Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When

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Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Page 22

by Martin Schiller


  We were going to hit and hit quite hard. Even though I knew that I was immortal (or as immortal as the Master’s science could make me), I did not fancy the idea of the impending crash in the least. Oddly however, my main concern was for Major Sixkiller and the earnest hope that she had succeeded in eluding her hunters.

  A second later, my craft made contact with the trees. The next few seconds were filled with the sounds of snapping limbs and the protestations of metal alloys being punished well beyond their tolerance. This was followed by a jarring impact, and then, unconsciousness.

  When I finally came to, I was astounded to discover that I was neither in the pilot seat, nor even in my Phaseship any longer. For a brief moment, I reasoned that I had been thrown clear, or that my mechanica had carried me from the wreckage.

  But as I sat up, I caught sight of my Phaseship. Blackbird was mangled almost beyond recognition. Her cockpit was completely engulfed in flames and there was no sign of my mechanical servitor anywhere.

  I was not singed though, nor terribly injured (save for a painful ache in my right arm and similar complaints that were issuing from the corresponding leg). Then I saw what the agency of my salvation had truly been. A trail of footprints led from the wreckage to where I was, printed quite plainly in the mud.

  They had not been made by any machine however. Rather, they were similar to what a barefooted human would have left behind, but on a much larger scale and with a far greater stride. I also detected a strong musky odor permeating my flight suit, and on closer inspection, discovered several reddish hairs that had been left behind by my deliverer.

  A blood-curdling cry issuing from the tree line was the final piece of the puzzle, and I was completely unsurprised when I looked in that direction and caught sight of the Chuchniya. It was standing there, regarding me with its strange glowing eyes. We stared at one another for a long moment, and then, as I had learned it was wont to do, it took several strides and vanished completely.

  Brother Dorje had been completely correct about the true nature of these strange beasts, I realized. And by judging them solely on the basis of their outward appearance, I had clearly erred. Watching the fires consume my Phaseship, it was painfully obvious that I owed the creature my very life, and I have to admit that I felt ashamed. I had looked into the Chuchniya’s eyes not once, but now twice, and on both occasions, I had perceived an intelligence residing within them that had equaled my own. An intelligence which had sensed my revulsion, but despite it, had forgiven me for my ignorance.

  This did not drive me to run after the beast to beg it for a pardon though. I was quite content to remain where I was, and await rescue. That, and use the time that I had been given to ponder the foundation of my prejudices.

  ***

  My return to Nazca was not quite as ignominious as my Serbian adventure had been. This time, none of my squadron mates made any jests at my expense. They all knew as well as I, what the situation had been, and if anything I even detected admiration.

  After all, the odds against us had been terrible, and yet we had put up a fierce fight. The Major had succeeded in downing two Deviators before they had given up, and I had bagged three. Together, we had managed to eliminate half the force that had come against us--which was no mean feat by anyone’s standards.

  As for Hamilket, when I reported to him, he was the very picture of patience and understanding. He accepted my account and let me go without casting any aspersions on me about the loss of my Phaseship.

  I did not inform him about the part the Chuchniya had played however, and let him believe that I had merely been thrown clear. I was still grappling with the encounter, and had no desire to put my thoughts, or the details of that strange business, on general display.

  With regard to my Phaseship, Blackbird had suffered far worse than I. The damage to her had been so extensive that my rescuers from Shamballa Station had been obliged to destroy her in place (and the absence of my mechanica had been explained in the process, having been crushed in the tangle of metal that had once been the aft end of the cabin). Fortunately, a back-up copy of Blackbird’s AI had been available, and was integrated into an entirely new Phaseship, only hours after I had returned to Nazca.

  That as they say, should have been that. But there was one final observance that required my participation. Manfred was waiting for me at the entrance to my quarters, bearing a bottle of schnapps and two glasses.

  “To celebrate your prowess in combat, Frauline Steele” he explained. “Von Richthofen would have been proud to fight alongside you.”

