Universe Between

by Dean Wesley Smith

  “We need to call someone from Nexus to come get us,” Sydney said.

  “How we going to do that, genius?” her brother asked, now starting to stare through the trees. “Our cell phones were in our sweatshirts.”

  “It’s called a pay phone,” she said. “There’s one right over there— Hey! Where are you going?”

  “Look, it’s our van!” her brother said, pointing to the parking lot. “I’m going to get it!”

  “That’s not! …our… van…” But it was no use, her brother was already halfway into the parking lot before he discovered what she already knew. And he discovered something far worse: The people who were in the van.

  “Jesus Christ, Lord almighty!” The driver yelled. “It’s a snake man. Sent straight from the pages of the Lord’s book! We must retrieve him!”

  To Sidney’s credit, he was already turned around and running back to the trees before the driver finished his last sentence. But it was too late, as nearly a dozen men and women piled out of the van, each of them following her brother’s path. Sydney realized they were in serious trouble. Finally back at her side, her brother didn’t have much to say as he tried to catch his breath: “Oops.”

  “Seriously, you didn’t see the word ‘Church’ on the side?”

  “Yeah, probably should have noticed that,” he said. “But how many white panel vans could there possibly be out at this time of the morning?”

  “Only the ones with child molesters and, apparently, religious zealots,” she said, trying to keep her brother from feeling too bad. She knew he was just trying to help.

  “Well, look at the bright side: When our grandpa was being chased by people clad in white, it usually meant he’d wandered into a Klan rally,” he said. “This is definitely better.”

  “If you say so,” she said. “Though I’m beginning to wonder if they don’t number about the same as the Klan. Look…”

  Gazing back into the parking lot, she could see that their original pursuers had turned back to their van to greet at least 50 more members piling out of other vans. The hunt was on, and the siblings were the prey.

  Before she could even begin to panic, however, her brother grabbed her arm and began pushing her towards the exit of the rest stop.

  “Why are we getting closer to the road?” she asked.

  “Because there’s a bayou about 100 feet behind us, and when that bunch of people gets in here, they’re going to run us down in no time,” he said. “We need to get to the road and hope like hell we can get out of here.”

  “What, we’re just going to hitch a ride?”

  “No… Boy, you know we’re in trouble when I have to do all the thinking,” he said. “No, we’re going to wait behind those bushes until we see an opportunity.”

  “Opportunity? For what? The Humane Society to come by and pick us up?”

  “No, an empty truck bed, a flatbed trailer with a tarp, someone stupid enough to leave their keys in the car…”

  “Sidney! Are you honestly suggesting we steal a car?”

  “Are you honestly suggesting we end up stuffed on some idiot’s mantle?” Sidney asked her with very little humor in his voice. “Now let’s go.”

  Making their way to the bushes, they managed to cross the parking lot sight unseen. It seemed all the church members were now looking for them in the woods. They’d bought themselves a little bit of time, enough even to start talking about assless chaps. Despite it all, she found herself wondering what would be more embarrassing: wearing said chaps or having their heads mounted on someone’s mantle. She didn’t have to think about it long.

  “I found him! Pastor Duke, I found him—and another one! Sweet Lord of mercy, there’s two!”

  Whirling around, the siblings were horrified to find they’d been so busy looking for an escape vehicle, they hadn’t noticed one of the church members coming up from behind. They had to go—now.

  Bursting through the bushes they began running for the rest stop exit. Not even sure if that made sense, they just knew they were getting further from the church group. Slowing periodically to look over their shoulders, the siblings knew that even though they were younger and faster, there were still more than sixty church members, never mind trying to escape a van.

  “Oh God, bro,” Sydney said to her brother. “Make me that promise about the assless chaps, to—”

  “Excuse me!”

  “Huh?”

  “Excuse me!” said a voice from an SUV now magically to their right. “Let me assist you!”

