Blithering Genius: The Other Universes, #2

By Ubiquitous Bubba

There are things man was not meant to wot of. Unfortunately, hair has no such restriction. For one head of evil genius hair, time travel has unintended consequences. The multiverse, Time, and all that is reality challenged is at risk. Finding and unlocking the Prime Universe has never been more urgent or more difficult. Doing so while Time exists may be impossible

Blithering Genius is book two of The Other Universes. It continues the story lines from Reality Challenged as Psychann tries to pull her companions together to face a threat against Time. Psychann will need help from old friends as well as new allies. There are doppelgangers, telepathic fish, subterranean tunnel dwellers, insane computers, time travelling intelligent parasites, mosquito-beagle hybrids, mimes, and spiders. Sorry about those, by the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ubiquitous Bubba
• Release date: Apr 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311260765

Ubiquitous Bubba

Ubiquitous Bubba (if that's his real name) spends a significant amount of time surrounded by imaginary characters from bizarre universes. He's been known to hold conversations with animals, inanimate objects, and food. These discussions frequently diverge into philosophy, speculations on Reality/Unreality, and the proper role of cheese in society.  Growing up in Texas, he studied the lore of the Storyteller, the mysterious art of the tall tale, and the pervasive universal existence of Bubbas. They're everywhere. As he wandered universes, he discovered that there's always a Bubba around when you need one.  Ubiquitous is also a drummer, who has somewhat narrow and specialized musical tastes. A fan of progressive and hard rock styles, he's also known to incorporate some funk just to keep himself entertained.  Ubiquitous Bubba enjoys relaxing at home with his wife and kids. He enjoys telling stories, eating pizza, and holding the recliner down. It hasn't gotten away yet, but one can't be too careful.

Book preview

Blithering Genius

Book 2 of The Other Universes

Ubiquitous Bubba

Copyright © 2016 Ubiquitous Bubba

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 9781311260765

Ubiquitous Edition

Ubiquitous Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my wife and kids as well as to those with the imagination to look at reality and wonder, What if…?

Bubba Books

Short Stories:

The Imaginary Invasion - ubiquitousbubba.wordpress.com/the-imaginary-invasion/

Humanity Was Delicious - ubiquitousbubba.wordpress.com/humanity-was-delicious/

The Other Universes Series:

Reality Challenged - ubiquitousbubba.wordpress.com/reality-challenged/

Blithering Genius - ubiquitousbubba.wordpress.com/blithering-genius/

Prologue

1 Year Earlier...

Don't scream. Don't scream, Dr. Maryann Jensen silently reminded herself. Whatever she does, don't scream. She paused. Please, let her have only one head this time. Inhaling deeply, she stepped into the young girl's room. The doctor nodded to an orderly who dashed outside and slammed the door.

Facing the shadows in a corner, a single headed child scowled. Dr. Jensen allowed herself a brief sigh of relief before greeting her patient. Good morning. Have you decided on a name, yet? We can't very well use that...that other thing.

I already have a name, muttered the girl quietly.

Yes, but 'Aagh' is not a suitable name for such a pretty girl. The executives at the Montgomery Institute of Mental Health frown on that sort of thing.

You're saying it wrong.

Well, let's return to that later, shall we? Dr. Jensen held up a CD cover. "I wanted to talk about this for a moment. This is the only CD we found in your bag. I would not have expected you to be a Detestica fan. Did someone give you this?"

AAAAGGHHHH's head cocked sideways. It's their first album, she explained. It has the extra track. It was a mistake that wasn't really a mistake.

You're talking about the untitled track, right?

Number 11. There's only supposed to be 10 songs, but they added an 11th track and no one at the label noticed.

It's just noise, the doctor said. It's roughly three and a half minutes of white noise.

Not a mistake, the girl repeated.

Dr. Jensen opened her laptop and motioned for the child to come closer to see the screen. I want to show you something and ask you a few questions. A video buffered and then sprang to life. White padded walls dotted with faded cartoon characters filled the screen. That looks like this room, doesn't it, asked the doctor. The camera panned to the left to reveal the jagged edges where the rest of the building used to be. In the distance, fires glowed on the horizon against the broken skyline. In the foreground of the video, AAAAGGHHHH stepped into view.

That's you, isn't it? Dr. Jensen asked pausing the video. The girl only blinked. Well, said the doctor. I don't think there's any doubt about it, and that's one of the things that's confusing me. She clicked to resume the video. Here's another one.