  Although it was my policy to eschew strong spirits (notwithstanding my disastrous adventure in the Underground), I felt obligated to accept this offering, and the accolade. We went in together, and he poured me a glass.

  “Tell me,” I asked him as I took my first tentative sip. “I have been curious about something, and this seems an appropriate time to address it. Your Phaseship bears the motto, ‘du doch nicht.’, ‘it will not happen’. Whatever inspired those words?”

  Manfred grinned. “It was a saying that a friend of mine from the war preferred. He was Oberleutnant Ernst Udet, and he had it painted on his Messerschmitt. The very day that he had it added on, he was shot down, but he had it repainted on his new plane, and went on to become a great ace. I wanted to honor him.”

  “And the motto on Ziva’s craft?” I queried. “I have not been able to translate it, but it seems to be just as significant.”

  His grin grew even wider. “It is Hebrew,” he told me. “And her little joke. It reads, ‘Ah ken, ze yeheye’, or ‘Oh yes, it will.’ You see, she thinks that she is very clever.”

  We shared a laugh over this. Then I addressed another matter that had been on my mind since the day we had first met.

  “If you would be kind enough to indulge me, I have one other question.”

  “Please, Fraulien, ask away.”

  “However did you earn your Iron Cross? I have been told that it is the highest honor that the Prussians can bestow upon a soldier.”

  He chuckled. “I will tell you what Leutnant-General Von Hoeppner told me when he put it around my neck. He said it was for doing stupid things--and some brave ones.”

  Then he raised his glass in a toast. “To stupid things--and bravery.”

  I joined in. “Indeed.”

  ***

  Donning my uniform the next day, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Manfred had left a gift behind. The clever rascal had deposited it on my nightstand when I had been distracted.

  It was another Iron Cross in a leather presentation case. There was also a note accompanying it, which read “Congratulations pilot. M.”

  Although I certainly could not lay any claim to be a part of his illustrious organization, or any formal military unit, I was quite touched by the gesture, and made a point of attaching it to my tunic in order to demonstrate my gratitude. Thus attired, I reported for the day’s briefing (and earned an appreciative nod from Manfred and Ziva when I entered).

  As for the briefing itself, our business was quite serious. The ambush had only served to underscore the concerns of our superiors, and presumably the Masters themselves. Of late, the Deviators had been becoming too numerous, and far too belligerent for anyone’s liking. Because of this, an operation was to be set in motion that would not only challenge their aggression, but also give their ears a sound boxing in the process (assuming that they actually possessed such orifices). It was slated to include our squadrons at Nazca, and Shamballa, as well as two others. These were the wings operating out of Avalon and El Dorado, based in the 1st and 8th universes respectively.

  The planning stage for this was conducted with the Sibyl and her retinue in attendance, along with all of the pilots and their Wing Leaders. Naturally, the Sibyl began the briefing, gliding up to the table, and speaking to us in her child’s voice.

  “The Deviators have been increasing their activities in the third and fourth universes along the sections which span from
the 10th to the 23rd centuries,” she informed us, “At the moment, they are preparing to inject larger numbers into the 5th universe, with the same objective in mind. If we challenge them, the Masters are confident that they will reverse their plans and withdraw.”

  Having said all that she intended, the Sibyl withdrew from the table and drifted out the door with Bo and Peep trailing after her. Once she was gone, the Wing Leaders took her place and began to discuss the specifics of our endeavor. They were led by the Avalonian commander, who until then, I had never had the occasion to meet, either in my present existence, or in any other.

  Had I done so, I certainly would have recalled the encounter, for she was truly remarkable in several respects. For one, she was an Englishwoman, although not from the England that I was acquainted with. Her Britain was as Khentetka had described it; a tangle of petty fiefdoms, permanently embroiled in quarrels with one another. Wishing to avoid this chaos, the Isle of Avalon had wisely removed itself from the affairs of men long before the advent of modern technology, and had remained hidden ever since, making it the perfect base for Phaseship operations.

