Jump Starting the Universe

by John David Buchanan

  Particle induction propulsion system aside, Gladys Wittsner didn’t give up on her desire to visit Gengish Alludia, and maybe Qurtnv if she had the time. In the end she decided to return to her previous profession of hair dressing to make enough money to pay for a proper holiday, not just an afternoon at Icchy Beach, the local hole in the ground filled with water that had sand splashed around its edges. Gladys diligently filled out a Form 1040 –J which served two functions; first it automatically notified the provincial government so they could assess her job application tax, secondly it automatically submitted her name for every job for which she was qualified. Two days later Gladys received an odd message from the local university indicating she had been selected for the job in the physics department and should report immediately. She wondered why the physics department needed a cosmetologist.

  Coincidentally, on or about the very same time Dr. Gladys Whisstner filled out her Form 1040-J as well. She was not at all surprised that she received a notification of her taxable event from the Zortian 7A Provincial Government. She was more than slightly surprised by the odd response she received from Betty’s Hair Emporium. Betty’s hand written note on soft pink Quidlid paper effused with the aroma of Darn berries notified her that she had been selected for the job and she should report immediately as there would be a run on chair space before the holiday. Dr. Whisstner wondered why Betty needed a cosmologist.

  This was certainly not the first time the government’s automated job application system mismatched applicants and employers. Reformists are quick to point out that anything associated with a government tax has a high probability of affecting chaos. The government’s unofficial position, asserted in a government funded study paper completed by various private and extremely expensive probability experts, is that a little more chaos brings variety to what may otherwise be dreadfully dull lives. How can the naysayers possibly respond to such brilliance?

  It turns out that Gladys Whittsner, the cosmetologist, was very intelligent and full of wonderful questions like, “What does that thing do? Do I have to wear this ugly radiation dosimeter badge and does it come in other colors? Does anyone need a haircut? And, what do you suppose would happen if we got our hands on a used space ship, fitted a large non-military issue tetratic sphere to an initial energy source, say maybe a circular particle accelerator and then used D-45 Klystron wave generators to propel electrons to an energy level of, let’s say approximately 54 teraelectronvolts? Couldn’t we inject Tritonium Densomite into the resulting quark gluon plasma, siphon the resulting energy dense liquid matter from behind the Dees near the target zone, transfer it to a modified combustion chamber, vent the fluid exhaust through supersonic propelling nozzles, and kick it across the galaxy at fairly remarkable speeds?”

  Apparently, during Gladys’ hiatus from being a hair dresser she had become a voracious reader, with an emphasis on science. Four years later it was Dr. Gladys Whittsner, inventor of the Whittsner propulsion system and the University received several very large grants from corporations that desired much shorter flight times. Six years after those fateful questions Gladys boarded a shiny new Adventure Series Space Ship with a Whittsner propulsion system and went to Gengish Alludia. The trip took four days and some change, but only three days in-bound after a few tweaks.

  Dr. Gladys Whisstner didn’t have much on her to-do list so she stayed around Betty’s Hair Emporium for a few days. After seeing the absurd hair styles people were wearing she thought, I’ve never cut a hair in my life and I could easily muck up hair like that. After two weeks Dr. Whisstner’s chair was never empty; the worse she shredded people’s hair the more they raved about it. Fate has an irrepressible sense of humor. She never wanted to be a cosmologist in the first place. Gladys purchased the shop, franchised Betty’s Hair Emporium, and made an obscene amount of money. She was always on the hunt for backwoods places that had no descent beauty parlors so people could rave about having their hair mangled at the new Betty’s; people shortened the name to Betty’s because it sounded cool. People are utterly ridiculous, but in random instances correct, as in this one. In between one of these quests of her’s, a friend of Gladys’ told her of a horribly ugly planet that just might afford some possibilities for franchises. Off Gladys went to explore the prospects. What are the odds Dr. Gladys Whittsner would meet Dr. Gladys Whisstner in the new Betty’s Hair Emporium at Turning Inn Hotel six years later on Gengish Alludia where they would become great friends; one in 364,456,893,679 (plus or minus 3.68 percent).

  When the jump was complete Amelia rounded on Blackie, “How did you know Sly could talk to the Pickers?” she asked emphatically.

  “Honestly, it was the only logical conclusion,” he responded. “Once Sly knew Zypho was no longer a threat he seemed really relaxed,” said Blackie, “even when Pfeipher showed up with that laser weapon and announced the Pickers would be stirring, Sly seemed, well, unconcerned. And when we heard the sound of Pickers coming up the trail, Sly didn’t go for his sword, he seemed completely at ease, his only concern seemed to be for our safety not his.” Blackie hesitated for a second to collect his thoughts, then, said. “Think back, remember when Paxim said there is more to Sly than we know. I think he is some kind of government operative.”

  “What do you mean an operative?” asked Amelia as she watched Mark in the rear view mirror now paying very close attention.

