The Mammoth Book of Awesome Comic Fantasy

by Mike Ashley

  Smedley Faversham reconsidered his verdict. “Bigger than teensy-weensy, but smaller than itsy-bitsy,” he conceded. “Better make it teeny-tiny.”

  “Now you’re being specific,” said Newgate Callender approvingly, and he jotted this down in his notepad. “Okay, so you were waiting for Space and Time to form a teeny-tiny singularity. Then what?”

  “And then,” Smedley Faversham went on, “just before the universe could expand into the Big Bang, I was planning to steal it.”

  “You what?” Newgate Callender was so astonished that he dropped his pencil. It hung dangling in the void, and Callender retrieved the pencil just as it was about to be sucked into the gravity well of the hypersphere, which by now had dwindled to the size of a small grapefruit. “Wait a minute! You were planning to steal the whole universe?”

  “All of it,” said Smedley Faversham, looking shamefaced and penitent. “Every last micron of Space, and every single quantum increment of Time. The whole shmear. Of course, after stealing the universe, I was planning to file off the serial number, so that nobody could prove I didn’t buy it legitimately. Then I was planning to disguise it for resale.”

  Callender made a choking noise. “Disguise the universe?”

  “Sure. I could give it a dye job. Paint the galaxies black, so that they look like dark matter, and then . . .”

  “Never mind that part,” said Newgate Callender. “How were you planning to steal the universe?” The chrono-constable nodded towards the glowing orb nearby. “That’s a concentrated ball of ion plasma, superheated to a billion degrees! Were you planning to pick it up in your bare hands?”

  “Of course not,” said Smedley Faversham, reaching into his cummerbund and taking out a pair of oven mitts.

  “But . . . but . . . but . . .,” Callender spluttered, “after you decided to steal the universe, what were you planning to do with it?”

  “Hock it, I guess,” said Smedley Faversham. “Or maybe sell it to the highest bidder. I could cut it up into smaller pieces – like a stolen diamond – and sell chunks of Space and Time wherever I could unload them. I could break up the universe into separate galaxies, and sell ’em one at a time. If anybody asks where I got the galaxies. I’ll say they fell off a truck. Or else I could – urp! – I could hold the whole damned universe for ransom.”

  Newgate Callender’s walrus mustache quivered with indignation. “Ransom?”

  “Sure, why not?” Smedley Faversham shrugged. “I figure the entire space-time continuum must be worth something, even at street value. I could hold the universe for ransom, and threaten to rough it up a little if the ransom wasn’t paid fast enough. Surely, in the Milky Way galaxy alone, there must be several hundred intelligent species that would chip in a few bucks to get their universe back safe and unharmed. They could take up a collection, or pass the hat. Although, from what I understand, not all of the intelligent species in the Milky Way have hats. Several of them don’t even have heads. But some of them have multiple heads, so I guess they all average out to one head apiece, and . . .”

  “That’s a brilliant plan,” Newgate Callender interrupted. By now the still-contracting hypersphere of the universe had dwindled to the size of a greengage plum; Callender stood protectively in front of this as he confronted his prisoner. “But there’s just one tiny little flaw in your scheme.”

  “I think not,” said Smedley Faversham. “My seam is schemeless. I mean, my scheme is seamless. Urp! Excuse the belch, please. Too much vindaloo. If I keep breaking vinda, I’ll need a trip to the loo. Okay, I’ll bite, Nougat: what’s the flaw in my plan?”

  “Very simple,” said Newgate Callender. “If you steal the primordial universe, and prevent the Big Bang from occurring, then Time and Space will never exist! All matter, all energy, all stars and planets and life-forms throughout the universe will be nullified retroactively. And so, Faversham,” the chrono-constable leaned forward and grinned, “if you hijack the universe before it comes into existence, then who would you possibly sell it to?”

  “I never thought of that,” Smedley Faversham admitted. “You’ve given me something to chew on, Nougat: what good is stealing the universe if I can’t hock it, fence it, or ransom it?” there was a pause while Smedley ruminated, during which the hypersphere became a few microns smaller. Then Smedley snapped his fingers. “I’ve got an idea! I can always sell this universe to the inhabitants of an alternate universe! They can melt it down for scrap, and recycle the dark matter for . . .”

