(no subject)
14 North Moore Street
Manhattan
11 October, 2005
*pop*
It was an alley, and on the other side was a grimy brick wall, but it was one of the loveliest sights Ray had ever seen. It paled in comparison with the newspaper box out front, though. The Post was proclaiming gloom, doom, and the Apocalypse, beginning in the Bronx.
Post-season baseball, Ray thought with a grin. Yep, I'm home.
He pushed open the human-sized door in the main Firehouse doors and stepped through. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light inside, like always, which meant he didn't see the water balloon coming. "Glaah!"
"Welcome back," said Peter. "Leave a note next time."
"I wasn't even gone a full sixty seconds!" Ray protested, wiping the water from his eyes.
"I meant next time we run out of milk, you nimrod. Frosted Flakes are nasty dry."
"Oh..."
"You okay?" Peter asked, frowning. "I didn't think I hit you that hard."
"You didn't. It's been a weird six weeks for me. I'm still adjusting to being back."
"Six weeks? Ray, I know you said it's a lot more than just a bar, but-"
"Not in Milliways, Peter. I got sidetracked."
Peter's eyebrows went up. "What, again?"
"'fraid so."
There was a sigh as Peter asked, "Where'd you end up this time?"
The corner of Ray's mouth twitched. "Ever wonder what it would've been like if we'd never had our asses thrown out of Columbia?"
Peter stared at him. "Okay," he said at last, "this I gotta hear. In detail."
***
Ninety minutes later Ray still hadn't finished, but Peter's vocabulary of incredulous, disbelieving expressions had been completely used up, so he settled back in his chair and spread his hands. "And that's about it, really," he said. "The statues are back in place, the zombies are gone, the city's hip deep in spooks, and our alternate selves are all working for Columbia Parapsych, Winston and Janine included."
"And alternate you is-"
"In charge of the capture program, yeah," Ray said hurriedly.
"I was gonna say dating Dana."
Damn. I was hoping he wouldn't have remembered. Ray sighed. "Peter, I have no way of knowing what happened after I left that note for the local analogue of me-"
Peter waved a hand. "Nah, it's okay. Different world, different circumstances. And I always did like redheads, so I can't really blame Alterna Me for going after that doctor like you said."
Ray exhaled in explosive relief. "Sorry, Pete," he said. "Your analogue at Milliways didn't take the news so well."
"Eh." He wrinkled his nose. "I seem to remember you telling me he also went booga-booga in the head for a while there. And that he's got psychic powers out the yin-yang now."
"Well- yeah-"
"Then he's not me." Peter shrugged. "Just because he isn't my evil twin doesn't mean he's the same person as me, you know."
"Which is a fact it took me a while to accept," Ray muttered.
"Oh, come on. I'm way cuter than he is." Ray snorted; Peter grinned. "Nah, seriously. Different world, different guy, different circumstances. I'm not gonna get myself worked up over something I'm not ever gonna see or touch- what? What did I say?"
"I, uh... that's... almost word for word what I said the first time I got into a discussion of All the Myriad Ways, Peter," Ray said slowly.
"All the- that science fiction story you told me about? The one with all the worlds?"
"With, um, every possible variation on every possible choice and every possible action, yeah."
Peter considered this, head cocked to one side; then he shrugged. "So what. Coincidences. They happen. Especially around here."
"True..."
"Although it does bring up something I wanted to talk to you about," Peter continued.
"Oh?" Ray asked. "What's that?"
"Well- how many worlds have you been to now? With us in them, I mean."
"Uh... well, not counting this one?" Peter nodded. "There was the animated one. And the one that was like this one, but in the eighties, that wasn't your Milliways analogue's world. There's his world, of course, but I've never been there-"
"That's okay, we can still count it. That's three, right?"
"Four, including this most recent one."
"Four. Okay. Ray? Question for you." He leaned across the kitchen table, hands folding neatly in front of him. "Remember junior year at Columbia?"
"How could I forget?" Ray asked. "Fall semester of junior year was the worst semester of my entire academic career. Between the professors who spoke English as a third language teaching all my advanced mathematics classes, and that case of Hemophilus parainfluenzae B that won me the Highest Temperature and Still Lucid award from Campus Health, I'm surprised I passed at all..."
