For the life of me, I could not tell one from the other, and I have to admit that when Mr. Bo held out a three fingered hand to me, I hesitated to accept it. Nonetheless, good manners required a proper response, and as I returned the courtesy, I heard a thought in my mind. It was as clear as if someone had spoken the words aloud, and I had the definite impression that it was not the product of my consciousness, but rather, that it had come from Mr. Bo!
Greetings, Penelope. I am pleased to meet you.
“My word!” I exclaimed, now certain of it. Until then, I had always had my doubts about occult phenomena like thought-transference. Yet, I could not deny that this creature had just employed that very talent to communicate with me.
“Um--the pleasure--is all mine,” I managed to stammer. Then I turned to Sixkiller. “He just spoke to me! In my mind. With his thoughts.”
“Yep, I ‘magine so,” Sixkiller responded nonchalantly. “They can do that all right. Come’s in real handy with a sore throat.”
She leaned in close and lowered her voice, adding, “And don’t let those innocent looks fool you. They use that little mind trick of theirs to cheat at cards.”
“Are they--?“ I began, and then I realized how rude I was being and addressed Mr. Bo directly. “Tell me, are you some form of supernatural creature?”
Mr. Bo responded. No, he thought. We are hybrids, created by the Masters from dolphin and human DNA. We serve them just as you do.
“Remarkable,” I replied. Although dolphins were quite familiar to me, I had never imagined that they might be used to create an entirely new kind of sentient being--although I must admit that I had to force myself to see Mr. Bo in this light. It was one thing to accept a certain level of intelligence on the part of a dog or a cat, but he and his kind were clearly of an entirely different order. If anything, he seemed to be my equal in terms of cognition.
Evidently, my line of thought amused him, for the equivalent of a mental laugh entered my consciousness and I was instantly embarrassed.
No need to be ashamed, he told me. Your reaction is certainly an understandable one given your life experiences. I would probably feel the same way if I were in your position.
“Thank you sir,” I answered. “You are most gracious.”
Of course, our mental conversation had not been confidential and Sixkiller interjected. “The Masters use ‘em in the universes where they’re more comfortable with the notion of creatures from ‘outer space’. Those saucers up on the runway are what Bo and Peep and their friends use to get around.”
“Comfortable?”
This time, it was Ms. Peep who answered (although I was not entirely certain if either of them actually possessed any formal sex, for they lacked obvious genitalia).
Some civilizations cannot grasp the simple concept of interdimensional, intertemporal beings, she thought. By conforming to their limited paradynes, we can interact with them without their ever realizing our true nature, or attempting to grasp technologies that might otherwise prove disastrous to the entire time stream.
“Quite understandable,” I agreed, reminded at once of the atomic bomb. In the wrong hands, technology could be the death of its creators. It was another point that I had to concede to the Masters, even if I still despised them for their heavy handed methods in my own universe.
“Well,” Sixkiller interrupted. “We gotta get goin. Bo and Peep, ya’ll take care now.”
The two creatures awarded us with another wave, and moved on. Our meeting had added another dimension to the diversity of my teammates, and I found myself wondering at what I might encounter next. Anything seemed possible.
Coming out of the dome at last and into the open air, it was all too easy to spot my Phaseship. It was the only one without any personalized insignia, and it seemed rather drab compared to its neighbors.
Sixkiller guessed what I was feeling. “Just tell the ship that you want somethin’,” she advised me, “and she’ll paint it up right away.”
Intrigued, I spoke into my earpiece. “Blackbird? Are you there? I desire to have a black bird painted on the fuselage.”
A now-familiar voice sounded in my ear. “Yes, Penny” it said. “I am here. Is this what you want?”
Simultaneously, the paint near the cockpit windows sprouted patches of color that morphed and flowed together until they had assumed a rather neat image of a bird. However, it was not precisely what I had had in mind.
“I wish for it to be the exact same one that Elizabeth had on her monoplane,” I told it. “Surely you know that image?”
