There was also a small brass plaque attached to the wooden frame, and I walked up to read it, already suspecting what it would say. Sadly, I was correct.
The plaque stated that the image was entitled the “Crucifixion of Christ,” and that it had come from the Manastir Visoki Dečani, having been painted in the year 1350 by an unknown artist.
In other words, not long after I had been their ‘guest’. Clearly, Father Nikolai had not only repaired his steeple, but had managed to accrue enough funds from the pilgrims to commission the mural.
Frowning at this, I also noted that a card accompanied the piece. It was from my fellow pilots, and read, “Congratulations Penny! You made history.”
“Well!” I huffed. “How terribly droll! What incredible wit!” In response, my companions burst into laughter, with Manfred laughing the loudest of them all.
“Oh lighten up, Princess,” Sixkiller said. “We all screw up--and you definitely screwed up. Just take your lumps and learn from it.”
Lumps indeed! I was about to round on her when Hamilket cleared his throat and commanded my full attention.
“Major Sixkiller is correct,” he stated evenly. “You made an error. Let us hope that this lovely picture serves as a reminder, and that you will not make any more contributions to the world of art.”
“No sir,” I answered, now thoroughly chagrined. “Rest assured that it will not happen again.”
In fact, I was determined that the next time we met, it would be my enemy counterpart who would enjoy a ‘vacation’, courtesy of Blackbird. After all, ‘she’, whoever she was, deserved proper thanks, and my Phaseship’s guns would provide it.
In significant measure.
***
Hamilket presented me with a simple choice; I could either allow my ‘gift’ to be mounted in the briefing room, or I could take it to my rooms and put it on display there. Either way, he was intent on it serving me as a constant reminder of my recklessness.
Reluctantly, I agreed to have it installed in my quarters, and the very next day, a mechanica was summoned by Mrs. Schrödinger to attend to the chore. At my instruction, it was placed in a corner that I did not tend to look at terribly often.
After the robot had departed, Mrs. Schrödinger informed me that Blackbird had been repaired, and once again, I was impressed with the Master’s and their advanced technology. I had simply accepted the idea that there would be a delay, and had fully expected to be grounded for an extended period of time. I immediately left my rooms and headed towards the landing area to inspect my Phaseship. On the way, I encountered Major Sixkiller in the hall. She was wearing her flight suit and carrying her helmet.
“Hey Penny! Pierce is lookin for us.”
I grimaced. As far as I was concerned, he could keep searching until the world ended and the sun went dark. But since it would obviously have something to do with the squadron, I had no choice but to feign interest. “Where is he?”
“He’s meetin with Hamilket,” she said. “They’ve got a special mission they wanna send us on.” Sighing, I followed her to the briefing room.
We found our Wing Leader and Pierce standing together before a hologram of the River of Time. Several sections of it had been highlighted in Red or Blue, and there were icons flashing insistently at various places.
“Good of you to join us, Ms. Steele” Pierce said in his flat monotone. “You and Major Sixkiller will be flying several missions on behalf of Special Section, starting with one today.”
“Special Section?” I asked, recalling that Louise had mentioned this organization when she had visited us.
“They support the activities of the Fellowship all along the timelines,” Hamilket told me. “They also intervene on a local level when the situation demands it. Today, you will be assisting in just such an operation, and provide an escort for some Greys who will be working on a project in the 2nd universe.”
“And in the process, you may even manage to demonstrate your worth to the Masters, although I strongly doubt it” Pierce added coldly.
Had I been a man, I would have gladly taken him to task then and there for his rudeness and dealt him a blinker. But because he was a mechanica and could not suffer such an injury, and I was a person of refinement, I merely glared at him instead, and then returned my attention to Hamilket.
The Wing Leader proceeded to provide us with the details, and as soon as he had finished, we took our leave and proceeded out to the tarmac. Bo and Peep were awaiting us there, standing alongside one of their strange disc-shaped craft. According to Hamilket, their mission was to take place in the 2nd Universe, and had to do with something involved with missiles equipped with nuclear weapons.
Ours was not to be the only group either; several other flights from Shamballa Station (which I had learned was our sister base in Tibet in the 8th universe) were conducting similar operations as well. Given the terrible destruction that I knew that these ‘nukes’ were capable of, I was more than happy to play my part.
We took off from Nazca together and when we reached the River, we sought out the strand that contained the year 1967. This, I had been told was a particularly tense point in relations between the two great powers of that time; the Soviet Union (or Imperial Russia as I knew it), and the United States of America. The action that was planned was intended to unite the two forces against a common threat and thus, ease the potential for conflict between them.
It was night when we entered the century, and we came out over the region of Montana and a military installation that my displays indicated as being Malmstrom Air Force Base. Major Sixkiller and I had taken the precaution of having our Phaseships fully cloak themselves, but Bo and Peep did the exact opposite. They modified the field surrounding their craft and it lit up, becoming a bright red ball of light, ensuring that no one would fail to see them.
One poor fellow, a guard armed with a rifle near the front gate of the facility caught my eye. He was frozen in place, and from his expression, completely terrified by the apparition hovering in the sky above him. His companions were no better off, and from all the shouting, pointing and running about (not to mention the alarms being sounded), it was clear that Bo and Peep had succeeded quite admirably in stirring things up.