  Driving slowly enough to match their running speed, the driver looked only slightly less crazy than they did. Wearing a beehive wig and blue feathers atop his head from his lips up, he looked like a combination of a bald eagle and Marge Simpson.

  “Come! To my vehicle!”

  Glancing at her brother, Sydney knew this would be their only option before the church members caught up to them. She nodded her head to the driver and let him stop.

  Climbing in the backseat along with Sidney, she was panting as he tried to reassure her: “Hey, sis, it’s not like it can get any worse, can it?”

  “Welcome aboard the BiMobile!” said the man, whom Sydney now saw also wore a red spandex body suit, a stuffed woman’s one-piece Speedo—in the chest and in the crotch—and a plastic cape that looked like it had been rejected by Goodwill. “I’m BiCentennial, and we’re on our way to ComicCon, too!”

  Sidney rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

  ***

  Born on July 4, 1976, Reginald Peters was an ordinary man leading an ordinary life, until one day he was struck by a flying Clover Grill hamburger during the Bourbon Streets Award Show. Thrown by an amateur drag queen whose day job was pitcher for a minor league baseball team, Reginald was knocked to the ground unconscious. When he awoke he found he had become “BiCentennial,” with all the physical and spiritual endowments of both man and woman. Vowing to use his powers to fight for truth, justice, genderless bathrooms and the American way, BiCentennial now patrols the streets of New Orleans, making them safe for humans and pets of any sexual identity.

  BiCentennial: The Power of a Woman. The Soul of a Man. The Reproductive Organs of Us All.”

  ***

  “La Lucha Libertad! Did you give them the card? Did you give them the card?”

  Sydney watched the conversation from the backseat. She was particularly drawn to the girl in the passenger seat, who was giving Sydney probing looks through her Mexican wrestling-style mask. A combination of Mexican wrestler and the Statue of Liberty, her head was as colorful as her father’s. Sydney was grateful when his command finally broke the girl’s stare.

  The girl, rolling her eyes, sighed wearily and said, “Yes, Dad. I gave them the card…”

  “Honey, remember,” the driver said, not as softly as he wanted to believe, “I’m BiCentennial, and you are my trusted sidekick, ‘La Lucha Libertad.’”

  “Yes, Da— Yes, BiCentennial…”

  Sydney realized that even as dysfunctional as her relationship with her parent was, it was nothing compared to this. As awkward silence filled the SUV, Sydney finally felt compelled to speak.

  “Thanks for picking us up,” Sydney said, trying to ignore the daughter’s probing looks through her mask at Sydney and her brother. “I’m not sure we’d have ever gotten away from those people.”

  “I’m not sure you have,” said BiCentennial. “They appear to be following us!”

  “What?” Both Sydney and her brother whipped around in their seats to see that he was right. “What is their deal? God, are we screwed.”

  “Fear not, young snake maiden! I protect all, mammal or otherwise,” he said. “We’ll just use the secret underground entrance to the convention.”

  “Secret? Underground?” Sydney asked, fearing the answer.

  “He means the parking garage underneath the convention center. He has an annual pass,” BiCentennial’s daughter said, glancing at her father’s mouth beginning to open. “Yeah, yeah, I know
, it’s a security matrix passkey…”

  “Great… I guess…” said Sydney, seeing two of the vans starting to move into the lane next to them. “But how do we keep them from cutting us off before we even get there?”

  “Simple. I will engage my most important superpower!”

  “And what would that—”

  “I know all the streets that go both ways! And all the ones that don’t…” And true to his word, and much to both siblings’ surprise, the driver suddenly turned left onto a one-way street, losing all but one of the vans.

  And soon that van, too, was gone, held up at the entrance to the parking garage, full to all but annual pass holders.

  “Come!” he said. “Let us go inside.”

  “How are we getting in?” Sydney asked, her wariness beginning to dissipate somewhat. “We don’t have tickets.”

  “With costumes like those, you won’t need them,” he said. “I assume you’re part of the hybrid Human/Gorn species from the new Star Trek online game?”

