Jump Starting the Universe

by John David Buchanan

  Blackie shook his head in disbelief, “Mr. Songtist must be a very different sort of person.”

  “He is that,” said Sly, “that’s him sitting in front of you two tables over.”

  Blackie discreetly gazed over to the second table to find a uniquely disheveled man. His dark hair was disheveled, his almost white shirt was slightly twisted, his gray overcoat was ill-fitting, his blue pants needed pressing and he wore something akin to huarache sandals that were purple. “Theosophil had never been to the restaurant before the accident,” said Vanessa. “When he refused to sue, Flevour sent him an invitation to brunch. Rumor has it that Mr. Songtist and his family have received an invitation to brunch and dinner by courier every day since. I believe the rumor.” Vanessa added, “Flevour once told Sly to fend off a lawsuit over the guest’s accident would have cost a healthy fortune and that he has never cared much for the attorneys’ meddling; he won’t let them have lunch meetings in the tree.”

  “Flevour also said the day after the accident the tree leaves never looked better,” smirked Sly.

  Wayne couldn’t help but chortle at Sly’s comment, “never looked better,” he said softly looking very amused. Blackie was having the same reaction as Wayne but the look on Amelia’s face strongly suggested she hadn’t figured out why they thought it was so funny.

  Putting that idea aside Amelia announced they should meet Mark and Nita below. The group made their way to the lift and down they went. The next couple of days were filled with outings to the countryside, picketrics as Wayne was now calling them (which made Nita laugh) and dinners in some vividly elegant establishments and some dives of questionable reputation, although Sly assured them the food was fine, and it was fine. A friendly game of who will get the bill had developed between Sly and Amelia who went to no ends to outsmart each other in their attempts to pay. “They are just as bad as Mike Moore Already, and Uncle Chuck back home,” commented Blackie. “I hope I get to see them again someday,” he thought.

  One morning when they had walked to a coffee shop and waited for Sly and Vanessa to join them Mark vocalized what they were all thinking, “we need to move on. I absolutely love it here but I’m getting itchy. I feel like we should be getting on with the trip and figuring out how to get home.” Everyone agreed.

  “We should ask Sly about the Jump Starter when they get here,” said Blackie, “maybe he can give us a heads-up on how the blasted thing works.”

  Wayne picked up two carafes of coffee at the counter just as Sly and Vanessa arrived. They poured the coffee into paper cups and each of them took a hot pastry delivered by the cook. “Pretty good coffee,” said Blackie, “not like Gavalkian, but I suppose if it was it wouldn’t be served in these very nice, but very paper cups.” After another round of coffee they were sufficiently awake and wired.

  “Sly,” Mark started, “we need some help with our Jump Starter.”

  “What kind of help?” responded Sly.

  “The kind where you explain to us how we figure out where we are going, before we go,” said Blackie.

  “Well each series of Jump Starters has a different operating system,” began Sly, “what series is it.”

  Amelia looked despondent and said, “We don’t know.”

  “Is that the model Prenetian gave you?”

  “Yes it is, but he didn’t give us any instructions, he just said we were going to need it, and it was a mono model, but I don’t think that last bit is important.”

  “Honestly, without the series number there is no way of researching and determining its operational sequences,” said Sly. “The Jump Starter Corporation engineers thought it would be best not to inscribe the series numbers on the outside of the casing; they thought it would deter theft. The return ring is good for returning back to the previous location but it only retraces one jump, after that you have to move forward. I wonder why Prenetian didn’t give you instructions.”

  Wayne who had been listening quietly added, “I’ve been wondering that myself. Do you think he planned it this way? He didn’t seem like the type to put us in danger,” finished Wayne.

  “Maybe it was the lesser of two evils so to speak,” added Sly, “and I assure you Prenetian would never knowingly put you in danger. I wish I could jump you back to Terra Bulga, but my Jump Starter is limited to one jumper and its programmed to only authenticate my jumps; it’s an unofficial design change that makes tracing difficult,” he added in explanation.

