Tag: Sparrow’s Folly

Anyway, here’s the punchline.

---

The pain was short-lived in that the concept of time had ceased to exist. It was, for the same reason, eternal. Zeke became aware of his own existence again in a void. There was nothing he could see, nothing he could hear, nothing he could feel, nothing he could smell, and nothing he could taste.

No, that wasn’t right. He could taste something. Strawberry lip gloss. Roxy was kissing him, and with that knowledge, his sense of touch returned. He was able to get his eyes open, but his brain was still scrambled from being stunned. He tried to ask a question, but what came out was closer to, “Flarb?”

“Vital signs are normal,” Lieutenant French said. “You were out for about five minutes.”

“Are?” Zeke asked. That was a real word, at least. He tried to remember how his hands worked.

“We’re definitely not on our Earth,” French said. “We’ve lost comms to Unified Space Command, and there’s no sign of the Sally Ride.”

Instead of trying to speak, Zeke managed to raise his eyebrows into what he hoped was an expression that conveyed the obvious question.

Roxy gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry,” she said.

Doctor Waller explained. “We patched into the phone network. Your mother’s number isn’t in service. Obviously, it’s been a few years, so it’s possible she changed it?”

Zeke tried to sit up, forgetting that he was strapped down. Roxy released the straps, and he tried to sit upright, failed, and slumped sideways. “Muh?” he asked. They followed his gaze to the viewport. The blackness of space had been replaced by blue skies and treetops.

“I didn’t anticipate that. Probably should have,” French said. “Our relative position changed when we jumped. I guess we’re lucky we ended up somewhere safe.”

“Maybe not just luck,” Waller said. “We know that the exotic matter is triggered by certain brain patterns, and it seems like it’s linked to a self-defense reflex. Possibly his subconscious influences exactly where we land. It might even explain why the universes he was drawn to resembled works of fiction from his memory. If that’s true, it might even be possible for him to learn to control it unassisted.”

“Where do you find a teacher for that?” St. George asked, sarcastically.

Zeke finally found his voice. “So where are we?”

“It seems pretty normal,” French said. “I think we’re in New York. Or whatever the equivalent of New York is in this universe. This looks like Central Park. Probably a good thing the cloak turned on automatically. I need to take some readings and adjust the calibration. And you’ll need a few hours to recover before we try again. It might help if you can figure out whether this universe maps to anything you know.”

St. George nodded to Mon’a. They produced a knit cap and pulled it down over their forked ears, then put on a pair of sunglasses to conceal their eyes.

Zeke tried to stand up and stumbled. Mon’a caught him. Zeke blinked a few times. “I remember now. Where I saw you before.”

“This is our first meeting.”

Zeke shook his head. “Not you-you. Your… Your actor I guess. I couldn’t place it because of the eyes. But a bunch of years ago you played the leader of a gang of underprivileged street toughs who befriended an Asian-American senator. Y’all were recurring characters in the last season before he became vice-president and the show ended. I liked that show.”

“Quite,” Mon’a said.

The six of them cautiously emerged from the hatch of the invisible space ship. The sun was shining, the air was sweet, the weather, pleasant. The crowd was sparse in this section of the park; no one seemed to take much notice of them.

“Keep a low profile,” St. George said. “Be on the lookout for…” He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. “Hijinks.”

“Hijinks?” Waller asked.

“Hijinks. Think about what kind of TV shows are set in New York. It’s basically fifty-fifty whether it’s a crime show or a zany sitcom.”

“That’s actually a good point,” Zeke said. And then he stopped talking, because he, among with the other four humans, stopped in their tracks to stare wide-eyed at a group of people a few yards off.

“It appears this universe has open contact with non-terrestrial life,” Mon’a said. “I do not recognize the species.”

St. George leaned toward Waller and said, sotto voce, “Okay. I didn’t really believe this whole TV Show Universe thing until right this minute. I think I owe you ten bucks.”

“I want to ask. Can I ask?” Roxy said, excitedly.

The members of SPACOM 3 quietly exchanged glances at each other. “We probably should go if we can,” French said. She was clearly struggling to show scientific detachment. “It would help with my measurements.”

“Quite,” Mon’a said.

“With your measurements?” St. George asked, skeptically.

“Yes, sir,” she said, stifling a giggle.

“Okay, go,” he said to Roxy. She skipped ahead.

“Excuse me,” she asked the four-foot tall creature. It turned its large, furry, orange head toward her and regarded her with large, googly eyes.

“Yes?” it asked. The inside of its mouth was flat black except for a tongue that looked painted-on, and it had no visible throat.

Roxy took a deep breath and with a broad smile, asked, “Can you tell me how to get, how to get to…”

Another thing I wasn’t planning. SPACOM 3 was just supposed to be a cute cameo in a story that was mostly about Zeke’s struggle with the existential nature of living in a teen drama, and whether it was morally acceptable to date a fictional character. But I had so much fun writing them that I figured what the heck.

---

Lieutenant French tightened the straps holding Zeke to the partially-reclined chair in the middle of the drop ship, then placed the trigger in his hand. It reminded him of the buzzer from the quiz bowl game show he’d done back in high school. That had only been a couple of years ago, but it felt a lot longer.

