How to Save the Universe Without Really Trying

by John Cusick

  This is what happened instead:

  The control panel before her vanished. As did the ship. As did space. As did everything save for Phin and Lola, who suddenly found themselves on the veranda of a luxurious hotel suite overlooking the blue crystal beaches and ultra-black sea of the Frillian Riviera.

  “Whaaaaa . . . ,” said Lola.

  The sky was a mottled pink, dotted with small, lukewarm stars. They were seated—or appeared to be seated—at a small iron table set with a sumptuous brunch. There was coffee, Neptunian eggs Benedict (which is like the Earth version except three feet tall and it sings to you), frothy mimosas, and a copy of the Neptunian Sunday Times. “Appeared” to be seated because all of this, from the basilisk stucco to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, was an extrasensory holographic projection. Phin and Lola were in reality still seated in their Volvo Rescue Wagon, and this out-of-body experience was merely a (very) long-distance phone call.

  Across the table sat two pleasant people in matching pink bathrobes. Both held drinks, were splendidly tanned, and looked extremely concerned.

  “Phinny!” said Eliza Fogg.

  “Buddy, what’s going on?” said Barnabus.

  “Hey guys,” said Phin, taking in his surroundings. “Nice brunch.”

  “Phineas, we are worried sick about you!” said his father, putting down a mimosa. “We’re so glad you’re okay!”

  “Oh, baby, I wish I could hug you right now,” said Phin’s mother, tears soaking into her avocado face peel. “My poor sweetheart, you must have been terrified!”

  Phin smiled a tight smile. In truth, he felt guilty. If you’d asked, he’d have told you it simply hadn’t occurred to him to call his parents after the Kill-Robot attack—which would have been bad enough. But in truth, it had occurred to him. He just hadn’t wanted to.

  “What happened?” Eliza asked. “We heard there was some kind of gas leak.”

  “Thank goodness you’re all right. Are you all right?” asked Barnabus.

  “Gas leak?” said Phin, a cold wave rolling through him despite the temperate (if synthetic) air.

  “We’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” said Barnabus. “Your mother hasn’t touched her breakfast, she’s been so worried.”

  Lola was only half paying attention. Her shock at suddenly finding herself projected onto a distant planet had subsided quickly. In fact, she’d already found something new to shock and mystify her. Namely, the eggs Benedict.

  “Um, Phin,” she whispered. “The eggs . . . uh, I think the eggs are singing to me . . .”

  “Whatever Lola wants . . . ,” the Neptunian Eggs Benedict crooned, “Lola gets . . .”

  “Relax,” Phin said to her. “The eggs aren’t singing.”

  “Good,” said Lola. “I thought I was losing my—”

  “It’s the hollandaise,” he added. “Mom, Dad, listen. It wasn’t a gas leak. We were attacked by a Kill-Robot!”

  His parents winced. Phin wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t wincing. They winced with compassion, concern, a deep-down-to-your-core love, but still . . .

  Barnabus turned to his wife. “Space madness,” he whispered.

  “Gas poisoning,” she mouthed.

  “What?” shouted Phin. “I’m not mad or poisoned! It happened! Tell them, Lola!”

  Lola straightened, cleared her throat, and tried to ignore the hollandaise, which had transitioned smoothly into a medley of show tunes. “Hello,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, um, Mr. and Mrs. Fogg.”

  “Hello,” the Foggs said in unison, if uncertainly. “Phin, who is this?” asked Eliza.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Lola.”

  Lola waved.

  “She’s from . . .” Phin thought of the best way to explain this without getting too sidetracked. “Hoboken.”

  “Ah,” said Barnabus.

  “That explains it,” said Eliza.

  “Sorry?” said Lola.

  “Gotta dance!” sang the hollandaise.

  “Lola, tell them what happened.” Phin’s eyes were pleading. He’d seemed less uncomfortable when he was being shot at. She swallowed.

  “Well, uh, Mr. and Mrs. Fogg, what Phin says is true. We were attacked by a giant Kill-Robot. It was sent to kill Phin. It even said so.”

  “Excuse me,” said Eliza, “but what exactly were you doing in our apartment?”

