by Rob Dircks
But I’m not here for the warm fuzzies. “Okay. Introductions, check. Now let’s get the hell out of here.” I tie the rope around the three of us. Nice and tight.
And the other end of the rope goes slack.
I pull frantically at it, waiting to feel some tension. Nothing. Shit. Pull, pull, pull, I’m coiling it at my feet as fast as I can. I get to the end.
The rope’s been cut.
I look up.
It’s WHO.
20
Who’s
Calling
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Who’s calling
Dearest darling Julie,
No, I’m afraid it’s not Chip this time. It’s WHO. Actually, I do have a name, but it wouldn’t make any sense to you.
After I neutralized Chip, during his pathetic attempt at rescuing the equally pathetic Nikola Tesla, I claimed his belongings, including this mobile phone. I’ve read his emails to you, and let me tell you, it’s quite sweet. The boy really is in love with you. But he’s a dunce, really.
Well, not completely. Chip was smart enough, along with Tesla, to piece together a fair picture of my plan. And since you’ll never read this correspondence anyway, let me share the rest. For fun.
I have learned that possibility is not a given. Possibilities, and the infinite universes they spawn, can be eliminated. I won’t go into the details of how – I’m afraid your feeble mind cannot comprehend such things – but let me provide this example: I could, at a whim, eliminate the possibility of you marrying this imbecile Chip. Gone. The possible universe where you marry him and live happily ever after, could be gone in an instant. (You would thank me for that one later, I believe.)
But why am I doing all this, you ask?
It’s simple. Once all possibilities are eliminated, once there is only one outcome to all events, the multiverse will be gone, and only one universe will remain – the one whose outcomes I HAVE CHOSEN. I will, in a short time, rule that last single universe with the power of a god. Is it too grand to believe myself a god? Ask the beings in the universes I’ve already collapsed. (Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t. They no longer exist.)
But don’t worry, dear Julie, I’ll take care of your Chip. You may even meet him one last time. Because, you see, I’m saving your universe for last.
Now, how do you type a lingering, evil laugh on a phone?
Love always,
WHO
Part Three
Saving the Multiverse
21
Bee’s Knees
From: Margaret Thatcher
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 16, 2015 3:27pm
Subject: Chip
Julie,
Pete here. Using Meg’s phone. Long story. Chip made me promise to write you emails if anything happened to him. I hate writing.
But something happened.
We sent him into the prison to rescue Nikola Tesla. Now they’re both trapped there. I have our copy of the journal, but neither of them is writing back.
I’m sorry, Julie. I think Chip is dead.
- Pete
Dear Julie,
If you get a note from Pete, delete it. I’m fine.
I mean, I’m not fine, but I’m still alive. I’m writing to you on a scrap of paper I found in my pocket because WHO (that GIANT DOUCHE) took my cell phone, and Tesla’s journal, and all our shit. So now we have no way to communicate with Pete. And no way out. So yeah, we’re all screwed – REALLY screwed, every last one of us including you, if WHO keeps doing what he’s doing.
But I’m not dead yet. I’ve officially decided to start looking at the bright side:
A) I’m not dead. Yet.
B) My friends aren’t dead. Yet.
C) I got to meet Nikola Tesla. (Also not dead yet.)
D) He’s really cool. I mean, old as the hills, but cool.
And I think it was cool for him to meet me too – I mean, who wouldn’t want to meet me, right? – but after the initial tail wagging and high fives, I notice he looks like his best friend died.
“Hey Nikola, you okay? Come on, cheer up. We’re gonna get you out of here.”
“Chip, meeting you has reminded me. I cannot help but feel that I’m responsible for your dire situation. And not only for you and your friends, but for this danger to the entire multiverse. The INTERDIMENSIONAL TRANSFER APPARATUS and the INTERDIMENSIONAL NAVIGATION CONTROLLER, and who knows what other of my inventions, are being used for evil. This is all because of my inventions.”
“So… why’d you invent them?”
“You have an interesting way of trying to cheer me up, Chip.”
“Wait. No. That came out wrong. You invented amazing things to be used for good, right? That’s why you invented them. And just in this one case, some freak dipshit decides to use it for bad. Really bad. End-of-everything bad. So we’re totally fucked, yeah. Probably as good as dead. But you shouldn’t feel bad about it.”
“Perhaps we should stop talking for a while.”
“No. Listen, it’s like a knife. If we didn’t have knives, we couldn’t hunt for dinner, clear the way through the forest, cut down tree branches for shelter. Basically, we couldn’t have even survived. And then suddenly some asshole stabs somebody. Should the guy who invented the knife feel responsible?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Well?”
“Hmm. You have a point. I shall ponder that a while. You know, Chip, you are one smart fellow.”
“Wow. Nobody ever said that before.”
“I can see why.”
“Ouch. You have an interesting way of cheering me up.”
“I’m sorry. No. I meant that there’s much more to you than meets the eye. That’s a good thing.”
“Cool. So, what – like a chemist smart, or engineer smart, or political leader smart, or philosopher smart?”
Tesla thinks for a second. “Let’s just leave it at smart.”