“Yes,” Blackbird answered. “It is recorded in your Refector tracks.”
Again, the paint transformed itself, becoming the spitting image of my love’s beautiful crest. The sight of it made my throat tighten, and for a moment I wondered if I had made the right decision. But I could think of no better symbol, nor a more fitting monument to her, especially if I was going into battle. It would stay.
“That is it,” I said, my voice husky with emotion.
“Setting the pattern,” Blackbird announced. And as I looked downwards, I saw that the same change had occurred with my helmet. Where there had once been nothing but a shiny black surface, miniature versions of the bird appeared, looking as if they had always been there.
“Looks a whole lot better,” Major Sixkiller agreed, putting on her helmet, which I noted bore the golden arrows of her own Phaseship. I followed suit, and we walked out to our respective craft.
“We’re goin out for some flight practice, and then shoot up some targets,” she stated. “Blackbird’ll guide you on the basics. Once we’re up, ya’ll’ll follow me to the target range.”
CHAPTER 6: A Warrior of the No-When
In which I become acquainted with my Phaseship and return to Seattle. I meet the Sibyl, and encounter an enemy ace. Then I suffer a humiliation in Serbia.
It felt quite odd stepping aboard the Phaseship and beholding the empty pilot’s seat. At the same time, it was also rather exciting. This was to be my craft, I told myself, and mine alone, and I was keen to see how it would perform. As I neared the chair, the console swung aside, and Blackbird greeted me.
“Nefer'ser, Penny,” she said. “Major Sixkiller wanted us to get in some flying practice before we went into the No-When.”
“So she informed me,” I answered, seating myself and waiting as the console returned to its position and the harnesses wrapped themselves around me. Simultaneously, the displays came to life.
At the same time, the visor of my helmet closed of its own accord and information concerning engine status, altitude and speed, appeared, along with diminutive versions of the displays which were beyond my physical line of sight. Although everything was in Atlantean, thanks to the Professor’s tutelage and my own efforts, it was all quite understandable, and I was very impressed with the convenience of this arrangement. Even better was the fact that I was able to receive not only what Blackbird was saying to me, but also Major Sixkiller. It was what I had so hoped to achieve with our experiments in wireless telegraphy; voice transmissions sent through the very air itself!
“We’re gonna take a spin around Nazca,” I heard her saying. “Blackbird’ll get you in the air, and then ya’ll can play around with your ‘ship. Once ya’ll’re ready, we’ll make tracks for the No-When.”
As she was telling me this, our two Phaseships had begun to rise in tandem. In just a few breaths, we were high above the tarmac and heading off in a westerly direction.
“Go ahead and put your hands on the control sticks,” Blackbird instructed, “and then gently guide the ship left.”
I complied, and immediately, my Phaseship went into a turn. The smoothness of this operation and the responsiveness of the craft made an even deeper impression on me than my helmet had. Where my old monoplane had been a dependable enough mount, the Phaseship was clearly a true thoroughbred. It moved with the speed and grace of a living thing, and although its engines made no sound and there were no vibra
tions whatsoever, I could sense the tremendous power that resided within its frame. In a way, it was like going flying for the very first time, and I was absolutely over the moon with delight. My unhappiness, which had up to that point, tinged everything, receded, and I found myself embracing this wonderful experience.
“Very good Penny,” Blackbird said. “Now try banking hard to the right.”
I did so, and the horizon tilted dramatically. I was just about to make a correction, when I felt the control sticks move all by themselves.
“The steering is AI assisted,” Sixkiller informed me. “When Blackbird sees that ya’ll’ve screwed up, she can take over and pull your ass out of the fire. That little blue switch on your right stick ‘ll override this, but for now, don’t mess with it. Just let her do her job.”
I had seen the control that she was referring to when I had first taken my seat, and had carefully avoided it. And I had also spied another switch.