"Detestica warned us, said the girl in the video. Track 11, she said as she held up their debut CD. The untitled track. Most people think it's just noise. They think it's a mistake.

SHLURP!

AAAAGGHHHH! screamed Dr. Jensen, pausing the video. Heads froze, partially springing out of the girl's skin. I'm sorry, the doctor gasped, trying to control her breathing. It startles me every time. She looked away from the screen and rubbed her temples for a moment. Alright, let's continue.

Eternity, said a head near the child's left elbow.

...in a moment, continued another on her right wrist.

Time, intoned a head on her chin.

...without Time, moaned one from her shoulder.

It's, the heads paused. Fornever, declared the original head.

This sound, groaned a head on her knee. All of the heads froze for an instant, blinking owlishly at the camera. In unison, they chanted, It's the white noise of the End of Time.

SHLURP!

The heads slipped and sucked back under her skin. Eyes darted left and right. Be very careful what you think, whispered the sole remaining face.

Dr. Jensen closed the lid on the laptop and tried once again to will her goose bumps to recede. At the time, everyone thought that was a strange special effect. Eleven years ago, this video went viral and, some might say, it is one of the big reasons for the band's rise to fame. Of course, now that you're here, we know this was no special effect, was it? AAAAGGHHHH blinked. So, one of the things I want to know, Dr. Jensen said. I want to know how you could have made this video that long ago? The girl in the video appears to be around your age, so there's no way the person on the video could be you. Who is this?

The child stared into Dr. Jensen's eyes. It's me, she answered. I'm the only one who does that.

That's not possible, child. When did you record it?

AAAAGGHHHH tilted her head in concentration. Not yet, she answered.

A chill that Dr. Jensen thought threatened to remain permanently ran down her spine. In what possible universe would you expect me to believe that you travel in time?

SHLURP!

Dr. Jensen choked down her scream. The heads terrified her infinitely more in person than on screen. Heads craned and peered in all directions, with blinking eyes and slack expressions. All at once, they stopped. Slowly, each head turned to face the doctor, who felt her stomach attempt to claw its way out of her throat in sheer desperation.

SHLURP!

Mmmghppp! squeaked the doctor through her hands, which had leapt up of their own accord to seize her mouth. Her right eye, the bravest and most foolhardy of the two, cracked open to make sure all of the extra heads were gone.

The girl glanced around quickly and whispered, Fornever...Only in the Worst Possible Universe...

CHAPTER ONE

Missions, Monkeys and a Bad Hair Day

A Secret Mission

Ig squinted against the bright brown light, stumbled, and dropped the hammer on his foot. He slapped a semitransparent hand over his mouth to stifle his shriek and whipped his head around to see if he’d been spotted. He hated these forays into the glaring brightness of the upper floors. His eyes were much better suited to a more comfortable and reasonable under orange. He checked his impulse to complain. Such things could come out in a post-mission review. I know the Gartaxian knows what it’s doing, he muttered for the benefit of any unseen listeners. Of course, I am honored to undertake this job. I’m sure it knew how well suited I would be for this task.

Satisfied that he had overcome any lingering unspoken doubt regarding his commitment to his insane mission, Ig retrieved his hammer, shielded his eyes, and crept along the hallway. Stupid Gartaxian computer! he fumed. Just because my mother liked to use infrared colors in her paintings does not mean that I like such bright light! Under yellow is about as much as I can stand. Stupid computer!

He stopped at a door labeled, Repairs and Restoration. After a quick glance in all directions to ensure he had not been spotted, Ig broke the lock and forced the door open. Ig eased inside and slid behind the counter. He paused to look through the stacks of supplies and tools along the floor before he found the grate. Ig walked to it, pausing to pick up a crowbar from a nearby shelf. He winced at the noise as the grate creaked open. Discovery at this stage would not end well.

Satisfied that no one was coming, he clipped a rope to his harness and the other end to the heavy iron grate. He checked his gear one last time, and slipped into the hole, pulling the grate closed behind him. With a soft sigh, he let out the rope and descended into the sweet comfort of the dark shaft. The sides of the shaft glimmered with a trace of under yellow. The air grew cooler and more familiar as he dropped. Rising up to meet him, the floor revealed infrared nuances, evidence of visitors no longer present.