"Yeah. I seem to recall you had some pretty weird ideas that semester," Peter noted. "Most of which had to do with dropping the whole engineering and parapsych schtick and going over to a humanities curriculum-"
"Yeah," Ray said, reminiscently. "That was the semester I thought... of..." He trailed off.
A long time ago he'd come within a hairsbreadth of accidentally letting Bernard know that a lot of the people in the Bar were fictional characters in his world, and that he was fictional in a lot of theirs. One of the universes where I was a fiction writer, he'd said instead. I wanted to be one once, very briefly.
"You ever think about putting some of this stuff down on paper and selling it to one of those magazines you read in the bathroom instead of porn or sports?"
"You mean Weird Tales?" Ray pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. "I don't know, Pete. Do you think they'd accept anything this weird? And I'd have to share a cut of the magazine's money with-"
"With who? People in other universes you'll never see again? I don't think even the Cayman Islands have bankers that good, Ray."
"I should get permission-"
"Only if someone you actually know you'll see again is involved. I'm telling you, Ray, write this stuff up. Not the stuff at Milliways, since you'd actually have to pay those guys part of your money like you said- but these weird worlds you've been to. Write them up. We can license them out to some lucky company as young adult literature or something. Heck, we could probably sell it to Marvel or DC if we really tried. KISS had a comic book, didn't they?"
"Yeah... wait, how'd you know?"
"Long story." Peter smiled. "Seriously. Write this stuff down. Get Janine to type it up for you if you need to, but write it down. We'll shop it around, get someone to buy the stories, and next thing you know, hey presto- bright shiny new revenue stream to go with all those patents you and Spengs've been rolling out."
Ray shook his head again. "Sometimes you worry me, Peter. You have a single-minded focus on the bottom line that no scientist in history's ever really managed to duplicate."
"Whatever. Are you with me on this one?"
"Point me at the keyboard and a 128 megabyte Flash memory drive, and have Janine check and see whether the Library carries the Writer's Market."
Peter beamed, and held out his hand for the slapping. "Attaboy."
Manhattan
11 October, 2005
*pop*
It was an alley, and on the other side was a grimy brick wall, but it was one of the loveliest sights Ray had ever seen. It paled in comparison with the newspaper box out front, though. The Post was proclaiming gloom, doom, and the Apocalypse, beginning in the Bronx.
Post-season baseball, Ray thought with a grin. Yep, I'm home.
He pushed open the human-sized door in the main Firehouse doors and stepped through. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light inside, like always, which meant he didn't see the water balloon coming. "Glaah!"
"Welcome back," said Peter. "Leave a note next time."
"I wasn't even gone a full sixty seconds!" Ray protested, wiping the water from his eyes.
"I meant next time we run out of milk, you nimrod. Frosted Flakes are nasty dry."
"Oh..."
"You okay?" Peter asked, frowning. "I didn't think I hit you that hard."
"You didn't. It's been a weird six weeks for me. I'm still adjusting to being back."
"Six weeks? Ray, I know you said it's a lot more than just a bar, but-"
"Not in Milliways, Peter. I got sidetracked."
Peter's eyebrows went up. "What, again?"
"'fraid so."
There was a sigh as Peter asked, "Where'd you end up this time?"
The corner of Ray's mouth twitched. "Ever wonder what it would've been like if we'd never had our asses thrown out of Columbia?"
Peter stared at him. "Okay," he said at last, "this I gotta hear. In detail."
***
Ninety minutes later Ray still hadn't finished, but Peter's vocabulary of incredulous, disbelieving expressions had been completely used up, so he settled back in his chair and spread his hands. "And that's about it, really," he said. "The statues are back in place, the zombies are gone, the city's hip deep in spooks, and our alternate selves are all working for Columbia Parapsych, Winston and Janine included."
"And alternate you is-"
"In charge of the capture program, yeah," Ray said hurriedly.
"I was gonna say dating Dana."
Damn. I was hoping he wouldn't have remembered. Ray sighed. "Peter, I have no way of knowing what happened after I left that note for the local analogue of me-"
Peter waved a hand. "Nah, it's okay. Different world, different circumstances. And I always did like redheads, so I can't really blame Alterna Me for going after that doctor like you said."
