by Rob Dircks
“WHAT? No.”
“I’m going. I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s only a few minutes.”
“That could’ve been a week, dude. You know how it is in here. Get out of that elevator and let’s go.”
Julie, I don’t know what I’m thinking, but I grab the INController out of Pete’s hands, shut the elevator door, slam the INController into place and hit the “back” button on the smartphone interface.
I’m now alone, zig-zagging across the damn multiverse, almost throwing up, I’ve left Pete and Meg, the two smart ones, behind, and I’m probably going to step through that door and have to sacrifice myself all over again just because I thought I heard a knock on a door.
I am a total idiot.
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Re: I finally went to church (sort of)
Hi Julie,
The elevator comes to a stop. And as soon as the door opens partway, a hand grabs my arm.
CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK!!!
Yup, that’s it. I’m dead. I am going to be beheaded because I came through the doorway. Damn. And I’ve been pretty good at decision-making lately. Oh well. At least me and Bobo can be next door neighbors in their mausoleum.
But the hand isn’t leading me to the circular table, it’s pulling me quickly around it to the back room, right to the wall of drawers. It’s Orange Dude. He points to Bobo’s drawer. All the other orange dudes have surrounded it and are standing there, frozen.
Clack! Cuk! Cuk!
The drawer is moving a little bit.
“What are you waiting for, schmucks? Open up the damn drawer!”
They don’t move, so I lunge at the drawer and throw it open.
The little mummy shape is definitely moving. Ewww.
But not like waving its hands or anything. More like morphing. It’s like undulating under the surface. And growing. It’s sort of disgusting, really disgusting, to watch. I’m afraid Bobo’s poor body is not going down quietly. It’s going to explode all over us or something, like BOK brains.
We all back up a few steps.
Whatever’s going on under those bandages is stretching them to the breaking point. Stretching, stretching. Man, it’s going to go any second. What the hell am I doing here?
SSSSKKKRRRAAAALLLLCCCHHH!
(That’s the closest I can get to typing the sound is makes when the bandages burst and dissolve into a million pieces.)
Holy shit.
It’s Bobo.
And there are two of him.
He’s back!
From the dead! And there’s two of him! Identical Bobos! I am so freaked out by how weird this is, but even happier to see him/them, so I run up to one of them, get really close to his eyes, look deep into them. I’m like “hello in there, dude! Got anything to say, buddy?”
Blink. Blink.
“Really? Nothing?”
Blink. Blink.
Oh well. I guess I was going crazy when I thought he was talking to me on the chopping block. But man am I thrilled! I give them both a big hug, and they start doing a little jig, perfectly together, like mirror images. More weird. But who cares? He’s/They’re ALIVE!!!
And then the orange dudes, after getting over their initial shock, fall to the ground and start waving their bodies up and down in prayer, toward the two Bobos. And it hits me:
Bobo is their messiah.
He rose from the dead.
How cool is that? Bobo’s a GOD! So I’m like “hey Bobo, maybe you should do some god-like stuff, give them a message of love and peace or some shit. Go ahead.”
Blink. Blink. (Times two.)
And then they give the orange dudes the Bobo finger.
Hmmm. Probably not what these guys were expecting. They’re looking for love and harmony and guidance and you guys give them the finger. But to you it’s a friendship sign, right? So maybe it’ll be the friendly greeting of all orange dudes for the next thousand millennia. Nice. I approve.
“Okay, guys. So you going to stick around and be gods – which is totally cool, I wouldn’t blame you – or are you coming with me and Pete?”
They definitely understand the word Pete, because they both jump into my arms, so now I look like that guy who won two big stuffed animals at the carnival. Okay, I guess it’s be gods later, save Tesla now. So while they orange dudes are still in their praying ecstasy, we mosey on over to the elevator.
We get in, and right before the elevator door shuts, as the orange dudes raise their ecstatic faces to the Bobos for some divine guidance or something, there’s a word. Like the two Bobos are saying it together, but not in spoken words, more like in a little combined thought bubble over their heads. Just one word:
PEACE.
18
Shit Just
Got (Even
More) Real
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Shit just got (even more) real
Hi Julie,
Ding!
The door opens, and Pete’s right there in front of me.
And he punches me in the face.
Ouch. That’s the second time. I go down.
“What the hell were you thinking, dude? This isn’t the Chip-Does-Whatever-The-Fuck-He-Wants Show!! That kind of stupid shit could get us all killed! AND you lost my fucking Derek Jeter baseball. It was signed, man. So what do you have to say for yourse-“
And the two Bobos rush out and start humping his legs. Pete releases his fists and laughs, and starts petting them.
“What the fuck?”