“When you push the button, it will trigger a phased energy discharge. It’s based on K’lap’rr stunner technology, so there’s no chance of permanent damage, but it will stimulate the same part of your brain as a near-death experience. If our theory is correct, that should trigger the exotic matter particles.”

“Cool, cool,” Zeke said with a bravado he didn’t feel. “I shoot myself and hopefully it zaps this space ship back to my home with all of us inside. Or maybe it just zaps me personally back home, and I get to enjoy the view from geosynchronous orbit very briefly.”

“Low-Earth Orbit,” French corrected. “Geostationary orbit is much farther out.” She winced as it set in that this was not a helpful response.

“Why do I have to push the button myself?”

“We talked it out with Doctor Abermarle, and…” She wobbled nervously. “We’ve taken every precaution, and the theory is solid. But this is uncharted territory, and there’s no absolutes. Given that, we decided that it ultimately had to be your decision.”

Mon’a leaned uncomfortably close and coldly said, “As we are not enemies, it would be… Awkward for any of us to be the direct agent of your demise.”

“We’re coming with you, to who knows where,” St. George said. “So it’s not like we don’t have skin in the game.”

“Well thanks,” Zeke said. “And despite my sarcastic tone, I actually do mean that. You didn’t have to come with us.”

“Based on the fact that you were able to travel to Sparrow’s Folly twice while you were in your car, but the times you jumped outside of it, you ended up somewhere else, we believe that the exotic matter in your brain is influenced by a surrounding ferromagnetic field,” Lieutenant French said, “We’ve altered the internal magnetic field of the drop ship based on the precession of your unique quantum signature. If the theory is right, that should send you to your own universe. But there are constant terms in the calculation we can only estimate, so it may take us a few tries to calibrate it.”

“But that also means it might be hard for you to go home afterward,” Zeke said. “Why take the risk?”

“It’s your sunny disposition,” Doctor Waller said, standing up from the flight controls.

“No it’s not,” Zeke said.

“No it’s not,” St. George agreed.

“That is not the reason,” Mon’a added, dispassionately.

Waller shrugged. “Okay, it’s her sunny disposition,” he said, pointing a thumb at Roxy.

“What can I say? I’m cute as a button.”

“And you’re taking all this very well,” Waller said. “Most people on this version of Earth take a while getting used to the space ships and the aliens.”

“You get a lot of aliens in Sparrow’s Folly?” St. George asked.

“Once in a while for the Halloween episode, but otherwise, no,” she said.

“You are unperturbed by the prospect that your metaphysical nature derives from a work of fiction relative to your partner.” Those familiar with Mon’a’s speech patterns could tell this was a question.

Roxy shrugged adorably. “I’m nineteen. I think it’s pretty normal for a nineteen-year-old to think she’s the center of the universe. I just happen to have documentary evidence that it’s literally true in my case.” She squeezed Zeke’s hand. “I got your back, jack. Now or never. Ready?”

“I feel like I could stretch this out a little longer,” Zeke said.

“Just lay back and think of home,” she told him.

“Or failing that, somewhere nice. One of those fun beach shows,” St. George said. “Nothing too murdery. Try to avoid kaiju.”

“No zombies,” Mon’a said, neutrally.

“I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks.” Zeke sighed, and put his thumb on the button. “I hope this doesn’t hurt,” he said as he pressed it.

Then the entire universe was pulled inside out through a microscopic hole in his brain.

 

Colonel St. George rubbed his temples and sighed. “Let’s try this again. Two days ago, you interrupt my lunch to tell me things you shouldn’t have any way of knowing. Then, this morning, you somehow manage to break into one of the best-protected installations on the planet. And you’re telling me that you knew how to do that because of a television show. Have I got that right?”

Zeke laid his head on the table in frustration. He hadn’t expected this to be easy, but plowing on through blind faith wasn’t getting him anywhere. “I get that it sounds dumb,” he said. “But come on. Didn’t this already happen to you guys once?”

St. George shot a glance to Doctor Waller. “Any idea what he’s talking about?” Waller’s shoulders twitched in confusion.

Zeke sat up, processing. “That hasn’t happened yet, has it? Okay. That helps.”

“Now you’re saying you’re from the future?” Waller asked. He’d been playing the “good cop” role so far, but he sounded frustrated. Which was fair, given how long they’d been at this.

“No, definitely not the future,” Zeke said. “I told you. I’m from a parallel universe. Or whatever. I don’t know. I’m not a scientist. Well, I mean, I am, I guess. But not that kind of scientist. The normal kind who doesn’t study wormholes and aliens and parallel universes.”

Waller nodded and sighed. “And in your universe,” he said, almost, but not quite completely suppressing a skeptical tone, “We’re a TV show.”

“That’s creative,” St. George said.

“Ted, you have to admit, some of the things we’ve been through make a lot more sense as ratings stunts,” Waller said. “Like the time-”

St. George silenced him with a glare. “Not in front of the suspected alien agent.”

“See, this is what I mean,” Zeke said. “If I knew exactly where we were in your storyline, I could prove at least some of what I’m saying by predicting the future. But you won’t tell me anything. Do you still have the Klepton truth machine? You could plug me into that and it would tell you that I’m telling the truth.”