Ray exhaled in explosive relief. "Sorry, Pete," he said. "Your analogue at Milliways didn't take the news so well."
"Eh." He wrinkled his nose. "I seem to remember you telling me he also went booga-booga in the head for a while there. And that he's got psychic powers out the yin-yang now."
"Well- yeah-"
"Then he's not me." Peter shrugged. "Just because he isn't my evil twin doesn't mean he's the same person as me, you know."
"Which is a fact it took me a while to accept," Ray muttered.
"Oh, come on. I'm way cuter than he is." Ray snorted; Peter grinned. "Nah, seriously. Different world, different guy, different circumstances. I'm not gonna get myself worked up over something I'm not ever gonna see or touch- what? What did I say?"
"I, uh... that's... almost word for word what I said the first time I got into a discussion of All the Myriad Ways, Peter," Ray said slowly.
"All the- that science fiction story you told me about? The one with all the worlds?"
"With, um, every possible variation on every possible choice and every possible action, yeah."
Peter considered this, head cocked to one side; then he shrugged. "So what. Coincidences. They happen. Especially around here."
"True..."
"Although it does bring up something I wanted to talk to you about," Peter continued.
"Oh?" Ray asked. "What's that?"
"Well- how many worlds have you been to now? With us in them, I mean."
"Uh... well, not counting this one?" Peter nodded. "There was the animated one. And the one that was like this one, but in the eighties, that wasn't your Milliways analogue's world. There's his world, of course, but I've never been there-"
"That's okay, we can still count it. That's three, right?"
"Four, including this most recent one."
"Four. Okay. Ray? Question for you." He leaned across the kitchen table, hands folding neatly in front of him. "Remember junior year at Columbia?"
"How could I forget?" Ray asked. "Fall semester of junior year was the worst semester of my entire academic career. Between the professors who spoke English as a third language teaching all my advanced mathematics classes, and that case of Hemophilus parainfluenzae B that won me the Highest Temperature and Still Lucid award from Campus Health, I'm surprised I passed at all..."
"Yeah. I seem to recall you had some pretty weird ideas that semester," Peter noted. "Most of which had to do with dropping the whole engineering and parapsych schtick and going over to a humanities curriculum-"
"Yeah," Ray said, reminiscently. "That was the semester I thought... of..." He trailed off.
A long time ago he'd come within a hairsbreadth of accidentally letting Bernard know that a lot of the people in the Bar were fictional characters in his world, and that he was fictional in a lot of theirs. One of the universes where I was a fiction writer, he'd said instead. I wanted to be one once, very briefly.
"You ever think about putting some of this stuff down on paper and selling it to one of those magazines you read in the bathroom instead of porn or sports?"
"You mean Weird Tales?" Ray pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. "I don't know, Pete. Do you think they'd accept anything this weird? And I'd have to share a cut of the magazine's money with-"
"With who? People in other universes you'll never see again? I don't think even the Cayman Islands have bankers that good, Ray."
"I should get permission-"
"Only if someone you actually know you'll see again is involved. I'm telling you, Ray, write this stuff up. Not the stuff at Milliways, since you'd actually have to pay those guys part of your money like you said- but these weird worlds you've been to. Write them up. We can license them out to some lucky company as young adult literature or something. Heck, we could probably sell it to Marvel or DC if we really tried. KISS had a comic book, didn't they?"
"Yeah... wait, how'd you know?"
"Long story." Peter smiled. "Seriously. Write this stuff down. Get Janine to type it up for you if you need to, but write it down. We'll shop it around, get someone to buy the stories, and next thing you know, hey presto- bright shiny new revenue stream to go with all those patents you and Spengs've been rolling out."
Ray shook his head again. "Sometimes you worry me, Peter. You have a single-minded focus on the bottom line that no scientist in history's ever really managed to duplicate."
"Whatever. Are you with me on this one?"
"Point me at the keyboard and a 128 megabyte Flash memory drive, and have Janine check and see whether the Library carries the Writer's Market."
Peter beamed, and held out his hand for the slapping. "Attaboy."