  “Uh, yeah, let’s go with that…”

  ***

  Neither of the siblings had ever seen anything like a ComicCon. Held in the Great Hall of the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center, it was literally wall-to-wall—and in one place to the ceiling—with hundreds of vendors of every piece of pop culture that anyone could imagine. Star Wars and Star Trek, Marvel and DC, Doctor Who and Doctor Strangelove, everyone and everything all mingling together in the most bizarre combination Sydney had ever seen. Not that she’d paid much attention in her life, but she suspected she might never again see a female vampire wearing little more than a postage stamp emerge from an inflatable Tardis. And she was sure she’d never see a sweaty and portly Ewok meekly following her out.

  More than anything, however, she’d never seen such an array of costumes in her life. Every fifth person seemed to be wearing one, some thrown together, others the obvious result of hundreds of hours and probably even more dollars. It reminded her of Nexus, only everybody here was fake, and clearly without any inhibitions whatsoever about showing it off in public. No wonder BiCentennial thought Sydney and her brother belonged here: They did.

  “Come Snakeman! Let us go meet your fans!” BiCentennial said to Sidney. “Your sister can follow later, after La Luche Libertad familiarizes her with the terrain! La Luche! You are my eyes and ears! Protect her well!”

  And with that, BiCentennial and Sidney were gone.

  Standing in silence, both Sydney and BiCentennial’s daughter stood there staring at each other. Finally, Sydney broke the silence. “Hi, I’m Sydney Latour. Is he always like that?”

  “You have no idea…”

  Before they could continue, however, Sydney noticed a line beginning to form in front of them. Curious what they were waiting for, it was La Luche who finally spoke: “They want a picture with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they think you have the coolest costume they’ve ever seen,” she said. “You might want to get used to it.”

  And she was right. For the next hour Sydney could barely walk a step as one person after another wanted a picture with her. Exhausted, she honestly just wanted a place to sit down. Almost by magic, the line seemed to go away.

  “Where’d they all go?” Sydney asked.

  “You were slumping your shoulders,” La Luche said. “They could kind of tell you needed a break. People around here try to be pretty cool about that, especially since you’re not even charging for a photo. You could, you know.”

  “Right now I’d pay for a place just to sit down,” Sydney said. “It’s been kind of a long day.”

  “Come on, I know a place to hide,” La Luche said. “I do it all the time.”

  “You sure your dad won’t get worried?” Sydney asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.

  “I’m my dad’s ‘trusty sidekick,’” La Luche said, not even attempting to hide her bitterness. “He never worries about me here. Besides, we’re supposed to be finding a way for you and your brother to get out of here and avoid those lunatics in the vans. This accomplishes that, too.”

  Walking to what appeared to be a storage space hidden behind large black curtains, Sydney could see a large set of double doors leading outside. Both girls took a seat on some boxes. They were silent for nearly a minute before La Luche spoke up.

  “I’m sorry I never introduced myself, Sydney,” she said as she pulled off her mask, “My name’s Erin Peters.”

  “Thanks for rescuing us,” Sydney said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Are you kidding? You made my Dad’s day,” Erin said. “He struts around the city all the time in his costume promising to save everyone, while never really doing anything but posing for pictures with tourists in the French Quarter.”

  “He really thinks he’s a superhero?” Sydney asked.

  “I don’t know,” Erin said honestly. “And that’s the worst part. I mean, the guy’s wearing a beehive wig and he says he has a secret weapon inside it for emergencies.”

  “You have no idea what he means?”

  “I’ve never seen an actual emergency,” Erin said. “But I’m pretty sure if one happened my dad would do the stupidest thing possible.”

  “You obviously hate all this,” Sydney said. “Why do you do it?”

  “Who do you think keeps his stupidity from being terminal? This is New Orleans, murder capital USA,” Erin said, fully meaning it. “Spandex, a women’s bathing suit, and a cape made from a used shower curtain are no match for real criminals. I’m not always sure my Dad knows that.”

