Pierce read the comprehension in my eyes, and nodded. “Now we can depart,” he announced. “We shall journey to another place that is far more distant and just as vital for your education.” With that, he returned his attention to the controls, and left me alone with my thoughts. They were not cheerful ones.
Our journey seemed to go on for hours, passing over the endless luminous strands that made up the great river. Finally, we approached what I can only describe as a giant glowing knot, a place where all of the nine universes came together before separating again. Without a word of explanation or confirmation, Pierce guided the Phaseship downwards and I readied myself for whatever might appear in the displays.
Yet instead of being greeted by a barren wasteland, a jungle, or another sprawling city, the only sight that met my eyes was a vast, white nothingness with no features to distinguish the heavens from the earth. Mind you, it was no fog. Rather, it was more akin to the ‘white-outs’ that explorers of the Polar Regions often experience, but even more severe. What I beheld was a pristine void, absolute and total in its emptiness.
“What is this strange new realm?” I asked. “Where are we now?”
“This is the year 3000,” Pierce explained, “a great nexus point in time and the home of our Masters. This is where they perfected the art of travelling through time, and learned to manipulate its very fabric.”
“But why can’t we see anything?” I queried. “Surely there must be some firmament out there, some landmarks!”
“It is because the Masters do not wish us to apprehend the true nature of their time,” he answered sternly. “The landscape that you are seeking is out there, but by their design, our minds are not permitted to sense it.’
“Perhaps this is because there is some great secret that we would otherwise be unready for. Perhaps not. Whatever the truth is, it is irrelevant. The only thing that is important is that this place is forbidden to us. Remember that, Penelope Victoria Steele; you are never to venture to the year 3,000.”
Already I could tell that the Phaseship was ascending; the readout on one of the side displays made this quite plain. We had not been there for more than a minute at the most, and now we were departing this strange and unsettling place.
“I find this entire arrangement rather sinister,” I remarked. “In fact, it makes me wonder at the very nature of these Masters of yours. How can we be sure that they are not concealing something truly terrible down there?”
“We cannot,” Pierce replied. “And they are your Masters now, as much as they are mine. Our lot is simply to obey.”
I did not challenge this statement, but I also did not accept it. “Where are we going next?” I asked instead.
“To one of our bases of operations,” Pierce informed me.
“Where is it?” I inquired, having assumed that we would be returning to the wasteland.
“For us, the proper way to ask such a question is to always add ‘when’ to the inquiry,” he corrected. “The ‘where’ is southern Peru, specifically the Nazca Plain, in the second universe.’
“Your Phaseship squadron is based there. As to the ‘when’, it would be reckoned in your former universe as 200 BCE. We have found that particular century to be both convenient and the safest in terms of concealment.” While he was telling me this, he was guiding our vessel down into the River again.
When we came back into the normal time-stream, I observed a great arid plain. It was covered with fantastical images of animals and insects including a rather striking geoglyph of an enormous hummingbird. The area was also crisscrossed by great lines that closely resembled the landing strips at Queen Mary’s Royal Aerodrome, but on a gargantuan scale.
A little further on, I spotted a series of white domed structures that were sited at the end of one of these lines, and four Phaseships parked near them, gleaming in the sunlight. In addition, I spied an equal number of metallic silver discs sitting in orderly ranks. They were about half the size of the Phaseships and I gauged them to be some sort of flying craft, although they were so alien in their design that I could not discern fore from aft, nor imagine how they performed aerodynamically.
Despite this, I was still reminded of my old aerodrome, but only just. The combination of the alien landscape and the oddness of the machines themselves, conspired to rob me of any comfort that I would have otherwise enjoyed. Rather, I was forced to accept the strangeness of it all.
Naturally, Pierce seemed quite at home with everything, and guided us down without supplying me with any enlightenment.
When our craft halted, a group of dark-skinned men came out of the nearest dome, accompanied by a mechanica and an oculon. However, this particular oculon was not fist-sized, but nearly as large as a medicine ball, making me wonder at its purpose.
As for the men, they all wore boilersuits similar to those used to service steam locomotives, but with no visible buttons (I later learned that they were secured by an amazing invention known of as the ‘zipper’, which was a vastly improved version of Mr. Judson’s Clasp Fastener).
These strange garments were bright red in color with the hummingbird image that I had seen from the air adorning their left pockets and picked out in black. All of this, combined with their long hair and primitive tattoos, led me to conclude that they were indigenes who had been pressed into service much like myself.
They set to work right away, revealing as they did so, the actual nature of the oversized oculon. It turned out not to be a surveillance device, but a floating servicing cart. I watched as the men withdrew hoses and wires from a compartment and then attached them to our craft, aided by the mechanica. Despite the unfamiliar nature of their ministrations, and the equipment that they were employing to perform it, it was obvious this group was tasked with the job of being the aerodrome’s ground crew.
In the meantime, Pierce had vacated the pilot’s chair, and was exiting the Phaseship. Naturally, I followed him and passing the other Phaseships, I noted a unique feature that I had not seen on the ones my universe.