  “Phin, who is this young woman,” said Barnabus, “and what are her intentions?”

  “Guys!” said Phin. “Please listen to me! The Kill-Robot was sent by Goro Bolus! He’s out to get us! He’s in league with some super-evil interdimensional beings!”

  “Phin,” Eliza Fogg said quietly. “Honey, it’s not that we don’t believe you. It’s just . . . we think you may not be thinking straight.”

  “Who told you all this?” said Barnabus.

  “It was . . .” Phin hesitated. “Well, it was Teddy.”

  “Your bear.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who only says one phrase.”

  “Yes. Well, he could talk quite a bit in the . . . um . . .” Phin floundered. “You see, Teddy could talk in the . . . uh . . . Probability . . . the Probability Field.”

  “The Probability . . . what?” said Eliza.

  Phin steeled himself. “I was sent there by a quantum shock wave, caused by Lola eating a spoonful of baked beans.” He cleared his throat. “At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. She’s from the twenty-first century, by the way.”

  There was a long, pregnant pause. So pregnant it was having triplets.

  Phin felt ridiculous and pleading, while his parents were wincing again, in the way you might at the little old man in the park who barks at trees.

  Then something that no one expected to happen, happened.

  “Hey!” shouted Lola Ray, and clapped her hands like someone trying to wake a sleepwalker. The Foggs jumped. “Hey now! You’ve got to believe him! He is your son!”

  The whole table stared at her. Even the hollandaise was taken aback.

  “Things are really not okay!” Lola fumed. “Things are really messed up and someone is trying to kill your son and probably you and absolutely me, and if Phin says the fate of the universe hangs in the balance, then I believe him. Because right now in this whole stupid galaxy he’s the only person who hasn’t tried to vaporize me or blow me up or just been super rude. He is, you know, actually a pretty good guy. It turns out.”

  She was on a roll now.

  “So you guys need to wake up and start acting like parents! You heard your apartment was blown up and you ordered brunch. Brunch! The most unnecessary meal ever! This is a full-blown crisis and you are wearing bathrobes!”

  The breeze trilled through the tinkling trees, and far off, the surf roared. Eliza Fogg set down her tea.

  “Excuse me, little girl, I don’t know who you think you are . . .”

  “I’m Lola Ray!” said Lola. “And you two ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

  Lola had never, ever in her life spoken to adults that way, especially not rich ones, and especially not rich ones in their bathrobes. Her face was hot and she was trembling, but she refused to break her stare.

  “Uh,” said Phin, as shocked as his parents.

  The Foggs, slack-jawed, seemed to decide this girl was as loony as their son, and so could be ignored.

  “Honey,” said Eliza to Phin. “You can stay at the summer-house for the time being. You’ll be safe there.”

  “We want you to go there now,” said Phin’s father.

  Phin didn’t respond.

  “You need to do what we say,” said Barnabus.

  “Can’t you see we’re worried about you?” said Eliza.

  Phin took a sharp breath, and then, very calmly, he said, “I’m sorry, I love you guys.”

  The Frillian Riviera zipped out of existence around them, and Phin and Lola found themselves back in the humming interior of their ship, hovering above the gl
eaming dome of Luna.

  “What happened?” said Lola, blinking.

  “I hung up.”

  “Oh.”

  Lola swallowed. She peeked at Phin out of the corner of her eye. She wasn’t sure what to say. She tried this:

  “I’m sorry I shouted at your parents. That was, um . . . You see, my mom has been a bit . . . and I . . . well.”

  “No,” said Phin, his voice quiet. “I mean, thank you.”

  “Oh,” said Lola.

  He shifted the ship into gear, and Lola felt them accelerate.

  “So,” she said. “Where’s the summer home?”

  “Cape Cod. I’ve never been there,” said Phin. “I’ll have to check it out someday.”

  In a few moments, they had landed on the moon.

  13

  “ARE YOU COMING?”