They then initiated the second phase of their operation by broadcasting a specially tuned energy wave large enough to cover the entire base. During my preflight briefing, I had been informed that it was designed to neutralize electrical components without causing any lasting damage. One by one, the missiles fell under its effect and their deadly warheads became completely inert.
The panic which the so-called ‘alien craft’ had begun, reached its absolute summit at this. Radio bands aboard my Phaseship were jammed with transmissions as the bases’ personnel tried to grapple with what had just occurred. While I felt somewhat sorry for all the consternation that we were causing, my regret was mitigated by the knowledge that we were averting a much greater catastrophe.
After just a few minutes of this, Bo and Peep concluded their business and we flew off. Behind us, the missiles reactivated, but not without leaving their masters utterly shaken.
There was a brief interval as we returned to the No-When, and then descended back into the River. This time, we chose the year 1982 and our destination was a Russian missile base near the Ukrainian town of Byelokoroviche. Again, Bo and Peep made a great show of it, but they employed a different tactic when it came to the missiles themselves; instead of turning everything off, they activated the weapons in their silos, beginning the launch sequence.
Had I been unaware of their plan, this would have concerned me greatly, but I was privy to what they were about--and what the reaction of the Russians would be. This was to send an override, halting the process. Like Montana, the event would make a deep and lasting impression on men who heretofore, had been bent on destroying one another. It was, in the words of Major Sixkiller, “a darn good day” indeed.
Back at Nazca, we were able to enjoy a fu
ll day of relaxation before Hamilket and Pierce summoned us again. It was for another Special Section operation, although not quite as exciting as the first one had been.
“Your passenger has been laying the groundwork for us among the Slavic peoples of Eastern Europe in the 6th universe,” Hamilket said, “introducing myths that cast us in a friendly light and recruiting shamans and other wise people into the Fellowship. Now, he must continue his work in the 7th. You will rendezvous with him, and provide him with intertemporal transport.”
“Of course sir,” I answered.
“Not a problem, Hamiket,” Sixkiller agreed. “Want us to get you anythin from the store while we’re out?”
The Atlantean chuckled. “No, simply complete your mission and return to us safely.”
CHAPTER 7: The Mask of the World
In which the seventh artifact is revealed and I cross paths with the Chuchniya. A visit to Shamballa, then a cowardly ambush and a meeting with mysterious clone.
The location of our airlift was a clearing deep in the forests of Siberia in the year 1201. It was mid-winter and the clean white snow made it easy for us to spot our man.
Sixkiller and I landed near him, and if the appearance of the Phaseships bothered him in any way he did not show it. Rather, the agent walked up to my craft as casually as I might have approached my old monoplane, and seemed utterly oblivious to the mechanica that accompanied me down the stairs.
He had a decidedly Asiatic cast about him, and was attired in a striking leather garment decorated with scores of colorful cords, beads, and bits of feathers. His headdress was just as flamboyant, consisting of the wings of some bird of prey integrated with a fur cap. In addition, he bore a leather pack with a large hide drum attached to it. This was emblazoned with a stylized version of the neheh.
As I greeted him, I was careful to do so using the Fellowship’s gesture. Seeing it, the man smiled, exposing worn, yellowed teeth, and then he returned the salutation.
“Nedeb’ her Nejdjet Jabar,” he said in Atlantean. “Greetings Time Warrior. Thank you for coming such a long ways.”
“It is our pleasure, sir,” I answered. “Please, step aboard.”
Just then, the clearing reverberated with an unearthly howl, the likes of which I had never experienced before. It seemed to be a cross between an animal and some kind of supernatural entity, and the sound made the hair on the back of my neck start to rise.
Oddly, my mechanica did not respond to the threat and neither did the shaman. The man merely turned and looked back towards the woods. Then I saw what he was searching for and let out a cry.
There was a huge creature there. It was very tall, easily over two meters, and walked on two legs like a man, but it was no man. Rather, it seemed like an extremely large ape, covered in thick dark fur, and even at our distance I could detect a pungent odor that was completely unknown to my senses. Worse yet, when it looked in our direction, it seemed as if its eyes were glowing with an unnatural, yet intelligent light. This was no mindless beast, but something of an entirely different order.
I was immediately reminded of the tales from my own universe of the Sasquatch who allegedly roamed the forests of Northwestin Cascadia and Russian Canada. I had long discounted them as so much stuff and nonsense, but I could hardly deny what I was seeing.
Could this be one of them? I wondered. Here? In Siberia?
The shaman said something in his native tongue as he took the drum off his pack and produced a hide-covered drumstick. Then he proceeded to beat out a simple rhythm and chanted in time with it.
The creature seemed to listen to this for a long moment before it let out another eerie howl. And even as its cry echoed through the trees, it took two steps forwards and promptly vanished into thin air as if it had never been there in the first place.
“What in the name of all that is rational was that?” I demanded, realizing that I had unconsciously drawn my chrono-pistol at some point during the encounter.
