Jump Starting the Universe Book Bundle Read online

  JUMP STARTING THE UNIVERSE

  By

  John David Buchanan

  July 28, 2015

  Many thanks to:

  De Lynn for so many reasons there is not enough paper to write them down,

  Brittany Koester for editing the final draft,

  My poet friend Danny Gilstrap for his interest in my progress,

  Ryan Orosz for his spanking good job on the original artwork and help with this cover concept,

  June Powell for being June, for her support and always positive comments.

  Text copyright © 2015 by John David Buchanan

  Cover art copyright © 2015 by Ryan Orosz

  All Rights Reserved. Published by John David Buchanan

  Table of Contents

  JUMP STARTING THE UNIVERSE

  PROLOGUE

  BUDGING

  DOUBLE OCCUPANCY

  CROSSING TO ALPHUS NEBULUM

  THE GIGGLEY

  INTERSTITIAL STUFF

  DOING A RUNNER

  LACTROPODECTOPOI

  BACK IN HARM’S WAY

  THE PLANET TREE

  TUGURRO

  TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AND COUNTING

  MILITARY AI RELEASE 2.2.

  THE VOIDS IN SPACE

  EYES THAT SEE

  GLADYS AND GLADYS

  A WEAPON NOT FOR KILLING

  THE GIFT

  FAMILY SECRETS

  THE EASTERN RIDGES OF UMBREATHE

  THE COMMON LANGUAGE

  THE SCOOPS OF TRAHL

  LESSONS FROM THE PAST

  THE HALL OF HALLS

  VENGEANCE IS MINE

  NINETY-FIVE AND GONE

  THE EDGE OF NOTHING AND EVERYTHING

  INTRODUCTION

  TOUCHDOWN

  LINDONIKA CITY

  FINDING THE UNEXPECTED

  DARK LIGHT

  THUGS AND MERCULOIDS

  DINNER AND THEADELBAUM’S

  DISAMBIGUATION

  BENDING SPACE AND TIME

  DECISIONS, DECISIONS

  JOINING FORCES

  THERE IS NO CLOSET

  BREAKING AND ENTERING

  TACTICAL WEAPONRY

  TWITCHING AND SHIFTING

  THE LONG ROAD TO CENTORIA

  WORLDEATERS

  THE COSMOLOGICAL CONSTANT

  HERE IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING

  CENTORIA

  HAZARDS OF HORSH GORBREY

  THE GIANTS

  THE END APPROACHING

  TWO KINDS OF TROUBLE

  BLUE GENOCIDE

  ENEMIES OR ALLIES

  THE COMPETITION

  THE EDGE OF WAR

  GOYSPERS OF ARUGUNE

  THE ATTACK ON KORGANRA

  AND THEN, THE END

  HOME IS WHERE YOU PARK YOUR CAR

  PROLOGUE

  Universes will sometimes crash into each other so violently planets are shaken from their orbits, and entire solar systems are displaced. At other times, they push against each other just enough to overlap, and when they do a mixing zone is formed; the area where two distinct universes temporarily share a sliver of space. Mixing zones are often accompanied by a shift of the visible light spectrum. That’s usually not an issue. But anyone caught in a mixing zone might have a problem when the universes separate. Sometimes, things don’t stay put.

  Beyond the reach of telescopes and probes, our universe holds mysteries that were once believed to exist only in the most active imaginations of man. Out in the far reaches of space lie boundless resources, incredible beauty and extraordinary danger; they lie just beyond our fingertips. Human nature prods us to investigate, discover and look beyond our own planet, but we haven’t made much progress. Imagine what we might find in other universes; ones we can’t see or probe - yet.

  The complexity of planets and solar systems in multiple universes, in and of itself is staggering. It is compounded exponentially by the existence of multiple dimensions. What earthlings only imagine and dream, is day to day reality for others. Alien capabilities are beyond our current understanding.

  In the vast space of the multiverse, and the dimensions that house them, beings of all kinds engage in travel between planets and universes. Several very highly advanced civilizations have gone far beyond that; their technology allows them to travel between dimensions.

