“Yes, entirely, maybe,” responded Amelia.
“Prenetian, could I ask one more question?” inquired Amelia.
“Ask away my dear girl, ask away.”
“Well, can it be controlled, you know, planned, initiated and implemented with some certainty of when and where you are going.”
“My, my,” said Prenetian, “It seems you are smitten.”
Amelia blushed warmly. “I’ve spent time, so very much time looking out at the heavens through a telescope, and I enjoyed every minute of it, I really did. But I’m afraid after this…. this journey, if I ever get back, the telescope just won’t hold me.”
“I believe that you will find a way,” said Prenetian.
There was quiet, only the noise of three people breathing heavy like they had worked really hard all day, or had a very long journey. Amelia drifted off to sleep, as did Prenetian. The stars in the sky were absolutely brilliant.
Buster sat brooding over his drink in The Getaway Bar and Grill, waiting on everyone to come in and wondering what was taking so long. The sky was brilliant blue and everything around the bar was bathed in sunlight. Just normal sunlight.
CHAPTER FIVE
INTERSTITIAL STUFF
All of the life forms in all the dimensions of all the universes consider The Planet Tree to be THE most interesting thing anywhere, hands down, without debate. Well except, is it rumored, for the few odd people who observed the christening of Garstain Liebrivilch’s Fusion Exerciser. Garstain postulated he could devise an exercise machine to generate a dark energy field just long enough to fold in little bits of unused “stuff” found in the interstitial spaces between parallel plains of existence; the “stuff” that gets jettisoned during a cross-over. It was really just his attempt at a recycle-reuse project his wife had admitted.
It seems that Garstain’s calculations for the volume of “stuff” in the interstitial space were dead-on and the accumulated mass approached largely gigantic proportions. More importantly, because the “stuff” was infused with energy on the first half of the cross-over, but hadn’t discharged the energy during, shall we say, the fete accompli, that “stuff” was really energized; really, really energized. Garstain suspected there was a lucrative energy business opportunity waiting to unfold.
On the big day when Garstain’s invention was to be christened, after a very boring speech about energy, “stuff” and fusion, a select few spectators and private investors huddled around. Liebrivilch mounted his Interstitial Fusion Exercise Machine and began to peddle the foot assembly, pull the arm rods like crazy, stir the gyro mechanism mounted on his neck brace (which was reported to look terribly uncomfortable), and generally push himself to the point of cardiac infarction (of all three of them). The spectators cheered him on wildly and suddenly a very small black energy field was formed, and a small assemblage of “stuff” was sucked right out of interstitial space (theoretically at the point where strands of D-2478.12W and D-7346.18S were proximal). It fused into a very large blob of pulsing, highly energized heterogeneous material, right there in Liebrivilch’s laboratory.
Zowey, it was a complete success; except for the unfortunate misfortune of Liebrivilch, and all his spectator friends, having been sucked directly into the blob to boot. We know this only because Myrtle, Liebrivilch’s wife, got bored about 12 seconds into the demonstration and popped up to the break room for tea; the nice loose-leaf kind served at better establishments and unique centers of higher learning.
Upon returning she found the unmanned exercise machine, an empty room, and a sparkling gelatinous-like blob eight meters in diameter having a small ovoid patch that looked particularly like Liebrivilch’s chin; the telling evidence being a small cut he received in third grade while trying to fly out the primary school’s second story window.
Myrtle, an astute astrophysicist in her own right, was considered a person of interest during the ensuing police investigation. However, she was cleared of all charges when it couldn’t be proven she had anything to do with clearing the reversal drive that theoretically would have put everything right. Her only recollection of the whole event was that someone said, “This is the most interesting thing in the universe,” just before she departed the lab.
Several weeks afterward Myrtle sold the patents to Garstain Liebrivilch’s Interstitial Fusion Exercise Machine and retired to a very fine beach. One with fine condominiums, excellent room service, clean white sand and the conspicuous absence of a gelatinous blob of “stuff,” said blob having been donated to the museum of natural and unnatural sciences where it was used to power the entire facility.
