by Ira Nayman
“Up to your old tricks, I see,” a voice said from the shadows.
“This room is lit by the glow of 27 computer screens,” ePik Flayel stated. “There are no shadows.”
“I bring my own shadows with me,” the voice explained.
“Sweet,” ePik Flayel said.
“Believe it, cousin,” the voice stated.
“I didn’t recognize you in your shadows, cousin,” ePik Flayel replied. “Say, would you like to hear about my latest adventure?”
“I’m familiar with it.”
ePik Flayel frowned. “You know,” he commented, “you sound a lot like the omniscient narrator in my tales.”
“I have been told,” the voice neutrally agreed.
“What can I do for you, cousin?”
“I would like to play a trick on some old nemeses.”
“Will the trick be entertaining?”
“Certainly.”
“Will the trick have a moral?”
“Absolutely.”
“Will the trick be on me?”
“Isn’t it always?”
“I’m in!”
The voice in the darkness smiled.
2. “There’s nothing in the basement. Here, let me show you…”
“I’m not getting in that thing!” the short Asian man shouted. Despite giving it his full throat, he could barely be heard above the din of the Dimensional PortalTM boarding area.
“Please step up to the green arrow,” Technician Tammy said from behind her control panel. Despite the noise, every word she said could be heard clearly – the architect who had designed the acoustics of the three story high room had an odd sense of humour.
“Disassembling your atoms in one universe and sending them into another universe – it isn’t natural!” the short Asian man insisted.
“Now, Bao,” the tall, elderly man standing next to him amiably stated, “do we have to go through this every time we start out on a new case?”
“Does the process get any more natural?” Bao Bai-Leung, an unnaturally yellow-haired young Asian fire hydrant with dark glasses and limbs, challenged.
Technician Tammy’s sigh was like a gunshot.
Bertrand Blailock, a tall, elderly fire hydrant with dark glasses and limbs and wrinkles in all the usual, and some distinctly unusual but, fortunately, not publicly visible, places, put a comforting hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Son,” he calmly asked, “how old are you?”
“Twenty-seven,” Bao Bai-Leung answered.
“See, you’re not supposed to be curmudgeonly until you’re at least 47 years, six months and eighteen days old,” Bertrand Blailock informed him. “I read that out of the Macho Code of Manliness, so you know it has to be true.”
“The Dimensional PortalTM scrambles your atoms and doesn’t put them back the same way,” Bao Bai-Leung insisted. “I’ve never come back from another dimension the way I left! Why, just last week I smeared broccoli all over my chest before making love to Rhonda. I’ve never done that before!”
“Never?”
“Well, there was the one time – but it was spinach. And, my chest wasn’t what I rubbed it all over. Completely different!”
“That’s got nothing to do with travel between dimensions,” Bertrand Blailock tried to explain. “That’s vegetative erotic intoxication suggestibility. You should have covered it in your third year at the Alternaut Academy.”
“Real life is never like what they teach you at the Academy,” Bao Bai-Leung retorted.
“Please step up to the green arrow,” Technician Tammy tried again, but without much conviction.
With a tap of his finger on the brim of his 20 gallon hat (he always wanted the ability to hide a baby rhino, on the off chance that he were to be confronted by a situation that required it), Bertrand Blailock leaned into his partner and, without anybody in the room noticing, whispered a few words and placed something in his mouth. Within a second, Bao Bai-Leung’s eyes drooped as his pupil’s dilated.
“Gotta mission?” he enthusiastically asked. “Cause I – oooh, the colours. The colours!”
“That’s my boy,” Bertrand Blailock responded, guiding him to the green arrow on the floor. When the swirling images of a million universes appeared inside the Dimensional PortalTM (and the light above it went on), he pushed Bao Bai-Leung through it. After a second, Bertrand Blailock jumped in after him.
A couple of minutes of subjective time later, the pair of Transdimensional Authority Investigators shimmered into existence on the top of a mountain. They looked down at the clouds below them. They looked at the road that appeared to be made out of a dead television signal leading into the clouds ahead of them. Bertrand Blailock happily clapped his hands and had just enough time to say, “It’s –” before the universe disappeared around them and they found themselves, instead, in a clearing in a forest.
