How to Save the Universe Without Really Trying

by John Cusick

  Lola gasped and quickly covered her mouth.

  Bolus and the guards had their backs to her. Slowly, slowly, she inched out of the chair and moved toward the door. But something caught her attention, a frantic movement in the corner of her eye. And there, crouching behind a terminal, was the intruder.

  It was, of course, Phin.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Lola whispered.

  “One second, I’ve got to do something first,” said Phin. “There’s an autodestruct function programmed into the hypergates. If I can just access it . . .”

  “Sir! The girl has escaped!” one of the Bog Mutants shouted.

  “What?” growled Bolus.

  “Hurry,” Lola hissed.

  Phin’s fingers sped across the keys. He’d accessed the deepest recesses of the hypergate mainframe. A pad extended itself from the wall, a pad just large enough for a thumbprint.

  “Search the bridge!” Bolus commanded his guards.

  “This is it,” said Phin. “No more hypergates.”

  “There they are!”

  The Bog Mutant guards rounded on them and raised their weapons.

  “It’s the Fogg boy!” Bolus howled. “He’s in the mainframe. Shoot him!”

  “No!” said Lola.

  Zap zap zap! went the Bog Mutant guns.

  There was a hush, a sizzle, and the scent of ionized air.

  “What?” said Phin. “Wait, what?”

  Lola slumped into his arms, her chest smoldering from three direct hits to the heart.

  47

  SHE’D JUMPED IN FRONT of him.

  She’d saved his life.

  She was shot.

  “No!” said Phin.

  “You idiots!” Bolus railed. “You absolute morons! Don’t you know how important she is?”

  “No!” Phin said again, and pressed his face to Lola’s. “No no . . .” His voice grew hoarse, quiet. “Don’t you know how important she is?”

  Lola looked up at Phin, barely clinging to life. Her eyes found him, and lost him, and found him again.

  “Hang on, hang on, it’s going to be all right,” he said.

  “I know,” said Lola, and managed a small smile. “Hey, look at that. I can lie again.”

  “Get her into the chair!” Bolus was howling at his guards. “Get her into the chair before she expires!” Bolus reeled at the Bog Mutants, who had lowered their weapons and were scratching their heads, bewildered. “What are you waiting for, you idiots?”

  “Please don’t go,” Phin pleaded. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Lola, somehow, for some reason, was smiling. Smiling up at him, as if she’d just gotten the punch line of a really dumb, really great joke.

  “You know what I think?” she said.

  “What?” said Phin, certain he was hearing her last words. “What do you think?”

  “I think,” said Lola, “you should really buy a new tuxedo.”

  Phin blinked. “What?”

  “This one’s getting really ratty. It’s all stained and scorch-marked. You should buy a new tux.” She coughed. “And shoes. And a new hat. I just really think”—her eyelids fluttered—“you would look great in a fresh new pair of sunglasses . . . on sale now . . .” Her eyes opened widely one last time, and she winked at him. “Don’t you agree?”

  And with that, she vanished in a poof of smoke.

  Phin was left holding nothing but air.

  “Consumercation!” thundered the voice of Lola Ray through the ship’s public address system.

  “Look, sir!” One of the Bog Mutants pointed off the port bow, where a pair of ships had just materialized—a very nice star yacht and small rental space scooter, in fact. Seated on the handlebars of the latter, protected by the scooter’s mini force field and holding a short-range broadcasting radio, was Lola Ray.

  “Microscopic nanobots,” Lola radioed through the entirety of Bolus’s ship, “replicate consumers. You find them in places like bookstores, malls, and in the gift shops of Singularity City!”

  “Lola!” shouted Phin, leaping to his feet, relief shooting through every capillary of his body.

  “They stick around as long as you’re thinking about buying something, and hey,” Lola went on. “I’ve been debating buying this space scooter all afternoon, and I’ve just made my purchasing decision. I used your card, Phin. Knew you wouldn’t mind.”

  Seated at the scooter’s controls was Bertram, who waved.

  “Bertram wanted to drive,” said Lola.