  “Look around, bub,” said Newgate Callender, with a genial wave of his hand. “Do you see any alternate universes?”

  Smedley looked around. Except for himself and Newgate Callender and the vast infinite void, the only matter or energy or space or time which existed was the single nearby hypersphere, which by now had dwindled to the approximate size and shape of a strawberry.

  “There are no alternate universes!” Newgate Callender crowed triumphantly. “They won’t be created until after the Big Bang . . . and they’ll be created from the same cataclysmic event which created our universe. If you prevent the formation of one universe, you nullify them all.” Newgate Callender rocked back and forth on his heels, looking pleased with himself. “I know all about this stuff, Faversham. When I joined the Paradox Patrol, I had to study cosmology.”

  “Really?” Smedley Faversham looked impressed. “You mean, mascara and lip gloss and . . .”

  “Not cosmetology, you fool!” Callender harrumphed. “Your scheme has failed, Faversham. You might as well surrender. Give up this mad dream of stealing the universe.”

  “Never!” said Smedley Faversham. “I’m still convinced that the – urp!—the universe is worth stealing, even if it has no resale value. I have a theory: if I change the quantum structure of the universe in the past, I can alter the future so that my relatives will never be born. That’s my nonrelativistic quantum theory. And now, if you’ll step aside, time-copper, I’d like to . . . hey, what’s this?”

  Coming towards them at the speed of light was a single electron, glowing faintly. Beyond that electron was nothing but infinite void. Smedley Faversham and Newgate Callender both knew what was about to happen: this single electron represented the very last quantum increment of unclaimed matter or energy (excepting themselves, of course) in the entire realm of existence. And when this final electron joined the hypersphere of superheated ion plasma, the concentrated vortex would attain critical mass. It would rapidly compress even further, dwindling down to a non-dimensional space-time singularity . . . and then the mighty Big Bang would erupt.

  Smedley Faversham and Newgate Callender both held their breaths (there was no air left, anyway) as the very last straggling electron entered the gravity well of the superheated ion mass. The hypersphere shrank to the size of a kumquat, then a grape, then a raisin . . .

  And then it stopped.

  The universe, evidently, had no intention of contracting any farther. The Big Bang had been postponed indefinitely.

  Newgate Callender unclipped some sort of high-tech gizmo from his belt, and he proceeded to wave this (the gizmo, not the belt) above the tiny raisinsized and highly concentrated universe. “Well, Faversham, you’ve done it this time,” he announced.

  “Who, me? Done what?”

  “The large amount of energy which you expended to time-travel back to the Big Bang has been subtracted from the total amount of matter-energy in the universe,” said Newgate Callender. “There isn’t enough matter-energy left to begin the quantum interphase reaction. In other words, Smedley Faversham: you have prevented the Big Bang. The universe will never happen, and it’s all your fault.”

  “Oops,” said Smedley Faversham. “Sorry about that.”

  Newgate Callender stepped forward, and slipped his handcuffs onto his adversary’s wrists. “Smedley Faversham, I hereby charge you with the murder of everybody in the universe. I also charge you with the malicious destruction of all public and private property in the universe. In fact, I charge yo
u with the destruction of the entire universe. You’re really in trouble, Sunshine. Let’s go.”

  “Where do you propose to take me?” said Smedley Faversham. He pointed towards the tiny raisin-sized nubbin of space-time, which had stubbornly refused to Big Bang itself. “If the universe doesn’t exist, then there – urp! – there aren’t any prisons or courtrooms or police stations. There aren’t any laws either, I might – urp! – I might add. Even the law of – urp! – the law of Entropy doesn’t seem to be valid.”

  “I’ll think of something,” said Newgate Callender, and tugged the chain of the handcuffs. “Let’s get a move on, Faversham!”

  “Wait a minute,” said Smedley Faversham. His complexion had taken on a definite greenish hue. “Wherever we’re going, could we stop off at a – urp! – at a lavatory on the way there? A certain curry vindaloo I ate for lunch is starting to come back from the dead, and I . . .”