“That was a dirty trick you pulled on me!” Bao Bai-Leung, immediately sobered by the travel between dimensions, complained.
“We got bigger fish to fillet, son,” Bertrand Blailock informed him. The pair turned their attention towards Noomi Rapier, who was standing near a Home Universe GeneratorTM that incongruously sat on the grass amid the trees.
“Hey, guys,” Noomi greeted them. “What are you doing here?”
“We…umm…” Bao Bai-Leung started.
“We…got kicked out of the universe where we were supposed to go,” Bertrand Blailock reasoned.
“Do you…do you need any help?” Bao Bai-Leung asked.
“Just cleaning up, here,” Noomi assured them. “Shouldn’t you get back to your own mission?”
“Good idea,” Bertrand Blailock agreed. He touched two fingers to his 20 gallon Stetson (don’t doubt for a second that, despite his age, he could drink you under the table!), and he and Bao Bai-Leung shimmered out.
Upon their return to the Dimensional PortalTM arrivals and departures area, they were greeted by Doctor Richardson. “I understand you encountered a glitch on your journey,” he stated.
“We were thrown out of our target universe,” Bertrand Blailock informed him.
“Where is Doctor Alhambra?” Bao Bai-Leung demanded.
“That is most unusual,” Doctor Richardson understated.
“You’re telling me,” Bertrand Blailock told him, rubbing his sore left elbow.
“WHERE IS DOCTOR ALHAMBRA?” Bao Bai-Leung demanded more forcefully.
“As a matter of fact –” Doctor Richardson started. We will never know what the matter of fact was, however, because Bao Bai-Leung grabbed him by the lapels of his lab smock and hissed: “Where. Is. Doctor Alhambra?”
“Doctor Alhambra,” Doctor Richardson calmly stated, “is working on a different, but equally important aspect of the current case. I can assure you, however, that he left me detailed instructions as to how to proceed in the matter of your little predicament.”
“He did?”
“Absolutely.”
Behind Bao Bai-Leung, Bertrand Blailock mouthed the question, “He did?” Doctor Richardson imperceptibly shook his head. Not noticing this, Bao Bai-Leung let go of the scientist’s lapels.
“So. Just to bring you up to date,” Doctor Richardson said, consulting his clipboard, “We’ve recalibrated the omni-spatio-temporal locationater on the Dimensional PortalTM you went through. Then, we checked the Oxymoron Inhibitor for a Phlogiston build-up, but it was well within the manufacturer’s warranty. We scrubbed down the Andromeda filter to ensure that you didn’t encounter any hostile microorganisms and gave the Ferlenghetti-Ploughtt Device a stress test. It was, indeed, stressed. On Friday, we’re going to suggest it spend the weekend by the lake.”
“Aaaand…” Bao Bai-Leung prompted.
“And, we found nothing wrong with the Dimensional PortalTM you used.”
“Other than the fact that it’s unnatural to send human beings into universes in which they were not born and have no business existing!” Bao Bai-Leung insisted.
“Other than
that, of course,” Doctor Richardson cheerfully agreed.
“So, what now, doc?” Bertrand Blailock asked.
“So, now, we send you back,” Doctor Richardson replied.
“ARE YOU MAD?” Bao Bai-Leung shouted.
“Just to be on the safe side, we’ll use a different Dimensional PortalTM,” Doctor Richardson assured him.
Bertrand Blailock leaned into his partner and, with only a small number of people in the room noticing, whispered a few words to him and placed something in his mouth. Within a second, Bao Bai-Leung’s eyes drooped as his pupil’s dilated.
“Yeah, so,” he mumbled, “guess we got a mission we should be getting on with. Will the butterflies be coming with us?”
Doctor Richardson waved a hand and Technician Tommaso said, “Please, if you would be so kind as to step up to the green arrow.”
The pair of Transdimensional Authority investigators made the trip once again, once again shimmering into existence on the top of a mountain with a road ahead of them that appeared to be made out of television snow. Bertrand Blailock, still enthusiastic, said, “I really can’t believe we’re standing in front of –” Before he could finish his sentence, the universe disshimmered around them and, when they reshimmered into existence they found themselves in a dark, grubby underground bunker with over a dozen people doing dark, grubby underground bunker things.