There were five craft in all. The first had no markings whatsoever, but all the rest bore personalized insignia near their cockpits.
The nearest was emblazoned with the iron cross favored by the Prussians. Below it was a curious motto that took me a moment to translate, “Du doch nicht!” In the parlance of the lower classes, this was the rough equivalent of the statement, “Aint garn ter 'appen.”
The vessel which neighbored it sported a blue six-pointed star which I remembered was referred to as the Seal of Solomon. This insignia was attributed to a religionist ruler and mystic who lived five centuries before the death of Hypatia. It too sported a motto, but it was rendered in fiery-looking characters that I failed to decipher. As best as I could guess, they were the script used by Solomon’s people at the time, although I could not be entirely certain.
The decorations on the remaining pair of Phaseships were equally as mysterious. One bore a stylized arrow surmounted by the sun, and the other was adorned with a golden sea-bird of a species that was wholly unfamiliar to me.
It was plain that all of these symbols were intended to reflect the tastes of their owners in much the same manner as my monoplane had once been decorated. I resolved then and there that if I were awarded one to fly, that my craft would be graced with Elizabeth’s blackbird just as soon as the opportunity presented itself. If I was to be a part of this little press-gang, then I would at least have something that reminded me of better times, and my freedom.
Leaving the Phaseships behind, we went inside one of the domes. Again, I encountered the same sterile passages that I had become acquainted with at the base back in the wasteland. This time however, it was Pierce, and not the Professor, who brought me to what proved to be a complete duplicate of my rooms. Even the books were in the same place on the shelves!
Having had my entire world revealed to me as nothing more than an elaborate stage set, I was not amazed by this in the least. Compared to everything else, reprodu
cing my accommodations seemed a very minor miracle, however agreeable.
“You will rest here for the remainder of the day,” he instructed. “Come the morning, Professor Merriweather will be along to collect you. Prepare yourself for a busy schedule; you and he will have much to discuss and then you will be formally introduced to your squadron mates.”
In truth, I was thoroughly exhausted by our flight, and the sights that I had witnessed, and in no mood to argue. “Good day then, sir.” I responded.
Pierce countered with a crooked expression that vaguely reminded me of a smirk, and gave me a brief bow.
“Good day, Ms. Steele.”
I did not wait for him to depart, but turned my back to him and let the door slide shut of its own accord. Alone at last, I did not bother to do much more than remove my boots before I availed myself of the bed and lay down. Once my head touched the pillow, weariness overcame me and I was fast asleep in just a few breaths.
When I rose again, I saw by the clock on the wall, and from the light in the ersatz windows in my parlor, that I had slumbered away the entire night, and a fair portion of the morning.
Eager to rid myself of my uniform, I immediately explored the wardrobe. I had already tried this in my other rooms, and had come up empty-handed except for more uniforms.
This time though, I received a small but pleasant surprise. In addition to yet another uniform tailored for a man (which I had no intention whatsoever of wearing), I discovered that a more lady-like version was awaiting me. It reminded me of a riding suit, and while it was the same funereal black, and its high collar was adorned with the Bookmen’s insignia, it had ruffles and lace at the cuffs. It was also cut for a woman’s figure and possessed a long skirt complete with a bustle.
Furthermore, the wardrobe also contained a whale bone corset of good quality, along with petticoats and other suitable accoutrements. One of these was an exquisite pair of earrings set with polished onyx stones were set in gold. Upon closer inspection, I observed that the stones had been incised with delicate winged hourglasses.
My choice of attire was obvious. But before I could dress, I needed to see to my breakfasting. So I donned a nightgown and called out for Mrs. Schrödinger, hoping that my AI maidservant had also been included in the reproduction of my rooms.
She appeared a moment later, and I must say that I was very pleased to see her. In the short time that we had been acquainted, I had come to value her service and her presence was one more familiar thing to lend me comfort.
I was also treated to another pleasant event. Instead of being compelled to submit to the attentions of ‘Old Fred’ or some other mechanical creature, a very human woman entered my rooms and proceeded to lay out my meal.
She was small, and quite dark, with her jet black hair done up in hundreds of tiny braids. From her tattoos, the simple body jewelry that she wore, and her red boilersuit, I instantly understood that she was a relative of the men that I had seen servicing the Phaseships. Fascinated, I took my place at the table and let her serve me.
“Excuse me,” I asked her at last, “but do you speak English?”
She flashed me a shy smile, and nodded. “Yes, Miss,” she said, with a strange, strong accent. “Some little.”
“What is your name?” I inquired.
“I called Pishqu,” she answered, pointing to herself. “It is--‘bird’. You name?”
“You may call me Miss Steele,” I replied. “Tell me, do you work for the Masters?”
Pishqu shook her head, clearly confused by my question. “I no understand. Sorry, Miss.”
I turned to Mrs. Schrödinger for my answer. “Well?”
“She’s one ov da natives, mum.”