  “There are no lavatories any more, thanks to you,” said Newgate Callender. “You’ll just have to hold on as best you can. Oh, I almost forgot.” The chronoconstable reached towards the tiny raisin-sized remnant of space-time which was all that remained of the universe. “I’ll have to draw a chalk line around this, and rope it off as a crime scene . . .”

  “The hell you will, flatfoot!” With a savage thrust, Smedley Faversham shoved the Time Cop aside and leaped forward. “If I can’t have the time-space continuum all to myself, then nobody can have it!”

  Cackling like a maniac, Smedley Faversham snatched the tiny lump of matter-energy, brought it towards his mouth, and . . . swallowed the universe.

  Newgate Callender sighed, and made another memorandum in his notepad. “As if you weren’t in enough trouble, Faversham . . . now I’ll have to charge you with destroying evidence.”

  “You couldn’t charge a battery in a lightning storm, fatso,” jeered Smedley Faversham. “I’m – urp! – I’m walking out of here, and I’m – urp! urp! – I’m taking the universe with me. And there’s no way you’re – urp! urp! urp! – stopping me, so . . .”

  Suddenly Smedley Faversham moaned. He keeled forward, clutching his gut. His face, which had formerly acquired a greenish cast, now turned the precise same shade of orange as a double takeaway order of curry vindaloo. He started to froth at the mouth . . .

  At that instant, Smedley Faversham felt as if the entire universe was exploding. Literally. And, since the entire universe was now inside his digestive tract . . .

  Smedley Faversham regained consciousness in a hospital bed, spread-eagled face upwards, with his limbs (all five of them) shackled to the bedposts. A face, blurred and indistinct, was swimming through his field of vision. Now the face turned over, did the backstroke, and continued swimming in the opposite direction.

  “Where am I?” quavered the intrepid time-criminal Smedley Faversham. “For that matter, When am I?”

  The face above him resolved itself into the sharp nose and steely gaze of Newgate Callender’s nephew Gregorian, a uniformed Paradox Patrolman. “You’re in the infirmary at headquarters, Faversham,” the young officer informed his prisoner. “Uncle Newgate told me all the details of your latest caper.”

  “Well, tell me, then,” said Smedley Faversham. “How did I get here? For that matter, how did the universe regain its existence? Wha’ hoppen?”

  “Thanks to your time-crimes, the universe didn’t have enough energy left to complete the Big Bang,” said Gregorian Callender. “But the heartburn inside your gut supplied just enough thermal activity to trigger the matter-energy interphase, and the combustion of the curry vindaloo finished the job. When you swallowed the universe, Smedley Faversham, you created the Big Bang . . . inside your digestive tract.”

  Smedley Faversham shuddered. “But, but . . . obviously I’m inside the universe now, instead of the other way around. Did I manage to cough up the universe before it expanded to . . .”

  “Cough up? Not cough, exactly, and not up, exactly, either.” With one thumb in midair, Gregorian Callender made a downward motion. “Let’s just say that curry vindaloo is notorious for the speed at which it passes through the human digestive system. Southward bound.”

  Smedley changed color again, this time turning red with embarrassment. “Do you mean to say that I . . .”

  “Yes, you did. All of it. Every quantum of space-time in the universe went through your intestines and out the obvious orifice like grease through a goose. While the universe was expanding, I might add. The lab boys are still cleaning up the mess you made. This will certainly make an interesting addition to your arrest record.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Smedley, stirring impatiently in his shackles, “you’ve got nothing to hold me for, Callender. My caper didn’t hurt anyone – except myself – and I didn’t damage any property. So, since my actions had no lasting effects . . .”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Gregorian Callender. “Look at these.” He keyed up several files on a nearby computer terminal, and turned the monitor so that Smedley could see the images onscreen.

  “I recognize those,” said Smedley Faversham. “They’re standard radio-telescope charts, charting the borders of the universe.”

  “And thanks to your meddling, Faversham,” said Gregorian Callender. “The universe is now expanding. Rapidly.”