  While other species conduct business across the universes, and journey into new realms, The Commission on Intergalactic Travel stands by its ruling that people of Earth are not ready for alien contact and intergalactic commerce. Earth is not a signatory to any Intergalactic Travel Treaties, and there is a ban on travel to Earth.

  Governments throughout the multiverse are waiting for Earth to develop a viable spaceship for interplanetary travel. They believe it will be a sign that Earth is ready for alien contact.

  Who would have guessed the spaceship they were waiting for would be a 1957 Chevrolet Nomad Station Wagon?

  CHAPTER ONE

  BUDGING

  Every so often, the edges of parallel planes of existence tend to budge up against each other. Of course, the frequency of “every so often” isn’t exactly specific, is it? And the locations of such occurrences are difficult if not impossible to predict, so be on your guard. Why this budging up occurs scientists don’t know. It’s not like there isn’t enough space out there in space. We’ve been led to believe it isn’t too important, but I’m not comforted.

  Budging really isn’t the problem anyway is it? It’s the blending that causes all the uproar. That’s when the edges of parallel planes of existence cross over each other, like the diagrams you’ve seen where one circle is blue and the other circle is yellow and the overlapping part is green. Well, it’s that greenish part that’s the problem isn’t it? Or, like when you see two people occupying the same seat on the bus. It feels a little problematic; unless of course you’re one of the two people – and happy.

  Mark didn’t care about budging. That’s how Blackie got crammed into the back of Wayne’s 57 Chevy Nomad station wagon behind a set of Majestic drums. Off they were to a gig; not to be deterred by man, beast or cosmic idiosyncrasies as Wayne may have said.

  “We are going to get paid, how cool is that?” said Mark.

  Wayne was not sure he would have said how cool IS that. It’s only cool after it actually happens, he thought. Blackie was in the back of the wagon, behind a set of drums, two amplifiers, and assorted other equipment, and was light headed because of the exhaust fumes wafting in the open rear hatch window (the Nomad wasn’t air conditioned), so he couldn’t hear a word of what they were saying, or offer a retort. That was fine since the advancing level of his carbon monoxide poisoning made him dizzy, and he worried about what might happen if he voluntarily opened his mouth. The thought made him convulse slightly.

  “Where are we meeting Buster?” asked Wayne. Buster was the lead singer who lived 35 miles northwest of town. He had booked the gig they were headed to, which conveniently just down the street from his house.

  “The parking lot behind the bar,” remarked Mark, who wondered if Buster had forgotten to tell the owner that Blackie was just slightly under the legal drinking age.

  Wayne was old enough to be in a bar. But it wouldn’t have mattered if he wasn’t. Wayne could have fooled the owner; he was tall, with a swarthy complexion and he acted like he knew stuff. You know the type. Wayne just seemed to always get on with it. He exuded confidence like dry ice gives off gas.

  It’s possible Mark could have passed the scrutiny of a suspecting bar manager if needed. Working out to get ready for basketball season had added ten pounds of muscle, and he was left handed. People perceive left-handers dif
ferently. Mark knew this and scrupulously took full advantage.

  Blackie had no chance of fooling the manager or anyone else, especially if he asphyxiated before he arrived. Blackie was a year younger than Mark and Wayne and no matter how he tried to puff himself up, sit with his shoulders back, or put on a scowl, he didn’t look quite old enough to be in a bar.

  The sky was partly cloudy with big puffy white clouds that seemed to be climbing to heaven, and it was hot. The temperature was 36 degrees Celsius and heat waves could be seen rising from the pavement creating mirages like smooth, shallow lakes in the distance. It was the kind of heat that made you want to find a cool place under a tree and have a nap. Of course, if you had an excessive amount of adrenaline pulsing through your veins in anticipation of a paid gig, a nap was simply not in the cards.

