(no subject)

Here's the Out of Milliways post I promised in my post of March 22nd. This happens before Ray's most recent encounter with Dr. McCoy.]

Second Arrival at Milliways + 21 Days
Milliways

As far as Ray was concerned, it was time to get out of Milliways for a bit.

Romana had said they'd be going to New York City before starting their TARDIS trip around the galaxy. That was fine as far as it went, but franky Ray felt like he was beating his head against a wall about Warren's situation. Even with that side trip to Ryo-oh-ki's home (a place he really wanted to visit again, if only to meet Washu a second time), he wasn't getting anywhere. He had the technology, but Andrew didn't want it used- not to mention that he couldn't get it to work properly. He had several homebrewed hypotheses on means of fixing the situation, but no way of testing them until the critical point. Frankly, as much as he wanted to help Warren and Andrew and the rest of them, he only had so much grey matter to spare. It was time to drop the information to date off with someone else and get a good, fresh perspective. That meant Egon, and that meant going home. Preferably without Washu's device, since he didn't know how well it'd react to being hauled across realities, but the Bar could take care of that.

Jumpsuit, check. Entity goggles, check. PKE meter duplicated by Tim Hunter from the one he'd acquired in the animated continuum, check. PDA of Doooom, check. Warren's antigravity belt, check. That ought to cover the need for both philotic connection to Milliways and a means of proving to Egon that he'd been somewhere significantly different from their end of the baryonic universe, so. . .

He stepped through the door.

What a lot of light there was…

Late May
14 North Moore Street, Manhattan

Ray's vision was so bombarded with blue-shifted spatiotemporal energy that he completely failed to see the ground coming up to meet him. He staggered, throwing out both arms blindly. A pair of hands caught him, pushing him back to his feet. "Oh, thank-"

He never finished the sentence, because someone clapped a wide, strong hand over his eyes.

Oh, oh.

"Excuse me," he said, the skin of his back prickling with sudden adrenaline. "What's going on?"

"First things first," said a grim, controlled voice. "Identify yourself."

He knew that voice. He knew. "Spengler? Is that you? It's me, Ray!"

"Close, but not good enough. Complete identification, please."

For a moment Ray considered trying to wrench his hands free of the grip that held him, or at least ducking his head away from the hand over his eyes. That probably wasn't the wisest idea if Egon was sounding like that, though. That was the voice Spengler normally used when he suspected an experiment had gone horribly awry. It would be safest, he decided, to play along.

"Raymond Joseph Stantz," he said, turning his head just a touch. The hand over his eyes pressed down a little more firmly, but only a little. "I’m a Ghostbuster, I'm a double Ph. D. in parapsychology and electrical engineering-"

"Neither one is important right now. Do you know where you are?"

"No, not really," Ray had to admit.

"Mm." There was a faint scratching noise, as of a pen on paper. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, of course. You're Egon Spengler. We were pen pals all through high school- my high school, I mean, you were home-schooled. You got into MIT's high energy physics program when you were twelve."

"Twelve?" said another, incredulous voice. "Jeez, Egon, I knew you were young for Columbia, but-"

"Quiet," Egon snapped, but the damage was done.

"And that's Peter Venkman," Ray said. "I'd know his voice anywhere. I've known Pete longer than anyone, really. The three of us were parapsychology professors at Columbia University until the alumni board terminated our grant. . . I’m guessing that this means Winston Zeddmore is the person on restraining duty?"

"Got it in one, Ray," said Winston, just off his right-hand side.

Ray smiled. "Good. In that case I'd venture to guess we're in the basement of Ghostbusters headquarters in the old Hook and Ladder Number Eight? Am I right?"

Silence; Ray imagined the heads turning as the other two looked to Egon for confirmation, or maybe just permission.

"All right, I'll give you that much," Egon said at last.

"Great. Am I ever glad to see you guys! Well, not 'see' just at the moment, but-"

"We're not done yet, Ray. There's been a problem."

Ray froze. "What kind of problem?" he asked warily.

"There've been some very peculiar etheric disturbances recently around here, hence the precautions. I'd like to ask you a few more questions before Winston lets you go-"

"Why don't you let me handle this, Egon," said Peter's voice. "You've got the bedside manner of an alligator."

"Venkman, if it's-"

"Let me handle it," Peter insisted. "Gimme that clipboard."

"Fine."

"Great, okay. Ray? Pete here. I promise I’m not gonna put you through Captain Paranoia's full grilling." There came the sound of flipping pages and shuffled papers. "You should see this. He's got an entire census form's worth of questions here."

"Wonderful," Ray said. It did sound like the kind of thing Egon would come up with- for any one of a score of possible situations.

"Good, good. Uh. . . wait a minute. Egon? You left out the biggie."

"That is supposed to be for use in case of First Contact with extradimensional entities of non-Terran origin, Peter."

"Does that kind of thing happen often on your world?. . . no, don't answer that. Ray?" The normal wry humor had gone out of Peter's voice. "I'm going to ask you a couple of questions. Real simple stuff. And I want you to answer as honestly as possible, okay?"

"You bet, Pete."

"Okay." He heard a deep breath. "Let's say. . . Let's say I come out of Columbia and head for the nearest subway station, up around Teacher's College. What's the subway line nearest to there?"

"That's the old 1 and 9 line," Ray answered immediately. Manhattan was no place for a college student to have a car. He'd learned the subway map early on.

"Good, good. How far south does that line go?"

"All the way to the South Ferry station at the bottom end of Manhattan."

"Uh-huh. Any disruptions in service along the way?"

"It's the New York City subway, Peter. I'd be really surprised if there weren't."

"I don't see what you're getting at with this, Peter."

"I do, Egon. Let the man ask his question."

"Thank you, Winston. Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"Supposing I take the number 1 south from Columbia south to the Cortlandt Street and West Broadway station. What do I see when I get out?"

Cortlandt Street. Ray understood.

"Ray?"

"You see. . ." Ray said slowly.

Six months in the animated continuum and I never found so much as a trace of my counterpart. He must've been here all this time, going nuts because everything's three dimensional- they're trying to figure out which one I am!

". . . the memorial to the Twin Towers, and to all of the people who died when Trans-Ocean 66 finally came home."

There was silence.

The clipboard bounced off something. "It's not him," Peter said. "Let go, Winston."

Winston's hand fell away. Ray blinked as light came back into the world. All right, that was the Peter he knew, and Winston and Egon were just the same, and this was the basement lab- so what-

Before he could say so much as a word, Egon pressed something into his hand. "Today's Post," he said quietly.

Ray looked down. The headline read NAB PORN MOM IN TOT SLASH in hundred-twenty-point type, but he ignored it in favor of a single, tiny detail:

May 22nd, 1985.

"Not again," Ray groaned.