Jump Starting the Universe

by John David Buchanan

  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 p
articular. “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?”

  “Bare 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?

  “I know what you are all thinking,” said Wayne, “but if the Jump Starter somehow functions at or near light speed, then hardly any time has elapsed for us according to the theory of time dilation.” Everyone was gawking at Wayne. “What?” said Wayne. “I’ve read a few things occasionally!” What an understatement. Wayne had a photographic memory; he didn’t talk about it. It was so finely precise that he could look at the pages of an entire book and then recall them all later. If you asked him what notes David Gilmour played in the 54th bar of Time he could tell you – he looked at the sheet music once in a shop on the west side of Austin.

  “Maybe you should continue, Blackie,” offered Wayne.

  “Okay, but only if there are no more interruptions, it’s hard enough to maintain a line of reasoning as it is without everyone haphazardly throwing in their two cents.” Everyone nodded but Blackie knew that didn’t mean anything with Mark and Wayne in the mix. “Okay, so when we push the red button on the Jump Starter it knows where it’s taking us. There may be some calculations or sifting through alternative destinations, but at the point of the jump, the Jump Starter knows where it’s going.” Everyone was surprisingly quiet. “So the jump begins, we are in stasis, we have no idea how long we are in stasis and it doesn’t matter, as Wayne pointed out, to us it may seem like seconds, but in fact it may be a relatively long time. How long? Long enough for the Jump Starter to teach us the languages spoken at our destination. We are in stasis until everyone has a working knowledge of the languages of our destination, then the Jump Starter deposits us in a safe place. The key is,” he continued, “the Jump Starter somehow makes the primary destination language our default language so when we arrive, look around and speak to each other, we don’t even know we’re not speaking our native language. It feels like English, it has facility like the English we spoke on Earth, or Nita’s language on her planet and Joules’ language here. But in fact we have been through immersion training and now speak new languages – the languages of our destination. Dr. Bullrod has been on a perpetual Jump for almost thirty years, he must know more languages than any being that has ever lived.”

  “The Lactrodectopoi might disagree,” said Mark, “you were finished right?”

  “Yeah, I was finished, said Blackie, “but nothing in my research indicates the Jump Starter can do what I’ve just described.”

  “Well of course not,” interjected
Nita, “their customers go on vacation and have a terrific time and language is never a barrier. They get back home, tell their friends and business is booming. The Jump Starter must be tremendously successful and success breeds competition; that explains why they don’t trumpet the language immersion training. And, when their customers return home, they return speaking their native language. It’s really brilliant.”

  “I think he’s right,” said Mark, “how did you come up with this. Blackie looked at them with a satisfied look on his face and thought to himself, “It’s the only logical conclusion.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  THE SCOOPS OF TRAHL

  There are irregularities in virtually everything. The edge of a metal bar observed by a scanning electron micrograph would render a completely different impression about the nature of that metal than its smooth surface observed by the naked eye. The loveliest of skin observed under high magnification yields its secret –it is not as smooth as one might think. On and on the examples go, and in fact with the right detection or monitoring equipment one could spend the rest of their lives finding and documenting the irregularities of physical matter. Challenge accepted by one Nigel E. Toffingten. Nigel E. Toffingten was fascinated with the seamy side of matter, with the idea that things weren’t as perfect and pristine as many supposed. His predilection for these observations began early in life, much to the chagrin of his parents who thought “there’s something wrong with this boy.”

  As a child he loved to find cracks in the sidewalk on his way to school. He began making a list of them so he could monitor their changes, but most importantly he listed them so he would know if a new crack appeared. While cataloging the cracks Nigel started to notice other things associated with the sidewalks and their cracks. For instance, he noticed that several cracks on his list were located in sections of sidewalks near the exposed root of a tree growing not far away. He noticed that if there was a pothole in the street often there was a crack in the sidewalk nearby and he noticed that if soil adjacent to the sidewalk was more moist than normal (he would know that because young boys will find mud, or anything similar to mud without really trying, and the nicer the clothes they are wearing the more likely they are to find it), or if pavement in the street seemed to always be wet, almost invariably there was a crack in the sidewalk. Nigel E. Toffingten was unknowingly honing his skills of observation and association. So much so that his parents started to worry that his obsession was abnormal. Really, you think so? But Nigel was not deterred by his parents’ prompting to play cricket or join the sculling team, he was perfectly happy concentrating on his observations. He even expanded his observations to cracks in walls. He found them at home on the garage wall. He found cracks in the storefronts of businesses he passed on his way to school. He even noticed an interesting crack in the exterior wall of the school gym his second year. By his fourth year he was making regular observations of that crack, which no longer followed the mortar around the bricks as it did at the base of the wall, but was now cutting right through the bricks and had split through 90 courses of good, solid hot fired brick; it was two thirds of the way to the top of the wall. His fifth year that crack split through the top course of bricks.