Enough About Me

by S. G. Wilson

  “Prithee, comrade, mention it not!” Ren Faire said, slapping Hollywood’s back.

  In the half hour we’d spent getting our plan together and calling for a lift, Hollywood and Ren Faire had become good buddies. They’d put aside their old grudge with each other and bonded over theater stories. The same fuzzy spirit of friendship had brought together Motor and Troll, who traded hacker tips, and Mobster and Resist, who cracked each other up with their stories about telling off authority figures. Since everybody else was getting along with the Virals now, I probably should have forgiven Click and Dare for landing me in juvie. Instead, I took a page from Meticulous’s book and ignored them. I figured if I really was a bad person, I might as well enjoy the perks of being a bad person: namely, ignoring people I didn’t like.

  Our new Viral allies had refused to tell us much of anything about the ship they’d called to pick us up. “You won’t believe it until you see it,” Troll had said. He’d been only partway right: even after I saw it, I still didn’t believe it.

  How do you make sense of a massive zeppelin carting an old-timey ocean liner beneath it? That’s the monstrosity that, against all logic and reason, burst through the clouds and came barreling toward us. Letters on the side of its hull read: Titanic-Hindenburg.

  “The Titanic and the Hindenburg?!” I said. “Combined?!”

  Motor whistled low. “Two of the most famous crashes in history rolled into one.”

  “How can the balloon part even carry the boat part?” asked Hollywood.

  “And who’d be moronic enough to fly in it?” said Resist.

  “Motor! Average!” shouted two Mes from the deck of the ship. One wore the orange robes and serene expression of a monk. The other looked tense, twitchy, and on the verge of a panic attack.

  “Monk Me and Alien Abduction Me?!” I asked.

  Ren Faire grinned. “Wait until thou doth see who’s driving.”

  A third Me leaned his head out the window of the wheelhouse. He looked dashing with his brass-plated goggles, leather aviator helmet, and white scarf billowing in the wind.

  “Gadzooks, if you’ll pardon my language—that’s Steampunk Me!” said Hollywood.

  “All that talk about airships and steam technology, I figured he was making it up,” said Resist.

  “Steam technology,” grumbled Meticulous. “What a joke.”

  Motor waved to Steampunk and the others. “Ahoy, Captain!”

  Steampunk turned the steering wheel with one hand and clicked an impossible number of switches and levers with the other. Then he tugged on a droopy cable near his head, and the boat’s smokestacks puffed thick white clouds of steam into the zeppelin above. The Titanic-Hindenburg floated toward us.

  “When did that swot get so…adequate?” said Meticulous.

  “He’s not just adequate,” said Hollywood as Steampunk stopped the ship just above the roof. “He’s cool!”

  Monk and Alien Abduction lowered a rope ladder so we could all climb up to the deck. Once we got aboard, Steampunk pointed the ship to float farther down the canyon. Then he stepped out of the wheelhouse to join his crew, giving every Me a crisp salute, until he saw Meticulous and his floating Stitch.

  “What are you doing here with him?!” said Steampunk.

  Alien Abduction raised his fists at Meticulous. “He must have you all under mind control!” yelled the paranoid Me. “We have to stop him!”

  Monk patted Alien Abduction on the shoulder. “Now, now. Clearly, the multiverse has brought them together,” said Monk. “And now it has brought us all together.” Monk motioned toward three more Mes working machinery in the background: Rodeo Clown Me, Sensitive Me, and Disco Me. They looked even less happy to see Meticulous than the others did, which made sense, considering that Meticulous had stranded them here longer than any other Me. Sensitive mumbled a slew of angry words that came out muffled by the filter mask. I figured we were better off not hearing them.

  Ignoring him, I turned to Steampunk. “Well, this is a fine ship you’ve got here.”

  Steampunk swept his eyes over the monstrosity with a loving look. “Everybody thought I was lying about coming from a steampunk world, but there’s the proof. The Titanic-Hindenburg is the most famous airship from my Earth. The ultimate in advanced steam technology. It went missing after its first flight. To think it wound up here, and I found it!”