Back to the most interesting thing ever, the Planet Tree, which was completely overlooked by astrophysicists until it wasn’t. Apparently, Zitwyler Goodyen, an undergraduate student just beginning his studies of physics and black holes at Quinliane University on Carteroie, in the spiral Nebula ZX-12A, was overheard musing, “Where does everything go? It’s like a magician who steps in the front door of the box, but exits the back so no one can see.”
Upon looking at the back of a black hole (apparently the first to do so?) while trying to find where all the matter went, Zitwyler discovered the Planet Tree. Professor Emeritus Bilyerd Dilfour, Zitwyler’s physics professor, shamefully tried to take full credit for the discovery at the Millennial Discoveries in the Universe Conference in 37865.237, but was shouted down by his graduate students in the audience, several of whom had multiple heads and could really shout well. Professor Dilfour was relieved, not as in feeling better, but as in sent packing by the university.
The Planet Tree is THE most interesting thing anywhere, hands down; black holes don’t stand a chance. As is now known, and explained by, Zitwyler Goodyen, the new Professor Emeritus at Quinliane University on Carteroie in the Nebula ZX-12A, there is a symbiotic relationship between black holes and Planet Trees that goes something like this. Matter is distributed far and wide but doesn’t fill up much space so it is sometimes hard to find. To help explain this concept you might consider an analogy. If you were tossed into the vacuum of space you would be hard pressed to find a sandwich. So it was with the Planet Tree, it simply couldn’t find enough sustenance – much like the typical 16-year-old male on Terra Bulga.
Black holes on the other hand had a terribly different problem. It is all well and good that they have that vacuum cleaner effect just inside the event horizon, but after a few hundred billion millennia of sucking up every piece of errant matter drifting by, they get a little indigestion and full, so to speak. It is said that an inexplicable set of circumstances led to the following occasion. Having gotten wind of the black hole problem, a Planet Tree coincidently drifting in space near the back side of a black hole attached itself, thereby arresting its own 'drifting-in-space' problem and simultaneously creating a relationship with potential to relieve the black hole’s 'stuffed-to-the point-of-regurgitating' symptoms. The black hole offered little resistance to the interloping Planet Tree, so the tree stayed.
Sensing it had found a fairly cushy place to hang around, the Planet Tree grew short little roots and rhizomes into the black hole’s backside. The one previously unobserved by scientists. The list of nutrients condensed in a black hole is long enough to cover all the paper made from all the Quidlid Trees on Gamma DX15.2, so the Planet Tree was quite sufficiently sustained and began to grow immediately.
Planet Trees are very big, very big indeed. Their bark is irregular, dusty brown, and dissected by large crisscrossing furrows, similar maybe to that of the Quercus virginiana trees just north of the megaplex centered around Austin on Terra Bulga. The difference really is that the little furrows between pieces of bark on Planet Trees are approximately 12,500 miles wide. Their leaves are clear with light pink pinnate venation, which led some scientists to theorize they don’t photosynthesize at all but are saprophytic. For hundreds of years this unanswered question has been offered to bright young science students as a potential doctoral thesis but no one has accepted the offer, mostly
because no one has figured out how to get close enough to the Planet Tree to investigate, owing to its proximity to a black hole.
Nevertheless, certain other things are known about the Planet Tree. After reaching a massive size, one so big non-scientists have been known to say to astronomers, Really, you missed that? the Planet Tree produces fruit. The first fruit set occurred very early on in the universal timeline. How early is still a matter of great debate and conjecture mostly meant for scientist types who are substantially clueless on the matter. But such arguments and ensuing conferences pay the bills. The other bill paying argument you will soon discovered is, which came first, the black hole or the Planet Tree?
