desire to join them.
Not yet at least.
The Professor saved us both from any further awkwardness by speaking up. “Well, enough of all that you two. We have our work to attend to, and the first item of business is this.”
He had produced an object that was similar to an Electrophone headset, but far more streamlined. Oddly, it had no wires or cables and was composed of a strange milky-white substance that reminded me of Parkesine or Casein.
Then my odd half memories asserted themselves, and I knew it for Plastic, and also that the headset was capable of operating without the need for a wire. However, I was not enlightened about its purpose.
But Merriweather saw to this. At his instruction, I placed it upon my head, discovering in the process that it was not designed to fit over the ears as I had originally supposed, but over my temples.
Then he manipulated the controls at his station and an extraordinary thing occurred. In the space of but a few heartbeats, everything that had occurred to me since my Awakening flashed before my eyes, down to the smallest detail. And just as swiftly, it was over and I found myself returned to the present, blinking away fierce after-images.
“Excellent”, the Professor declared. “A fresh upload to the system. Now, all of your recent memories, and I daresay, your very essence have been recorded. Should the need arise, they can be called upon to fill a replacement body.”
I cocked an eyebrow and regarded the headset in wonderment. “Really?”
“Yes. It is a process that every Chrononaut engages in before going on a mission, and as you can see, it is a very effortless task. This headset is yours by the way. It will function anywhere within the base, and I suggest that you make a habit of using it when you break your fast in the mornings.”
There was one thing that bothered me though. “When you say that this device captures my essence, whatever do you mean? Surely you are not insinuating that I have a…“
For a moment, I was forced to pause out of distaste for what I had to say next.
“…a--soul?”
As a fellow Zerodian, I was quite taken aback by the possibility that Merriweather now believed in such a thing--or that the Masters subscribed to the idea. Anyone with any sense, understood that the soul was a complete fiction, dreamt up by religionists to guarantee the obedience of their subjects.
He replied with palpable reluctance. “I--have learned many things here since my Awakening, Penny. I cannot attest that the soul exists, but I also cannot deny the possibility. This device captures every aspect of a person’s existence, including something quite ephemeral, and yet all-encompassing; the very sum of what we are. I am afraid that the term ‘soul’ is the closest, and most accurate label that our language possesses.”
I chuckled, unable to hide my disdain. “Are you now going to tell me that there is some heaven or hell awaiting us, complete with an angry God waiting on a golden throne? Or that this supposedly divine being is intent on passing judgment on us for our so-called transgressions?”
“No, no, not at all,” he answered, thus relieving me of some of my concerns regarding his state of mind. “Merely that I have discovered that there is far more to us than our memories. You see, human beings are not simply flesh and blood, or the mere result of electrical and chemical reactions. We are greater than that and our consciousness extends much further than I had ever dreamed. In fact there is a part of us that can exist beyond the body, and it is what animates all the rest.’
“Think on it for a moment, my dear; a cadaver has all the elements of life within it, and yet, it
does not live. An essential thing is missing. That is our soul.’
“Once it has escaped the bonds of the flesh, what remains simply cannot persist. The Masters know this, and this device captures some of that essence like a photographer’s plate records light, thus preserving it for later recovery.’
I rewarded this with a skeptical expression. Despite my great respect for his wisdom, and for what I had seen so far of the Master’s science, it seemed rather far-fetched. But I was willing to concede the basic idea that something akin to memories, although made of much finer stuff, could exist somewhere within the body and left it at that. However, heaven, hell and God were completely non-negotiable.
Besides which, I had another issue to settle. This was the matter of my memories before I had been Awakened. No recording of any kind (or none that I had been aware of) had ever been made, and yet they were quite intact. How, I wondered, had this trick been accomplished?
All of a sudden, the answer revealed itself. The same remarkable headset, which was properly referred to as ‘the Refector’, could be placed on the head of a fresh corpse to retrieve its information. And in the event that the deceased lacked their head due to some gruesome misadventure, it could also be applied to any other part of the body, but with far less efficiency.