  Phin was standing at Lola’s door, holding it open. Their view screen had dimmed as their tiny ship had been automatically guided into a parking space. Lola blinked in the fresh glare and peered over Phin’s shoulder at the space station beyond. They had docked beside a floating gangway, which was attached to a long concourse. Everywhere Lola looked, flashing entranceways opened onto antechambers full of colorful objects and lights. People strolled past, some on little scooters that seemed to be hovering a few feet off what passed for the ground around here. Above their heads, directional signs and marquees floated without any visible means of support, directing guests to Terminal 6,000, say, or luring them to visit Razelplex Theta, where apparently you could get two-for-one drinks after twelve.

  But more astonishing than any of this was the assortment of totally nonhuman creatures walking, flying, sliding, and bobbling about, minding their own business, asking each other directions, and window-shopping. Lola saw what looked like slugs outfitted with monster-truck tires. She saw eyeballs the size of refrigerators crawling about on spidery legs. Lobster men in neon jumpsuits went claw-in-claw with their lobster partners, and a pair of enormous blue bears, walking upright in luxurious floor-length overcoats, argued over whether there was time to grab dinner before their flight.

  “It looks like Comic Con,” observed Lola as she stepped out onto the gangway.

  “I don’t know what that is,” said Phin. “But come on.”

  She followed him toward the concourse, and as she did, she happened to glance behind her. Lola gasped, shocked to find that their little escape pod had vanished, and in its place a monstrous battle-ready dreadnought was docked, at least three hundred yards long, outfitted with turrets and cannons and a nasty pointy prow ready for ramming anything foolish enough to get in its way. It was huge and terrifying.

  “Where’s our ship?” Lola asked. She’d started to get used to its homey little interior, and plus, they’d left Teddy in there.

  “That is our ship,” said Phin.

  “But, but,” said Lola. “It’s . . . bigger on the outside!”

  “Oh,” said Phin, as if he hadn’t noticed. “Yeah. That’s the Majulook SuperFake cloaking device. Makes the escape pod look like whatever you want. I set it to Terrifying Warship.”

  Lola considered this and saw the sense in it. People were much less likely to try and blow you up if they thought you were piloting something that looked big and fearsome.

  “Will Teddy be okay in there?” She hurried after Phin, who was already several yards ahead.

  “He’ll be fine. We’ll be right back, anyway. We’ve just got to book a spot on the first ferry out of here.”

  They stepped onto the concourse proper. The crowds streamed past them in all directions. The hubbub and murmur of a thousand languages assaulted Lola’s ears, just as the strange aromas of an alien spaceport—very few of which were pleasant—invaded her nostrils. It was all so overwhelming she could barely move.

  Conveniently, Phin was also not moving. Lola would have thought he was cowed by the magnificent and crazy alien stuff that was in evidence all around them, except that his expression was totally relaxed, and his hands were in his pockets. He appeared to be just . . . waiting.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Just . . . waiting,” he said. His eyes followed the alien travelers that passed by. A few of them glanced his way, and then looked away. No one paid them any more mind than that.

  “Um . . . ,” said Lola.

  Since she was new to this place, indeed to this millennium, she decided to follow Phin’s lead. And so they waited. Phin’s brow began to knit again. He removed his hands from his pockets and folded his arms across his chest. After a minute of this, he began to tap his foot. Finally, in a tone of utter exasperation, he said, “Uh, helloooo!”

  He addressed this to no one in particular. Or rather, he seemed to address it to everyone on the concourse. A pink sloth-like alien in a top hat blinked at him, then strolled on its way.

  “Hello!” Phin tried again. “I’m waiting!”

  “What’s going on?” said Lola, utterly perplexed. “What are you waiting for?”

  “For help, obviously.”

  “Help? With what?”

  “We need to buy a shuttle ticket,” said Phin. “Which I’d be happy to explain to someone if they’d just ask.”

  Slowly, Lola realized what was going on. As new and strange as Luna was to her, it was also new and strange to Phin. Not because it existed in this incomprehensible and bizarre future, or even because it was filled with aliens. But simply because it was outside his extremely narrow and limited experience of life. It was new to him because it lay beyond his front door.

  “Do you . . . ,” Lola began, not sure how to say this without sounding rude. “Do you think that someone’s just going to volunteer to serve you?”