Judging from the remains of very, very large pieces of fibrous hull found on Zolflex, a barren planet without atmosphere, Planet Tree fruit is elongated, and owing to its ability to surf solar wind and be distributed (another argument in the making) the fruit was dubbed a solar galactipod. They are not unlike flattened snap pea pods. It is postulated that mature solar galactipods are released from the Planet Tree when a row of cell like structures just above their stipules degenerates into a gooey, nasty phlegm (yet to be fully investigated). Cast upon the solar wind they were disseminated through Universe 1 and naturally, illegally transported into virtually every other universe. Which explains a lot doesn’t it? Well it does.
CHAPTER SIX
DOING A RUNNER
Blackie woke to the aroma of something very much like dark roast coffee and the site of Prenetian huddled over his breakfast tray. Blackie’s own breakfast tray was sitting on a small, beautifully sculptured table made of Abersentia wood. Prenetian waved his hand and said, “Tuck in,” and Blackie didn’t refrain.
The toast like material was excellent; vegans on Terra Bulga would have declared victory. Finally, a piece of food made naturally from a natural plant, grown naturally, harvested naturally, did I say made naturally, and with excellent taste. Yes, excellent taste!
Blackie turned to Prenetian and remarked, with a toast muffled voice, “This toast is delicious.”
“Yes,” said Prenetian, “one of our best kept secrets.”
“How so?” slurred Blackie.
“Well, for reasons not thoroughly explained, The State Department, yes the State Department and the Dietary Council of Alphus Nebulum strictly forbid its export, or any discussion of the recipe for that matter. This protectionist measure has robbed the rest of the entire universe for quite some time of its chance to have a singularly fine tasting and satisfying natural food. The Alphus Nebulum Department of Tourism however is quick to point out that the effect of the ban was a tenfold increase in bookings for foodie conventions on Alphus Nebulum.”
Before Blackie could process and reply, Mark stirred from his sleep and sat up in bed. Wayne heard Mark stirring and also sat up on the side of his bed, looked around and swore rather loudly.
Prenetian chuckled and said, “Nope, not a dream.”
Amelia caught Prenetian’s eye, smiled, and sat up pulling the sheet and blanket up over her shoulders. It wasn’t long before they realized each of them had a plate of food resting on a small table near their beds.
“Should we eat it?” asked Wayne eyeing his plate.
“I did,” offered Blackie.
“Let the eating begin,” said Mark as he grabbed his table and moved it closer to the bed.
“Are you sure?” said Wayne.
“Well no, but since Blackie has been kind enough to be our canary, no offense to Prenetian, and he still looks alive, why not?”
Prenetian looked at Wayne and spoke, “Trust me, the food is perfectly fine, I ate it myself.”
Wayne wearily moved his table close to the bed, picked up a piece of food and ate a small bite.
“Oh, this is great,” he exclaimed, “what is this?”
“Toast,” replied Prenetian.
“This is toast?”
“Yes”
“It’s not like toast at home.”
“That is because what you have at home is not toast,” offered Prenetian.
“Well, that’s what we call it,” said Wayne.
“Sure,” said Prenetian, “and I could call you an Amphyilitaxen Dilexitoid but that doesn’t make you one, does it?” Wayne wasn’t sure if it did or didn’t, so he ate his breakfast without further comment, but did make an occasional uhmmm sound to anyone who might hear.
Just as Amelia began to eat, Prenetian stood up, noticed Mark wrapping a piece of toast in a napkin, chuckled and stated, “I am scheduled to leave today, so I should say it was nice to meet you and one day I hope to see you again; not in a jail cell.”
Amelia whirled around and replied “Prenetian thank you for everything.”
“Not at all my dear, not at all.”
Wayne nodded but did not comment owing to the large amount of toast and other bits in his mouth.
Mark ventured a polite “It was nice to meet you.”
“Well I guess you must be getting on with your responsibilities, so thanks.” Prenetian eyed Blackie who only returned a knowing smile.
“I recommend that when you do a runner, take the hallway to the right,” said Prenetian.
“Excuse me,” said Mark.
“Leave,” said Prenetian.
“Leave?” repeated Amelia.