“He died. And he came back! Weird. He’s their messiah, dude, it’s hilarious.”
Pete points to Bobo Two. “Where’d the other one come from?”
“Yeah, that’s the weird part. They both came out of the same mummy bandages.”
Meg laughs. “Asexual reproduction.”
“Uh, come again?”
“Asexual reproduction. It has to be. In this case, of the fragmentation type – like a starfish. See, when you cut a starfish in half, each half grows back into a whole, and the result is two complete starfish. So he didn’t actually die. He probably went into a state of shock when he was beheaded, and then after the shock wore off, began regenerating his tissue. Fascinating.”
“Whatever. Thanks for the explanation, Spock.”
“Who’s Spock?”
“Never mind. Hey, you want your leg humped? There’s enough Bobos to go around.”
“No, thank you. I’ll enjoy it from a distance.”
Pete’s right back to business. “Okay, gang’s back together. Plus one extra Bobo. Hooray. Now here are the new rules:”
“Pete’s New Rules:
1. Nobody leaves the group. Chip did it because he’s an idiot, but he brought the Bobos back, so he’s forgiven. But not again. We need to stick together if we’re going to get Tesla.
2. I’ll handle the INController. If you try to take it, I will cut your hand off.
3. Speaking of cutting hands off, nobody cut anything off Bobo. We already have two of him, and even though we like him, we don’t need any more Bobos.
4. And the most important rule is…”
A rumble rocks the hallway.
“What? What’s the most important rule?”
“Shhhh! Shut the fuck up!”
“Is that the rule, or are you just telling me to shut the fuck up?”
“Right now it’s the new most important rule! Shut the fuck up and listen!”
So we listen. Nothing.
Then another rumble.
Then searing pain. We all fall to the floor, doing whatever we can do to squirm away from it. It’s like somebody’s ripping out a slice of you, right from the good, juicy, middle part. Julie, I’m sorry to say this, but the only thought I’m having is: kill me and end this. That’s how bad it is.
And then it’s over. Just like that. No after e
ffects at all. Gone. Like, did it even really happen?
“Nikola – what the hell was that?”
“Dear Chip,
You are close enough to me now where you can feel the results of a universe collapse. My theory was correct. WHO has indeed learned how to reduce the number of possibilities in the multiverse. They are no longer infinite. And he is using the ITA to collapse universes one-by-one. What you felt was one of your very own possibilities being erased. I felt it too, as I have several before. They are quickening.
I do not know WHO’s ultimate goal. But he must be stopped. It is no longer important simply to retrieve me. We must stop WHO.”
Great. My to-do list just got longer:
Chip’s To-Do List:
1. Rescue Tesla.
••• NEW: 1b – Stop WHO and Save the Multiverse. •••
2. Shoot back to dimension #234,698,594,394,683
3. Heat up that lasagna.
4. Get married (to you, schnookums).
5. Live happily ever after.
Save the multiverse. I mean, if I wasn’t in such a rush to get back, and to start living our best years together, it might even sound cool to do that. “Save the multiverse.” But I don’t want to be a hero. It was a nice place to visit. But I’ve already had enough adventures for infinite lifetimes. I’m not looking forward to it. You know the part I look forward to every day?
This.
Writing these emails to you. I don’t need super powers or magical swords. I just like connecting with you, even if it’s an imaginary connection, for a little while every day. I feel like I keep taking little steps closer to you, even if you can’t write back. And it’s not the desperate writing of a madman, these emails, not just something to keep me sane. It’s me, holding the little fire of something we might have together, protecting that little ball of fire, carrying it, feeding it twigs, growing it a little each day, making sure it’s got enough air.
And now, I’ve got to do something actually important, for the first time in my life. Something important for all of us. But the only thing I really want to do is keep that fire going, keep Chip and Julie alive in my dreams. Is that selfish?
19
Why Did I
Think Tesla
Would Still
Look Forty?
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Why did I think Tesla would still look forty?
Hi Julie,
We’re really close now. Have we been traveling the ITA for weeks? Months? Years? It’s impossible to tell. I tried counting my emails to you, three a day maybe? One a week? Phooey. We’ve taken a few shortcuts, had some more near-death experiences (no surprise. Btw, I’m going to write a book about this at some point when I get back.) But we’re feeling the rumbles and the pain more frequently now, and the INController is tracking our path.
We’re here.
There. Up ahead. Something.
“Hmm. What do you make of it, dude?”
“Are you serious?”
He’s right. How do you make anything of what we’re seeing? It looks like the hallway, but also the opposite of the hallway. Whatever that is. Like the hallway takes a bunch of turns in all directions, but they all end in the same place, right where we’re looking. Trust me, it’s freaky.
