Jump Starting the Universe Book Bundle Page 3

  “Dang that was easy,” said Wayne who was getting a little uneasy with driving the quartz highway.

  About one mile down the road Wayne noticed in his rear-view mirror an object that looked quite similar to a motorcycle policeman.

  “Man, I cannot catch a break today,” he yelled and pulled over. The policeman dismounted and approached the driver’s side window which Wayne had rolled down.

  “Yes officer, can I help you?” said Wayne.

  “I’d like to see your permit,” said the policeman, looking suspiciously at the Nomad. Wayne pulled out his wallet and handed over his driver license.

  “What is this?” asked the policeman.

  “That is my permit,” said Wayne, “you know a DRIVER’S PERMIT!”

  The next words spoken were something like this: This is Officer Sharaider requesting immediate assistance for an unpermitted MOV.” Without warning, in the time it took to wonder what an MOV was, there were scads of policemen on motorbikes. Scads as in the innumerable multitude, not unlike the carangid fishes Decapterus punctatus in the western Atlantic Ocean on Terra Bulga. Officer Sharaider watched them descend on the scene like locusts. Like the ones John ate. Not John the cousin and toe rock player, THE John. Anyway, the policemen formed a ring around the Nomad, actually that would be eight rings around the Nomad as Officer Sharaider turned to Wayne and said, “You are all under arrest. Don’t resist.”

  The term “don’t resist” is the most common police action statement used throughout all the entwined universes and dimensions. It is so prevalent that any security officer of any kind is apt to bark, “Don’t resist” or some legally approved form of that phrase, at any given moment. In fact, the term has been elevated to a legal status of its own after Marcus Trinitian robbed a galactic cruiser of its golden gyroscopic tuning fork and was arrested within 148.7 seconds. In his defense his attorney simply stated his client had not been told, “Don’t resist.” The jury of twelve Gentilian Ministerprods found him not guilty and awarded him the galactic cruiser as compensation for his ill treatment. Since that time, all police and security officers have received continuing education courses which include the how’s and why’s of when to say “Don’t resist,” which appears to be ALL the time.

  “That would be futile don’t you think?” said Blackie from the rear of the Nomad. Officer Sharaider pretended not to hear. He took his place at the front of the police rings and the procession advanced toward the small city of Unkrian.

  It seemed the group’s arrest was at odds with the seemingly nice nature of the city. Streets were paved with clean bright quartz. The buildings were gorgeous to behold and every window was perfectly clean; it reminded Blackie of the windscreen on his father’s car. Even the citizens smiled at the Nomad as the police ring led it to the 3rd Regional Courthouse.

  “In we go then,” said Sharaider and led the group down the perfectly clean hallway to a wonderfully wrought wooden desk. A young lady behind the desk smiled and passed each of them a form, which requested answers to the following question: To which crime do you admit, please fill in your name, and have a nice day.

  Mark noticed Wayne was starting to get that look, like a soda bottle, that having just been dropped on the floor begins to fill with foam just before blowing its lid across the room. The nice young lady behind the desk noticed Blackie. Mark stepped over next to Wayne and said “It could be worse; we could have NOT been paid.” Wayne’s face succumbed to the smallest of smiles against his best effort and the “foam” disappeared.

  The nice young lady behind the desk noticed Blackie a second time. Amelia walked to the desk but before she could ask a question the young lady asked “Is he with you?” as she nodded toward Blackie.

  “If you mean with, as in traveling together with a group, yes, if you mean with in any other application of the term, no.” The young woman, Beth according to her name tag, tapped a gentle rhythm on her desk with her pen, smiled very widely and asked if she could be of any assistance.

  “Well, we don’t understand the form,” said Amelia, “we aren’t from around here.”

  “Oh” said Beth, “I thought the presiding officer read you the charges. But honestly, I don’t think you look the type,” as she glanced at the arrest record, “I mean really, illegal transport of a metal object with intent, that’s really serious.”

  “With intent to what?” asked Amelia.