“Bertrand,” Barack Bowens said.
“Barack,” Bertrand Blailock said.
“Bao,” Blabber Begbie said.
“Blabber,” Bao Bai-Leung said.
“Bao,” Barack Bowens said.
“Barack,” Bao Bai-Leung said.
“Bertrand,” Blabber Begbie said.
“Blabber,” Bertrand Blailock said.
“Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on?” a bemilitary-uniformed Noomi Rapier asked from the other side of the busy control room.
“YOU!” Bao Bai-Leung shouted. “Jesus begesus, is there no getting away from you?”
There was a pause for a couple of seconds. Then, Master Sleep Sub-Commander Rapier asked, “Was that dramatic interjection really necessary?”
“Aww, well, you know, I just thought…”
“Because,” she continued, “we’re in a war zone, and it’s not like we’re wanting for drama here.”
“It’s just that you, uhh, seem to keep showing up in places we, err, places we end up in,” Bao Bai-Leung mumbled.
“What are you doing here?” Barack Bowens asked.
“Haven’t a clue,” Bertrand Blailock admitted.
“PortalTM malfunction?” Barack Bowens suggested.
“Doc Richardson doesn’t seem to think so,” Bertrand Blailock responded.
“Dr.…Richardson,” Bao Bai-Leung said meaningfully.
“Yes, well, we’re really very busy, here,” Blabber Begbie asserted. “So, off you go, alright?”
“What are you doing, exactly?” Bertrand Blailock asked.
“We’re…that is to say…umm…” Blabber Begbie groped for words, “okay, if you must know, we’re waiting for a zombie to walk into a force field. But, it’s very active waiting!”
“Fair enough. We’ve got our own case to work on,” Bertrand Blailock diplomatically responded.
“Best of luck,” Barack Bowens wished him, but he and Bao Bai-Leung were already gone.
“Good news!” Doctor Richardson effusively greeted them upon their return to Earth Prime.
Bao Bai-Leung moaned.
“The problem is not in the Dimensional PortalTM!”
“So you say,” Bao Bai-Leung retorted.
“What are we looking at, doc?” Bertrand Blailock asked.
“Somebody in Earth Prime 5-4-6-7-2-8 dash Tau clearly doesn’t want you in their universe!” Doctor Richardson enthusiastically explained. “They’re using applications from the EunixE suite of digito-magical spells to throw you out the moment you set foot there.”
“Can you create a counter-spell?”
“Our programmers have already come up with one,” Doctor Richardson proudly informed him. “They crossed an anti-fungus programme with a random James Joyce prose generator – that should confuse the digito-magic spell long enough to allow you to enter the target universe unimpeded.”
Bertrand Blailock looked impressed. Bao Bai-Leung bitched, “Will it turn me into a unicorn?”
“Well…in the realm of digital prestidigitation, you should always expect…unexpected side effects,” Doctor Richardson carefully stated.
“Absolutely not,” Bertrand Blailock hastily added.
“Oh. Good, then,” Bao Bai-Leung said, but there was a wistfulness in his voice.
“You should have no trouble getting to your destination this time,” Doctor Richardson assured them.
“Except for the usual,” Bao Bai-Leung muttered. Even he was starting to grow tired of his schtick.
“Please step up to the green arrow,” Technician Tammy stated.
Bertrand Blailock leaned towards his partner and quietly spoke a few words to him. However, when the old man reached into his pocket, he found that it was empty, so he mimed putting something into Bao Bai-Leung’s mouth. Before the younger man could register more than mild surprise, he was pushed through the Dimensional PortalTM, Bertrand Blailock following.
The pair of Transdimensional Authority investigators once again shimmered into existence on the top of a mountain with a road ahead of them that appeared to be made out of television snow. Bertrand Blailock, still enthusiastic (although the odds were getting longer), said, “It’s so beau –” Before he could finish his thought, they were sent to another reality.