Tesla has told us WHO isn’t around. He comes and goes, collapsing a universe here, collapsing a universe there, and I guess taking a cigarette break in between, maybe going down to the Bahamas for a breather. We still don’t know shit about him, and that scares the hell out of all of us, including Tesla. Who is he? Why is he doing this? Does he realize what an asshole name WHO is?
We get closer to the beginning of the area we’re calling the prison. It definitely has that look like if you touch it it’ll disappear. Same hallway, we can walk down it, but a little more like walking into a bouncy castle. Just a little. And hard to focus on.
“Breep! You have arrived at your destination. The door is to your right.” (Meg’s been tweaking the INController, so now we’ve got spoken turn-by-turn directions. She rocks.)
We turn to the door and review our plan:
The Plan:
Step 1. I tie our rope around my waist, a la Poltergeist, and enter the doorway.
Step 2. Pete holds on tight and never lets go, or I’m going to be lost forever, and really pissed at him.
Step 3. I find Tesla through one of the doors on the other side. Wow that sounds so easy. I like this step.
Step 4. Pete pulls us out. We run like hell.
Step 5. Figure out how to stop WHO (admittedly, our least planned-out step)
Now, all of this assumes that WHO doesn’t stroll by right in the middle of our plan and go “hey, who the fuck are you?”, and Pete can pull us both out, and that it’s not a trap or anything.
So we get all set, and I’m about to step into the doorway. “Dude. You never told me. What was the most important rule?“
He grins. “It was ‘Don’t Ask Questions.’ So shut up and get the hell in there.”
I go to step in, and Bobo (not sure which one) jumps on me.
“C’mon, Bobo. This isn’t the time for dicking around.”
He holds on to me a little tighter. He’s not letting go. Meg’s lightbulb pops on again. “You know, Chip, Bobo might have an idea. If somehow he shares his brain activity with Bobo Two – as evidenced by the fact that they have perfectly synchronized movement – that may be an asset in navigating through the prison and back out. Pete, what do you think?”
“I think it’s another thirty pounds.”
Pete tries to pry Bobo off, but he’s locked on to me pretty tight at this point. So instead, Pete unceremoniously pushes us both through the doorway. “Whatever.”
So I’m expecting to fall through some Twilight Zone door, spiraling for a few minutes through space while the credits roll, screaming the whole time:
AAAAAAAAGGGHGGHGHGHGH
AAAAAAAAGGGHGGHGHGHGH
AAAAAAAAGGGHGGHGHGHGH
AAAAAAAAGGGHGGHGHGHGH
AAAAAAAAGGGHGGHGHGHGH
AAAAAAAAGGGHGGHGHGHGH!!!
But instead, it’s literally like walking through a doorway. It takes three milliseconds. So my scream is like:
AA-
That’s it? Wow, that wasn’t so bad.
I tug on the rope. Pete tugs back. Check.
I look into Bobo’s eyes. Blink. Blink. Check.
Okay, now where the hell is Tesla? I start walking the hallway, turning corners, retracing my steps, taking a different hallway, (I won’t bore you with the details but it was basically an hour or so of this) and…
Bump.
I bump into Nikola Tesla.
We did it.
We found Tesla!
I tug on the rope three times to let Pete know. (I came up with that code – pretty fancy, right?) Pete tugs back three times. We’re already at Step 3 of our plan. Cool. And then I really get a good look at Tesla for the first time.
I’ll admit, after all this, I expected the heavens to open up and a choir of angels to shout “You’ve arrived!”, and rainbows and unicorns and shit would be popping out, and Tesla would be in long flowing robes made out of rhodium, and he’d say something like “Chip, you have earned the status of Highest Order of the Heroes! Welcome!”
But none of that shit happens.
Tesla’s just standing there in his gray suit from the forties (it’s a nice suit, it probably cost a year’s salary back then, but still it’s no robe made out of rhodium). And man, is he OOOOOLLLLLLDDDDD. Like any pictures I saw of him were from his handsome forties, I guess. I keep forgetting he walked into the ITA when he was 86. But the good news is he’s like a tall, regal old, like my sinewy old grandpa who was 6’3” and used to jump into frozen lakes in January. And his eyes are full of energy, like mini-little Tesla coils going on in those eyes.
He looks at me, and smiles. Then he bends down a little, tousles
my hair, and takes my face in his hands. “Am I glad to see you, Chip.”
He turns to Bobo. “Well, well. And who do we have here?”
“His name is Bobo.”
Tesla bends down even closer, looking into Bobo’s eyes. “Hmmm. Seems to be a lot going on in there, eh Bobo?”
Bobo reaches up and honks Tesla’s nose with his little alien hand, and we both laugh.