  “Of course they will,” said Phin.

  “Why?”

  “Well . . .” He blinked. He hadn’t thought it that far through. “Well, at home, when I need something, a service drone or the computer asks me what I need, and I tell it. And then . . .” He finished with a little shrug,

  “I don’t think that’s how it works here,” said Lola. “I don’t think that’s how it works in most places.”

  “Nonsense,” said Phin, worrying the lapel of his jumpsuit. “I’m very important.”

  “Yes,” said Lola. “Okay, yes, I’ll give you that. But . . .” She glanced around at the concourse of busy aliens, “No one here knows that. Or,” she added, trying to be delicate, “even cares.”

  Phin went pale. His paleness gave way to a sickly green. And then finally, to an angry orange-red.

  “Why don’t we—” Lola began.

  “I NEED,” Phin shouted, “A FERRY TICKET.”

  And he held out his hand.

  “Well, then, go buy one, ya crank!” someone shouted.

  “WHERE?”

  “A TICKET KIOSK, IDIOT!” someone else shouted back with equal annoyance.

  “WHERE IS A KIOSK?”

  “Goodness. FOLLOW THE SIGNS!” said a passing sluggoid, who then pointed to a sign marked Ticket Kiosk.

  “THANK YOU!” said Phin, and he smiled at Lola. “You see?”

  “What a jerk!” the sluggoid mumbled as it slithered away.

  “That was . . .” Lola blinked. “That was incredibly rude.”

  “But it worked,” said Phin. “Come on.”

  They followed the signs for the ticket kiosk, which guided them around a corner and up a hovering platform to another level. An illuminated arrow pointed toward a dark passage. It read FOOD THIS WAY. Lola’s stomach grumbled.

  “Do you . . . ,” she started, but then she noticed the arrow was pointing not toward a doorway at all, but toward an enormous mouth set into the wall, complete with tombstone-sized teeth and an orca-sized tongue, beyond which tapered a dark wet gullet, waiting for something tasty to step into it. “Never mind,” she said.

  “Oh, I should probably mention,” Phin said, “whatever you do, don’t talk to yourself.”

  “What?” said Lola.

  “If you happen t
o run into yourself, don’t talk to her,” he added.

  “Wait, what?”

  “Forget it, we’re here,” said Phin, who had come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the concourse.

  There was no kiosk. Instead, jutting up from the floor was a blunt column with a large red button on its top. A stencil of what Lola assumed was a space shuttle had been emblazoned on its surface.

  “Hold my hand,” said Phin, and before Lola could say what again, he’d clasped her fingers and activated the short-range teleport.

  14

  PHIN AND LOLA SHIMMERED into existence within a not-very-exciting room. The room’s only feature was a glass barrier, behind which sat a grumpy-looking Earth woman in a frumpy dress. Above her was an electronic screen displaying departure times and destinations all over the galaxy, like Sagittarius Minor, Singularity City, and something called the Horsehead Colonies.

  In the corner was an ordinary potted plant, the kind you see in waiting rooms everywhere.

  The alien who had just bought his ticket walked out through the only door—which was marked Concourse—which closed behind him with a little hiss.

  “Is this real?” said Lola.

  “Well, I’ve always theorized that the universe itself is a giant simulation,” answered Phin, not at all helpfully. “In fact, we may all just be information projected onto the surface of a black hole—”

  Lola groaned. “We get it, you read a lot. I mean is this like another phone call or something?”

  “It’s a ticket office,” said Phin. “It’s real.”

  “In that case, you better let me handle this.”

  “What, why?”

  Lola, who was not rude, wasn’t sure how to tell Phin that he was, so she just smiled pleasantly and approached the woman behind the glass.

  “Hello,” she said. “How are you? We’d like to purchase passage on the next available shuttle please.”

  “Where to?” snapped the potted plant.

  Lola blinked. She looked back and forth from the woman, who had not spoken, to the plant in the corner, which apparently had.

  The frumpy woman sniffled, took out a hankie, and blew her nose.

  “Oh, uh. Hello, um . . . plant,” said Lola.