Kitty kept me abreast of what was happening on the Cheshire while I was away. The happenings aboard the Cheshire seemed to transpire in slow motion, while I experienced education through the Equipment Room’s hyper timeline. What would seem like only several days’ absence to the Cheshire crew would, for me, contain years of an entire Thunderbird curriculum within the relatively sped up timeline of my institution. And, per Kitty’s updates, I could tailor my education to directly address the matter at hand: a growing backlog of tedious tagging missions imposed by the UU.

The charge of the Cheshire was to embark upon endless tagging missions, one by one. And the mission of the UU was to keep the Cheshire busy. It would seem to Captain and crew that, with every completed mission, two or more new assignments would be waiting for them upon return. The Cheshire’s indentured servitude would imprison them ad infinitum, under the UU’s thumb. These were the gist of Kitty’s bleak telegrams, as I attended my boarding school.

The problem was the linear nature of the Cheshire’s approach. They could only tackle one tagging mission—commemorating some official’s life moment here, snapshotting the watershed moment of a recognized UU civilization there—at a time. They’d never become free at this rate. I thus directed my studies toward the highest of Thunderbird Orders, the channelers. I had a hunch, if I could unite as many as six worlds—uniquely distinct Earth versions—I could tap the Cheshire into an infinite supply of tagged moments. At this level, we wouldn’t have to fulfill UU decrees on an ad hoc basis; we’d have fulfilled all possible requests at once, and could then reference them after the fact as the orders descended down. That was the goal: to impose ignorance on Danny V. and the UU themselves, via a Meinertzhagen’s Haversack. Undercover, the Cheshire could finally find its freedom.

These were the thoughts that ran through my head the first day of school at lunch. I sat alone like Stephen Glansberg, heavy under contemplation. But I would have to make connections and friends to further my craft. The good work of the Thunderbird was hardly ever accomplished alone.

***

LOOKING AHEAD:

• Bill masters his Thunderbird craft at the Equipment Room.
   
• He returns to the Cheshire, presents his findings to Cap and frees the Cheshire from UU clutches by igniting the five(6) stories that lift the entire ship to the Twelve.
   
• He’s able to lift the entire ship there because Bill sends Kitty through the portal created from his ignition. This act completes his Thunderbird training and initiates her to begin her own journey.
   
• When they arrive at the Twelve, Kitty has already enrolled in the Thunderbird Equipment Room academy.
   
• The Twelve teach the Cheshire how now they have access to an Akashic of Earth more comprehensive than imaginable. They can instantaneously retrieve any tag task, however time-consuming, from the UU.
   
• Returning to relative Earth space on the Cheshire, the Cap and crew are ecstatic at the possibilities and their newfound freedom. We see how easy it is to field missions now and how they can use their time now for whatever they see fit. They’re realizing they’re the destination.
   
• They go on a few fun missions and return to the tavern to regale the tale. Their little collective that convenes at the tavern resembles the Twelve council. As above, so below.
   
• Bill’s a full-fledged Thunderbird now. So the adventures take on a heightened degree of sophistication and dynamism. They hold the entire superposition of Earth in their hands.
   
• Bill and Cheshire ride off into the sunset, so to speak, to live out their days.
   
• Kitty’s epilogue.
   

***

I woke up one morning on a distant planet, bewildered, disoriented, knowing neither where I was nor how I got there. They were testing our resilience and ability to retrieve oneself. After all, how could we retrieve others, if we couldn’t find ourselves?

To make matters worse, the Order deployed seasoned marauders to track us down. Not only did we have to orient ourselves from obscurity; we had to do it on the fly. Thinking on your feet is a Thunderbird imperative.

***

Instinctively, I conjured my helmet from the ether, but it was still tuned to the Earth Akashic, and that connection had been severed. Wherever I was was so far out of range, the Earth in all of Her splendor may as well not have existed.

I had to find cover before the marauders picked up my scent. I slunk into the local library of that town. Say what you will about the internet on most worlds these days. There’s something serene about a giant stone building that houses all of its cultural history within the books contained on its many stacks inside. I quickly reset the helmet’s receiver to read this invaluable wisdom contained on these volumes.

This is an important fact about leaping: in order to effectively and safely arrive at your desired destination, it’s imperative you know where you are. Otherwise, the leap will become volatile. And each successive, ill-informed jump will only further shroud the descending soul into obscurity.

Once my helmet’s upload was complete, we cross-referenced the local intel with all known akashics in the area. Before long, we were able to orient ourselves within this known multiverse. And not a moment too soon; I could hear the faint hornet’s buzz of marauders in the distance outside. They had likely secured a fix on my location and were zeroing in on the premises. I would not let this impending doom shake me. A Thunderbird must think on his feet. I sat right down there in the middle of the library stacks. I stilled my mind in the eerie quiet of the long, empty aisles and found zen. I leapt up into the movierain from this literary launch point and before long found myself back in the Equipment Room’s classroom, in front of my instructor.

“Well done, young apprentice,” my instructor said to me upon precipitating into his plane. “You were the first back. Most won’t even make it back, either forever lost in oblivion or falling prey to our marauders. It’s a natural culling process for our Order. It may seem brutal, but it’s for the best. You, young apprentice, however, have demonstrated real promise. You’re ready for the next stage.”

