The ’90s analog bliss soon turned into the best version of ’80s Earth I had ever encountered. We fine-tuned our leaping of within this multiversal chapter of Earth—an ’80s that had remained analog, for the most part. The personal computer vision that Jobs had foretold in ’84 maintained his original prediction: a corner accessory on the work desk, along with the blotter, paper weights and other non-technical desk accoutrements.

Everyone on this Earth—or mostly everyone—had purpose. Print media—newspapers, paperback books and magazine periodicals—still held reign as the supreme channel. Radio was still live. And TV programmes aired at specific times around which you had to set your schedule, if you wished to catch them.

The air was heavy, on this Earth, with the sweet hint of molasses—not as a scent, but a beautifully slow presence that hung on every moment. Computers from most other Earths had dramatically upscaled the rate of occurrence and influx of information that barraged our very core on all occasion. It was incessant and unnecessary on these other Earths. And we reveled in the subtle glow of reliable slowness that ’80s Earth offered. It truly was analog bliss.

Printing presses, paperboys and all the other occupations that print media supported were alive, well and thriving. Humans still performed menial tasks in place of the automation that had taken hold of all cyber Earths. It was inefficiency at its best, in a world that required the effort of all its inhabitants to revolve.

We visited Kitty’s earthly family on this perfect planet. They hadn’t seen her in a while—since I had scooped her up from her original marooning, and returned her to her true home—the Cheshire. She had told me, after that rescue mission, that her earthly family held a special place in her heart. We thought she might return amidst her Thunderbird training. Nostalgia’s a common, sometimes overwhelming emotion whisking through the Dew.

While on planet, we visited several other of Kitty’s haunts. No smoking guns, but many of the places wafted her faint scent, like perhaps we had just missed her. Two ships passing in the movierain were Kitty and I.

Once we determined that Kitty wasn’t returning anytime soon, I conferred with the author and the rest of the Cheshire crew. What would be our next destination? This place was in the top 10 of all Earths I had visited thus far, and almost suggested we hang back here for a minute. But my wristwatch ticked down to the red zone and sounded its alarm. It was time to leap, or become vintage furniture in this ’80s version of Earth.

We leapt back up into the movierain, as my clock counted down, and reignited our 5th-dimensional pursuit. ‘Where else could she be?’ I thought.

The problem with interdimensional leaping is that it’s not as simple as traveling back (or forward) in linear time. All time exists. Period. Even though we maxed our segment on ’80s Earth, we weren’t even sure if that was the same one Kitty would visit, however similar it seemed. It was our best estimate, from a retrospective.

Then, a thought drifted into my mind, as we surfed the Dew. ‘What if I tried channeling Kitty herself?’ After all, she drove her own drop now. Our tether had been severed the instant she leapt through that seventh gate, but perhaps I could reconnect our entanglement. Channeling is like tuning a radio. And I thought I had a good sense of Kitty’s frequency—her existential signature. I already felt closer to her, visiting her ’80s Earth, sitting with her earthly parents and matriculating those earthly haunts as ghosts from her future.

***

NEXT UP: Bill and crew continue their retrieval mission. They end up back at the tavern to take a break. The ringleader hangs on the edge of his seat wondering if they’ve located her yet. Alas, they have not, but they’ll continue their pursuit after a few pints and report back next week. Memories from Bill and Kitty’s time together flood the wandering Thunderbird’s helmet.

***