  “Well…” and Beth hesitated like she was expected to say something dirty,” to sell it” she whispered.

  “Sell what?” exclaimed Amelia.

  Beth looked shocked, “The metal transport of course.”

  “You mean the Nomad?”

  “Is that what it’s called, a Nomad,” said Beth, “does that mean something?”

  Amelia looked hard at the pretty receptionist and said, “I’m thinking it doesn’t mean anything at all here.”

  “Oh look,” Beth said as a young man delivered a large manila envelope to her inbox, “your delivery papers are here. Just take these and pop down the hallway. Each form has a number, don’t be shy.”

  Sure enough, each form had a number and a letter. Number 4m, number 5m, number 6F, number 7m. They went through the door to the hallway, down the hall and turned right. There they found a series of jail cells each with a number 4m, 5m, 6F, 7m.

  “The F is for female,” said a man in cell 4m trying to be helpful. Blackie went to 7m, walked in and shut the door. Then he turned the door knob and the door opened.

  “The lock on this one is broken,” said Blackie.

  “Oh, they don’t lock,” the man chuckled.

  There was something strangely familiar about that chuckle. Amelia went in 6F and sat on the bed. Wayne and Mark entered 5m, which conveniently had two beds. They even looked comfortable.

  “What are you in for?” asked the man in 4m who seemed to be excited about someone to talk to.

  “Well I don’t exactly know?” said Mark, to which Amelia quipped, “Oh, illegal transport of a metal object with intent.”

  The man’s smile dropped, “That’s serious,” he said.

  “Would you like to explain?” asked Wayne.

  “Well,” the man lowered his voice, “it was banned after the war - no one could have it.”

  “No one could own a car?” asked Wayne.

  “A transport,” offered Amelia.

  “No one could own a transport?” said Wayne who was entering the initial stages of “foaming.”

  “Well of course they could own transports,” said the man, “but not metal ones, not metal fences, metal tools, not metal anything.”

  “Why is that?” asked Blackie.

  “Where in the heavens have you people been,” asked the old man. So, they told him. They told him the whole story. They told him about the band, the gig, and about the deer and the greenish tint.

  “That story explains a lot,” said the man in cell 4m. “By the way my name is Prenetian.”

  Mark gave a low a sigh as he sat on his bed looking at his shoes. “We have a few more important things to consider than a girl at the bar” said Wayne. Mark looked at Wayne, looked at Amelia, and looked back at Wayne.

  “Touché” said Wayne, “my bad.” They both smiled widely.

  “You might want to tell me what you are getting on about?” said Blackie from the end cell.

  “Did you notice the receptionist?” said Mark.

  “Well, I guess,” said Blackie.

  “Well, she noticed you,” said Mark.

  “So naïve when they’re young,” Mark mouthed the words looking at Wayne, who burst out laughing.

  Apparently real metal wasn’t allowed on Alphus Nebulum. Sort of like when the government on Terra Bulga once said you couldn’t have gold anymore, only then it was with much more political reasoning and back door deals. Prenetian explained, as best he could, the situation.

  The planet Alphus Nebulum had been involved in a very costly and devastating war. You would think that since that theme, c
ostly and devastating, both in lives and resources, seemed to be repeated with wanton abandon throughout the universes someone, some government, some planet would say enough is enough and propose a complete ban on war. Well, someone warn all the young men and women, they haven’t, and it’s not probable.

  Prenetian continued his story. “During the war, metal was of course used for every defensive and offensive device beyond imagination. Once, expecting war to be declared by the Nargusians, the Thenatrians flung a tetratic sphere across Dimension 48D607 in year 4867.29. It returned from the fling in 4878.35 having collected so much energy that when it exploded in the Nargus atmosphere the day after Thenatrians declared war, no living creature remained alive. The Thenatrians were victorious in one day.