  “I don’t know exactly,” responded Blackie, “but when he told us about his Jump Starter, he said it had an unofficial design change that makes tracing difficult. Plus, he’s been to Earth loads of times, and he can converse with Pickers; I’ll bet that’s not the only unusual language he can speak.”

  “Not to mention he showed up today with a wicked looking sword in his hand and a stone cold look on his face,” added Nita.

  “And remember,” Blackie began again, “he said, “on more than one occasion I have been in very grave circumstances and a Mantoid has stepped out of a mixing zone nearby to help.” Everyone was quiet for a second and Blackie added,” “And I think Vanessa is an agent too.”

  “What?” exclaimed Mark loudly, “how do you get to that?”

  Blackie again hesitated for a moment, putting his thoughts together then said, “Vanessa told me she met Sly on Terra Bulga, on Earth, at the guitar shop. I think the shop is a cover, a safe place for when one of them needs to lie low. It would be perfect because no one goes there; we don’t have an intergalactic trade treaty with other planets. Anyway, Vanessa seemed to know a whole lot about the Mantoids and the Pickers, and about lots of other places, and tons about interstellar travel. Remember when we were at the Tree House and the desert was brought to the table? When Paxim brought that sword down on the confection right next to her, she didn’t so much as flinch.”

  “And she is brilliant,” said Amelia, “talking to her was how I imagined a conversation with Einstein, just brilliant.”

  “Do you think we should move out of this intersection before we get smacked?” said Nita from the rear seat. It was only after Nita’s prompting that they realized their jump had landed them right in the middle of a street.

  “Good idea,” responded Wayne, “and why don’t we find somewhere to get a room, a shower, and have a hot meal.” Wayne started the Nomad and pulled forward onto the frontage road of Highway XR-276N and merged onto the highway going north, or so indicated the little round bobble compass on the dashboard of the Nomad. Pointing to the bobble compass Wayne said, “I have no idea if that is really north, as in Earth north, but I feel better having it point that way. It’s been the only predictable part of this entire journey.”

  Along the highway before every exit there was a small sign indicating the attractions that could be found at that exit; restaurants, fuel, and finally hotels at exit 18-C.

  “Where do you suppose we are?” said Amelia.

  “We are on Gafcon- 49,” said Blackie. “Blackie, really now, how could you deduce that,” said Nita.

  “I didn’t deduce anything,�
� replied Blackie, “it says so on that electronic billboard,” he finished while pointing to a large billboard with an advertisement that read Welcome to Gafcon-49, Host of the 671st Intergalactic Travel Treaty Convention.

  “That makes me feel a little inadequate,” said Mark, “they have been doing this for 671 years and earthlings are just getting out of the chute; we think a trip to Port Aransas is a big adventure.”

  “Well not every planet has been at it for that long Mark,” offered Nita sympathetically, “we have only been capable of interstellar travel for 249 years.”

  “Well that makes me feel loads better.”

  Wayne was looking at the billboard and not really paying attention to the fact that he had exited the highway more than a little too fast. “Man,” he exclaimed loudly as he hit the brakes and stopped suddenly while a pedestrian crossed in front of them.

  “What’s with the glow,” said Mark from the backseat as they watched the person turn onto the sidewalk to their left. Wayne drove two more blocks and pulled into a tiny parking area next to a small hotel.

  “I’ll see if they have rooms available,” said Blackie as he opened the passenger side door and thinking, “I like it up here.” He walked inside and returned quickly. Blackie stuck his head in the passenger side window and announced, “They have rooms,” and then added, “and don’t stare, everyone in there has a soft glow about them.

  Wayne looked in the rear view mirror at Mark, “This is going to get weird, I can feel it,” he exclaimed.

  “I’m dying for a shower,” said Amelia looking at some cave grime on her shoulder, “let’s get rooms.”

  The hotel wasn’t huge but not small either, and it was beautifully appointed and comfortable. Blackie was right, everyone in the hotel had a slight glow about them. They approached the check-in counter and the clerk, Mida, verified there were a few rooms available.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but the convention participants have booked all the regular rooms, we only have the penthouse rooms available.”

  Amelia pulled out her credit card and offered it to the clerk, “Could you just check to see if our credits will cover charges for the rooms,” she said. Mida took the card and placed it in the reader.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, “you have, that is to say, I’ve never seen, I mean, oh I’m so sorry,” she said slightly ruffled, “I’ve never seen a card with that many credits.” “How many nights will you be with us?” Mida inquired trying to collect herself.

  Amelia turned to the group, “Five nights,” she asked. Everyone concurred, “Five nights then,” she said to the clerk, “and we’ll need three rooms, two doubles and a single.”

  The clerk looked at them and exclaimed, “I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear, all the rooms available are in the Penthouse Suite. There are five bedrooms, each with its own private sitting room and bath. There is a large living room for entertaining and a full kitchen. The private pool and hot tub are just off the second living area behind the fireplace.”

  Amelia replied, “That will be wonderful we’ll take it.” She turned to the group and said apologetically, “I know it’s not exactly what we want, but with a convention in town we had better take the rooms while they are available.” Mida called two bagboys to help with luggage. They loaded the bags and guitars from the Nomad and accompanied the group to the penthouse.