  “You honestly think he might try to stare down a violent criminal?” Sydney asked. “What the hell are you supposed to do?”

  “I make sure it never gets that far, and I get ‘sick’ a lot,” Erin said. “Especially when he feels some inkling to stray from the tourism district.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure for a kid,” Sydney said. “What does your mom think?”

  “Well, that’s the other reason I come with him. If I didn’t, my dad would have to explain to my mom what he’s doing in the city once a month,” Erin said, adding that they lived across Lake Pontchartrain. “He likes to think she doesn’t know.”

  “Know what? That he’s BiCentennial? Or that he’s just plain bi?” Sydney asked. “Oh, Jeez, I’m sorry, that was really rude. I’m not saying he is…”

  “The man walks around with fake boobs, a sock in his crotch and more makeup under a Mardi Gras mask than Queen Amidala,” Erin said, actually starting to laugh a bit. “Trust me, he’s bi, and my mom knows.”

  “And she doesn’t care?”

  “I don’t think so,” Erin said. “He’s never cheated on her, and he’s a great dad and husband in just about all the ways that matter. He’s just so over-the-top when he’s in that costume, that he’s decided to spare her that little truth.”

  “Do you mind that he’s bisexual?”

  “No. He’s been this way my whole life,” Erin said, clearly having thought about this before. “It’s like asking if I mind having to clean up kitty poop at home. Sure, it would be easier if it wasn’t the case, but it is what it is, and you do what you need to for the ones you love. You know?”

  “More than you realize,” Sydney said. “Then why do you hide behind a mask? That can’t be comfortable. How much do those spikes coming off your head weigh, anyway?”

  “I may be OK with my dad being BiCentennial,” Erin said, “but I still go to school around here. You think I want to be seen in this get-up? I’m really more of an anime person, you know?”

  “Well, no,” Sydney said honestly. “But I get your point: You’re more embarrassed for yourself than him.”

  “Yeah. That, and when I hear kids from school talking about what nice legs he has, it totally creeps me out,” Erin said with just a bit too much forced humor. “You can bet I’ll see a dozen pictures on Facebook by tonight of at least two of my friends posing with BiCentennial, never knowing that it’s my dad.�
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  “If you say so,” Sydney said, recognizing hidden bitterness when she saw it. “But if you’ll forgive me for saying so, every time I’ve heard you respond to your dad today, you haven’t been quite so easygoing.”

  For a minute, Erin said nothing, and Sydney was afraid she’d gone too far. Then Erin said quietly, “Just once, I want to be his daughter. Not ‘La Luche Libertad.’ Not his ‘trusty sidekick.’ I just want to be his daughter and for him to be my father. Stop trying to save the damn world; I could use a little help, too…”

  Her head drooped and Sydney knew Erin was trying to hold back the tears that now fell quietly on the floor. Letting Erin compose herself, Sydney waited until Erin made the next move.

  “Well…” Erin said after a moment, “That was awkward.”

  “No worries. My mom’s sent me on a few crying jags herself,” Sydney said. “Why don’t we go see if we can find the semi-men in our lives?”

  “Sounds good, although if I know my dad, he’s probably with your brother posing for photos somewhere,” Erin said. “It’s not often he gets to hang with a real snake guy.”

  “Speaking of real,” Sydney said, making light of Erin’s errant tongue. “Is any of that stuff on your dad’s card true? Did he really get taken out by a burger?”

  “Not exactly,” Erin said. “He slipped on a pickle while we were at the Clover Grill and knocked himself out when he fell on the ground.”

  “And being born on July 4, 1976?”

  “Actually, that’s true,” Erin said. “One of those little quirks of fate that changes your life forever before you were even born.”

  “You ever think that if he’d been born just a day either way this might never have happened?”

  “No. As I said, this is how my dad’s always been, and I’m pretty sure how he was always meant to be,” Erin said. “It could be worse, though. If he’d been born a few weeks earlier on Arbor Day, he’d spend his time dressed as a tree.”