“Yes, I can see that,” I retorted. “Is she a slave to the Master’s will then? Are all her people slaves?” Given my own involuntary status, this seemed a logical conclusion.
“Ah, no mum,” the AI returned.” ‘Er an ‘er people sorta worship us on account ov us working fer ta Masters as we do. They think we’re shamans an’ they come n’ ‘elp ter show ta Masters what they’re good people. They figure we’ll say good things abaabt ‘em.”
“Shamans?” I asked, quite appalled. “Then they believe us to be some kind of intermediaries with their gods?”
“That would be da whole of it, mum,” Mrs. Schrödinger admitted. “All in all they’re good folk, just a bi’ simple tis all. N’ Pishqu ‘ere does a fine job as a maid.”
“These people should be told the truth,” I declared. “To leave them living in such darkness is absolutely criminal.”
“As yew say, mum,” the AI answered. “Just the same, it’s not fer me t’say. Happen if you spoke wiv Bookman Pierce--“
“I shall indeed,” I vowed, “and give him a good piece of my mind in the process!”
“Ov caarse, mum,” Mrs. Schrödinger replied diplomatically.
I finished my meal and then asked her if Pishqu could manage the task of dressing me. The ‘AI’ responded to my inquiry with a ghostly nod, and then proceeded to relay her instructions to the girl in the same mysterious manner that she had communicated with Old Fred. I heard no conversation between them, but Pishqu seemed to understand her and proceeded to attend to my needs.
She proved to be just as capable as Mrs. Schrödinger had advertised, arranging my hair and helping me into my garments with the same expertise that I would have expected from any of my father’s servants. By the end of it all, I felt whole again, and quite ready to face whatever challenges that the day might bring. Truly, there is nothing more fortifying for a woman than a good stiff corset tied to perfection, and a skirt with a proper bustle.
Thus prepared, I greeted the Professor when he came calling and I went with him to his rooms. These, I was happy to discover, were quite similar to the accommodations that he had enjoyed in his former residence in Seattle, and even included a very comfortable study lined with the same books on the natural sciences and the classics. In addition, there was a large portable chalkboard, such as he had often employed during our private lessons together. The familiar odors of his pipe, the books on their shelves, and the smell of the chalk greeted my nostrils like the old friends that they were, and I stopped and took in a deep breath, suddenly feeling very much at ease.
The only jarring note to all of this was that his ‘AI’ housekeeper was assisted by another mechanica, and not one of the natives. Nonetheless, I was able to set aside my revulsion, and concentrate whilst the Professor explained the day’s business to me.
“As Bookman Pierce might have informed you, I am tasked with helping with your instruction,” he stated, “but it will not be like our classes at Maddenhill at all. You see my dear, as you have discovered, you have far more within your mind than just the memories of your most recent existence.’
“In fact, your consciousness contains the sum total of many lives, carefully preserved and passed along through each iteration of yourself to your present life. My role is to help you to unlock them, and thus, allow you to train yourself.”
Now, I was more intrigued than ever. What other arcane wisdom might reveal itself through this process, I wondered.
“We shall begin with something that every Chrononaut must know in the event of misadventure,” he said, rising and moving over to the chalkboard where he commenced to draw a symbol. It was an Egyptian hieroglyph, composed of a circumpunct, flanked by two braided columns and crowned by a zigzag.
After only a moment gazing upon it, I found myself telling the Professor precisely what the symbol was, and whom it represented.
“That is the sign for the Fellowship of Aion,” I told him. “An association of mortals who secretly serve the Masters throughout the centuries.”
Professor Merriweather nodded in encouragement. “It is. Go on, my girl. You know much, much more.”
“They can be recognized by their symbols,” I answered, joining him at the board. “This one is called neheh, which means time itself. In some centuries, it is repres
ented simply by the circle with the dot.”
Upon uttering this, transient images came to me. They were in different places, and different times, but they were all instances where I had encountered this symbol. And yet, at the same time I knew that I had never laid eyes on it before, nor heard its name. As the reader might appreciate, I found this dichotomy more than a little disorienting.
The Professor, of course, had anticipated this reaction. “Do not resist the memories,” he warned. “Let them arise and become a part of your conscious mind.”
He gave me a moment to collect myself, and then, “Please, tell me more about it, Penny.”
Additional knowledge revealed itself, and mindful of his advice, I did my best not to struggle against it and gave it a voice.
“The Freemasons, which are a mystical order found in some universes, employ it as the symbol for the Entered Apprentice and there are some among their number that are also members of the Fellowship.”
“And?”
“It is also known among alchemists as the sign for gold and the sun,” I replied. “Again, there are those within their ranks who are initiates of the truth.”
“Very good,” Merriweather smiled. “What other symbol can identify them?”
“It is this gesture,” I responded, holding up my right hand and splaying the digits wide. “The Sign of Six. It represents the five aspects of material reality, united by the sixth.”
Saying this, my encounter with Abraham Weisman came to the very forefront of my awareness. He had been with the Fellowship, I realized. The sign that I was making was exactly the same one that he had displayed to me in his shop.
Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Page 13