When I mentioned all this to the Professor, he confirmed it, and complimented me for recovering more of my knowledge. We then began another drill in Atlantean.
Finally, when it was clear that we had done all we could for the day, we engaged in a general discussion about other features of my new life. Eventually, the subject of the Deviators came up.
“Professor,” I began, “When Mr. Pierce mentioned these Deviators to me, he stated that they were some kind of reptilian race. Is that true? And what exactly do we know about them? Whence do they come from? Why have they arrayed themselves against the Masters?”
“Unfortunately, we know very little,” my mentor answered. “As Mr. Pierce undoubtedly told you, no one has ever laid eyes on one of their pilots, and their origins are veiled in mystery. However, we do believe that they evolved into intelligent life forms long before we did. Perhaps their enmity stems from the fact that we have supplanted them as the dominant species. Perhaps not.”
“Don’t the Masters know for certain?” I asked. “Surely they must have all the answers.”
“They have claimed ignorance on this subject,” he said, producing his pipe, but not lighting it. “All that they can verify is that they are a danger to us all. One thing is completely certain however; their technology is exactly the same as ours, even down to the Phaseships and the weapons that they employ. Evidently, they are extremely talented mimics.”
My eyebrows rose. “Then how do we recognize friend from foe? Surely that must lead to some terrible accidents.”
“Not at all,” he assured me, directing my attention with his pipe stem to the center of his console.
A hologram appeared above it, depicting a Phaseship, and after a moment, the image magnified and centered in on the wings. Instead of sporting a blue hourglass, there was another device there, painted a brilliant scarlet. It consisted of eight equidistant arrowheads emanating from a common point. This arrow-burst was rather distinctive, and I had to concede the Professor’s point. When we met in battle, there would certainly be no chance of mistaking my enemy.
Gratified at last, I turned to other questions that were on my mind, and he answered all of them to my satisfaction. Then we recessed for afternoon tea, and concluded our session.
The remainder of my day belonged to Major Sixkiller, and after wishing the Professor a good day, I hastened to my rooms to prepare myself. Under Mrs. Schrödinger’s direction, Pishqu had already laid out my clothing for me, and I allowed her to help me change.
While I have already stated my dislike for wearing men’s clothing, the one exception that I have always made is when it comes to the business of flying. There, I recognize the necessity of specialized garments, and put aside my prejudices in favor of the practical.
In the case of the Phaseships, I was expected to wear a skin tight suit. It was made of a material very similar to leather, but with profoundly different qualities. Not only was it thoroughly capable of resisting cuts or punctures of any kind, but it also shielded the wearer from something even direr.
This was the No-When itself. Without the suit to protect them, any pilot unfortunate enough to be forced to eject would face instant death, brought about by the cessation of all electrical activity within their body. Although my memories could not supply me with such an event, the mere possibility was enough to quash any objections that I might have otherwise harbored.
This miraculous garment also came replete with various pockets and pouches, along with a functional pair of flat-soled boots and sheer gloves made from the same protective material. Its Mandarin style collar was emblazoned with the numbers for my universe and century. A gold hourglass insignia rode over the right breast, and my name was positioned on the left, also in gold and inscribed in Atlantean characters.
Of course, like everything else that the Bookmen attired themselves in, the suit itself was jet black. However, inspecting myself in the mirror, I had to admit that the shade did flatter my blond hair, and the flight suit certainly advertised my figure to its best advantage--even if such a display in my former universe would have rightly been considered inappropriate and even indecent.
Only one feature disquieted me and thoroughly underscored the grave nature of my endeavor. This was a holster which had been integrated into the upper right thigh of my suit. Inspecting it, I found myself hoping that I would never be in position to use whatever weapon it was intended to receive. After my experience in the Underground, I dreaded the thought of having to shoot another living being, but I also understood the requirement. However bizarre, this was a war, and one had to prepare oneself for the worst eventualities.