  The next day Parliament convened on Nargusian Delta 2 and voted to withhold galactic commerce from Thenatria for 50 years. Knowing they would win the war against Nargus quickly, Thenatrians didn’t store provisions for war, and were ill prepared for a trade ban. Thenatria was an import planet since it was devoid of most natural resources. During the next 50 years ninety percent of the population died from disease or malnutrition. When the news of what happened on Thenatria leaked out, an armistice was declared, and that particular conflict was over or at least postponed.”

  “The government of Alphus Nebulum sought out every other government known to exist in all the dimensions and signed treaties with every one of them, promising to do everything it could to avoid war. It was reasoned, unsoundly, that since metal was required to produce the armaments that caused so much of the war’s destruction, the use and ownership of metal should be strictly forbidden, except for permitted research. That is government in action. All metal was confiscated by the government and was stored in a vast area north of Sadden Ocean. The area is so remote no one except guards and their families travel there. The production and import of metal or metal containing products was banned.

  Of course, leaders in the military saw these actions as a move toward pacifism and immediately began to divert budget allocations into the research and production of nonmetallic weapons. The second result was a thriving black-market trading in metal. What we’ve discovered is that the legislation of morality simply does not work. Someday someone will observe that a different approach to disagreement is required to prevent disputes from escalating into full scale destruction. Until then we fail.”

  Prenetian hesitated for a moment, then asked, “So this transport of yours, does it contain metal? If it does that would explain your arrest.”

  Wayne squirmed on the bed before saying, “Yes, you might say it contains metal.”

  “Yeah” said Mark, “roughly 3,470 pounds or about 1,574 kilograms of metal.”

  “Oh my,” said Prenetian, “that is a very large amount of metal; you ARE in trouble aren’t you.”

  Everyone shifted a bit nervously. “You seem to be taking all this rather well though. I mean, Terra Bulgans don’t travel space much and being arrested doesn’t seem to have bothered you as much as I think it should.”

  “Well, I’m just waiting to wake up” said Wayne.

  “Me too” said Mark.

  “And me” said Amelia.

  There was a little springy noise from cell 7m as Blackie adjusted his weight on the bed and offered, “You are going to wake up alright. And when you do, you are going to be right here. Do you think four of us could be having the exact same dream?”

  At that point of very uncomfortableness Prenetian said, “I should offer some additional explanations,” as he dug around in a very nice backpack like bag slung on the end of his bed, “about your trip or adventure I mean. You managed a cross-over, so you’re going to need one of these.”

  “What is it?” said Mark while Wayne eyed the instrument and Mark passed it to Amelia. Taking something from someone in jail didn’t seem like a good idea, and it’s not like any of them planned this cross-over thing.

  “It’s a Jump Starter.”

  “What’s it for?” inquired Blackie, who was keen on being included in conversation and not being in the back of the Nomad for a change.

  “Well it’s for jumping, isn’t it,” said Prenetian.

  “Is it?” said Wayne.

  “Of course it is,” said Prenetian.

  “This one has the original Doppler diffuser; sorry but its mono only. My new model,” he held it up jubilantly, “has stereo diffusion.”

  “So, the Doppler diffuser….

  “Yes,” said Prenetian cutting off Wayne, “exactly. During the jump the Doppler Effect can be really uncomfortable to the ears.”

  “How uncomfortable?” asked Blackie?

  “Well there is sometimes a lot of blood involved, or other fluid depending on the species,” said Prenetian brightly.

  “And it…. “

  “Yes,” replied Prenetian, again cutting off Wayne, “it completely cancels out any sound and thereby avoids the untimely loss of liquids.”

  Mark, Wayne, Amelia and Blackie sat quietly for a moment.

  “Well if it completely cancels out any sound it really doesn’t matter if it’s a mono or stereo model, does it?” said Wayne.

  “That is completely beside the point,” offered Prenetian. Completely beside what point they were not sure, and although Blackie was so enjoying being a part of the conversation that he wanted to press the Doppler issue, he thought better of it in the end.

  “About that cross-over thing,” asked Blackie, taking a different tack at a conversation, “is that normal.”

  Prenetian said “Well I wouldn’t say exactly normal, no.”

