by Rob Dircks
Re: You’re not going to believe this…
Hi Julie,
CRAZY, right? So my guess: when I made that phone call in the lighter gravity dimension, my phone must have started sending out all my emails - to you! But not you-you, Alternate You (scrawny but still beautiful I’m sure). And her replies must’ve come in just before we got back into the ITA. And there must not be an Alternate Chip or Alternate Pete in her dimension. (Much weirder shit has happened, I don’t even ask questions anymore. I just roll with it.)
Now I know it wasn’t really you-you, but my heart practically jumped out of my chest when I got those emails. Just the thought of connecting with you, the real you, somehow, across dimensions. And it made me realize something.
This isn’t all about me anymore.
Sure, I’d love for you to save me, rescue me from this godforsaken hallway and bring me home. And I want love and attention, and to be babied a little (or a lot). But really? I don’t want to come home for me anymore.
I want to come home for YOU.
I want to listen to you. To anticipate your low moments, and show up with chinese take-out and a bottle of wine. To be there when your fish dies and you need me to flush him. To be there when you finish grad school, shouting “take THAT, world!” To make Cancun sunnier, relaxinger, and drunkenner (are those even words?) than you ever imagined. To help you make the ideas that live deep inside you into something real.
Is it stupid of me to imagine us talking?
You put your bag down on the kitchen table after work, and plop down in a chair. “Chip?”
“Whatsup?”
“I’m just feeling down. I don’t know why.”
“You know what’s good for that?”
“Let me guess. Something sex-related.”
“No. Ice cream. But it has to be soft-serve, or you’ll still feel down. With sprinkles.”
“It’s February.”
“Shhh. That’s the secret. The secret to Carvel’s Magical Healing Soft-Serve Ice Cream. It only works in February.”
And you smile. Maybe for the first time all day.
That’s where I want to be.
That’s home.
15
Bobo’s
New Toy
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Bobo’s new toy
Hi Julie,
So we barely make it into the ITA hallway, after being chased by General Dickhead’s thugs, and slamming the ITA door shut (on some poor guy’s fingers – you could hear them crunch – sorry, dude).
Whew.
We all let out a little relief laugh, and Pete gives Meg a little sorry-we-just-ruined-your-life-too hug, and Bobo comes running over.
“Oh. This is the creature you told me about. He’s cute.”
Then Bobo starts humping her leg.
“Ick. He was cute.”
“Whoops. Forgot to tell you about that part. It’s his way of saying hi. He likes you.”
She shakes Bobo off. “Obviously.”
So we scratch a big “MEG” into her dimension’s door for reference, and take stock of our resources:
Chip and Pete’s (and now Meg’s) Revised List of Resources:
1. Bobo (again, not so sure a resource, but we like having him around, and he’s funny)
2. One really big plumber’s wrench
3. One Shogun (General Dickhead took our stuff)
4. One old journal
5. One cell phone
6. One cell phone charger from CVS
7. Three wallets
…plus new additions…
8. Meg (questionable resource if you ask me)
9. One INTERDIMENSIONAL NAVIGATION CONTROLLER, basically a heavy shell of rhodium with lots of unexplainable stuff on the inside and a goofy steam-punk-looking display on the outside.
10. Odds and ends: bottle opener (Coronas don’t twist off); first-aid kit (good for minor ass wounds); flashlight; safety goggles (whatever, they were a buck at the dollar store); some rope; a couple of Meg’s tools from the lab. I have no idea what they do.
11. One backpack to hold everything.
Meg looks puzzled. “What about food?”
“You don’t get hungry in here. Time doesn’t pass. Weird.”
“Right. Then we’re ready. Let’s start up the Controller and get moving.” She toggles the on/off switch.
Nothing.
Toggle. Toggle.
Nothing.
Her hands start shaking.
“Oh my dear lord. This isn’t happening.”
Pete takes it from her. Toggle, toggle, nothing, toggle, toggle, nothing, toggle, toggle, nothing. “Fuck. What now?”
“Kick it. That always works in the movies. Sometimes people even say that exact thing in the movies, about it working in other movies. Either way, it always works.”
Meg grabs the Controller back. “Is that the best you can do, Chip? Is that how you’re planning to survive all this, find Tesla, and get home? With ill-conceived strategies that rely on deus ex machina to save you?”
“Dayoos ex what?”
“Deus ex machina. ‘God from the machine.’ When you think a problem can go away by itself, by the hand of fate, without figuring it out yourself.”
“Blah, blah, whatever. Try it.”