  “That guitar shop is going to get you in serious trouble someday Sly,” said Vanessa smiling with a twinkle in her eye. She loved the bit of adventurer in Sly; it’s what attracted her to him when they first met. In fact they met on Terra Bulga, in the guitar shop where Vanessa was looking for a gift for a nephew’s birthday. Vanessa was also a bit of an adventurer. Someday, when the time was right, she would have to tell Sly that it was she who taught Pfeipher Conrad about the Gavalkian coffee and the organic fertilizer. She smiled broadly just thinking about it.

  “I think we should get back to the Phoenix hotel, collect the Nomad and see where the Jump Starter takes us next,” recommended Blackie.

  “I’m for that,” seconded Mark.

  Wayne hesitated; it wasn’t like him to hesitate. “At least,” he thought, “the results of their first jump would be certain.” “I’m thinking we should backtrack to the Nomad,” said Wayne, “we can collect some provisions, have dinner at the hotel, and spend the night. Exactly how often does the Phoenix burn down Vanessa?”

  She looked up and replied, “Oh this soon after a burning I think you will be safe enough, don’t you think Sly,” who nodded in agreement.

  “Nita, do you agree about going back to the Phoenix?” asked Amelia, “yes, then we’re off.” After saying goodbyes they gathered a few things and stood in Sly’s front yard.

  “I might like to swing by for dinner at the Sub-Bar sometime,” said Blackie to no one in particular.

  “You have our information,” said Vanessa who had overheard him, “just give Sly a ring and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay everyone, budge up and were gone,” instructed Amelia. Amelia rotated the ring 180 degrees and pressed the red button. Woosh came the sound, and they became enveloped in a bright white haze. A glittering golden ring formed in mid-air near Wayne, and then it moved slowly to encircle the group and pass by Nita. Woosh came the sound again as another golden ring passed, then another. Mark put his arm over Blackie’s shoulder and around Nita’s waste and pulled them closer to the center. The white haze began to pulse with silver flashes and they became slightly transparent.

  “Cool,” said Martin, “their Jump Starter is way cooler than yours Dad.” With each pulsation the silver flashes increased in intensity and the haze became more and more transparent, as did everyone in it.

  “They look like thin smoke,” said Victor, “like their more gone than here.” Woosh, the sounds and rings came faster and faster.

  Wayne looked at Sly and Vanessa, then Martin and Victor and mouthed the words “Hasta luego” while performing a quite small wave with just the fingers on his left hand.

  Mark saw Wayne make the wave and began to laugh as he remembered the soldiers and his own exclamation – get back it’s going to blow - that was sweet he thought.

  “They just vanished Dad,” exclaimed Victor, “are they going to arrive all right?”

  “We hope so,” came the reply.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE VOIDS IN SPACE

  Space was once christened the final frontier. Which space? Since that infamous christening we’ve been finding space everywhere. It’s out there between the universes, it folds itself between the galaxies, space reaches out between the stars, it fills the voids between things on the surfaces of planets and between things inside them, it’s the thing between you and your waist band after a diet, it occupies the territory between subatomic particles, and it lies between the super-subatomic particles that have yet to be discovered – more on that later. So exac
tly what space is the final frontier? Space was once considered a homogeneous area between us and somewhere up there. Then it was considered heterogeneous when we determined it wasn’t homogeneous; there are simply too many things floating around in “space” for it to be described as homogeneous.

