Three-Rivers whistle-skipped all the way to Burnt Man’s tree-plank-entrance-flap called door and did the unspoken-courteous-question called knock. He pressed his ear to the plank and heard a soft sure tread bring this science-loving prophet of Heysuse Christos to the door-pulling knob, which made no noise as it turned in his gentle brown hand.

As the door swung slowly open he looked up into the eyes of the thin towering man and smiled, making sure to speak in Latin for the benefit of this man who so adored the works of the dead White medicine-men of Sunset Past. “Greetings Burnt Man called Doctor Robinson, I am to be your new science servant; an altar boy of problem solving so-to-speak.”

The tall man with the mind that was taller than all other’s went along with the game and answered back playfully in Latin, “A man after my own heart. You are most welcome.”

Yes, Burnt Man alone sees you as a man. See how he yearns for a fellow science-seeker. Embrace science and he will give it to you. Ask him to take you on his curious craftsmen like search for The Beginner’s Plan…

Three-Rivers spent all the day following Burnt Man around and observing his rituals. He was also helpful to his kind master, turning the pages in his heavy books as he read; manipulating the mouse of knowledge as the man typed; fetching the bitter-black-bean-juice called coffee; and lending his tiny nimble hands for the delicate tasks of tinkering with the dream-catcher. Three-Rivers was familiar with these devices, had ridden them seven times, and operated them four times, even key-matching various travelers by inserting the glowing wires drawn from the dream-catchers into the wrists of those who wished to travel to other worlds. Many, many questions floated across his now clouded mind’s eye, but he asked but few out of respect. “Burnt Man, why cannot animals travel between worlds?”

“Actually they could Three-Rivers, if they had hands and we keyed them.”

“Do you mean to say a raccoon could ride thunder?”

“Theoretically yes, however, the narrow circumference of his wrist would pose a problem. The full length of the key ring must be placed under the skin and not overlap, and there is only a moderate variance in length as you know. It was, after all, designed for humans.”

“How would this be overcome Holy Robinson?”

“As you know we key the left arm for its proximity to the heart. This is not absolutely necessary, but does enhance the aura, which in turn increases the amount of equipment which can be hauled, and, for solo jumps, cuts down on burns and shock. If you, as you claim to have been in a former life, were in fact a squirrel, and needed to be matched for a jump, I would key you around the waist. If a raccoon, I would key you around the left thigh, avoiding the neck at all costs.”

This is excellent. On your next jump you can bring back the resident Chief of Squirrels for a tour of Sunset—but how saddened he would be over the loss of the chestnut trees…

They spent some time recalibrating the activator and translocator dials on the imperishable platinum hoop to be used by Jan and the many-speaker Burton of Sunset Past to contact a man known as Leonardo from deeper in Sunset Past. But Jan had not yet returned with Burton.

Use Mother’s words in seeking and setting up the trick, “Holy Robinson, this is the Third Branch Capacitator, a midwife of worlds so-to-speak?”

“Yes my friend, this device will fold Space-Time in such a way as to generate a splinter universe. We believe this can only be done seven times, and I am at odds with Mister Shuei and Doctor London over the use of this specific unit. I should not burden you with this. But you were a holy man in your time, and surely know how to keep confidence as a confessor.”

“Oh yes, Burnt Man. I have heard mucho confessions. I was also a devout Catholic for three full moons and learned much about the pitiless Spanish afterlife and their confessions and soul-demons and teeming soul-weir called Purgatory. I can be trusted not to tell your painful secrets.”

He just relaxed. He trusts you. Oh, are you about to sin Sunset boy!

“You know Three-Rivers these devices all derive from a single trunk capacitator and are linked via a grid of sorts. Let’s just describe this grid as towns of a place called Space-Time linked by rivers with the units themselves being the canoes used by travelers.”

He is brilliant.

“So, this particular one, once taken back through Space-Time—via, let us suppose, a temporary whirlpool or waterfall—will form a branch universe and remain as the foundation stone of that world—although it could be converted to a simple loop capacitator—from where it may be used to send forth keyed travelers and recall those so keyed. When my disciples from the future proposed to me that we take important and unique people from the past—such as yourself—and bring them forward, I only agreed on the condition that we also dedicate such missions to making that world a better place for those left behind. Taking you was a disservice to your people. But we inoculated the Northeast against European disease and left Sarah to complete the diplomatic mission. Likewise, taking Lady Doe-Eye was a crime. But, we diverted the Spanish Entrada of Don Soto in return.