His rope stopped less than a meter above the floor and he lay suspended, glancing in all directions. With great care, he stood and unclipped his rope. He bent down and crawled into the tunnel. Pausing a moment to make sure of his bearings, he eased his way along the access tube. As he slid through the darkness, he reviewed the next steps in the computer’s plan. For the hundredth time, he hoped all this risk was worth it.

He approached a junction and froze. At the very edge of his perception, he could make out the telltale shape and heat of an infrared sensor placed at the intersection. Holding his breath, he crept backwards. With some difficulty due to his cramped quarters, he pulled out a shiny, reflective hat and gloves. He hated wearing them. They made him feel invisible and non-existent. Stifling his reluctance, he pulled them on, fastened the hat to his collar and his gloves to his sleeves. Entombed in heat masking, reflective gear, he passed unobserved through the junction, and continued on his way.

The tunnel narrowed, making his progress more difficult. Almost there, he muttered, more for his observer’s benefit than his own. Slowly squirming forward, he crept deeper. Faint under orange lettering oozed from the wall. Beware the Hair, he read. What is that supposed to mean? he wondered. He paused to listen to the darkness. After a few minutes, he steeled his courage and pulled himself the last few meters towards a vent. He peered through the slotted metal grill into the room below. He saw no trace heat signatures. Gripping the vent with a pair of fingers, he pushed it out of his way. He pulled the upper half of his body through the opening, and grabbed a sturdy looking steel shelf for support. Silent as dust, he slid out of the duct and lowered himself to the floor. I’m in the room, he whispered. Ig crept along the rows of shelves until he found the cases labeled Right Earrings - Under Brown. I found them he whispered. Here we go!

Opening the cases, he pulled out thousands of tiny earrings. As quietly as he could, he crushed, mangled, and twisted them. Little by little, a pile of discarded metal and under brown gems grew around him. He began to worry about the amount of time this was taking, so he rushed, on the verge of panic. Case after case shattered before him. Finishing the first row of shelving units, he continued down the next row. He pushed aside the growing fear of discovery and rushed to destroy the earrings. With a sigh, he reached the end of the last case. It’s done! he whispered.

At that moment, doors on all sides flew open and armed guards rushed inside. He glanced at the vent, but a spear blocked his escape route. A booming laugh echoed through the storeroom. Footsteps came closer.

Ah! called a rough voice. A Gartaxian spy has attempted to sabotage our infrastructure! A pair of boots stood in front of Ig’s face. He raised his head to look up at the person who wore them. You fool! laughed the man with the boots. Your computer reasoned that our security protocols would be hampered by losing our right earrings! Ha ha! We tricked you! These are worthless left earrings, as anyone can see! Ig froze in stunned silence as the man cackled. Our Klugman computer has a contingency plan where we could authorize the temporary use of right nose studs as an alternate authentication mechanism! He pointed to his nose. His laughter froze and he glanced around the room. Never mind, he said. That security protocol is classified. At that moment, a trapdoor spiraled open underneath him and he disappeared with a shriek.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Another officer stepped forward with a nervous cough. Right, he said. We will have no more discussion about classified protocols beyond the security clearance of all of those present. No one will say anything whatsoever about any security protocols, tools, methodologies, or practices beyond Level One. That includes any mention of Level Two contingency plans for alternate Level One authentication procedures. Does everyone understand?

I’m not sure what that means, Ig offered.

You’re Gartaxian, so I’ll have to explain it to you in small words, sneered the officer. The Klugman computer utilizes the gem in our right earring to corroborate a user’s security level. If the right earring is unavailable, or the right ear for that matter, users with at least Level Two security may use an alternate right nose stud. The procedure to request permission to use the alternate right nose stud requires authentication using a right big toe ring, which is, of course, a Level Three device. Uh oh… A chunk of quartz about the size of a fist flew through the air and hit the officer in the back of the head.

Another officer stepped forward and cleared his throat. It would appear that I am now the ranking officer. He looked at the open trapdoor and the body of the previous commander sprawled on the floor and swallowed. Okay. That’s enough about us. Let’s talk about you. We caught you committing an act of sabotage for another computer. According to Klugman Directive 97, you are to be executed for espionage.

Doesn’t that require authentication with another piece of jewelry first? asked Ig. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.