  During his extensive travels Edwark Conkon, Nobeliss Laureatum who hails from Canecopiae Sigma, came to theorize that space is like Swiss cheese, although not the same colour. It comes in very large chunks and very small chunklets, the difference being the large chunks contain those holes where there is no cheese. By the way, those “cheeseless” areas haven’t been officially reported yet, as Mr. Conkon is still “in the void” so they say. Nevertheless, reported or not, the holes may be out there it seems. Conkon’s original premise was that real voids in space must be off the beaten trails. Or, they are unintentionally avoided because navigational tools are designed to evaluate readings from matter and don’t report the lack of readings from lack of matter. Otherwise voids would have already been found and summarily reported. Since space is large, very large indeed, Conkon suggested we have only dipped our toe in a small cove of a very large lake, so we shouldn’t attempt to describe the lake having only seen the weed infested inlet. Rife with grant money Conkon outfitted a small but very nice and extremely fast vessel to cruise the vestiges of far off galaxies. With dual particle accelerator engines Conkon was out there quickly, really really out there. The flight recorder on his Alpha 2X GQ ship was set to record and transmit so that data would be received by an array of massive radiofrequency receivers and downloaded automatically to his Eye-Brain computer in the lab on Canecopiae Sigma. The ship’s unique scientific instruments were designed to detect changes in solar wind pressure and solar particle distribution.

  Edwark left amidst a big fanfare hosted by his best friend Freida Elpha Murlik. Edwark said it was the best party he had ever been to, but then he hadn’t been to too many parties so that’s not saying much. But we digress. Edwark lifted off to many goodbyes and good lucks, as reported in the Canecopiae Sigma Gazette (Page 1, column b, 3458.13 if you go looking) and from that point and after we know considerably less than we’d like. This much we know for sure, Edwark Conkon’s cryogenic stasis unit didn’t terminate his sleep cycle for 83 years. That’s a long time to travel to find nothing. Having been awakened Conkon made two very different observations which were recorded and transmitted to the tight-beam radiofrequency receivers. The messages found on his Eye-Brain computer were brief and ethereal. The brief part was as follows: “That was the best nap I’ve ever had.” The ethereal part was not as short but was a much more interesting fragment and went something like this, “…chasms in space, void of solar winds where ships lay in black doldrums praying for a stray particle to breeze their sails.”

  Much scientific discussion has followed Edwark Conkon’s transmission. You must admit it’s the sort of thing scientists would get on about. Some say he found a void and unfortunately slipped into the abyss as his last words beamed across the galaxies. Others say that is rubbish and the data only shows fluctuations in solar wind pressure and solar particle distribution. The Voidsters as they are called, are quick to point out the transmitted data show a slight downward trend in all data fields indicating the proximity of a void. The Rubbishers say statistical variability in the data prevents any valid scientific conclusion, and a trend ending in nothing would be required to prove the existence of true voids. The Voidsters quickly point out that that is exactly what they have after 83 years, nothing. The Rubbishers have replied thusly, “that is simply codswallop.” The non-scientific community has Conkon on some remote holiday planet with a fine spaceship filled with grant money to the point of bursting, sipping exquisite Alsaisum wine and eating Swiss cheese. Coincidentally, the whereabouts of Freida Elpha Murlik are unknown.

  “Man,” exclaimed Mark as he looked around at the hotel lobby, “just like we left it; before the fire that is.”

  Blackie was looking at the ceiling, “look up,” he said. There hung the chandelier as if nothing had ever happened.

  “I love that chandelier,” exclaimed Nita.

  “Indestructible that is,” said an elderly gentleman standing close by. “I’ve been here after five of the last six fires and that chandelier is never so much as stained. Beats anything I’ve ever seen. Rumor has it fire triggers the crystals in the chandelier to generate a force field that protects it from harm. But mum’s the word from the designers. I don’t blame them of course they only create twelve each year so they can’t go giving away their secrets; the market would be flooded with knock-offs. They are impossibly expensive and still there is a waiting list as long as a Jantoid’s arm. I’d like to have one for the shop, but the Mrs. would flay me. Well, have a nice day,” finished the little man as he turned and tramped away with short quick purposeful steps as if his story had just made him late for a business meeting.

  “Does anyone have a plan?”

  “Say what?”

  “Do we have a plan or are we going to have dinner and decide what to do?” said Amelia.

  “How about I check on the Nomad and the rest of you get us a table in the hotel restaurant,” offered Wayne.

  “That’s a plan,” replied Mark and off he went with Nita toward the restaurant all the while talking about the Tree House.

