Meticulous was the preparation we had in place before each Wednesday night story session down at the tavern. First, we’d happen upon a land, some random reality, or a dozen. It really depended on the week. Then, I’d need to tap the Akashic metadata in my helmet, upon entering their airspace and especially down on the ground. In order to make any extra-dimensional experience meaningful, you needed to assign gravitas to it. Weight, you see. Things in these a la carte realities were only as real as our consciousness could assign them. And, in order to inform such dimension, we required data, specifically, metadata to enhance an infinity of points within the path of our 4th-dimensional journey. The invaluable information also ensured we could blend in to these foreign world(s), after materializing unannounced and altogether out of place.

Of course, we required none of this that night we brought one Bryan Florian back from the dead… or another reality to those in the know. He was the living, breathing story, and boy did he have a story to tell his former Shermer compatriots. It also began to gnaw away at me internally, what he said about our apparent entanglement. What could that mean for my pursuit of Thunderbird status, and my excursions with the Cheshire crew?

But that was neither here nor there, as Bryan held the floor. Forever the showman was he, one Bryan Florian. Also, in secret, I hoped the tale of his whereabouts and how he got there would somehow enlighten my own journey.

***

Bryan waltzed into the tavern, as if he had never left Shermer. The boys in the back were stunned. Our original quartet of Kitty, Jacob, Gabe and myself soon followed Bryan into the back room to witness mouths agape and wide eyes among the gentlemen. Also, silence, until Bryan broke the ice.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “It’s good to be back. Sorry for leaving so unannounced or without warning.”

“Where, where…” the tavern ringleader was the only one to speak. “–Where have you been? And wh-why did you leave?”

“You wouldn’t believe me, if I told you,” Bryan said.

The ringleader, arms crossed: “Try us.”

The room somehow got quieter, save the light din of activity out in the main dining room and by the front bar. In the back, the floor was Mr. Florian’s.

“I was restless,” Florian said. “It’s nothing personal, guys. I really mean it. I just knew that there was no destination on this Earth that would scratch my itch. And I had heard every story in our town an umpteen of times. I love this planet, but I sought a higher Truth. So I left.”

“But how, Bryan?” Little Tony, a tavern regular, perked up. He had been quiet, thus far, in awe of Florian’s improbable return.

“I read Bill’s book,” Bryan looked over at me, upon the admission. The rest of the audience followed his gaze. I remained silent. I wanted him to continue.

“We don’t have all night, Bryan, to understand the intricacies of dimensional leaping,” the ringleader knew how to keep the flow going. “How did you leap out of this world?”

“Right,” Florian refocused. “Well, it’s all about resonance, guys. You need to master your frequencies. Our bodies, minds and spirits are basically radios that can tune into otherworldly signals. We’re not just limited to this planet’s radiowaves. And through the techniques I studied reading Bill’s book, staying up many a late night in my home office, I taught my pineal gland how to receive frequencies from other realities. In matching that tone, I lifted myself out of this world. The next thing I knew, I was standing at the giant gates of the Thunderbird Equipment Room.”

“Go on,” the ringleader wasn’t satisfied with that explanation.

“Well, I had meditated for months on the Equipment Room’s vastly distant gravitational waves,” Bryan obliged. “And, one night, my thought patterns, mantra and mental focus aligned to form a clear picture and sound in my mind’s eye (the pineal gland) of this desired destination. When it became clear enough, I was confident to leap.”

The ringleader turned his head to Jacob.

“I can’t believe it, but you made good on your word,” the ringleader said. “You guys are welcome back any Wednesday to tell tales of your extra-dimensional excursions. They should not disappoint.”

Jacob and Gabe quietly nodded. Bryan returned to being restless, shifting anxiously in relegation to the shadows of the dimly lit room. I think he wanted to leap right out of there again. But I didn’t want to be rude to our new friends. We stayed to hear the others’ tales.

This Wednesday night, was Little Tony’s turn.

“Alright, fellas,” Tony began. “So I’m talking to this fuckin’ jabroni down by the marina. Dude musta had rocks in his head…”

I looked over at Bryan just to make sure he could remain polite, at least for a little while. I was well aware of the forces pulling him away from this quaint tavern that night. Only dimensional leapers like ourselves can understand. But our eyes met, and we both nodded. I knew he agreed we couldn’t leave just yet.

And that was the tale of Bryan Florian. That Wednesday night also kicked off our weekly excursions that we’d share at the tavern with these gentlemen. The regularity grounded us between even the most psychosis inducing adventures.

The adventures would also impact the crew’s daily duties onboard the Cheshire. And word of our extracurriculars were not restricted to tavern nights; they drifted up to the higher tiers of the Cheshire herself, as more and more crew became wise to our Drop capabilities.

Bryan and my paths would cross again. I was certain. In this chaotic, highly unpredictable multiverse, we were entangled.

***

We went to Shermer so often—mainly on Wednesdays—that I installed a permanent fixture within the Drop, just off to the left of front. Only the tavern boys, who’d meet with us in the back room, knew of our actual origins. The rest of the townsfolk thought that I was a fellow resident, in fact, after I bought the house up on the hill just outside of town. The living room of said home led directly back into my hyperdimensional Drop, but only if you knew how to look for the entrance, from inside the house.

My Drop now held several permanent fixtures within it—a healing waterfall, a central zen garden where we’d meditate that also provided the launch point for astral projection, a fixed overlook of the city pub where Donna and Edward met (in the front right) and now a permanent living room within the house I bought in Shermer.

I thought it necessary to set such existential bookmarks in my personal Drop universe, since the extra-dimensional activities had taken us too far away at times from the Cheshire. And the Captain was beginning to wonder. This became loud and clear the morning we woke up after one off-ship adventure, and the Captain had called all crew to the bridge for an impromptu meeting. In my gut, I knew we’d have to set our attention to the Cheshire for a bit to appease her… and likely Danny V.

***

NEXT UP: More about the world where the Cheshire must operate. More about the Captain and Guillermo. Nearly all of the crew have benefited from some Bill-sponsored dimensional leap, except those two. And in leaping, there’s also a whole Dyson sphere of a world that’s been ignored. The Cheshire is part of a massive, intergalactic network—a hyperreal, spacial megalopolis that spans throughout the known cosmic web. It’s impressive, but spread far too thin, and leaves room for bureaucratic whirlpools to drag people down into obscurity. But the city itself, the vast network, is a sight to be seen and experienced. It was built upon good intentions, but not thoroughly thought out. Hence the dead end that is the Cheshire’s bogus mission.

Peons like Danny V. don’t possess the vision to see the big picture, only what their small and insignificant contributions entail. But as much as Bill and his growing team of leapers explore the many versions of Earth, as droplets among the movierain and Moon black hole, they’re inevitably held back by their day jobs, on the Cheshire. This more physical ecosystem can’t be ignored, if not for the only reason that it provides Bill’s incubator—the supply closet where he can access his Drop through the trap door—in becoming a Thunderbird.

For now, at least, Bill and the crew must achieve balance between their two worlds.

***