  “So you are musicians,” asked one of the bagboys.

  “That’s right,” replied Wayne.

  “We’ve never had musicians that could afford the penthouse,” said the second bagboy.

  “Then you haven’t had any really good musicians, have you?” said Wayne. Blackie handed each of the bagboys a tip slip as they left the room.

  “What’s with the glowing?” asked Mark.

  Blackie had crossed the room and was looking out the large double doors that led to a balcony, “I don’t know, but I might be able to find out tomorrow,” he replied as he looked across the street to a large museum and library complex. Amelia announced she was going to pick a room and hit the shower.

  Nita walked around the penthouse admiring the furnishings. “Nita, can I ask you a question,” inquired Mark and they approached the fireplace.

  “Sure, but I reserve the right to not answer,” she said smiling.

  Mark continued, “That was a pretty nice kick you used on Zypho,” he said.

  “That’s not a question Mark,” she said still smiling.

  “Ok, so where did you learn to do that,” he asked.

  She smiled again, “I don’t like to make a big deal of it,” replied Nita, “my uncle was in the armed forces and whenever he was in town he gave me lessons.”

  “How long have you been at it,” Mark asked, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Honestly Mark I’ve always done it, for as long as I can remember; even when my uncle was away on assignments I trained. He built a hanger in the garage at my house and left work out bags hung and ready to use. I think it was to keep me interested, he said it was our heritage. I’ve got pictures of me hitting that bag when I was five years of age,” she finished.

  “You must be really good,” said Mark.

  “I never thought so,” returned Nita, “but about two months ago when Uncle Jimm was home we sparred. I had never been able to take him down before, but this time I could have.”

  “Did you?” asked Mark.

  “No, just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should,” she replied.

  “Would you be interested in teaching us?” asked Mark, “Wayne knows how to handle himself, but who knows how long we’ll be jumping around before we get home, and if the rest of us had a few more moves it might come in handy.”

  Nita stood for a second thinking then said, “Sure I could do that, I think Uncle Jimm would like that. He taught me so I could defend myself.”

  “So were you picked on in school,” asked Mark.

  “It began right after my Dad and brother were killed,” she said matter-of-factly like it was someone else’s memory, “but after I started training the bullying didn’t last long; bullies don’t like being chucked on the ground like a slab of meat. Well, I think it’s time for me to go to bed. Good night, Mark.” Nita walked into the room next to Amelia’s and closed the door.

  Mark returned to the main living room to find Wayne asleep on the sofa and Blackie still looking out the window. Mark roused Wayne. “Hey you slug, get in bed.” Wayne got to his feet and swayed like Georgia cane in a stiff breeze then headed for the closest room. Both Mark and Blackie laughed as he ran into the door jam, glanced off the wall and fell onto the bed. They walked to the bedroom door and heard Wayne breathing heavy. “I guess it’s no use trying to wake him,” said Mark. So, they flipped a coin to see who would get the better of the two remaining rooms. Blackie won the toss and took the room with a nice view of the museum and buildings downtown. Mark trudged off to the other bedroom.

  Blackie was the first one awake the next morning. He called room service and ordered several carafes of coffee and a variety of breakfast items for everyone. He felt restless; like he needed to move, so after he ate breakfast he wrote a note to the others that he was going for a walk and he would be in the museum if they needed him. By the time Mark got up everyone else was having breakfast.

  “Eat that pastry,” Wayne slurred while pointing, “it’s delicious.” Mark poured a cup of coffee and took a bite of the pastry.

  “Good,” he said in a muffled voice while half yawning.

  Blackie went out the front door of the hotel, turned right and was plodding down the street. It was mostly vacant. A few merchants were out sweeping the sidewalks in front of their shops and occasionally one would greet him with a good morning, but mostly it was quiet. After a thirty minute walk he doubled back to the museum building which had a nice size library on the side opposite the hotel. Blackie scanned the museum layout located in the foyer but in the end decided to walk randomly around the collection.

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p; “Can I help you find something?” came a voice from behind him? He turned to see a young woman next to a dark wooden bookshelf full of cordovan leather bound books. The contrast was almost hard on his eyes. She was wearing a soft yellow blouse and white pants and had golden hair and fair skin. Like everyone else in town she glowed slightly, but somehow her glow was different, it wasn’t just a flow, it seemed to enhance her features yet soften her appearance.

  “I was just looking around,” said Blackie.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked.

  “Yes,” but he hesitated slightly before continuing, “This is my first trip to Gafcon-49 and I thought I’d learn about….about the planet and…. things.” Blackie could feel his face turning red.

  “Maybe you would like to start over here,” said the girl. She led him to a short low bookcase near a sitting area. “These might interest you,” she said as she leaned over and picked out a book and placed it on top of the shelf. “If you need anything else, I’ll be just over there,” she said smiling. Without thinking Blackie reached out and picked up the book.