  Meticulous watched a swarm of sea gulls in tuxedoes flying past. “It shouldn’t fly, but somehow, against all logic and reason…it does.”

  “Logic and reason are not the only forces at play in the multiverse,” said Monk.

  Meticulous had a counterargument for that claim, but I cut him off. “And Troll filled you in on our plan when he contacted you, right, Steampunk?” I said. “You’re okay with…what we have in mind?”

  Steampunk sighed. “It won’t be easy, but if it means stopping Prez and his stupid plans to exploit the Rip, then it’ll be worth it.”

  “I don’t trust Prez for a second!” said Alien Abduction. “My theory is that he’s in league with the aliens who took me!”

  “But we don’t need to hear the details of that theory at this time,” said Monk. “Believe me, we’ve heard much of it these many weeks.”

  “Well then,” I said. “Set a course for the origami drive. It’s time we take the fight to Nash’s army!”

  And to my surprise, every Me on the deck of the Titanic-Hindenburg cheered. Despite everything I’d done, it was almost like they saw me as some kind of leader. Hopefully, I wasn’t leading them to disaster.

  * * *

  —

  Steampunk piloted his impossible ship out of the canyon and up over Nash’s army. Before the soldiers had a chance to fire their weapons on us, we doused them in the most powerful magic the Polymagic Vocational Institute had to offer.

  The army didn’t stand a chance.

  Before the ship had arrived, Motor, Meticulous, and I had spent our time folding origamagic bombs from Motor’s backpack stash of blank scroll paper and spell books. Now we sent it all raining down on the troops. The Winston’s Wand Whirler spun soldiers around until they were too dizzy to stand. The Morton’s Mop Monsters tangled up the tanks. And some well-placed Never-Stop Ghost Hammers, Artificial Elf Cobblers, and Metal-Melting Dragon Tongues took out the cannons, robots, and other machinery of war. Most satisfying of all, a swarm of Sylvania’s Soaring Sponges chased away General Nash and Council Members Lunt, Pooplaski, and O’Fartly.

  Through it all, my MeMinder never once told me I was being bad, so I figured I must have been onto something.

  When the ship pulled within range of the origami drive, a red-alert siren blared. Then the ship began its downward collision course with the giant dish of doom.

  “Get to your assigned bat bikes, people!” shouted Steampunk.

  He pointed us toward a stack of bikes latched along the sides of the deck. They came equipped with small steam engines and big mechanical bat wings.

  “I still don’t like this,” moaned Hollywood. Every Me but Steampunk grabbed a bike and hopped on.

  “We’ve got no choice,” said Resist. As soon as she started pedaling, the bike’s steam engine kicked in and the wings started to flap. It looked ludicrous, but it worked. Resist rose up over the deck and off the side, flapping her way toward the nearest cliff.

  The rest of us followed suit, except for Motor, who hopped onto his flying carpet, and Steampunk, who stayed behind as long as he could. Craning my neck as I rose into the clouds, I watched Steampunk stand at the prow of the ship, arms raised to the sky as he shouted, “I’m king of the world!”

  He waited until the last possible second to leave the ship on a souped-up bat bike with double wings and a big steam engine. Riding that thing, he caught up to us in no time.

  “She was a real beauty of a ship!” I yelled to Stea
mpunk as he pulled up alongside me.

  Steampunk choked back tears. “I know that with a name like Titanic-Hindenburg, she was fated to sink someday anyway. She might as well have gone down for a good cause, in a blaze of glory.”

  We turned back around just in time to see the ship hit its target.

  Imagine a chalkboard the size of a JumboTron getting scratched by the fingernails of the Jolly Green Giant. That’s what it sounded like when the Titanic-Hindenburg crashed into the origami drive. The noise vibrated the very blood cells in my bones.

  The Rip let loose with three lightning strikes in a row. They struck the canyon below, launching a miniature avalanche of transdimensional garbage. Soldiers scrambled around, and Nash, from the safety of a cliff, shouted at them to take cover.

  Hollywood crouched down on his bat bike, swiveling his head around to see where the next strike would come from. “Uh, wasn’t that storm supposed to calm down after we broke the origami drive?”

