Jump Starting the Universe Book Bundle

by John David Buchanan

  “Hungry?” responded Amelia, who was getting some color back in her face, “really?”

  “Well yeah, I could use something to eat and drink after all that,” said Mark, waving his hand haphazardly in the direction of the museum. Wayne mimicked Mark’s haphazard hand gesture toward the museum, to which Mark responded by giving Wayne a different sort of hand gesture.

  “He gets irritable when he’s hungry,” said Wayne to no one in particular.

  “He must have a metabolism like a raging forest fire,” said Amelia to Joules.

  “We should probably stay long enough to explain what happened,” said Wayne, “and Joules you should probably call you father before he hears about this on the news.”

  Oh, you are so right,” said Joules.

  “I’ll do that,” said Nita who took the water and towels and continued dabbing Amelia’s wound while Joules immediately retrieved her purse and communicator and called her dad.

  “I say we draw straws and see who gets stuck explaining what happened,” said Wayne.

  “Yeah, I want to hear that,” said Blackie, “but I’m not sure I want to actually be the one to do it.” The first emergency vehicle to arrive pulled to the curb near the courtyard entrance and a swarm of men dressed in heavy protective gear made their way toward the building.

  “No fire,” yelled Wayne to the crew, “at least not the kind we are going to talk about,” he continued under his breath. The emergency crew ignored Wayne’s comment and continued into the building.

  “Dad, this is Joules, I’m so glad I caught you. There has been a little incident at the museum and I thought I’d call and let you know I’m fine. You are? Okay, see you soon.” “He was already on his way,” said Joules to the group, “he should be here in a few minutes.”

  “What the hell happened here?” Everyone turned toward the museum to see one of the emergency crewmen walking toward them.

  “I told you there was no fire,” said Wayne.

  “I didn’t say anything about a fire,” said the man in a condescending way, “now answer my question.”

  Wayne, who had sat down on the brick ledge of a nearby landscaped area began to slowly get to his feet. That sort of treatment was just enough to nudge him over the edge. Mark recognized that look on his face; it was the presage of an impending explosion. Sort of like pouring baking soda into a bottle of vinegar and replacing the stopper; inevitably it’s going to pop. It seems the emergency responder had just poured baking soda on Wayne’s vinegar as it were, and he was about three seconds from being jump-kicked halfway across the courtyard.

  Wayne was in the latter stages of “foaming” and Mark could tell something bad was imminent. Not that he blamed Wayne; the emergency worker’s attitude was completely uncalled for. Mark intervened.

  “It seems there was a pretty violent disagreement between a nice Perlucidian chap who was quietly standing between the book racks minding his own business and several Shumbrans that entered the museum looking for trouble,” said Mark. He noticed Joules was listening intently and she had a distinctly quizzical look on her face when he finished his explanation.

  The worker stared at Mark for a moment then looked at Wayne and muttered “wretched Shumbrans, always causing some sort of infernal ruckus,” and he turned and walked back toward the museum.

  Wayne made a particularly nasty face toward the man as he strode away.

  “Well technically what I said is true,” offered Mark to Joules, “there wasn’t any reason to bore him with details and honestly,” he hesitated for a moment and caught Wayne’s gaze, “the imbecile wouldn’t have believed it anyway.” Wayne smiled slightly and resisted the urge to follow the emergency responder into the building.

  “He didn’t like Shumbrans,” said Blackie, who was trying to help defuse the situation and thought it might help to cast a positive light on the bloke, although he did think the man had acted like a jerk.

  “Yeah, I guess if he doesn’t like Shumbrans he can’t be that bad,” said Wayne, who immediately looked less explosive and returned to sitting on the brick ledge.

  Joules was helping Nita tend to Amelia when her father’s transport pulled up. Behind him an emergency medical team arrived with lights blazing and sirens blaring so loud it hurt the ears of everyone in the courtyard. Mark looked at Wayne who was oddly unresponsive to the deafening noise.

  “You okay Wayne?” said Mark loudly while wondering if another intervention was imminent.

  “Yeah,” said Wayne, “you think we could use some of that siren noise in a new song?”

  Blackie snorted a laugh. He liked being around Wayne because you never knew how he was going to react. You would think it would be taxing to deal with such a volatile personality all the time, but it wasn’t really. Regardless of Wayne’s sometimes infinitesimally short fuse, Blackie knew he always had their back, he would always be there when they needed him, and he was generally a hoot to be around; generally. Plus, his diatribes were entertaining, sometimes. Blackie quickly made his way over to Joules who was again trying to stop the cut on Amelia’s head from bleeding.

  “I think it’s deeper than it looks,” Joules said as he approached.

  “Yeah, that might need stiches,” said Blackie who was not looking at Amelia’s wound but toward the street.

  “Joules, this may not be the place to tell your Dad what happened. There are too many people milling about to have a private conversation.”