  Amelia and Blackie followed with Blackie sizing up every part of the hotel along the way. “It’s incredible that anyone could rebuild this entire hotel in less than three days. It took Mr. Harris longer than that to re-tile our bathroom, although I’m sure he and Dad were quaffing a few pints along the way. Come to think of it, all that quaffing might explain why the tile is mostly light green except for the two rows of dark brown over the top of the tub. Well, that, and if I’m not mistaken Dad is colour blind,” finished Blackie.

  Wayne returned from the Nomad and joined them at a table overlooking the park. “Those trees are gorgeous,” said Amelia. “Do you suppose some cuttings would survive a few jumps until we get home?”

  “Do you suppose we will get home?” said Blackie. “And I believe Sly pointed out that cuttings would violate an Intergalactic Agreement on the Distribution of Organic Life Forms, or something like that.”

  Nita looked up from gazing at the park and fixed her eyes on Blackie, “He said exactly that actually.”

  “So, no cuttings then, I thought maybe..,” Amelia said with a forlorn voice that trailed off.

  “Amelia, if we figure out how to control the Jump Starter you can come see the trees any time you like,” offered Mark, who turned to Wayne and finished, “how was the Nomad?”

  “Splendid,” said Wayne, “the hotel washed and waxed it while we were gone. The maître d’ insisted the ash would have damaged the paint and had his staff give it a hand wash and polish while things were slow. I’d like to pop up to the front desk later with the credit card and show my appreciation. It looks great and the seats don’t smell anymore. Anyone know what Ziflon oil is? No? He said something about Ziflon oil. Anyway the Nomad looks stunning.” Amelia was tickled that Wayne referred to his station wagon as stunning.

  “What about dinner then?” said Nita.

  “I’m craving bangers and hash,” responded Blackie, “but what are the odds,” he finished as he picked up a menu. “But I would settle for the fish and chips on page two.”

  “No way,” said Wayne. The name wasn’t fish and chips, but the description in the menu sounded very much like fish and chips and the waiter described it as if it were proper fish and chips. Minutes later five orders of “fish and chips” had been taken by the waiter and they sat sipping tea and chatting about Sly and Vanessa. A waiter returned and placed a plate in front of Amelia who stared at the dish.

  “Is everything alright?” asked the waiter.

  “Perfect,” responded Amelia and the waiter placed the remaining plates on the table and returned to the kitchen.

  Mark took a quick bite, “oh mah, that’s ot,” he mouthed, “buh it�
��s eally guh.” The waiter appeared and placed two bowls on the table whose contents looked eerily like tartar sauce.

  “This whole experience gets stranger by the minute,” commented Wayne.

  “Is there something wrong?” asked the waiter.

  “Oh no, we were just thinking we’d had this sauce somewhere else before,” said Blackie.

  “Oh, that’s very unlikely sir,” said the waiter, “we are the only restaurant with a license to serve it.”

  “Yes of course, my mistake,” said Blackie, now thinking about Sly and wondering, “fungus may not have been the first illegal intergalactic import or export on Earth. How old is he anyway?”

  They finished dinner and when Nita paid the bill she nearly fainted. There was another holographic message from Tugurro. It was short and to the point, “Sales are up, I’ve had our full time accountant make the necessary deposits to your credit card accounts. We’ve signed papers for construction of 50 restaurants. There’s more but I’m too busy to explain now. Thanks again for the toast.” Everyone gawked at the balance.

  “Not bad for a group of lost folks,” said Mark.

  “No, not bad at all,” added Wayne, “If we keep this up we’ll have way more than we can spend. Maybe we should consider putting some of the capital to work, maybe invest in real estate, like a small planet with lots of waterfalls and a large outdoor music venue?” he finished with a grin.

  “You think we could get slow hand to make an appearance?” said Mark.

  “Maybe,” replied Amelia, “Sly knows him.”

  “What?” said Mark and Wayne together so loudly the couple at table 3C looked their direction a rather long time.

  “He’s been in the guitar shop looking at one of those high end fungus guitars,” said Amelia.

  “I wouldn’t start describing them like that,” suggested Blackie, “it might be bad for business.”