So just to disprove me, she puts the Controller down gently on the floor, and gives it a little shove with her foot. Nothing.
“See? Now can we move on to a more productive troubleshooting strategy?”
I walk right past her and punt the controller at Bobo. It hits him in the chest and bounces into the air. He fumbles around, hands waving, and catches it just before it hits the ground.
The Controller lights up and starts humming.
Bobo’s thrilled with his new toy, and starts the Bobo dance.
I turn to Meg. “You’re welcome.”
She gives me the finger.
“Huh. I didn’t think they gave the finger in your dimension.”
“They don’t. Pete showed me how to do it.” She smiles at Pete.
“Awww, how cute.” And I give them both the finger. So now we’re all standing there giving each other the finger, and Bobo must think it’s some kind of friendship sign or something, so he puts down the Controller and tries it too. But he’s got the wrong number of fingers, like two fingers and a thumb, so it looks wrong. But he makes due, and gives us all his weird Bobo finger, and it’s hilarious, so we start laughing, and Bobo raises his hands even higher and starts his dance again. Man, sometimes I think Bobo’s the only one who’s got it all figured out, like “fuck everything - let’s dance!”
Anyway, we get the Controller working, and Meg replaces the dorky old-fashioned screen thing on top with the cool smartphone version she came up with, and she looks proud of herself.
“Not Controller. INController.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what we should call it. Short for Interdimensional Navigation Controller. And it puts you in control. Sort of. Get it? INController.”
“Great. Whatever. Do you get a fee for naming it, too?”
Meg gives me the finger again.
“Wow, you’re really getting the hang of that.”
Pete walks over and lowers her hand. “You might not want to overuse that. It’s more for special occasions. Just ignore ninety percent of what Chip says and you’ll be fine.”
I’m hurt. “Really? So that’s how it’s going to be?”
“Come on, dude. It took me like two years to get used to you in college. I have to get Meg up to speed faster. Give her a break.”
Whatever. I’ll consider it. I mean, I do talk shit constantly, so he’s got a point. And we need her. Sort of. So I hand her the journal, open to the entry with Tesla’s location, and she taps it into the INController (and I have to give her credit - it’s a kick-ass gadget name). Then she stops and looks at us.
“Wait a second.�
�
“What?”
“I just want to state the obvious, before we proceed.”
“What? What’s so obvious?”
“You now have an INController.”
“Yeah. Duh. And?”
“And you have the coordinates for your home dimension.”
“Yeah. And?”
“So if you’re trying to get home, why do you need Tesla?”
16
To Tesla,
Or Not
To Tesla
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
To Tesla, or not to Tesla
Hi Julie,
Hmmm.
We really never even thought about it. But Meg’s totally right, as usual. I think we just assumed we needed Tesla to get home, but the tools are right there in our hands.
We don’t need to risk our asses to rescue Tesla.
We can go home. NOW.
Should we?
And Julie, I’d like to say that it’s an easy decision, like “Fuck no, we’re heroes! Of course we’re going to save Tesla first!” But really, we’re just a couple of guys, tired and beat up, and desperate for a nice, long shower and a few minutes of normal. We didn’t get into this to save anybody. And Tesla got himself into this shit, didn’t he? Why should it be on us to bail him out?
“Hey Pete, whatcha thinking?”
“I don’t know, dude. I mean, I know the right thing to do, but…”
“But your whole body is telling you to press the big UNDO button and get the hell out of here?”
“Exactly. It’s hard to resist. If you asked me a week ago there wouldn’t even be a question. But now, I don’t know.”
Meg walks over to Pete, puts her hand on his arm. “I’m not saying one way or the other, it’s your choice, but know that you don’t owe Nikola Tesla anything.”
Me and Pete stare at each other for a while, we’re both waiting for the other to make the decision. I’m dreaming about you and me eating waffles in bed as the sun peeks into our bedroom window. Pete’s probably thinking about taking Meg to a nice dinner at Prego. Neither one of us is dreaming about the glory of dying to save our friend Nikola.
Fuck. This is terrible.
Home.
Tesla.
Waffles.
Guilt.
Sunrise.
Shame.
A warm shower.
An old inventor.
Someone in need.
Fuck.
I break first. “Damnit. Well, he better be overjoyed to see us.”
Pete smiles. “Good choice, dude. I guess Tesla beats waffles.”
“Hey, how the fuck did you know I was thinking about waffles?”
“Dude, I’ve known you for a long time. That’s your go-to fantasy.”
“Were you thinking about Pregos?”