  “I have no idea what I’m going to tell him,” said Joules, “he never seemed very keen on my grandmother’s stories.”

  “Honesty,” said Blackie, “honesty is the best policy.”

  “Do you think it would be okay if I leave out some of the boring details,” she said, trying her best to smile.

  “You know, I thought Mark handled that emergency guy fairly well, but I think your dad deserves the whole truth,” replied Blackie. “What he thought or didn’t think about your grandmother’s stories may be irrelevant in light of what happened earlier. Your grandmother’s stories just became your reality. And it’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It doesn’t make you nervous?” asked Joules.

  “No,” said Blackie, “having a girlfriend that can shoot bolts of fire across the room is pretty cool.”

  “Girlfriend?” asked Joules.

  “Well, yeah,” said Blackie whose was instantly struggling to not turn completely red in the face, “if you want to be.” Without any warning Joules stood up and kissed him. She kissed him right there in front of everyone; not on the cheek and not a quick little peck, but a full bore, passionate, I love you too kind of kiss.

  “Wow,” whispered Mark to Wayne, “remind me to ask him what he said”

  “After that,” said Wayne with a bemused look on his face, “it’s doubtful he’ll remember.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m going to ask.”

  “It may be private,” replied Wayne.

  “Private, I’m his brother!”

  “OK, but I bet you ten dollars he tells you it’s none of your business and to shove off.”

  “Ah, see, now I’m not going to ask. Anytime you are willing to place a wager on something it must be a sure thing. I don’t fancy being told off.”

  “Good decision,” replied Wayne with his best, icy, I know what I’m talking about, tone. Wayne was good with tone; he always seemed to have the right one and the right amount. It may be a bass player thing, but even if it’s not, Wayne had it in spades.

  Having finished their inspection, the emergency crew exited the museum and made their way toward their transport. About halfway along the walkway they engaged Mr. Livingston and gave him a summary of their findings. “This has all the markings of a Shumbran hit, Mr. Livingston,” said the man in charge.

  “Your name sir?” asked Mr. Livingston.

  “Jessie Delwick sir, I’m the precinct Emergency Crew Chief.

  “You said this looked like a Shumbran hit, why is that?” asked Mr. Livingston.


  “We swept the blast residue for particle beam traces sir, and there was an unmistakable signature from a class of weapons preferred by Shumbrans – they like it messy with lots of contamination floating about, plus there were witnesses who placed Shumbrans at the scene.”

  “Was there anything else found,” asked Mr. Livingston.

  “One of the witnesses said there was a Perlucidian involved sir, but we don’t have the ability to analyze residue from their new weapons; they aren’t traceable, yet – not that the Perlucidians are ever a problem.”

  “Anything else Mr. Delwick?” asked Livingston.

  “No sir, well…,” the Crew Chief hesitated.

  “What is it?” asked Livingston.

  “When we arrived we were told there hadn’t been a fire, and when we inspected the building there was no tangible evidence of a typical fire inside; no scorched books with bits of burned pages, no burned furniture, no burned anything, at least not in the normal way. But there is a smell in that main room like something really hot incinerated every bit of dust in the air.”

  “Show me,” said Mr. Livingston, who immediately made for the museum door and saying over his shoulder, “it’s safe isn’t it?”

  The Chief followed him into the museum and straight to the middle of the room. “The particle beam residue is close to nominal, we’re safe enough”, said the Chief.

  Mr. Livingston stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the damage. “He was right,” thought Livingston, this wasn’t a scuffle to scare someone; this was intended to be a hit, plain and simple.”

  “What do you think?” asked the crew chief.

  “I believe you were right Chief Delwick, this was an attempted hit; fortunately for our young friends in the courtyard it was unsuccessful.”

  “Right, but I mean the other thing, that odor hanging in the air, what do you think?”

  “I think that bears further looking into Chief Delwick.”

  The crew chief was still sniffing the air when he realized Livingston was exiting the museum through the door behind him and returning to the courtyard.

  Running to catchup the chief asked, “Mr. Livingston, do you want me continue this investigation and try to identify the source of that odor?” Livingston hesitated; he had to be careful how he worded his reply.

  “Would knowing the answer affect your report?” asked Livingston.

  “I don’t think so,” responded the chief.

  “Then, I don’t think the cost of additional investigation is warranted.”

  “As you wish Mr. Livingston, I’ve got plenty to do without another report to write,” said the chief who returned to his transport where the crew was busy stowing equipment.

  “Thanks for your help,” Livingston called to the crew as they pulled away. Mr. Livingston joined the group near the center of the courtyard and stood next to Joules. He whispered, “Could I talk to you privately for a moment in the museum?”

  “Sure dad,” answered Joules who flashed a smile at Blackie, grabbed her dad’s arm and walked with him toward the museum.

  “How is it that everyone we’ve met speaks English?” asked Mark to no one in particular. “Mark, they’re not speaking English,” replied Blackie.