  “So what?” jeered Smedley Faversham. “The universe has always been expanding. Stars and galaxies are moving away from each other constantly, towards the longer wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum. Surely you’re aware of the red shift.”

  “Not any more,” said Gregorian Callender. He moved the monitor slightly closer to Smedley Faversham’s hospital bed, and then handed him the keyboard. “Look again . . . and try inputting the rate and direction of Entropy as a coefficient.”

  Straining against his shackles, Smedley Faversham typed a sequence of commands into the terminal, and then gasped as he saw the results. Yes, the universe was expanding. The stars and quasars and nebulae and galaxies were indeed moving away from each other, their individual Doppler shifts modulating at various speeds towards the red end of the EM spectrum. But none of them ever got there. All the various components of the universe were terminating their Doppler shifts within the orange portion of the electromagnetic spectrum. To be specific, they were stopping within a wavelength of visible radiation which emitted spectroscopic lines of a bright orange hue looking exactly like . . .

  “Curry vindaloo!” said Smedley Faversham, in a voice tinged with doom.

  “Precisely,” said Gregorian Callender. “Well, Faversham, you’ve done it again. Only this time, you’ve left your permanent mark on the entire universe. Some of us here at Paradox Central want to lock you up for this. Unfortunately, we can’t.” Officer Callender looked slightly embarrassed. “Apparently, Faversham, you were outside of Space and Time when you swallowed the universe. And since the scene of the crime was located outside space-time, then it stands to reason that the crime never took place anywhere in Space . . . and it never happened anywhen in Time, either.” Sighing wearily, Gregorian Callender produced a key and proceeded to unlock Smedley’s shackles. “Looks like you’ve beaten the rap . . . again, Faversham.”

  “I’m free to go?” asked Smedley Faversham.

  “Better than that,” said Gregorian Callender. “My sister Julie Anne just busted a gang of time-traveling creationists who went back to Olduvai Gorge during the Pleistocene epoch and tried to murder all the hominids. Julie’s been recommended for promotion, and she and I and Uncle Newgate have decided to celebrate. Julie likes Chinese food, so we’ve made dinner reservations in the early Ming Dynasty: my sister says that’s the best place for thousand-year-old eggs. Anyway, Faversham, for some reason Julie wants you to join us for dinner. Care to come along?”

  “I’m not hungry,” said Smedley Faversham.

  YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE

  Scott Edelman

  Scott Edelman has been writing science fiction, fantasy and horror for the last t
wenty years and was, until recently, the editor of Science Fiction Age. But I don’t think any of his previous stories prepare you for the following. You’ll just have to take a deep breath and hit this story running – and you won’t stop before the end. Believe me, there’s no way anything could follow this story – except maybe a stiff drink.

  “Go away!”

  “Don’t be silly, Sammy. You don’t really mean that. Remember all the fun we used to have?”

  “No, George, I don’t. I really don’t. Now if you’d just—”

  “We used to play—”

  “George, no, you don’t have to tell me again!”

  “—Tag all the time. I was never any good at that game when anyone besides you was it. I never found anybody else the way I could find you. At first I thought I was just getting better, but then I realized that you always let me win. What else could it have been? Good old Sammy.”

  “Look, George. That was a long time ago. Almost twenty years. There’s no need to go into this again. I wish you hadn’t looked me up.”

  “You’re touched. I can tell.”

  “George, I wish you’d leave. Really. I’m trying to get some work done and I need to concentrate.”

  “I won’t make much noise. Promise. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “No.”

  “Sammy.”

  “No.”

  “Good old—”

  “No!”

  “—Sammy. Sammy, it’s really cold out here in the hall. You should talk to your landlord. First he leaves the lobby doors unlocked—”

  “Is that how you—”

  “—And then, what, he’s got the air-conditioning on in the middle of winter? Think I’m catching cold.”

  “So go home.”

  “If you want, I’ll talk to him for you. Tell him to turn up the heat. Anything for good old Sammy. Sammy?”

  “Here, I’m slipping his phone number and address under the door. I’m sure he’ll be glad to talk to you right now.”