The officer looked around. I’ll have someone expendable take care of that later, he said. Klugmen! Prepare to…

Ig stared in dumbfounded fascination as a mass of hideously bright hair appeared on the officer’s head. It jerked and twisted, waving and flipping over his scalp. Through the officer’s semi-translucent skin, Ig thought he saw the hair burrow down, into the man’s skull. Ig watched in horrified amazement as the officer writhed and screamed in agony. The hair jerked the man off his feet, throwing him to the ground. He struggled for a few seconds before curling up and whimpering. In the hushed silence, Ig held his breath, wondering if this was a Gartaxian rescue attempt. The hair shot straight up and appeared to pull the officer to his feet.

That’s better, the man said. His voice sounded deeper and had a menacing tone. Where were we? Oh, yes, he said, turning towards Ig. We were about to execute/destroy/annihilate/obliterate you. The hair whipped madly around his head. Guards! he yelled. Prepare to… The hair jerked straight out in every direction. The officer paused. Where did that door come from? he asked. All of the guards gazed open mouthed at something behind Ig. He heard a door creak open and his eyes snapped shut against an insanely bright light that poured out of the doorway and flowed around him and into the faces of his captors.

Ig cowered on the floor, burying his face in his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. He heard the screams of the guards and officers as they stumbled, blind in the hideous brightness. Ig lay where he was until the door closed and the light vanished.

Protect me! Protect Me!! screamed a strange voice. Once the echoes fled, the voice asked, I wonder what got into them? Ig looked up and peered at the new arrivals. A three meter tall monstrous creature lumbered along, banging into shelves and counters as if he couldn’t see them. A young girl stepped through the piles of earrings. An unusually tall bearded man in a robe and a pointy hat whispered to his staff and the room exploded into brightness. There, he said as Ig hid his face. That’s better.

Boil, stop poking him with that stick! Thelonius sighed. Sorry, he said to Ig. There are only so many manners an Ogre can bear to learn. That one didn’t make the list.

Ig groaned and curled up into a ball. Why is it so bright? he moaned.

Too bright? asked Thelonius in surprise. Is that the problem? He whispered to his staff and the light dimmed to a tolerable reddish glare. How’s this?

Cautiously, Ig uncovered his head and blinked in the light. Did the Gartaxian send you? he asked.

Thelonius looked confused. What’s a Gartaxian?

Which computer do you serve?

You lost me there. What are you talking about?

Ig shook his head to clear his thoughts. With his eyes adjusted, he took another look at the strangers. What are you? he asked. He pointed towards Boil. What is that?

That is an Ogre and it is a bad idea to point at them. Ig dropped his hand quickly. His name is Boil and he’s good to have with you when someone needs additional persuasion. This, Thelonius said as he nodded towards the young girl. This is AAAAGGHHHH. You’ll see why later. My name is Thelonius and I am a wizard. He paused for a moment. We’re not from this… Thelonius glanced at his surroundings. …this dungeon, he finished.

I figured that part out for myself, said Ig. My name is Ig. I obey the Gartaxian server. What computer do you serve? Are you Klugmen?

Thelonius frowned. I don’t know what a Klugman is, he answered. Computers, I understand, are a technological aberration. As a wizard, I don’t have much use for such things.

I don’t understand, Ig protested. Everyone serves a computer. Everyone on every level is bound to one. His eyes narrowed. Unless, of course, you’re a double agent, that is.

No interjected Thelonius. We’re not agents at all! We’re just travelers passing through these parts. No need to pay us any attention! Nothing to see here.

Well, said Ig. If you don’t want to attract attention, you should not have infiltrated a Klugman top secret facility. You scared them away with your light weapon, but they’ll be back soon. You can explain to them how you’re just passing through, but I don’t think they’ll be convinced. I don’t intend to stay and join you, though. He looked up at the air vent in the ceiling. There’s no use going back that way, he said. They’ll be expecting it. Ig tiptoed to the door and listened. He looked up at Thelonius. Are you coming?"

Thelonius held a stone up towards Ig and frowned. You’re not a trans-universal traveler, he said. You wouldn’t happen to know any, would you? Seeing the look on Ig’s face, the wizard shrugged in resignation. Okay, he said. We might as well follow you for now.

Turn that light off and stay quiet, said Ig as he cracked open the door. Thelonius whispered and his staff went dark.

Protect me!

An Ominous Warning

Well said Queen Plithergaflerd in an icy tone. That was unacceptable! She glared at the doorway behind them. We will not be shoved like rabble in a crowded market! Rog eased the door closed. That friend of yours just pushed us through the doorway! I don’t know how you met her before, but I do not approve of young girls who go around hurling heads of state through doorways into a meadow. She paused to consider her surroundings.