  “Maybe the Rip’s too far gone,” said Resist.

  Meticulous gazed at the growing hole in the sky as we pedaled toward Me HQ and the common yard came into view. “The Rip is going critical. We’ll have to work double time once we get down there.” He turned to me. “Just keep them distracted as long as you can.”

  “Good luck,” I said.

  He nodded as he banked his bike toward the missile launcher below. The Virals and the former crew of the Titanic-Hindenburg followed him. Seconds later, they blinked out of sight. Resist had shared with them a new line of Me Corp. products she’d been developing—CoverMe InvisiRings and InvisiCloaks. The Mes wore the rings, and they’d draped a cloak over the Stitch, hauling it alongside their bikes, which had also disappeared from view.

  “Isn’t it dangerous to sell invisibility rings to the general public?” asked Hollywood.

  “I don’t plan to sell them,” said Resist. “I plan to donate them to refugees, political protesters, and other people who need a leg up against authority figures. I only wish the effect lasted longer. Once the battery wears out, no more invisibility.”

  “Hopefully, it’ll last long enough for us to launch the Stitch undetected,” said Motor.

  “And if not, well, we’ll have to be even more distracting down there,” I said. “So let’s go pay a visit to Prez.”

  Any large gathering of my counterparts always seemed to end in me getting chased down by an angry mob or covered in Godzilla snot. That’s why it came as such a shock to be not just welcomed at the Me party to end all Me parties, but to be the guest of honor.

  When Motor, Resist, Hollywood, and I stepped into the lounge at Me HQ, every Me on the dance floor screamed for us like we were some kind of K-pop boy band. It felt even better than throwing a ball of dung at Nash’s face.

  “We saw what you did out there in that crazy ship!” said Pool Hustler Me, pointing to the big screen near the ceiling. It showed an aerial view of Nash’s army in tatters.

  “Excellent strategy!” yelled Military School Me, giving me a salute.

  Up onstage, Bollywood Musical Me yelled into his mic. “This next number’s dedicated to the Mes who saved us!” He and the Tune Mes broke into a song that had been stuck in my head for the past three months. Given how loudly everybody groaned, it must have been stuck in their heads all this time too.

  Across the room, I saw Prez waving us over. He sat at a long cafeteria table beside Juvenile Hall, who tapped away at his MePad with furious speed. Cowboy and Acupuncture stood over them, keeping a watchful eye on everyone.

  We made our way through the crowd to reach them but had to stop for so many selfies and fist bumps along the way that it took forever. By the time we reached the table, Juvenile Hall had made a few final taps on the screen and proclaimed, “Done!” He unplugged a familiar sleek MeMinder from his MePad and handed it to Prez. “The portals should work now with no problem. Sorry for the hiccups, daddy-o.”

  Prez strapped on the watch and powered it up. “Perfectly understandable.” He nodded at us. “Excellent work, you four. We saw the whole thing on the drone camera feed. You did us a great service out there.”

  “Yeah, you’re really some cool cats!” said Juvenile Hall. “Sorry again for throwing you into the origami drive.”

  “I suppose we returned the favor, didn’t we?” said Resist. “By vaporizing your dangerous toy?”

  I cringed on the inside. Resist had been away from other humans too long to remember how to play nice. We had to butter up Prez so he’d stay distracted, at least long enough to buy Meticulous some time.

  Rather than blow up, Prez chuckled. “Actually, you wrecking the origami drive did us another big favor. It keeps the thing out of the council’s hands.”

  “But it cost you control of the Rip,” said Motor. “That doesn’t upset you?”

  “Why should it?” said Prez, pressing the screen of his watch. “Now I have this.”

  Green light beamed from the watch, making a portal in the air ahead of him.

  “Even more good news, people!” Prez announced to the crowd. “Not only did Average and his friends stop the army that was coming for us, but my MeMinder, powered by Average’s mojo, is up and running again! That means we can start cranking out the gateways to get you all home!”