  “Take the ship!” Bolus shouted to his guards. “Capture her! We need her!”

  “Sir, look,” one of the Bog Mutants shouted. He was pointing to the countdown clock, which had reached zero.

  “Oh,” came Lola’s voice through the loudspeakers, slightly less giddy now. “Right.”

  “Darn,” said Phin.

  “Yes!” said Bolus and turned on Phin where he stood. “You’re too late, Phineas Fogg. The Phan are arriving!”

  The hypergates were live. Their power cells thrummed at double capacity, their enormous rings turning at quadruple speed. And above the Singularity at the center of the galaxy, a portal opened.

  It was a sight beyond comprehension, an experience beyond comparison. It was indescribable.

  From this hole in space a million miles across, two beings emerged. The creatures were not visible; they were not detectable in any way by senses born of this universe. What the onlookers aboard the ships below witnessed was instead but a footprint, a shadow of a shadow, of the truth of the entities now hanging in space like supermassive planets. They were, or appeared to be, spherical, and glowed from within with a radiance brighter than any star. And yet the onlookers were not blinded, their bodies were not incinerated. And this was because the Phan wished it to be so.

  They also appeared to be wearing T-shirts.

  Then, with a voice like the eruption of a billion supernovas, one of them spoke.

  “Wobble-dobble-dibble-dibble-dooble,” it said.

  The galaxy waited in hushed confusion.

  “Fibble-fobble-dibble-dabble!” it continued.

  Across the vastness of space, there was a confused silence.

  “Frabble-fribble-frickle . . .”

  “Oh, stop it, Garth,” said the other. “It’s not funny.”

  The first being giggled.

  “Sorry, sorry,” it said. “Wouldn’t that be funny though? If beings from another dimension showed up and then you’re all . . . oh no, we can’t understand them!”

  “They don’t think it’s funny,” said the other. “Just let it go.”

  “Maybe they don’t get it, Becca,” said the first.

  “There’s nothing to get,” said the second.

  “You’re no fun,” said the first. “You haven’t been fun in millennia. What happened to you?”

  Garth and Becca were of course not their real names. Their real names would have taken centuries to pronounce and melted the brains of every living creature within a light-year’s radius. These were merely reflections, shadows of shadows of the Phan’s true names.

  “Right, where were we,” said the one who seemed to be called Garth. “We are the Phan.”

  “What he said,” added Becca.

  “We have journeyed far, and our question must be answered.”

  “It is the Question of the End!” said the other, in a tone that could melt stars, but didn’t.

  “Should we just ask it, then?” said Garth.

  “Well, what do you want to do, have a snack first?” replied Becca.

  “Might be nice. You’re not hungry?”

  “I told you to eat before we left!”

  “I did! That was a thousand years ago!”

  “And you’re hungry already?”

  “I’m talking about a snack! Not, like, a whole meal. Just something to tide us over. I don’t want to hear the answer on an empty stomach, do you?”

  Of course, they didn’t have stomachs. They did not experience
hunger. This was all merely the comprehendible afterimage of the truth of these wise and infinite beings.

  “You can wait,” said Becca.

  “Fine,” said Garth. “Do you hear something?”

  “I do,” said Becca. “I think that little bean person is shouting something at us.”

  “That’s not a bean person, that’s our guy.”

  “Oh,” said Becca. “You’re right, that is our guy! The guy from the phone call!”

  “Should we listen to what he has to say?” said Garth.

  “Let’s,” said Becca. And they did.

  With their attention turned to the tiny form of Goro Bolus, who was jumping up and down and waving his arms on the deck of the Tin Can, the little bean’s voice was suddenly magnified so that every living thing in the galaxy could hear him.

  “My lords!” screeched Bolus. “Oh! Goodness, that’s loud. Ahem,” he spoke again, without shouting this time, and was still the loudest thing in existence. “My lords, welcome! Welcome to our universe! I have worked so long and hard to make the world ready for your arrival. I’ve found the girl, my lords. The time traveler, the one with the Answer! And I secured the hypergates so that the doorway could open for you.”