  Wing Leader Faylinn herself was a very tall woman, overtopping everyone, including myself (and I am considered quite tall for my sex). But far from being ungainly, she was well proportioned in every respect and exceedingly beautiful, possessing features that were quite delicate, and embodying the very essence of what some might have equated with the fabled Faerie folk (and for all I knew, her ancestors were in fact the foundation from which these beliefs had arisen in the first place).

  And unlike the other women in the room, she did not wear her hair up. Instead, she kept her reddish-blond locks secured with a long braid that reached to the very small of her back, lending her an extremely exotic appearance. This, coupled with her brilliant green eyes, made it impossible for anyone not to want to look upon her and I was no exception.

  To aid her in her presentation, she had called up a giant hologram which took up the entire conference room table. It was extremely detailed; each of the nine universes were there, along with all of their major branches. Those areas that we controlled were colored in blue, and the portions that the Deviators held sway in, in red.

  “As the Sibyl explained,” she began, “the Deviators intend to challenge us for the Fifth Universe, and we intend to meet that incursion head on. But with a bit of trickery--“

  She waved her long elegant hand over the hologram and a section of the River enlarged.

  “Since we doubt that they will willingly engage us in a fair fight, we are going to draw them out. Elements from Shamballa will engage in time-weaving operations at these points,” she said, and three locations were illuminated, “with only the standard number of craft providing over-watch.’

  “In the meantime, the rest of our forces will hide in the nearby centuries and once the enemy commits itself, rise to engage them. With luck, we will deal them a decisive blow and make them rethink their ambitions.”

  With that, she ceded the briefing over to Hamilket and Khentetka who proceeded to give each wing their specific assignments. Ours it turned out, was to station ourselves in the 12th century, and wait there for the distress call. I for one, did not envy the Shamballan pilots one bit; they would be playing the part of staked goats, hoping to lure out the tiger. And if the beast that we sought arrived, they would have to hold the line until we could come to their assistance. But to challenge the Deviators, we all had our duty to do, however unpleasant.

  ***

  Wing Leader Faylinn was not the only figure in the Avalonian detachment that had caught my eye. The other had been one of my clones. This time though, she was no spectral child-turned-oracle, or an outrageous flapper. Rather, she was my spitting image in every respect, save for one small difference; she parted her hair on the right rather than the left.

  During the briefing, she had stood near the back of the room, and on the opposite side, and the importance of our business had prevented me from approaching her. However, once the meeting had concluded, I made a point of seeking her out, if only to determine if we shared more than our outward appearance.

  In fact, I had a thousand questions to ask. I desperately wanted to know if Elizabeth existed in some form in her universe. Or if she was aware of the curiosities cabinet and knew what it all meant.

  It did not take long for me to find her. She had gone straightaway to our dining room, and when I entered, she was just sitting down to a meal that had become a favorite of mine: boiled Eurypterid tails with garlic and butter, accompanied by Tyrannosaur filets. They were the time-traveler’s equivalent of steak and lobster, but far more succulent.

  “Pardon me, but may I join you?” I inquired.

  She nodded, and gestured to the place across from her. “I have expected you,” she said as I took my seat. “And I know what you want to ask me about.”

  I was a bit taken aback by her directness, and even more so by what she did next. Instead of tucking into her meal as I had expected, she closed her eyes, crossed herself and proceeded to pray.

  “Bless us, O Lord,” she intoned. “And these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen." Then she crossed herself a second time, and started in on her Eurypterid tails.

  My jaw went slack. Darwin, Newton and Freud preserve me, I thought with a dawning horror, my clone is a religionist! And a devout one at that.

  It was one thing to tolerate the beliefs of Brother Dorje and his brethren, but quite another when it came to my clone. Louise had been bad enough with her libertine ways, but this was utterly appalling!

