My helmet resembled that Daft Punk mask—a curved black mirror and shiny metallic frame. I had light-up eyes that projected over the curved screen. They could assume any neon hue and their shape reflected my emotions under the visor. An arched line was painted across the sides and front of its face and resembled a bird’s beak. There was a tiny dorsal mohawk protruding from the back of my crown. It looked kind of like a lizard spike or hawk’s feather. It tapped into any akashic to feed me the necessary information for whatever world into which I may precipitate.

The helmet could provide me any body shape, complete with clothes, required for the local garb. Under the helmet, all potential of what I may look like to the natives rested in superposition. When I doffed the smooth, protective head covering, I could assume any identity. Yet, I often chose to look like my persona aboard the Cheshire.

I acquired my helmet from the Equipment Room. I had returned to learn more. My helmet had done a great job of educating me to this point, but now sought a real, live mentor. The Equipment Room, a hallowed institution like the cloud shrouded Tibetan temples of Buddhist monks, could only be found if you knew where to look. And it held some of the finest teachers.

***

FLASH FORWARD: Bill learns from the masters. They instruct him on the various professions a Thunderbird can undertake. And they warn him of the immense power and knowledge they possess; that it’s good to impose ignorance on less sophisticated beings. They wouldn’t know what to do with the immense responsibility, if they had it.

The UU, was good at suppressing lower life forms. Higher beings—the Twelve and Thunderbird Order, etc.—didn’t necessarily agree with their incomplete philosophies, but they allowed it to exist as a cog in the grand scheme. Then Bill would finally reveal the true potential of leaping to Danny V., uniting six whole worlds together to orchestrate infinitesimally precise executions on a massive scale. The UU would love this power, but they wouldn’t know what to do with it.

For the time being, Bill would have to walk the fine line of keeping his secret from Danny V. and the UU, whilst still finding a way to aid the Cheshire in Her current distress.

***

Upon enrolling in the Equipment Room’s first class, I’ll never forget my instructor’s opening statements:

“We, the Thunderbird Order, perform our multiversal tactics to unite worlds and elevate consciousness. Those in the third dimension can only see what’s in front of them, and act accordingly. Here, in the fifth dimension, we know it’s not about one fixed point in one world. That is a singular way of thinking, that it has to be this way or that. No. We strike the chords between worlds to see farther than any other life form on this astral plane. We combine the frequencies of many worlds to make beautiful music. These harmonies lift the soul and free the mind. We are liberators, folks, equipped with tremendous power to direct the Finger of God. Don’t ever forget that.”

Until this point, I had only dipped into the Equipment Room periodically to pick up necessary components that facilitated dimensional leaping—a healing waterfall, the back door for unwanted guests to my Drop, and so on. But now I sought the wisdom of the Thunderbird Equipment Room’s teachers. This first class, an intro level survey course, was designed to expose young Thunderbirds in training to the many potential paths they could take upon actualization.

“You have your marauders,” the instructor continued. I had seen a few rough and tumble marauders hovering about the Equipment Room’s giant marble gates. Their gravity-defying apparati buzzed like large hornets to strike fear into all within an earshot. They were the Thunderbird Order’s enforcers. They regulated 5th-dimensional pathogens.

“… Think of them like the multiverse military. Next, we have a group we’ve nicknamed ‘booth dudes.’ Think of them like a Thunderbird cleanup crew. They’re brought in when leapers need to reduce ripple effects and to execute the necessary steps for smooth leaps—clearing a path, readying a world, for instance, to usher in the forthcoming leaper into their next destination.

“Retrievers perform just that: retrievals. During that section of the curriculum, we’ll review how to rescue lost souls trapped deep in the obscurity of some unknown world,” as the instructor covered this section, I remembered having already assumed this function of the Thunderbird, retrieving Kitty most recently and Sully, after that first fateful leap. The instructor whisked on…

“As we climb into the upper echelons of Thunderbirdhood, we’ll study the voyagers, and our most elite—the channelers. Voyagers possess the potential to reach new territory in the multiverse. Their extreme leaping capabilities carry them over the vastness of existential distances. And once you’ve mastered voyaging, only then does the door crack open to become and behold the highest honor a Thunderbird can attain: a channeler. Channelers unite the most far-flung, most obscure of existential points across the multiverse via entanglement. The ability to hold supposed disparity together in a single line of thought allows these elite channelers to not only cover vast territory and maintain their integrity; they gain the skill to make harmony from dissonant worlds’ vibrations. The channelers, you see, hold the whole picture together, when many may have lost sight of this gestalt. They are the glue, our omnipresent saviors when the illusion of separation threatens to shroud understanding.”

Chills ran down my spine as the instructor delivered his sermon. For the first time since becoming self-aware on the Cheshire’s engine room as a bewildered, amnesiac boy, I finally felt at home. These were my brethren. I had already completed some of the Thunderbird function, retrieving Sully and Kitty, and performing cleanups upon errant leaps, as those booth dudes do. I was only beginning to get my voyager legs, and excited to learn how to stretch them farther than imaginable. And I sought the elite status of the channelers. My purpose crystallized in my mind. I was hungry for more knowledge. At this thought, my stomach growled.

“But more on this, when we convene this afternoon,” the instructor said, wrapping up his course intro. “Time for lunch.”

I bumped shoulders with other Thunderbirds in training, exiting the classroom to head to the dining hall. We would compete with each other, make each other better, support one another and test our fellow trainees. These classmates were the whetstone by which I’d sharpen my Thunderbird craft.

First, though, I had to figure whom I’d sit with and eat.

***

NEXT UP: Bill continues his Thunderbird studies. He masters the many functions of his Order—marauder, retriever, booth dude, voyager and ultimately channeler—to then take his wisdom back to Cap and the Cheshire crew. He’ll string together the six Earth versions to free them from Danny V. and the UU’s bureaucratic grip, all the while communicating to Mr. V that mum’s the word. Bill and crew learn to appreciate the imposed ignorance, but also free themselves from it to take the enlightened path.

This is the natural evolution of consciousness.

***