  “Good for you,” said Garth. “What a great guy.”

  “Seriously, we owe you one,” said Becca.

  “Yes, well, um, my lords . . .” Bolus cleared his throat. “I’d like to ah, well . . . You did promise me wealth and power beyond my wildest dreams.”

  “Did we?” said Garth. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Oh, actually,” said Becca, “I think I recall you saying something about that, Garth.”

  “Oh, fine,” said Garth. “What is it they value here?”

  “Love, isn’t it?”

  “Is that right?” Garth said, addressing himself to the speck of a person on the speck of a ship in this speck of a galaxy. “Love? How about some love?”

  “Well, my lords,” said Bolus. “I was actually hoping for, uh, well . . . something more monetary.”

  “Monetary?” said Becca.

  “Yeah. Um, yes.”

  “Well, what’s the most monetary thing you got around here?” asked Garth.

  Bolus had to think about this.

  “Gold, I suppose?”

  “Done,” said Garth, and zapped Bolus to the lost treasure planet of Frankta D’Or, where he lived out his days utterly alone and in possession of the most valuable piece of real estate in the galaxy.

  “Now,” said Becca. “Was there anyone else we owed something to?”

  “Hey, where are our little buddies?” said Garth. “We got any Bog Mutants in the house tonight?”

  With that, every Bog Mutant across the galaxy was summoned, blipped through space almost as an afterthought, and materialized safely suspended in a bubble of space-time just above the decks of the ships below.

  “Hello!” said ten thousand Jeremys in unison.

  “Look at ’em!” said Becca. “They look great! Like real Bog Mutants!”

  “Oh, that is awesome,” said Garth. “Should we take them out of the bubble?”

  “No, they lose their value if you remove them from the packaging,” said Becca. “Wait, is it value? Or is it their lives? I forget.”

  “Whatever,” said Garth. “Hi guys!”

  “Hello!” said the Jeremys.

  With another flick of the Phan’s infinite power, a second bubble in space-time appeared, this one containing what looked like a smaller, greener version of the Phan. Standing on its surface were several people, almost too small to see at a distance. This green sphere was none other than Mr. Jeremy, free of the cavernous confines of Satellite B. And the persons on his surface were none other than Professor Donut, Gretta, and the mushroom people.

  “Hey there,” said Garth. “Way to go, making all these Bog Mutants. Just a super-good job, dude.”

  “DEMONS!” bellowed Mr. Jeremy. “Bringers of destruction! Go back to the hell whence you came! You shall not have this universe! I am no longer your slave, and my children shall be free!”

  “What’s he saying?” said Becca.

  “Hey, what’s your deal, little dude?” asked Garth.

  “You shall never prevail in your dastardly plan! The Question shall not be answered! The Question—”

  “Let’s put him on mute,” said Becca.

  “Sorry, dude,” said Garth. And instantly Mr. Jeremy was silenced.

  While all of this was going on, Lola sat perched on the handlebars of her new star-trike and stared up at the Phan.

  “Boop,” said Bertram worriedly.

  “I know,” said Lola. “I’m . . . thinking.”

  Lola was thinking, and she was thinking hard. The tickle of a thought that had begun back on Satellite B had transformed into a full-blown tickle attack. Her brain was in spasms. It jittered and rolled. It was desperately trying to work out the thing it had been trying to work out for what felt like ages.

  The radio receiver Lola was holding squawked. It’s tiny vis-screen flickered, and an image resolved itself—an incoming transmission from Phin, who, with the Bog Mutants transported to the space bubble above, and Bolus whisked away to Frankta D’Or, was now alone on the bridge of the Tin Can.

  “Lola!” said the tiny picture of Phin.

  “Phin!”

  “I’m so glad you’re alive! I thought . . .”

  “I know,” said Lola.

  “What are we going to do?” he said. “I don’t think we can sneak away from them. They seem pretty all-powerful.”

  “I have no idea. But I’m just . . . something’s weird about all of this.”

  “Just one thing?” said Phin.

  “No, I mean . . .” Lola thought. “Have you ever seen that show Dimension Y?”

