in surreal time - part 6

Star Hopper came out the other end slicker’n snail snot, spat out like a watermelon seed and we skipped over the turbulence of a spent comet’s ice contrails. Instinctively I reached up to feel my face, just realizing that somehow, something wasn’t quite right for the last few space minutes. The ship’s mind cautioned me not to delve too deeply, theoretical philosophy in intergalactic terms can be brain crippling, but to me the reason was obvious. In desperation we had tripped out of a Mobius wormhole into a separate dimension, and although I remembered the entire episode, it was the memory of an alternate Shad, hence the shift in voice. Valerie no doubt had a similar sensation, but she just smiled at me and said, “Feels like home.” It did, indeed.

 “Yeah. Maybe, but where in the wide flippin’ universe are we? Hopper, did any of that really happen,” I asked the ship.

 The ship searched its records, Only in your mind, which through the uplink the computer could read, but there is no recorded evidence. Also, in known space, and I calculate the newly discovered Vermiculite system is in known space, there has been no supernova activity.

 “Private conversation?” asked Valerie. She folded her arms across her breasts and scowled. I realized it was cold as the goose bumps stood out on her pale arms. I shivered, then unbuckled.

 “Synthesizer. Any preference on space attire, madam Godiva?” She shrugged at my query. “The ship seems to think we recently jumped into a separate dimension, so you may feel a bit confused, or whacky.” The last wormhole must have brought us back to a familiar dimension. I felt fine, now that I was myself again. Or was I? Another philosophical conundrum: we had stepped into an atom blaster and mixed our base components together, then dumped the pieces onto the table like a jigsaw puzzle. Consequently we separated the atoms, reconstructed the molecules and let a program rebuild our bodies. Everything told me we were exactly the same as before, other than minor tweaks, but logically there is no perfection. I scratched my head.

 Your DNA signature is off infinitesimally from 100%, bunches of .0’s, insignificant; hence you are able to command my vessel. No worries.

 “Good enough for me.” By this time we had found our compass and knew somewhat our position in the universe: about a million, million lifetimes from Sol system. Even in the small stasis box our delivery wouldn’t last that long. Not to mention, from our position in space, the light from our sun still hadn’t arrived. “Bad news, sweets,” the synth had finished knitting Valerie a knee length sweater and I tossed it over to her. “Sometime in the next century we need to find another wormhole, hopefully one that can get us closer to Sol.”

 Valerie squirmed into her new space frock. She said, "Yes, and hopefully one not infested with nasty space bugs. Must have coffee.” No doubt about it, we had a good deal of jumps in our future. I put on the pot.

bill sienkiewicz