“In other cases, such as with Aristotle, Archimedes and Burton we have decided to take the person at a point in their life when they would not be so terribly missed, largely out of fear of the effects on our own world as these missions are being conducted with the loop capacitators which may invoke the grandfather paradox about which I previously instructed you. Now, for the first time, we intend to branch Space-Time, surely leaving behind a less vibrant world, by seizing mankind’s greatest genius before his maturity. You see, Three-Rivers, I have come to understand that my disciples from the future do not just want a collection of children and old people, they lust for the vibrant essence of creative life itself, and would have the brightest such light to illuminate their Ark of Time. Look…”

The tall wise young man, so filled with sorrow over what he had wrought in the name of The Beginner, walked over to his stacked book-ledges called shelves and grabbed a white book within a white case and slid it out onto the table where Three-Rivers sat cross-legged. The man opened the book to page 27 and pointed to the facing page. He pointed at the ghostly image. “What do you see Three-Rivers?”

A test of your picture-reading skills—shine Sunset boy!

“Why this is a White holy man called saint near the end of his vision quest in the wild. He is being comforted by his big-cat totem, obviously a sign of The Beginner’s approval of his worldly sacrifice, indicated by his longing for the things of man he has left behind, represented by the ghost picture on the rock he weeps for.”

“That interpretation is uncommonly insightful. The painting is an unfinished likeness of Saint Jerome. It is five-hundred-and-thirty-one years old.”

He then opened the book wider and reversed it on Three-River’s lap and pointed to a picture that took up two pages. Three-Rivers knew his duty as an interpretive disciple and forged on. “This is the

Meal of Betrayal, when Heysuse Christos gathered with his twelve disciples knowing that one had traded him to the land-eating town called Rome. Shortly after this meal Black-water Canoe-guide, chief Roman over those-who-do-not-eat-dirty-animals called Jews, would wash his hands of Heysuse Christos and offer him up to the Living Ancestor of Rome on the Tree of Woe, not knowing that he was sending him instead back to The Beginner—called God by you Sunset People.”

The tall brown science man just whistled like the first arrow had been fired in anger over some distant battlefield, and turned to another page, but needed say nothing as Three-Rivers was hitting his stride. “This is Old Tree Mother, and her daughter who did not know a man but yet bore a child, who plays with the white cotton-hide dear of Europe, indicating that he has been incarnated as Heysuse Christos and not He-Who-Makes-Rivers who would be holding a true deer. The Spanish, I recall, as cruel as they were, much revered this un-ravished mother.”

The kind brown hands then opened the book to another double-picture-page and Three-Rivers launched into another reading. “This woman is everything in the eye of the artist, who appears to have achieved his mastery of picture-making in this form. This is the Mother of Worlds, The Beginner in gentle guise, scared by yesterday yet smiling for tomorrow. More comments on my behalf would but denigrate this work. It is expression perfected as insight. The artist is God’s own Picture Maker.”

Burnt Man straightened up with a smile on his face and grim sadness in his eyes as he closed the book of wonders and slid it back into its case. His voice was grave as he returned the book to its place, “And, Three-Rivers, we, in our infinite wisdom would deny a world that and more. I have sworn to abide this plan, but it wounds me, it does Confessor.”

The tall man froze for an instant and then became animated and turned to his blank picture board with his chalk. “Three-Rivers, I do not expect you to grasp the mechanics of these equations. However, you seem to have a natural holistic grasp of symbols and pictures. Let us lighten the mood and delve into Space-Time…”

The chalk-in-hand scratched furiously as the contents of the man’s ever-factoring mind spilled onto the board in subdivided number and letter symbols called equations which were in fact the secret messages sent by Burnt Man to Thunderer, who in turn sent the thunderbirds to scoop up the Servants of Burnt Man in their lightning talons and carry them to other worlds. Three-Rivers walked back-and-forth across the table memorizing and chanting the equations as Burnt Man recited them. Before they knew it hours had passed by, and Mother was coming into the room to feed Three-Rivers Healer’s soul-poison and also remind Burnt Man to eat his food called sandwiches which he would otherwise forget to eat as he walked and talked with The Beginner at his chalking board.

This man is a wonder and you mean to steal from him.