  “Yes,” she said, guessing exactly what I was thinking. “I believe in God. I wasn’t always that way though. In fact, I came from your universe, and I was a Zeriodian once. Just like you. Tell me, is Father well?”

  This was when I truly registered the numbers on her collar, “3/19” She was telling the truth. My Seattle had once been her home as well!

  “By the way,” she asked. “Did you like my little cabinet? I had it put in just for you. I do hope that it is providing you with some useful insight.”

  I was simply too stunned to reply.

  “So,” she went on, spearing a bit of her food, and taking a bite. “Your answers; Elizabeth was my lover too, and like the woman you knew, she was taken from me in an accident. As for the cabinet, you have undoubtedly guessed at its true purpose, and are well into the process of recognizing the events that have significance for you.”

  “But--what does it all mean?” I managed to stammer.

  “Only that your feet are set upon the correct path,” she answered evenly. “Take heart though. The answers will come soon enough. More than that, I could tell you, but you would not be ready to hear it.”

  With that, she rose, abandoning the rest of her meal. “May God watch over you, Penny. I think that He loves you only a shade more than I.”

  “God?”

  “You will see,” she replied. “You will soon see everything.”

  Then she turned, and walked away. By the time I had recovered enough to follow after her, she had gone out into the hall. But when I reached it only a few seconds later, I gasped.

  The passageway was empty and the nearest exit was dozens of meters away. Even at a run, it was too far away for anyone to reach it without being seen by me. She had vanished like a phantom.

  This was not the only surprise in store for me though. When I asked about her, Wing Leader Faylinn was at a complete loss.

  “I am sorry, Ms. Steele,” she told me, “but our squadron doesn’t have one of your clones serving in it. Nor did we come here with anyone resembling her. You must have been mistaken.”

  I wasn’t, but I also wasn’t rude enough to contradict her. Instead, I simply thanked her for her time and went away more baffled than ever.

  Had I just had an encounter with something like the Chuchniya? Or even one of the Masters? Whatever she had been, she had certainly not been ordinary by any m
eans.

  There was only one place that I could go that offered any hope of answering my questions, and only one person to speak with. It was also in keeping with my schedule, which despite all that had transpired, I had made every effort to maintain. On this particular day, it called for me to attend my weekly lesson in Atlantean.

  As always, Professor Merriweather was waiting for me in his study, ready with the day’s instruction. By now, I had advanced to the point where we were concentrating solely on conversational Atlantean, and while I was not quite as fluent as he, and still required a few small corrections to my grammar, we were able to discuss a wide variety of subjects in the Chrononaut’s common tongue.

  The moment that I had seated myself, I detailed my strange encounter with my clone, and then went on to tell him about the Chuchniya, and my rescue at its hands. In addition, I shared my speculations.

  Merriweather listened to all of it with the utmost seriousness, and then he shared his thoughts, beginning with the Wild Man.

  “I am familiar with the Chuchniya, although not by that name,” he said. “A most curious creature indeed, and rather widespread. In our universe, as well as in several others, it has been spotted wandering the forests of North America, Russia, Asia and even Europe.’

  “I am also well acquainted with the concepts that your shaman presented, and tend to agree with some of them. Based upon everything I know, the Chuchniya seems to be another branch of the human tree.”

  Fascinated, I set down my tea and listened intently.

  “Where we developed machines,” he continued, “it appears that the ancestors of this ape-man became adept at some form of occult technology. Which, when you think about it, is a direction that we might have taken ourselves had other factors not intervened.”

  “Indeed?” I asked.

  “Yes. You see, before the advent of the Industrial Age and despite the best efforts of the Zerodian creed to enlighten humanity, the paranormal was the only form of science that the common folk understood. In fact, we can thank the early alchemists for their contributions to our modern understanding of chemistry. Without their wisdom and others like them, what we call science today would be completely unrecognizable.’

 

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