Bertrand Blailock and Bao Bai-Leung found themselves on a road made of yellow bricks. In the distance, a man made out of tin and a man made out of straw appeared to be arguing about whether blue eyes indicated a recessive gene that could be a factor in the emergence of schizophrenia in later life. Overhead, a large blimp advertised the advantages of emigrating offworld. In the distance, the sky was paisley. Before they could register much else, a young girl ran head-on into Bao Bai-Leung, knocking all of the air out of his lungs with an audible oomph! I know, I know, none of your friends, relatives or medical specialists has ever gasped with an audible oomph, which has convinced you that audible oomphs only happen in stories. Well, I can only report what I heard, and it was definitely an oomph.
“Sorry, Mister!” the girl shouted. She looked to be about ten or eleven years old (although she was actually fourteen – she was small for her height); she had long golden red curls and sharp blue eyes and would have been considered quite lovely if she hadn’t been squirming to get around Bao Bai-Leung.
“What’s your name, girl?” Bertrand Blailock kindly asked.
“Alice!” Alice answered.
“What are you doing here?” he continued.
Alice looked behind her. Terrified, she screamed, “RUUUUUUUN!” Then, she dashed around the two men and fled.
They looked behind them. Almost on top of them was a six foot tall Oreo cookie. With wings. And, fangs. Behind it were twenty or thirty more exactly like it.
Bertrand Blailock and Bao Bai-Leung ran.
“We have to get back to headquarters,” Bao Bai-Leung communicated by thought. Communoughted.
“We have to save the girl,” Bertrand Blailock communoughted in return.
On cue, the girl fell on a small black box in the grass by the side of the road that had a big red button on the top. The box, not the side of the ro – let me try that again. On cue, the girl fell on a small black box which had a big red button on the top and lay in the grass by the side of the road. She and the box immediately shimmered out of existence.
“Can we get out of here, now?” Bao Bai-Leung demanded.
“That would be a good –” Bertrand Blailock started. “Idea,” he finished in the Pollack.
“Wha – whu – you!” Bao Bai-Leung huffed when they got back to the Dimensional PortalTM staging area.
<
br /> “I would have to agree with my colleague,” Bertrand Blailock had to agree with his colleague. “You told us that you had things under control, that we would get to our destination safely.”
“Instead,” Bao Bai-Leung shuddered, “we ended up in the…* UNHINGED ZONE *!”
“Sorry about that,” Doctor Richardson apologized. “When you’re dealing with magic, there are always…hidden areas that you hadn’t necessarily counted upon. In this case, there was a Barthesian Negation sub-routine that we frankly hadn’t factored into our calculations. However, we have now programmed a counter-subroutine into our counter-spell, so you should have no problem arriving in Earth Prime 5-4-6-7-2-8 dash Tau.”
“Are you sure this time?” Bao Bai-Leung muttered through clenched teeth.
“Young man, science doesn’t deal in certainties,” Doctor Richardson started. Bertrand Blailock, seeing that his partner’s attention was focused laserly on the scientist, shook his head. “But, ahh,” the doctor hastily continued, “in this case, under these circumstances, and taking into account all of the various variables, outlying outcomes and known unknowns, I can be as sure that you will arrive safely in your target universe as I am certain of the fidelity of my wife.”
“Oh. That’s…good?” Bao Bai-Leung asked.
“Wonderful,” Bertrand Blailock assured him, patting him on the shoulder. Then, leaning into Doctor Richardson, he quietly asked, “Doc, you got any sugar pills? I’ve run out – I wasn’t expecting to make so many out-of-universe trips today.”
“I always come prepared.” Doctor Richardson reached into the pocket of his white smock and surreptitiously handed what he found there to Bertrand Blailock.
“Hey!” Bao Bai-Leung suspiciously demanded. “What are you two talking about?”
Bertrand Blailock turned, his body already leaning, and said a few words quietly to his partner. Then, he put something into Bao Bai-Leung’s mouth, to which the younger man replied: “I’m mellow, fellows. Hey, on the way, can we get some Jell-O? Hi-yellow!”
The two Transdimensional Authority investigators once again shimmered into existence on the top of a mountain with a road ahead of them that appeared to be made out of television snow. They looked at the scene for several seconds, uncertain of what would happen next. Then, they turned to each other and Bertrand Blailock tentatively asked, “Do you think…?”