  “Lola,” said Phin, sighing. “No one has seen that show. You need to stop talking about it.”

  “My T-shirt,” said Lola.

  “Yes,” said Phin. “It’s hideous. What else is new?”

  “Do you see what’s on it?” Lola lowered the radio’s camera eye so Phin could get a better look.

  “Um,” said Phin, “that looks like maybe a coffee stain? And, uh—”

  “Bog Mutants!” said Lola. “There are Bog Mutants on my shirt! From Dimension Y! But also . . . from like . . . here! And now!”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” said Phin. “I’m not sure I even saw where you went.”

  “It’s the Question . . . ,” said Lola. “It’s got to be something to do with where I’m from,” said Lola, speaking rapidly now. “Something to do with Earth. Something to do with something that’s no longer here in the future. How else could I be the only one who knows the answer?”

  “Lola Ray,” the Phan suddenly said, and Lola felt the hot, glowing beam of their attention fall to her.

  “Boop!” said Bertram, and hid behind her back.

  “Lola!” said Phin on the vis-screen. “Just don’t answer it. Just refuse. Whatever happens, whatever they ask, just don’t say anything!”

  “I don’t think—” said Lola and came up short. Her voice boomed from her tiny frame, the way Bolus’s had done, magnified by the Phan.

  “It’ll be okay,” said Phin, and then a thought seemed to flicker past his worried eyes. His eyes told her he wanted to do something, to save her, he would take her place if he could. His eyes told her he was powerless, but he would have given anything to change things. And failing all this, his eyes said he wanted to say something, anything, that might reassure her.

  “Lola,” he said, pressing his palm to the view screen as if he could reach through and touch her. “Don’t swallow your gum.”

  Lola’s eyes went wide.

  “Lola Ray,” said the Phan. “Come on up here.”

  Lola felt herself lifting off the handlebars. Up, up she went, through the scooter’s protective force field into cold space. She was enveloped in a bubble of space-time, just as Mr. Jeremy and the Bog Mutants were. Protect
ed . . . and prisoner.

  Up, up she flew, at a thousand miles an hour, until she was at eye level with the two Phan.

  From this new angle, high above the ships, high above the hypergate, high above the swirling cataclysm of the Singularity, she felt terribly small, and terribly alone.

  She faced the gods before her.

  From here they seemed even more enormous. Their cores radiated like white-hot stars, penumbras like double-helixing rainbows. They were incredible. And their T-shirts were super cool.

  Now, from this angle, Lola could see what was on them. Garth’s appeared to be an image of Bog Mutants climbing out of the bath. On Becca’s, in letters a mile high, were words in a language Lola could not decipher, but somehow she knew what they meant. And they were silly, and bold, and immensely reassuring.

  And all of a sudden, Lola got it.

  “Now,” said Garth, his tone commanding. “Now it is time. In the name of the Phandom, we ask you, Lola Ray, the Question.”

  “The Question!” echoed Becca.

  Together they asked, “How . . . ?

  “How . . . ?

  “How does it end?”

  Lola took a deep breath, and without hesitation or fear, she told them.

  48

  THE VOICE OF LOLA Ray echoed through the cosmos. Magnified by the Phan, it reached every ear in the galaxy. Her words played like music through the stars, they strummed the nebula and played bongos of moons and planets. And as she spoke, the tension, the worry, the painful not-knowing at the heart of the universe slowly, slowly released. For the story that had made its way across the universe, on electromagnetic waves, through the space between spaces to the home of the Phan, the tale that had begun and was cut off by an unforeseen disaster, could now be completed. The question of How does it end? was being answered.

  “So,” Lola said, “then, in part two, Professor Rivulon and June are still trapped in the space whale’s belly. And that’s when June tells the professor she’s always been in love with him!”

  “No!” said Becca.

  “Shush,” said Garth. “Let her talk. Do they kiss?”

  “I was just getting to that,” said Lola. “June leans in, and it looks like they’re going to kiss, and then wham! Space quake!”

  Garth and Becca gasped.