  The Mes went delirious. The music and dancing stopped as everyone jostled to get a place in line. For a second there I worried about another Me rumble breaking out, but Prez was on top of it. “Whoa there, let’s chill!” he said. “Juvenile Hall preprogrammed the MeMinder to generate all your portals in a set order, and we have the processing power to do only one at a time. So, who’s from Earth One Hundred Fourteen? You’re up first!”

  As Prez consulted with Juvenile Hall, Hollywood lowered his voice to a whisper. “Prez doesn’t seem like such a bad guy,” he said. “And he’s got great fashion sense.”

  “Don’t you see, he’s automatically a bad guy,” said Resist. “He’s a politician!”

  “But he’s sending the Mes back, like he promised,” said Motor. “He’s keeping his word.”

  Unlike me. Why did I still feel inferior to Prez, even when I knew he was dead wrong about the Rip?

  A Me I’d never seen before stepped up to Prez. He had messy hair and wild eyes that darted around like he expected something to jump out at any moment. He looked frightened as Acupuncture handed him two bags full of equipment.

  “That cat is Post-Apocalypse Me,” Juvenile Hall whispered to us. “From Earth One Hundred Fourteen. You wound up in his house when you showed up here.”

  “You were tracking us?” I asked.

  “Of course they were,” muttered Resist. “This is a surveillance state!”

  Prez gave Post-Apocalypse a sad smile. “You’ve got a hard road ahead, but hopefully the equipment in those bags will help you get your Earth back on track.”

  Post-Apocalypse’s lower lip trembled. “Th-thank you. For everything!”

  “Of course, my brother,” said Prez, giving him an elbow tap.

  Taking a deep breath, Post-Apocalypse strapped on a gas mask from his bag and walked into the portal.

  Prez shook his head. “That poor Me. Life won’t be easy. But thanks to you, Average, lending us your fizz and slowing down that army, he has a chance. Do you know how much technology I sent with Post-Apocalypse? We gave him the full package.”

  Hollywood pulled a flash drive from his pocket. “I have some copies of my old show, Baker’s Dozen, here. Maybe we could throw those in there as a bonus gift for the next Mes who leave?”

  Prez beamed at him. “Perfect!” He took the drive and tossed it to Juvenile Hall. “Copy these, will you? And see that everyone gets a copy on their way out of here.”

  Hollywood nudged Resist in the ribs. “See, he’s not as bad as you thought!”

  Resist glared at him until he stepped away fr
om her.

  “I’m glad everybody will get to help their worlds with the stuff you got from other Earths,” I told Prez. “But let’s not forget that there won’t be any Earths if you don’t let us fix the Rip.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” said Prez. “We’re doing too much good here.” He started tapping at his MeMinder again to make another portal.

  “But Nash and his army, plus the council, will eventually make their way here,” I said. “What if you can’t get everybody out in time? Or if you all end up as fugitives?”

  “It will have been worth it to get you all home,” said Prez. “So go ahead and take your spot in line. We’ll send you home too.”

  For just a fleeting second, I was tempted. The portal I’d made to get here could have been a fluke. Even if I could repeat the process, I’d need a lot more practice and a lot more fizz, two things in short supply at the moment. Why not just leave all this behind and forget about the Rip? Wasn’t that what rotten people like me did?

  But I figured even rotten people deserved to have a home to come back to, and that meant staying here to fix the Rip.

  “Okay, clearly we can’t talk you out of it, so I’ll cut to the chase,” I said. “We propose a challenge.”

  Prez looked up from the MeMinder screen, intrigued. “Oh?”

  “We know how much you like challenges,” said Resist.

  “So here’s what we propose,” I said. “We win, you let us fix the Rip. You win, you get to keep on using the Rip however you like.”

  Prez’s MeMinder shot out another portal. “Earth Ninety-Four!” he called.

  Lucha Libre high-fived everybody on his way through the crowd on a victory lap. Acupuncture handed him a bag of wonders, and Prez gave him a curtsy before he stepped through.

  “I like to use the local form of farewell for each of my brother Mes,” he explained to us. “Now, about your offer. We have a lot of portals to get through.”