So after a while (days? a year?) it’s clear that having me around is getting Tesla back to an optimistic place. WHO’s off somewhere being a dick, so whether we like it or not we have time to get to know each other (Bobo’s here, but he’s doing his perfectly-motionless thing). And here’s what I learn about life from him:
If Nikola Tesla was Writing a Self-Help Book, These are the Six Things You Would Learn:
1. Don’t Hesitate. If you’re ever stuck, wondering whether you should stick your neck out and take that new job, or tell that girl exactly how you feel about her, or try that weird-looking indian food, Tesla would tell you to go for it. Shit, he invented an INTERDIMENSIONAL TRANSFER APPARATUS (all caps, of course) and walked (watch your head on the door) into other dimensions! At eighty-six! Balls.
2. Hesitate. Okay, totally contradicts Thing You Would Learn #1, but not the way Tesla tells it. He’d say that before you even get to a moment of decision, you should already know your options (so when the time comes, you don’t hesitate - get it?). For example, jump on that new job, but you should already know how you can compensate the lower salary to make rent. Or go to town on that indian food, but you should already have TUMS and Mylanta in your medicine cabinet. And probably a toilet brush.
3. Don’t waste time. Tesla never owned a TV, and he definitely didn’t have Facebook. (He laughed when I told him about it. “Ha! Hogwash!”) He’s always just had goals, and marches toward them, no matter what. No distractions. (Not even a girlfriend. Really? Good for him – me, I like me the babes. Uh, you, I mean, not other babes. Other babes gross me out. You’re the only true babe.)
4. Live in a hotel. Okay, I’m kidding with this one, but it’s strangely cool, right? He actually lived a simple life in the New Yorker Hotel with his pigeons. Me? I’d live in the Waldorf Astoria. And I’d have a team of butlers and chefs and masseuses and shit. (Hey, if I’m going to fantasize, I’m going all the way. You know what? Add a personal pilot that picks me up from my
rooftop helipad to take me to my polo club in the Hamptons. “To the club, Jeeves! And step on it, my good man!”)
5. Light the world. Life is too short to screw things up for other people. So use your gifts, take them to the absolute max, and BUILD something that spreads some light. Whatever you can. Even if the most you do is build a relationship with the girl you love. That’s lighting the world. Or help that old lady across the street. Or call your dad even if it’s the last thing you want to do. Or, in the case of Tesla, invent alternating current, and the radio, radar, x-rays, hydro-electric power, and the ITA. And if you invent the knife so people can eat, and some schmuck uses it to stab somebody, it’s not your fault. (I added that last part.)
6. Avoid being abducted by an evil being who’s bent on destroying the multiverse. Self-explanatory.
“Chip, what are you writing?”
“I’m writing to Julie. Telling her all the cool stuff about you.”
“Cool. I assume that doesn’t mean cold.”
“No. Cool is good. Awesome. What word did they use for that back in the day?”
“You mean slang? Let’s see. Perhaps berries. Or nifty. Or jake.”
“Okay, cool. I’m writing all the stuff about you that’s simply berries.”
Tesla grins. “You’re fairly jake yourself, my young adventurer. And this Julie? She sounds like the cat’s pajamas.”
“Cat’s pajamas, huh? Yeah. She is. Hey, what’s slang for she’s beautiful?”
“She’s keen.”
“Smart?”
“She knows her onions.”
“Wonderful?”
“She’s the bee’s knees.”
But before I can catch up on any more old-timey slang to describe you, I hear a sound.
“BEEZNEEZ.”
What the hell was that? Huh. Must have been my imagination. This place is starting (starting? ha!) to get to me.
“BEEZNEEZ.”
Wait. No. I definitely heard it. Both of us did.
“Chip, I thought you said Bobo doesn’t speak.”
“He doesn’t.”
“BEEZNEEZ.”
Holy shit.
Bobo’s talking!
“Bobo! Buddy! You’ve been holding out on me!” I skootch over, and put Bobo right between me and Tesla. “So, you little sneak, what else can you say?”
“BEEZNEEZ.”
“Come on. You can do better than that. How about Hello?”
“BEEZNEEZ.”
“Greetings, earthlings?”
“BEEZNEEZ.”
After about fifteen minutes of this, I’m like “Okay, shut the fuck up, Bobo. Bee’s knees, I get it. This isn’t fun anymore.”
“BEEZNEEZ.”
Oh God. Somebody please shut Bobo up or I’m going to kill him myself.
From: Margaret Thatcher
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 16, 2015 3:27pm
Subject: Re: Chip
Julie,
It’s Pete again. There’s been a development.
Bobo Two is making sounds. Like a french person saying “business.” “Beezneez.” But that doesn’t make any sense.
I’ll keep you posted. Not that you’re going to see this, but I promised Chip. Wait - why did I promise Chip? He talks me into the stupidist shit. If he lives through this, I’m going to kick his ass.
- Pete
P.S. Meg (the girl who’s phone I’m using) is great. I’m thinking long term with her. In other words, I won’t be taking her camping with you guys any time soon.