  “No one from Earth has done it before?” asked Blackie.

  “Oh, goodness no,” Prenetian rattled on with a really big smile, “your Mr. Einstein popped across so often I thought about letting him a room. He fancied a walk-about now and again when he got stuck.”

  “Stuck?” asked Amelia.

  “Oh yes, stuck,” said Prenetian, “you know when he couldn’t figure out how to simplify things enough for others to follow. Great mind Mr. Einstein, too bad he wasn’t born on Timethilian, they would have understood all of it.”

  “All of it?” asked Mark.

  “Oh yes,” Prenetian replied, “he only introduced the first chapter on Terra Bulga. But since his demise many years ago humans have unraveled another two or so chapters worth of material on their own; but it is a very big book.”

  Mark and Blackie had been raised in a modest and polite home. So, Mark, being in the cell closest to Prenetian and having accepted the Jump Starter, pretended to know what it was and offered his thanks.

  “Oh, don’t mention it,” replied Prenetian. So, they didn’t, and much unpleasantness over the matter was immediately averted.

  Amelia looked at Prenetian and when he gazed her direction she quickly looked away.

  “Do you have a question my dear?” said Prenetian.

  “Well,” she started slowly “I was just wondering,” and she trailed off at the end.

  “Oh yes,” said Prenetian, “Why am I in jail? Well for a little of this an a little of that I’m afraid. You know, putting your hands into the mix so to speak.” They were clueless as to what that might mean and Prenetian didn’t offer any more than a very hearty smile.

  Afterward Amelia pulled something from her purse and appeared to be concentrating really hard. So hard, a crease was almost perceptible in her absolutely perfect skin. In her purse she had stored a very expensive calculator. I was a mini-computer really, and not so mini at that. She was working feverishly; punching buttons, saving results, craning over the calculator like a spit of paper with the answer to life might come bursting forth at any second.

  “Prenetian,” she said very softly since it looked like he was the only other person in the room not on the verge of falling sleep.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Does a cross-over,” she hesitated, “leave a trace or an imprint?”

  “Oh, very good, yes it does,” he replied, “You are v
ery clever. And,” he coaxed.

  “And is the imprint embedded on the subatomic structure of things located in the mixing zone as they cross-over?” she asked.

  “Well, however did you work out the mix zone my dear,” he breathed. Amelia hesitated but thought it was best to press on. She wasn’t scared of looking stupid. Theories are for theorizing and Prenetian appeared to be a good person to bounce them off of, so to speak.

  “I noticed that just before the cross-over the sun was yellow, very yellow, in-fact maybe unnaturally yellow and the light was absolutely brilliant.”

  “Yes, go on,” he said.

  “Well, I also noticed the sky, how it was brilliant blue, you know the brilliant blue that seemed to be a little suspicious.”

  Prenetian was now sitting up in his bed at attention. “Why yes,” he said with enthusiasm.

  “Well I couldn’t help thinking that the greenish tint that bathed everything around us in the parking lot of the bar was a mix; a mix of the brilliant blue and that uncommon light from that very suspiciously yellow sunlight.”

  “Very good,” said Prenetian.

  “So, the mixing zone was not an accident but a phenomenon that repeats?”

  “Oh, very much indeed,” whispered Prenetian.

  “I take it then that Wayne, Mark, Blackie and Me, Oh and the Nomad and all the music equipment are imprinted and,” she rushed on, “much more likely to be in a mixing zone again, say than something that has never been in a mixing zone, like Buster?”

  “Exactly what is a Buster?” asked Prenetian.

  “He is the lead singer we left behind in the bar when we crossed-over.”

  “Yes, I think absolutely you are much more susceptible, in fact almost destined to encounter a mixing zone again,” he seemed to say to himself, “than Bugger.”

  “Buster.”

  “Yes, yes Buster. But unless you intend to join an intergalactic musician’s union and take your band on the road so to speak, where you might need your lead singer, it is, I think, a moot point.”