“Yes,” said Prenetian, who continued, “you may wish to abscond before this afternoon; I believe that’s when they will come for you.”
About that time there was a noise in the hallway and two men in crisply ironed, police-type uniforms, made their way to the door of Prenetian’s cell. With a bright smile on his face he turned toward them, the door was opened and he strode down the hallway with two crisp men following closely behind. “Well, all the luck to you,” he said, as they escorted him away.
Wayne swallowed. “What was that all about?” he managed to say before his next bite. Blackie was already up and stuffing his bag with everything he could find that was not bolted down – a pillow, sheets, a very fine blanket that was light as a feather and perfectly warm, like it was programed to maintain an optimal temperature for its user. He tossed in a bottle of water. Noticing Blackie’s determined packing, Mark decided he should do the same.
Amelia was already packing.
“Are you going to eat that?” said Wayne, pointing to a piece of toast.
“No, it’s yours,” said Amelia, passing it to him between the bars. “You think it’s not poisoned?” she said making fun.
“I don’t know, but I’m willing to chance it,” he said, then smiled broadly.
“We had better leave. We need to leave right now,” said Blackie.
“Slow down mate, don’t you think we need a plan?” said Wayne.
“A plan? A plan, based on what? All the information we’ve corralled since being inside these jail cells? I’ll give you a plan, we leave and turn right,”
“Seems like a leap of faith,” said Mark.
Amelia was packing quietly, but she agreed with Blackie, “He did say turn right. Prenetian said turn right, and he said leave before afternoon. I don’t know exactly what time it is but I’d venture to guess that after the events of yesterday we all had a good lie-in, and it’s later than we think.”
Blackie looked at Amelia, then Mark. For a moment he was silent. Then he said, “I think there is more to Prenetian than we think. I don’t think his comment about doing a runner was just a suggestion. He bloody well intended for us to jump out of our skin trying to leave here, and leave here fast. We need to do just that and we need to make it quick,” he said slowly as to emphasize the words.
“Okay, okay, keep your knickers on,” Wayne said. A mischievous grin covered his face.
Blackie looked for something to throw, but he had packed everything in his bag and he didn’t think the table would clear two sets of bars. When he looked up, Wayne was still grinning. He couldn’t help himself and returned an obscene gesture.
Mark caught his eye and said “I’m telling Mom.”
“Fine” said Blackie, “don’t tell Dad. Somewhere in the recesses of his memory he heard a faint chuckle.
They stepped out of their cells with bags stuffed to the brim with virtually everything in their cells.
“Wait, wait,” said Mark, “we’re nicking all this stuff from the jail cell. Don’t you suppose they’ll take issue with that?”
“You mean more than transport with intent or whatever it was?” said Wayne.
“I’m just saying we could be piling more on an already bad pile,” suggested Mark.
Wayne stepped back into cell 5m, reached into his back pocket and retrieved his billfold. He hesitated for a minute then pulled out a five-dollar bill and placed it on the table.
“You think that is enough? “said Amelia.
“No,” said Wayne, “I think the government probably paid ten thousand dollars for five dollars’ worth of bedding, but I don’t have ten thousand dollars on me,” he finished trying his best not to sound irritable.
Mark stepped to the door of the cell, looked at the five-dollar bill and said,” I thought that was for a bottle of Southern Comfort before our next gig.” Wayne turned toward the cell door and began to 'foam'.
“I’m out of here,” said Blackie and he turned right and went down the hallway. The rest followed.
“Hey champ, do you know where you’re going?” said Mark.
The reply came quickly “Out of here.”
They came to a tee in the hallway. Right again, thought Blackie. Amelia followed, as did Mark. Wayne hesitated, looking down the left hallway, shrugged his shoulders and turned right. They came to a very big and heavy looking door.
“Carbon fiber,” said Mark.
“How do you know?” inquired Wayne.
“It looks like one of those carbon fiber guitars,” said Mark.
“You mean like a Blackbird,” said Amelia. They all stopped and stared at her for several seconds.
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