He pats me on the shoulder. “No. Birthday cake.”
Meg claps her hand onto the journal. “Okay, while this is sweet, now that we’ve reached a decision, we should start right away. Chip, I assume at some point you asked Tesla about this prison he’s in?”
“No.”
“Or who’s holding him there?”
“No.”
“Or why he’s being held?”
“No.”
“Were you going to ask?”
“No.”
“May I ask why?”
“No. Whatever. Just give me back the damn book.”
So I write back to Tesla, and Julie, this is our actual conversation. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
“Nikola – who is holding you captive?”
“Astonishing! Chip, how could you possibly know that?”
“Know what?”
“Who is holding me captive!”
“It was a question, not an answer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Again – who is holding you captive?”
“Yes.”
“No, not yes. I was asking their name.”
“Who.”
“Whoever is holding you captive.”
“Not whoever, who.”
“Nikola, this isn’t the time to be correcting my grammar. Answer the question.”
“I did. Who is holding me captive.”
“Yes. The name please.”
“The name is Who.”
Ahhhh! Finally, I get it. The bad guy’s name is “Who!” I almost got stuck in an infinite Abbott and Costello loop there with Tesla.
“So let me get this straight – the guy that’s holding you prisoner is named ‘Who.’”
“I’m not sure it is even a ‘guy,’ but ‘Who’ is the best I can ascertain. When I ask him ‘Who are you?’ he simply replies ‘Who am I? WHO AM I?’ And laughs. In fact, that is the entirety of our conversations. Rather boring fellow.”
“Okay. Now what about the prison? I have the location, but what is it like?”
“It is at the end of the hallway.”
“Wait. The end? There is no end.”
“That is what I thought. But WHO – I shall use capital letters to clarify the use of his name – has somehow created an end. I now fear the worst.”
“Great. I thought we had done ‘worst.’ Several times already. What could possibly be the new worst?”
“Chip, the multiverse is composed of all the infinite possible universes. Every possibility, at every moment in time, becomes its own very real, very beautiful universe, interconnected but separate, like the fibers of a cloth. The hallway and the doors of the ITA provide a way to move from one to the other. The only way an end of the hallway could exist is…”
“…If the universes behind the doors were destroyed. If the possibilities were eliminated.”
“Correct, Chip. I hesitate to tell you how far reaching… well, let me simply say that I hope my theory is wrong. You must move very quickly now, Chip. We may not have the time I originally thought. We may be facing the end of…”
“Of…? Of what?”
“The end of the multiverse. The end of… everything.”
Woah. Mind-fuck. Did he just say everything? What the hell does that even mean? Like I’m going to die? We’re all going to die? Wait – Julie – you’re going to die?
My hands start shaking, and I can’t even write back to Tesla. Not that there’s any reason to. I already know the answer to any question I might have: if we don’t get Tesla the hell out of there soon, we’re all going to die.
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Re: To Tesla, or not to Tesla
Hi Julie,
I can’t move. Sure, I’ve had several near-death experiences already, but having Tesla spell out the end of everything for me? The end of you? Of us? I am literally petrified.
What would you say to me right now? I know. The same thing you said when I was scared to go into the haunted house that time. You’d say “Suck it up, Chip. It’s a church carnival haunted house for Pete’s sake, the whole thing fits on a flatbed, and there aren’t even any real people in there to scare you, you baby!” And you pushed me in and I was fine. (After I screamed a couple of times.)
So I swallow hard, and suck it up, and decide to keep my mouth shut. No sense freaking Pete and Meg out, too. I take a step. And another. And another. My legs are slowly unfreezing.
“Nice zombie walk, dude. You mind telling us what the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing. Nothing. It’s all good. The prison should be a piece of cake. Here are the coordinates.”
I hand Meg the journal open to the coordinates (59380918.593820e+482024.id.mt if you’re counting). She punches them in, and the INController starts doing its thing (whatever the hell that is). Then Breep! Just like a GPS, it highlights a path (no spoken directions though – maybe there’s an app for that) more or less directly to Tesla.
After a few hours (days? weeks?) of walking, the thing Breeps! again
. Stop. Enter the door on your left. So we put Bobo (our professional tester) in the doorway just in case, and Pete unlocks it. Psshhh. Bobo doesn’t get snatched, or eaten, or blown up, so we take a peek.
It’s an elevator.
“An elevator?”
“Remember our new motto, dude: ‘Shit’s crazy. Don’t ask.’”
“Wait. I thought it was ‘Find Tesla. Go Home.’”