“What does the red one do?” I inquired.
“That’s for the chronoguns,” Sixkiller stated. “Don’t fret though, ya’ll’ll get a chance to work the itch outta your trigger finger soon enough.”
I continued practicing my flying for another half an hour, putting the Phaseship through its paces and becoming acquainted with its control systems, while Major Sixkiller provided me with detailed information. In the process, I discovered yet another marvel.
Instead of flaps to control lift and drag, the Phaseship employed an astounding alternative. According to Blackbird herself, its wings were ‘smart’ and capable of changing from a rigid form to a flexible one along any surface. Thus, a portion of the wing itself could be reshaped to create whatever profile was required to manage the air around it, and then return immediately to its former configuration. Separate mechanical flaps were wholly unnecessary, and painfully primitive by comparison.
When Major Sixkiller finally announced that she was satisfied with my performance and that it was time for us to depart, I followed her suggestion and allowed Blackbird to handle the entire affair. The AI took over and we ascended together, soaring into the upper atmosphere, and thence into the No-When itself. Once again, the great River of Time came into view, and we made for a branching within it. As the numbers appeared, I realized that we were approaching the third universe.
My former universe.
“Major,” I finally asked. “Am I correct? Are we going to the 3rd universe?”
The idea of seeing the wasteland again, and the bubble that housed Seattle, filled me with mixed emotions. I had just begun to get used to my new existence, and I was not certain that I possessed the strength to handle such a visit. It felt far too early to even contemplate such a thing.
“Yep,” Sixkiller replied, somewhat sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Penny, but Pierce wanted us to go there for practice. I promise we won’t stay long.”
“I think that he is an evil creature,” I opined, but I could not blame the Major; like myself, she was enslaved to the whims of the Masters and their terrible robot.
“No argument there,” she answered. “He’s a straight-up sum-a-bitch all right.”
We entered the branch labeled as the 19th century, and when it appeared, the ruined landscape elicited a frown from me. Then the great dome became visible.
From the air, it seemed to be an impossibly fragile thing, more like a soap bubble than the massive structure I knew it to be, and ready to burst at the slightest disturbance. Gazing upon it, it was hard to believe that I had once thought of it as the real world.
This, I think is the curse that all those who journey into the Empyrean are doomed to suffer; once beyond the veil, everything that was once familiar is rendered insubstantial, transforming into a mere ghost of its former self.
Despite this, I felt a terrible homesickness filling my heart. Phantom or not, it still called to me.
“All right Penny, time t’get to work,” Sixkiller announced. “I’ve marked out a group of targets for ya’ll to take out. Ya’ll’ll see ‘em on your screen.”
Thankfully, we had turned away from the bubble by this point, and this afforded me the chance to master my emotions somewhat. In the meantime, the Major was taking us out over a long stretch of highway, broken and pitted by neglect and the terrible holocaust that had destroyed this world.
All along its length I could see the carcasses of abandoned motorcars, and a group of them had been delineated in red. I immediately descended, noting the change in the display when I reached the optimum range. Picking out one vehicle in particular, I keyed the red switch.
The result was wholly unlike any firearm or cannon that I was acquainted with. Instead of flame and an explosion, lances of purple light erupted from my wingtips, wreathed at points in a mist that appeared to be composed of water vapor.
And as I flew on, the droplets gathering on Blackbirds canopy seemed to confirm my suspicion. At the same time, I saw the body of the motorcar crumble and collapse as if it had been made of nothing more than spun sugar. The same thing occurred to the pavement beneath it, transforming it into so much dust.
“The weapons are temporal,” Sixkiller stated. “When they hit somethin, they age it a couple thousand years. There ain’t much that can stand up to time itself. By the way, that purple stuff is air molecules separated from their time, and the water ya’ll’re seein’ on your canopy is a side effect.”
I found this all rather remarkable. I had never imagined that time itself could be turned into a weapon. But then, to be completely fair, before being impressed by Pierce, I had never imagined any of what I was now being exposed to.