  They were all swept up in that idea as they blistered down the highway looking for The Getaway Bar and Grill. That’s when it happened. Not the budging, the white-tailed deer. It ran straight into the side or Wayne’s station wagon. Wayne yelled, Mark let out a high ahhh sound, similar to the ones he when his was little, and his dad was chasing him around the room with a leather strap.

  Blackie was silent. He couldn’t see anything through the mountain of equipment and he certainly didn’t feel anything because his senses were impaired by severe oxygen deprivation. Wayne pulled to the side of the road in a maelstrom of words selected specifically to condemn the poor beast in the most vicious means, then he turned off the car.

  “It’s ruddy three in the afternoon! What’s an antelope doing out at this time of day?” swore Wayne, who wasn’t the most accomplished biologist to say the least.

  There stood the deer about 10 meters away from the car seemingly unharmed. It stared at them like it wondered why we were driving down the road at three in the afternoon. A few more unpleasant words showered the air. The deer didn’t move.

  “I’ve never seen a deer quite like that” said Mark, as if he were an authority on the indigenous deer populations.

  “Now that you mention it... neither have I.” Wayne, seemed to be struggling to construct a sentence that didn’t include choice expletives for the offending deer.

  The side of the Nomad was completely unharmed. “Real steel in this one” said Wayne as he patted the car, “not that mamby pamby stuff they use now.” He pulled a small tuft of hair from under the side molding and tossed it to the ground.

  Blackie, who had slumped to the bottom of the rear deck, popped up above the hatch opening to inhale and see what was going on. The fresh air must have revived him, and he looked out wondering why Mark and Wayne were goggling at a deer standing on the shoulder of the road. The deer gazed at the back of the Nomad as if it were thinking, Dang, there’s another one.

  “You stupid antelope, you are going to get killed,” yelled Wayne. “Let’s go.”

  “Suits me” said Mark as they made their way back to the front seat of the car.

  That is not a regular white-tailed deer, thought Blackie, and just as Wayne started the car Blackie was sure the deer winked at him – twice.

  Wayne pulled back onto Otis-hell Highway headed north at an alarming rate of speed. Mark started musing about the set list, Wayne was humming, and Blackie started to get dizzy and didn’t notice the speed or the humming. Unnoticed by the band, which isn’t saying much really, and any other passersby, the tuft of deer hair on the ground was caught up in the draft of a big truck that rushed by. It was swept up high into the air, and having developed the slightest of greenish tint, it vanished. It completely and utterly vanished. No one noticed.

  Sometime later this event was described during development of the Theory on Interspecies Dependency, which was presented to the Volareie Commission on Deltaloy 18 in the Byzintian System - year 53566.2. However, since there were purportedly no witnesses to the events of that fateful day, Terra Bulga (known by the locals as Earth) not having an interplanetary travel treaty would have precluded that, no one is sure where the description came from. It certainly wasn’t the band. Maybe that antelope wasn’t just a deer after all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DOUBLE OCCUPANCY

  Sometimes buses are crowded. Take for instance the buses in Kumasi, Ghana; those puppies are crowded beyond crowded. People are in the aisles, in the seats, and on the steps. There are more people than you could possibly imagine on those buses, and they make it work beautifully.

  Newtonian physics certainly wouldn’t disallow two people sharing the same seat on a bus, whether they were happy or not. However, it’s not so forgiving if those two people are sharing the same space; literally the exact same space. Even the thought of it tends to get a little messy. All those organs, veins, and cells swimming around in the same pool with each other unsettling. It’s just not cricket. The idea is simply a little too intimate for most folks to consider. So, they don’t. They simply don’t.

  The general effect of ignoring that closeness, or on the possibility of such unnatural closeness is bliss. Oh yes, and being totally blind. Completely blind to what happens before our very eyes. Give us order, give us instruction, give us a queue. See, that makes people happy, or at least not insane and uncomfortable.