Relief washed over me. I was beginning to believe I could one day become a real Thunderbird.

***

FLASH FORWARD: Bill completes his trials with the Order. He returns to the Cheshire a full-fledged Thunderbird. He ignites the five(6) stories in front of Cap, crew and Danny V. in the Drop. That brings them to the Twelve. Everyone tells Danny V. this is not knowledge for the UU. He must keep it quiet or they will wipe his memory. V experiences a change of heart and starts working with the Cheshire. His state-issued skills prove useful. He’s great at introducing new worlds to Bill and crew.

“OK, Bill, in this world in which you’ll enter, nobody knows what ketchup is,” Danny V. always knew how to lead with the most pertinent information. “So don’t mention it. America is ruled under a monarchy, after its democracy failed. But its citizens are actually doing quite well. The king here is benevolent, luckily. And they make the best slice of pizza you’ll eat in the multiverse. Thought this might be a nice treat in between more serious leaps.”

***

I tried to check back into the Cheshire as often as I could. Though time moved much faster in the Equipment Room—years of study and my visual aging there would seem like days on our ship—I still made sure to get updates from Kitty. A lot could happen in a couple of days there at this time. Danny V. was putting on the pressure to produce new tags. The UU’s thirst for new, recorded and logged destinations seemed unquenchable.

It would turn out that they, the almighty they, the UU were vastly underutilizing the technology they had stumbled upon in states of the art, like the good ship Cheshire. Her engineering was brilliant, and could elegantly oscillate between higher dimensions to traverse the impossible expanses of this universe. Wormholes. But the UU had no concept of the plane these wormholes had to pass through, to drop passengers off at an opposite end of all reality. These were higher dimensions that tapped into parallel dimensions—other worlds, other universes. The wormholes were the UU’s glimpse into the multiverse.

Once I would elevate the Cheshire out of Her indentured servitude, we’d be primed to tap into any reality we needed for their bullshit assignments. In a flash. At a moment’s notice. And with no preparation or forethought. We were finally free.

First, I had to become a Thunderbird.

That’s why I was in the Equipment Room now. I had passed the test of retrieval. I’m not sure they knew how much practice I had at that particular skill. Next, they had assigned me the role of “booth dude.” At least that was the nickname for this Thunderbird craft. Booth dudes, or “fixers”—their official title—held the great responsibility to smooth over ripple effects that the sometimes disruptive, eruptive nature of inelegant leaping can evoke. I was assigned to tail one such swashbuckler’s wake.

***

Leaping was by no means clean. Even the fleetest of foot, most savvy Thunderbirds would trail ripple effects in their wake of dimensional travel. Booth dudes became like squires to these knights.

My instructor assigned me one such bull in a China shop leaper. Blackbeard they called him, because he’d trounce upon unsuspecting worlds like a drunk pirate. My job was to clear the path for him entering an atmosphere and, of course, clean up any residue he’d leave upon his inelegant exit. I think he may have been over the hill, which for a Thunderbird, meant he was pushing some serious millennia on a single timeline.

Blackbeard wasn’t calamitous at all in his rendezvous, just sloppy. He held the office of ambassador for the Order to far reaches of the multiverse. It was my job to anticipate his leaps, arriving shortly before him to ensure there’d be minimal to no witnesses of his boisterous barge into their world. He just wasn’t subtle. If any natives did happen to see or hear his anomalous, seemingly impromptu burst into sudden existence, I’d have to swoop in and wipe their memory. A key to multiversal travel was keeping the land dwellers focused on their planet alone. Wandering minds led to lack of faith in one’s reality. Booth dudes, in this sense, were like the glue holding parallel worlds together. The humble station also reminded me of my occupation as a janitor on the Cheshire.

I trailed that roving Order politician for a year—clearing paths for him, cleaning up his rippling, gravitational wakes—until my instructor finally relieved me of the duty. It was grunt work of the highest Order, and I learned a lot of the nuance required for smooth, more sophisticated leaping having to bevel the rough edges of my ward. But I was ready for solo missions. My instructor thought so too.

“You’ve graduated to the level of voyager,” he said one day in his office, upon relieving me of my booth dude duties. “Blackbeard was our messiest of leapers, and you handled his wake with the greatest of ease. You’ve proven to the Order that you’ll carry our tradition with esteem and respect, no matter how far we fling you into the ether. Better yet, we’re confident you’ll find your way back.”

“I am honored to assume the task of voyager,” I said, excited for the opportunity at advancement.

“Good, good,” he said. “The task of the voyager is to find new worlds, ones even the Order hasn’t uncovered. As voyager, you will thus add to Our lexicon.”

Elated and nervous were the only two words to describe my mental condition at this new assignment. I was standing on the threshold of the unknown.

***

NEXT UP: Voyaging proves to be Bill’s toughest endeavor yet. It’s difficult to find new worlds along paths that so many have already traveled. Bill begins to experiment with leap combinations to create new outcomes. His leaping transforms from the linear A to B, to a more multi-directional path where multiple worlds line the path to manifest an entirely new destination. Holding several worlds in superposition thus creates the opportunity for Bill to thread the needle through seemingly known space-time into uncharted lands.

***