Dear Julie,
I think me and Tesla figured something out. I don’t know if it’ll help us escape and find Pete and Meg, but it’s something.
To review:
• As I (gallantly) attempt to rescue Tesla, WHO cuts the rope. He laughs at me. “You think a simple rope would have worked? Who do you think built this prison, a five-year-old?” I give him the finger. He looks at it blankly.
• Then WHO proceeds to kick my ass (don’t worry, I’ve had much worse from Pete).
• Then WHO takes all our stuff, including Tesla’s copy of the journal. (Btw, originally, he only took Tesla’s INController. He let Tesla keep the journal. Maybe to see if he would come up with more cool inventions and shit, I don’t know. I guess he didn’t realize Tesla was using it to communicate with us. According to Tesla, he just looked through it at first, and ripped out a few pages in the middle. Maybe he ran out of toilet paper. Whatever.) Anyway, now he took the whole thing. Dick.
• Then I catch WHO reading my cell phone emails, and he’s laughing. LAUGHING! Motherfucker. Those are my personal heartfelt emails to you, and this total dickhead motherfucker is mocking me. Yeah, well you’ll get yours, WHO (or Emperor Penisface, or whatever your real name is). Then he leaves. Good. I hate him.
• With nothing to do and no way to communicate with Pete, we just sit around talking over our options and getting to know each other. Good times.
• Then Bobo starts talking.
Well, not talking, but repeating the same (super fucking annoying) phrase over and over. Bee’s knees. What is it about those words? Could he have picked a less annoying phrase to say? Like ‘Chip, do you mind if I tell you again how awesome you are?’
“Nikola. Come on. You can figure this out. Can he talk or can’t he? And does this even help us?”
“Hmmm. I believe it may help. I’ve been thinking about the two Bobos. How their special connection may, in fact, be quite useful to our escape. And we will need to communicate with Pete to ensure success. So any spoken words are a good beginning – even if it’s only ‘Bee’s knees’.”
“BEEZNEEZ.”
“Shhhh! Nikola! God, you want him to start all over again?”
“I was thinking perhaps if I recite a long passage, he’ll repeat something I say, and that will give us more clues.”
“Okay. But don’t make it something annoying.”
“Right. A-HEM. When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve…”
Okay, first of all, how the hell does Tesla know the entire Declaration of Independence by heart? And second, do you have any idea how long it takes to say it out loud? Man, the founding fathers were a bunch of windbags. Anyway, he finally gets done, and… nothing. Bobo’s just sitting there, patting his belly and repeating my new favorite phrase.
“BEEZNEEZ. BEEZNEEZ. BEEZNEEZ.”
“You know what, Nikola? I don’t know why we’re wasting our time. This isn’t going to help. We’re stuck. Fuck.”
“STUCKFUCK.”
Huh?
“STUCKFUCK.”
Bobo’s tugging at my shirt sleeve, blabbering away. “Okay, it’s official. Bobo is doing this just to piss me off. And it’s working.”
“Wait a moment. I think you may have unlocked something here.”
“Really? The fact that Bobo’s brain is broken? Great.”
“Patience, Chip. Let me try something. Bobo, Take Lake.”
“TAKELAKE. TAKELAKE. TAKELAKE.”
“Bravo, Chip! That’s it!”
“What?”
“Rhymes! Bobo can speak in rhyme!”
“Wonderful. Bobo’s a poet, and he didn’t even know it. So?”
“So my idea becomes more plausible: if we can use Bobo and his identical counterpart as a conduit to communicate with Pete and Meg, the odds of our escape increase dramatically.”
“Hold on. If Bobo can talk in rhyme, how come he can’t even say his own name?”
The Three Rules of Bobo Speak
After an hour of testing on Bobo (trust me, I got him to say as many curses as possible, I was surprised how many words rhyme with fuck), it turns out there are specific strange conditions to getting Bobo to say something:
1. It has to be different words that rhyme. So “Take Lake” is okay, but “Bo Bo” isn’t. Poor guy can’t even say his own name (which I made up, so it’s not really his name, so he probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass).
/> 2. It has to be two words together without any words between. So “fuck a duck” won’t work. It has to be “fuck duck.” Three words like “Fuck duck schmuck” will work too. Nice touch.
3. Each word has to be one syllable. So we can’t use “Petesaveusrightnow Shmeetesaveusrightnow.” Damn.
And I know you’re thinking this is bat-shit crazy, but Tesla explains that there’s actually a real condition called Spasmodic Dysphonia (he wouldn’t shit me, right?) that limits a person’s speech to rhymes, or a foreign accent, or individual words, or no speech at all. So Bobo’s exposure to the ITA might have caused a similar condition. I know, super-interesting, right? You know what? When I get home I’ll write a research paper called “Spasmodic Dysphonia in Unidentified Interdimensional Creatures,” and we can both read it while we drink too many vodka and tonics and rub each other’s feet, and laugh our asses off at how ridiculous this whole thing was. Actually, scratch the first part about writing the paper – let’s go directly to feet rubbing and vodka and tonic drinking and laughing our asses off. Put it on your calendar.