  Besides, Mark really didn’t care about things or people sharing the same space. He didn’t give it a second thought. He was only too thrilled to be gliding down the highway toward a paid gig, and why not? In his defense, most of the population on Earth, save a few brainiac celestial studies professors, didn’t care about sharing space either. And they didn’t get it right until Dr. Shrud Competier published his ground-breaking treatise.

  With little thought of budging, Wayne drove and hummed while Mark finished a set list. Blackie used what was left of his consciousness to work on a better seating arrangement.

  “There it is,” said Mark with some measure of satisfaction. It seemed like a big deal for Mark to have said, we are going to a bar on Otis-hell Highway, and the bar was actually there, exactly where it was supposed to be. Unaware of how relieved Mark was, Wayne pulled into the parking lot of The Getaway Bar and Grill.

  “To the back, the back” Mark said as he gestured menacingly close to Wayne’s right eye.

  “Sure” said Wayne as he intentionally whipped the station wagon around the side of the building like it was an Austin Healy 3000, drifted sideways slightly in the loose caliche (temporarily forgetting the entire wagon was full of equipment that would come crashing down on Blackie, who, as always, was tucked away in the very back) and brought the Nomad to a sliding stop.

  “Nicely done,” said Mark, watching the cloud of dust. “If we get paid, I’ll spring for a carwash.”

  “Where have you been?” thundered Buster, “I’ve been waiting 15 minutes.” Buster was so red in the face he looked like he could pop a heart valve at any moment. The band often wondered where Buster got such a big head since his mom and dad and sisters were of normal head size. It’s crazy the things band members think, and talk about, but that’s probably where great lyrics come from. Right? Wayne looked at Buster through the open driver’s side window; Mark braced himself. Blackie was asleep, or more likely unconscious.

  “Yeah, totally our fault mate,” said Wayne. “It seems our pleasant hour-long drive to get to your bloody back yard was purposely interrupted by an antelope slamming into the side of the Nomad.”

  “Well, that’s just bad form, that is,” said Buster who didn’t have a clue what to think about Wayne’s comment.

  “But, no harm no foul,” said Mark. “Someone knock on the back door of the bar so we can unload.”

  Buster looked at the side of the Nomad then brooded all the way to the back door. That’s what made him a great lead singer; all that angst. And of course, writhing on the floor during songs like he was possessed or demented, or maybe both, but in fact neither. He was great.

  All the equipment was unloaded, set up and checked. The manager gave them the nod, and Blackie who it turns out had not succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning
in the back of the Nomad (yet again) gave a four count to start the first song. Wayne played bass. You could have guessed, couldn’t you? That dry air of detachment, and the look of knowing stuff spelled bass player deluxe.

  Mark played guitar, and he was really good, but he played right handed. Left- handed guitars were hard to find and more expensive, so the right- hand model had prevailed. That was okay with Mark because it made his left-handedness mysterious. During the breaks, he could drink left handed, gesture left handed and generally and naturally be left handed, which was such a counterpoint to his right-handed guitar playing. It was an overwhelming yet subtle advantage.

  A pretty girl who had entered the bar during the second song noticed Mark’s incongruity. She couldn’t exactly figure out what it was, but she liked it. Mark said hello, lifted his drink left handed and knew immediately he had made a connection.

  Blackie knew two drum beats.

  Buster thought he was performing in the Royal Albert Hall. To him, each of the seven people in the bar (six disinterested) represented thousands upon thousands of die hard, platinum-coated fans and he wasn’t going to disappoint them. Scare them a little maybe, but not disappoint, not ever.

  The set went great. They could usually gauge how well they had played by the amount of dirt on Buster’s left side. He preferred to have a left-side lie-down on stage during his writhing. The more dirt on Buster’s left side the better they must have played. The band believed it was a linear relationship. It was Wayne who first verbalized the writhing theory, although they all had stumbled around the edges of it. They figured the length of Buster’s writhing was proportional to how much they thought the crowd was getting into the music. A linear relationship of sorts. So, the solos were extended when the crowd was really with them and Buster was having a really good writhing. The view from onstage was magnificent. The set ended with a grand total of twelve people in the bar.