I was in the process of inspecting my hair one final time when Major Sixkiller arrived. She was shown in by Pishqu and announced by Mrs. Schrödinger.
“My, my,” Sixkiller declared, “If you don’t look fine. Just like a regular jet-jockey!” She reached into the breast pocket of her own flight suit and produced an earpiece that was designed to wrap around my ear. I took it from her, and with a small amount of instruction, put it on.
“That’ll link you up with your ship when ya’ll’re not in the pilot’s seat,” she explained. “It’ll also give the AI a picture of what’s goin on. And if ya’ll need to speak with someone, the ship has 94,000 languages and dialects it can translate.”
That impressed me. “94,000?”
“Yep,” she nodded. “Just about every language ever spoken. ‘Course, most centuries have only a thousand or so, and a lot of ‘em are only used by a few folks.”
“Incredible.”
“Not half as incredible as your Phaseship,” she grinned, and I mirrored her expression. Although we were very different from one another, the look in her eyes assured me that we both shared a common love of flying and the machines that made it possible. Rustic though she was, I was beginning to like Major Sixkiller very much.
“I got somethin else,” she said, opening up a bag that she had brought with her and producing a helmet. It was designed to cover the entire head and equipped with a tinted visor.
“Ya’ll’ll need this for our flight,” she explained. “It ties into some of the ships’ interfaces, and keeps your skull from getting cracked when the ride gets rough.”
“Pierce didn’t wear anything like this when we came here,” I replied. For that matter, he hadn’t been attired in any kind of flight suit, and I did not recall any earpiece either.
“Well,” Sixkiller answered. “Ya’ll weren’t on a mission, and he doesn’t really need one.”
“Why ever not?” I asked. It was not only odd, but seemed rather unfair. If I was to be expected to wear the thing, it was only just that he be compelled to do likewise.
“’Cause
mechinica don’t have to worry about their skulls,” she informed me, bringing out a second helmet for herself. “Ya’ll oughta know that.”
I was struck dumb, not quite believing what I had just heard. Pierce was a machine?
After all the years that I had spent hating him for being so cold--so inhuman--I found it hard to reconcile the fact that I had been all too correct. Now, the porter and all the others I had seen in the warehouse assumed an entirely new significance. They were his brethren, and he was nothing better than ‘Old Fred’! For the first time since beginning this awful adventure, I tossed my head back and laughed heartily.
“Shiiit, Penny,” Sixkiller exclaimed. “I thought that Merriweather had told you.”
“No,” I replied, stifling my mirth. “I-I had no idea.”
“That’s why he wears that double-x on his collar,” she said, pointing to her own insignia. “He doesn’t have a universe, or a century. Never did.”
Still chuckling, I shook my head in wonderment. I would never be able to look at the man again without thinking of a windup clock, or worse, an automaton. The ludicrous image of a wooden Mr. Pierce popping out to the sound of the cuckoo bird induced another fit of raucous laughter, and it took me several moments to compose myself.
Finally, when I had fully recovered, Major Sixkiller and I made our way out into the hallway and headed for the exit to the tarmac. Halfway there, we encountered two fantastical beings traveling in the opposite direction.
They were just over a meter tall, with grey skin, huge bulbous heads that featured only slits where mouths and nostrils should have been, and gigantic black eyes with no sclera of any kind whatsoever. This was perhaps their most disquieting feature.
Under other circumstances, I would have been absolutely terrified, but after all I had been through, I found myself simply accepting their presence with only a small amount of trepidation. My calm demeanor was aided by the fact that Sixkiller appeared to be completely at ease in their presence.
She gave them a casual wave, which they immediately returned. “Penny,” she said. “This here is Bo, and that one’s Peep. That’s not what they call themselves, but they don’t mind the nicknames. Help’s me to keep ‘em sorted out.”
Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Page 16