Waller shook his head with what looked like genuine sympathy. “There are some forms of mind control that give it false readings. Maybe you really do believe what you’re saying, but you’ve been brainwashed. Or, if you’re telling the truth, how can we know it will even work on someone from your universe? From your perspective, this is all fiction, isn’t it?”

“Again with revealing sensitive information to the weirdo,” St. George said, exasperated.

“Maybe at first, I guess,” Zeke said. “But I’ve been living in a teen drama for two years now. I am totally over any sort of prejudice toward the ontological nature of someone’s plane of existence. You should hear who we elected president.”

“Let’s pretend I’m humoring you,” St. George said. “How did you get here?”

“Car crash,” Zeke said. “Two years ago, I was driving up 40 in a bad storm, and I lost control and went into the guardrail, and when I woke up, I was in a hospital in a small town in Rhode Island surrounded by a cast of quirky, attractive, quick-witted characters that I recognized from the hit basic cable teen drama Sparrow’s Folly. I spent two years trying to figure out a way to get home. I tried interfering. I tried not interfering. I tried just driving back to my own house, and I do not want to talk about how that went. Then, six weeks ago, I tried going skiing. And the ski lift broke and I very nearly died, and now I’m here. Well, a few other places first, but here eventually. I’m simplifying. Fortunately, that whole incident where everyone in Columbus lost three hours was still in the papers, or else I’d never have figured out where we were.”

“And this doesn’t seem a little hard to believe to you?” Waller asked.

“Well sure,” Zeke said. “I realize that the most rational explanation is that none of you are real and this is all a coma dream. But that’s not an actionable hypothesis even if true; I can’t just will myself out of a traumatic brain injury, can I?

“So, assuming this is a real world and I am really doing the things I think I am, I wandered around town until I found that diner where you guys hang out, and when you blew me off, I wandered out into the woods and found the ventilation shaft you used when you needed to sneak the Jindro out of the base. And I was expecting you to catch me right away, but I was hoping I’d be able to dazzle you with my inside knowledge.”

“This was a bad plan,” St. George said, wryly.

“That’s fair,” Zeke said, depressed. “But you must know I’m human by now. You get those Precursor bio-scanners in season three. Can that detect that I’m from a parallel universe? I can’t remember if it ever came up.”

“There is something unusual in your scan,” Waller conceded. “But we don’t know what it means. We’d need to compare it to something that we could confirm was from a different universe.”

Zeke had an idea. “Ooh, what about a portal token? SPACOM 5 could send you one of those.”

St. George and Waller exchanged a long look, silently arguing something. St. George conceded. “SPACOM 5 was lost, presumed KIA. I’m not even going to ask how you know about them.”

Zeke lit up. “You don’t know!” he almost shouted. “That’s it. That’s the thing. I can help you. I need a piece of paper. I hope I remember this.”

Another silent conversation, and Waller slid his notepad across the table. Zeke started writing furiously. “SPACOM 5 is alive. Well, mostly. They’ve probably lost a couple people by now. They got out before the supernova. The Precursor device was a portal into luminous space.”

“Luminous space?” Waller asked.

Zeke kept writing. “It’s a parallel universe. But the usual kind, not a TV show universe. They call it that because the vacuum energy is different so empty space glows and the stars are black. And yes, I know that doesn’t make sense. There’s a running gag where any time someone tries to explain it, they get cut off. Here.”

He pushed the notepad back. Waller studied it. “This is the language of the Precursors,” he said. He pointed to the first line. “This is their name for Earth.”

Zeke nodded, excitedly. “And the second one is the dinosaur planet where you found the weather machine. I think that should be enough for you and Lieutenant French to work out the math. They’re not just names. They’re coordinates. The names tell you where the planet is.”

St. George gave Waller an expectant look. He nodded. “That’s possible. We have some fragments of other Precursor planet names. Samia should be able to work out an algorithm to translate.”

“I want to make a deal,” Zeke said.

“A deal for what?” St. George asked. “And what does this have to do with SPACOM 5?”

He pointed at the third line. “That’s the name of a Precursor outpost. That’s where you find the second portal. The one that lets you contact SPACOM 5. I am just giving that to you, no strings attached. Save you a couple of months, maybe save some lives. You scan a portal token, figure out how to tell if someone is from a parallel universe. Hopefully you start trusting me.”

“What about the deal,” Waller asked.

“I want your help. I want to go home. Or back to Sparrow’s Folly. Or ideally, back and forth to either one whenever I want. Occasional vacations to that kid’s show where everything’s made of candy.”

“Why?” Waller said. Simultaneously, St. George said, “I love that show.”

“Because I know another name. The big one. The Precursor home planet. Look, you guys give all the planets serial numbers and that’s great for you, but I can’t remember a single one of them, so I can’t help you with which ones are good and which ones are bad. But I can remember the ones with names. I can skip you all the way to the end of the series without you spending years wandering around hyperspace looking for clues and accidentally waking up Cthulhu or Space Godzilla. At least one of those happens. Depends on how literal you’re being.”