The shaman noticed this and smiled tolerantly. “The people here call it the Chuchunya. The tribes believe them to be beasts, but they are actually travelers like ourselves, walking from one universe to the next as it suits them.’
“Even the Masters do not know what their purpose is, nor where they come from, but I think that they simply find us interesting. This one certainly does. He has visited me often and follows me wherever I go.”
I re-holstered my side-arm. “Yes, well I certainly hope that this Chuchunya of yours doesn’t decide to pop by for tea again. Frightening looking fellow.”
“To some,” he conceded, giving me an odd look. “To others, they are simply part of that which resides behind the mask of the world.”
His comment made me think of the Kunstschränke back in my rooms, and the Shaman’s mask.
So now we come to the mask and its corresponding event, I reflected.
A chill went down my spine at this. According to the cabinet’s arrangement, the Edelweiß and the pistol cartridge would be next, but I had no idea what they would portend.
Resolving to study this and the remaining artifacts more closely when I returned to Nazca, I stepped aside to admit the shaman into my Phaseship.
“Shall we be off then?” I inquired, eager to be away. He smiled enigmatically, glanced towards the tree line one final time, and walked up the stairs.
***
Reaching our destination, I was not surprised when I heard the same terrible call coming from somewhere in the forest. As the shaman had promised, the Wild Man had indeed followed him. Although how, and why, I could not say.
Leaving him and his unsettling companion behind, we ascended back into the No-When. I was certain that we would be returning directly to Nazca, but then Major Sixkiller announced a detour.
“Penny,” she said over our Com channel. “I’m not in the mood for the long flight back. Whata’ya say we drop by Shamballa Station and put up our feet for a bit?”
“Put up our feet?” I asked. An outrageous image came to mind; of the two of us seated in chairs with our bare feet kicked up on some divan, and I earnestly hoped that she wasn’t being literal.
“Yeah,” she answered. “Been a while since I visited, and I sure could use a break. So could you.”
“But Hamilket--“I began to say, positive that our commander would want us back at the earliest possible opportunity.
“Oh, don’t worry about Hamilket,” she countered. “He’s okay with us droppin by another squadron’s base now and again. Heck, they do the same thing. It gives us a chance to stay in touch and chew the fat. Besides, a change of place always does a body good.”
“Yes,” I agreed hesitantly. “I suppose that it does.” I also knew that I wasn’t in much of a position to argue. After all, the Major was my superior. “Very well, lead on Major.”
Sixkiller flew us along the River until she found the universe and century that she had been searching for. The moment that she did, she dove into it without hesitation.
In my former life, I had erroneously believed that the Cascades, the Alps, or the Andes of South America were the finest examples of what mountains were supposed to be. Of course, I had read about the majesty and size of the Himalayas, but their reality was another matter altogether.
As spectacular as they were, the ranges that I had been acquainted with were mere foothills compared to the great massifs displayed on my Phaseship’s screens. Cloaked in virgin snow, they towered above us like titans, frozen since the very beginning of time itself. And their razor sharp edges were set against a sky that was nearly black from the extreme altitude. Our entry had brought us right into their very heart, and I followed Major Sixkiller’s lead as she guided us through this grand vista and up into a gargantuan pass.
After many minutes, I observed what appeared to be a dense wall of fog obscuring the way ahead. I immediately consulted my instruments, and I was puzzled when they were unable to detect anything whatsoever beyond it. According to my Phaseship, literally nothin
g existed on the other side of those eldritch mists, which was of course, completely impossible. Yet, there the anomaly was.
“Major,” I said, hailing her. “Are you quite certain of our course? That fog troubles me.”
“Aww, don’t fret ‘bout that, Penny,” she drawled. “The folks at Shamballa Station use it t’ keep away visitors—and the Deviators. They like their privacy.”
And as she told me this, she pressed on. I was of course, compelled to follow her into the wall of nothingness.
Reemerging on the other side, I was greeted with another imposing sight. It was the valley of Xiāngbālā, or Shamballa as the West tended to refer to it. Sheltered on all sides by the mountains, it was a place utterly apart from the rest of the world. Where everything around it was locked in snow and ice, it was lush and green, and the very essence of fertility and life. Even the sun seemed to shine more brightly upon it, as if it too felt the welcome that the valley exuded and was returning this affection with its salubrious rays.
Below us, a contented populace tended to the verdant fields, and a few, seeing us soaring overhead, ceased in their labors to wave. They were used to Phaseships. According to Major Sixkiller, the Masters had used this valley as a base for many years, and just as they did in Peru, the locals assisted when and where they could and to the limits of their abilities.
Here though, instead of thinking of us as gods, Sixkiller had advised me that they considered Crononauts to be a form of enlightened being. Still human certainly, but possessed of advanced faculties and therefore worthy of their service and devotion.
The headquarters for the resident Phaseship squadron was as unique as the valley itself. Rather than being housed in utilitarian domes on an arid plain, they were located in a large monastery set in the very center of the farmlands.
It was an imposing structure, constructed in the oriental manner and painted in black, scarlet and white. This scheme was further complimented by the addition of graceful, gilded spires and colorful flags that fluttered in the gentle breeze.
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