True Thunderbirds did not require a tether. A full-fledged Thunderbird would be anointed with the Order, whose headquarters lied eternally at the Equipment Room. Whenever a fully formed Thunderbird leapt dimensions, they’d fly freely through the Dew ether to worlds as far-flung as their imaginations permitted.

But I was still undergoing my trials. And Kitty was good company. Leaping with her always made it more fun. Eventually, I would attempt a lone leap, but I wasn’t ready. I was still recovering from the last sole leap, where I wound up in the Cheshire’s engine room, as an amnesiatic 12-year-old. I had to be reborn on their ship, in a new Earthly life, to reach the black hole swallowing them in time. I wasn’t ready for that drastic a reincarnation again.

I thought of all this, as Kitty and I touched down just outside the pub, still in our astral forms. No one on this Earth could see us yet. Once Kitty and I dropped down into physical forms that could interact, I had forgotten my obsession with lone leaping. We were having too much fun, plus Kitty needed to learn these metaphysical techniques.

“Are we gonna have a drink here?” Kitty was so down for the ride. She didn’t even question the impromptu voyage thus far.

“As important as our jumping techniques are to practice, we also need to get used to blending into foreign Earth cultures. Sticking out risks irreversible ripple effects,” I instructed her, not that she asked.

“Kay, cool,” Kitty said. It really was refreshing how little Kitty questioned our outings. She was along for the ride and her excitement was contagious.

We had fully materialized outside the bar, ready to go in. I was still wearing my helmet, but only Kitty could see it. Everyone else we would encounter inside would see what I wanted them to. The helmet was key to entering any foreign scenario—a key component of any leap.

We stepped down into the garden level pub. The warm roar of crowd chatter and body heat greeted us. The pub was packed. We quickly sat in two barstools so as not to attract any unwanted attention. My helmet’s viewfinder pulled up a scrolling dossier on every patron I captured on the inner display. The anecdotal information would prove useful if we had to strike up a conversation.

“What are we doing here?” Kitty was still excited, but getting antsy on her stool.

“We’re practicing,” I said. “We need to get good at meeting people wherever we land. This bar looked friendly from Donna’s dream memories. I thought it could serve as a good social sandbox.”

All that we needed to accomplish on this impromptu mission was make a memorable moment between us—Kitty and me–and someone at the bar. We could then drop breadcrumbs in the event, should we ever have to return to this time and place.

I started listening in to these two Irish guys a few stools down. They were huddled around their Guinnesses entombed in some serious discussion.

“I can’t get o’er how fockin’ luvley American pop stars are, manh,” said the one Irishman with a scally cap. “There’s BeyAWncée, RihANNA!!… They’re all föckin’ beautiful, man!”

My helmet confirmed our time on this Earth resembled the early aughts—the 2000s—of the Earth I was from.

The other lad chimed in, “Aye! Beats the shite outta Sister Mary Clarence back on de isle.”

“Aye,” scally said.

I turned to Kitty and told her I was going to intervene. I slid down to the stool next to them. I was decked in a two-piece, black suit, with a red tie, still wearing my helmet, but only Kitty could see that. To them, I looked like an unassuming, distinguished gentleman. My helmet scrolled a list of early-2000’s singers…

“I always liked M.I.A., myself,” I said to my two new Irish countrymen.

“Aye!!” they both agreed in unison. Then, scally added, “I’d like to bang-a-lang dat!”

All three of us erupted into laughter. Kitty cringed—she was from a more proper time.

“Have a good one, guys!” I said, upon exiting our panel by the bar. Kitty smiled at them, as we departed. We exited the pub. I could see our breath as we stood just outside the front entrance talking.

“That was sort of exciting, but so short-lived,” she said to me, while rubbing her arms to warm up.

“We can always return to this exact point,” I said. “I just needed to establish that connection with the two lads. It’s now a reference point for us. I call them ‘breadcrumbs.'”

We leapt up into our astral selves once again. We concentrated on my Drop, and before we knew it, we were opening our eyes form meditating on those pillows within the orb, up in space. Our intertwined journey acted as a latticework as we ascended from the ground of the planet, up into Cheshire’s space, where our Drop hung.

Kitty held a slight Mona Lisa smile. She looked over my shoulder, where a towering picture window formed on the wall inside the Drop. Peering out from the glass, the picturesque city view overlooked a lovely courtyard that housed the garden-level pub, from whence we had just came. Kitty’s eyes also smiled, when she recognized the locale.

“We can return whenever we want,” she said, contented.

“I promise,” I said. “Next time, you’ll get to talk. We gotta crawl before we can walk… or talk.”

***

NEXT UP: Kitty brags to the other crew during her day shift. She feels special as the only one selected for her Big Cat’s excursions. The word-of-mouth testimonials prove good marketing for her late-night partner in adventure, and attracts more of the crew down to the Drop.

***