  “What do you mean they’re not speaking English,” said Wayne immediately.

  “I’ve been wondering about that myself,” interjected Amelia, who realized she should get her comment in before Wayne began the “foaming” process. Everyone was a bit on edge after the incident, and had you taken a poll the results would have overwhelmingly predicted Wayne would have a “foaming” episode sooner not later. That’s not meant to pick on Wayne or imply that he was a lesser person in some way, only that he expressed himself in a more public fashion; sometimes regrettably.

  “Everyplace we’ve been everyone understands us and we understand them,” said Wayne, “what part of not speaking English am I missing?”

  “Wayne,” began Blackie, “back on earth we can take a short airplane ride, land in another country, and we can’t understand a word anyone is saying.”

  “Unless you’re European,” interjected Amelia.

  “Point taken,” said Blackie who continued, “what are the odds that we could travel across the solar system, the universe, maybe multiple universes for all we know, and everyone conveniently speaks English?”

  “This is going to get weird,” said Wayne fighting a strong urge to use inappropriate language, “I can feel it, this is going to get really weird.”

  Noticing that Wayne was still in the early stages of “foaming” Mark thought it was safe to press the issue, “I think this is the point where Blackie offers a theory and follows it with the phrase, it’s the only logical conclusion.”

  Wayne smirked and said, “I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “Blackie, do you have a theory?” asked Amelia.

  “Tell us then,” said Wayne, who looked at Mark and repeated, “I can’t wait to hear this.” He suddenly seemed less “foamy.”

  “I do,” said Blackie to Amelia.

  “I’d like to hear it Blackie, I’ve been wondering about this myself. The odds of everyone we have met on this…. this trip,” she faltered for a moment not knowing what to call their journey, “the odds of everyone speaking English are ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous as in….,” trailed off Mark.

  “As in one in a trillion Mark.”

  “That low huh.”

  “Yes, that low, I bet it’s not a bet you’d be willing to take.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Wayne, “I’ve seen him make some pretty stupid bets.”

  “Oh yeah like when?” shot back Mark quickly.

  “Juniper’s,” said Wayne smiling.

  “Well we don’t have to go there do we?” replied Mark who was trying to watch Nita in his peripheral vision, “let’s hear your theory Blackie.”

  Blackie surveyed the group momentarily, trying to see if they were setting him up for a good laugh. In the end, he decided he didn’t care, it was a sound theory, and if it turned out to be absolutely absurd a good laugh wouldn’t be bad either. “Okay he began, I think we can all agree now that being able to speak to everyone we’ve meet, and understand them is not natural.” He looked around for dissenting opinions but there were none, yet. He began again, “I also find it curious that all of us can speak to, and understand, everyone we’ve met, not just me or Mark but all of us. On earth I couldn’t speak anything but English.”

  “Well,” interrupted Mark, “that’s not actually true Blackie, you spoke Italian really well on our trip to Riccione.”

  “Mark, I ordered a beer.”

  “Yeah well, I’m just saying you did it really well.”

  “Moving on,” said Nita, who was slightly tickled with Mark’s comment.

  “Yes,” said Blackie looking directly at Mark, “moving on. We can all do it, can’t we? We can all speak to, and understand everyone we encounter. So, whatever caused this phenomenon is something we all have in common.” Blackie paused to see if anyone would venture a guess. “Anyone,” he asked, “anyone have a guess.”

  “For Pete’s sake Blackie just tell us the answer will you,” huffed Wayne.

  “Spit it out Blackie,” added Mark.

  “It’s the Jump Starter,” said Blackie.

  “What? “How did you arrive at that?”

  “Bear with me for a moment,” returned Blackie. “I studied Jump Starters at the museum when I was sneaking out to see Joules. Where is Joules?” he said slightly panicked as he looked around.

  “She took a walk with her dad,” said Nita, “please go on.”

  “OK. Well, it turns out no one knows what goes on during a jump.”

  “What!” said Wayne loudly, “wait until I see Prenetian again.”

  “Please continue,” asked Amelia who cast a sour glance at Wayne.

  Blackie began again, “Some bloke named Dr. Victor Eduardo Bullrod set out to investigate what happens
during a jump but there hasn’t been a sign of him for almost 30 years. So, this is what I think. You push the button and as soon as the jump is actually initiated you are immediately in stasis – that much the Jump Starter Corporation has supposedly worked out. But, no one knows exactly how long a jump takes.” Mark raised his hand to interrupt and Blackie barked, “What Mark?”

  “Well, it only takes a few seconds, doesn’t it? “We’ve jumped several times now and it only takes a few seconds.”

  “Mark, between each tick of a clock’s second hand there are eons of time.” That statement settled on them like a heavy fog. How much time had really passed, and where was it passing? What was going on back on earth, or on Nita’s planet and what would it be like if they ever returned?