“Let’s go back around and take out a few more targets,” she suggested.
We conducted several more passes and then the Major directed me to land so that I could become acquainted with a hand-held version of my armaments. Again, Blackbird assisted me, and it was well that she did so, for the location that Sixkiller chose for her lesson was well within sight of the bubble and I was far too distracted by this to do the job myself.
Upon landing, the egress door opened, and I stepped out to meet the Major, struggling not to look towards my former home, and concentrate on the task at hand. The effort was truly Herculean, but I managed. Just.
Sixkiller had brought a pair of pistols with her, and from their general shape and size, I knew that they were intended for the holster in my flight-suit. Like the beams of my Phaseship, they were quite different from a conventional pistol. They consisted of a simple metal tube, a plain unadorned grip, and a button surrounded by an equally Spartan trigger guard.
“This here is a chrono-pistol,” she explained, offering one out to me. “The button fires it, so keep off it until ya’ll’re ready to shoot.” I took it from her gingerly.
Then she indicated a twisted mass of metal sticking up out of the earth, and as I watched, she took aim with her own weapon and fired. There was no recoil, and the sound that came from it reminded me of bacon sizzling in a pan. The beam that it produced was a miniature version of the Phaseship’s guns. As for her target, a neat hole appeared as the metal simply turned to powder, accompanied by a bright orange ring of newly formed rust.
“Your turn,” she invited.
Carefully, I brought my weapon up, sighted in, and depressed the button. My shot hit near the Major’s, and another rust-rimmed hole was created.
“Not bad,” Sixkiller remarked. “Every Chrononaut carries one of these when they go out on a mission. These little pea-shooters might not look like much, but they’ll take out anything from a knight on horseback to a full-on T-Rex. Like I said, there ain’t nothin out there that can stand up to time.”
She holstered her weapon and I followed suit. For a long moment, we stood together in silence, and my gaze was inexorably drawn back to the bubble. Again, a terrible longing threatened to overwhelm me.
“Pierce warned me that ya’ll might want to go back there,” she said at last.
“And do you have orders to prevent me should I atte
mpt it?”
Sixkiller shook her head. “Nope. He told me to help ya’ll. Is that what you want, Penny?”
I pondered this and nodded. The chance to simply lay eyes on my home once more, and possibly even gain a glimpse of my father was too irresistible. “Yes,” I said at last. “I do wish it.”
“Well, all right then,” she replied. “Let’s get there.” With that, she turned and gestured for me to follow her back to our respective ships.
We flew to the base in the wasteland. Once there, she insisted that we exchange our flight suits for Bookmen’s uniforms, and I complied with this request without protest.
When we were both suitably attired, we borrowed one of the motorcars and drove through the tunnel and into the bubble’s interior. In short order, we were back in Seattle, and parking no more than a few blocks from the Governor’s Mansion.
“We’ll walk from here,” she instructed. Then, “Ya’ll sure you can handle this, Penny?”
Point in fact, I wasn’t, but I nodded in affirmation and put on my shako cap. Then we started off. After several minutes, we came to stand in front of the mansion itself. The windows were dark, and there was an aura of sadness and desolation about the place.
Father is in there, I thought to myself. With nothing but his sorrows to keep him company. Just then, I wanted desperately to stride across the street, rap upon the door and announce myself. To reassure him that all was in fact well. I believe that I even took one step towards the edifice before I was stopped.
But not by Major Sixkiller. She made no move to restrain me whatsoever and remained right where she was. Instead, it was the cold realization that my return from the dead would deal the poor man a shock that would thoroughly overwhelm him--or cause him to denounce me as an imposter.
Which, in a sense, I was. My memories notwithstanding, the Penelope that he had known and loved was well and truly dead, buried in an unmarked and dishonored grave. I was someone else now, and he did not deserve any more torment than he had already endured. I loved him too much.
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