Rolling hills dotted with trees and covered in wild flowers and prairie grass stretched as far as she could see in all directions. A tall oak door with a bronze doorknob stood behind Rog. A narrow path wound through the grass, leading towards a distant valley. Is there any chance that more will be coming through that door any time soon? the Queen asked. Rog tried the door, but it would not open. Queen Plithergaflerd shrugged her royal shoulders. It’s for the best, she decided. They were a noisy and unsightly lot.

Lacking any other immediate options, they walked along the path. In the distance, Rog thought he saw a dorsal fin appear for an instant above the waves of prairie grass. When it didn’t reappear, he decided it was his imagination. Enjoying the sun on his face and the relative peace of the meadow, Rog smiled with contentment.

After being trapped in a shrinking universe and attacked by mysterious aliens, Rog was grateful for a moment of tranquility. He had a brief moment of concern for Psychann, the strange adventurers who had swept them up in their trans-universal quest, and the crew of the Chaos Effect. The last he had seen of all of them, Psychann was hurling people through universal doorways to save them from an attacking army. He smiled. If anyone could save them all and round them up later, it was Psychann.

Well, I see you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? asked the Queen. I must admit that I find this refreshing after the recent unpleasantness. I do wonder what has become of the rest of our party. For all their noise and uncouth behavior, I do hope they have fared well. I’d hate for any of them to come to a bad end. Except for Sir Reginald, of course. She paused to reconsider. No, I do not wish him ill, although it would be best if our dragon found a use for him somewhere else. They continued walking for a few minutes in silence.

A wooden sign stood next to the path as they entered the valley. Warning! it read. You Are Entering Earaffe Territory. No Salads Beyond this Point. Rog and the Queen stood for a moment in uncomprehending stillness. Rog shrugged and started forward. Queen Plithergaflerd fell in step beside him.

Neither of us has a salad, so I suppose we may proceed, she mused. What is an earaffe, I wonder? The path wandered along the base of the valley. On either side, steep cliffs rose into the sky. Rog thought he could see large winged shapes darting in and out of the clouds.

Ahead of them, the path forked into three different directions, separated by huge boulders. At the junction of these paths was another sign. Warning! Do Not Climb On Rocks. Do Not Attempt To Feed The Earaffes.

I have no intention of feeding them, whatever they may be, said the Queen. Nor would I willingly climb on rocks. I can’t think why they feel such a warning is necessary. Rog caught her eye and she hesitated. Yes, I know that in the recent past, we were climbing up and down cliffs, falling in pits, and wandering in underground tunnels, but that was hardly by choice.

She might have said more, but a loud piercing shriek tore the sky. They both jerked their heads up in time to see a large winged creature with an extraordinarily long neck and long, spindly legs soar over their heads. Is that… the Queen began. Rog nodded. It would appear that we have seen an earaffe, she continued. As they watched, the creature dove towards a tree and snatched a mouthful of leaves before racing back into the clouds.

Let me guess, she said. An earaffe is an eagle-giraffe of some sort. The signs are beginning to make some sense. The pair searched the skies for more large winged herbivores. It could be worse, the Queen mused. There might have been cow-hawks. She froze as a distant Moo screech echoed through the canyon.

Rog basked in the warm afternoon sun. After hiking through the morning out of earaffe territory, he and his new bride relaxed on a hilltop overlooking the valley. He sighed in contentment. This was the first time they’d been able to relax since Thelonius yanked them from their castle during their wedding. Rog smiled as he remembered seeing a crazy group of adventurers burst into the Great Hall through a rip in the universe. His thoughts drifted to the battle with the flower/worm that attempted to eat Percival. He remembered the shock he felt when they first saw a girl with far too many heads who seemed to know the future. He chuckled when he remembered the duel between a dragon and a pompous prince.

I wish I had been there to see that, Queen Plithergaflerd said with a smile of her own. I believe Sir Dragon would have roasted him if you hadn’t interfered.

With a start, Rog realized she had picked up on his thoughts. Ever since Psychann had first plucked him from his own universe, he had been unable to communicate with anyone. Rog and his people shared mental images instead of speaking in words. When Psychann rescued him and traded him on board the Chaos Effect, Rog had found himself isolated and unable to communicate with anyone who was not telepathic. He wasn’t sure Queen Plithergaflerd had noticed. His thoughts returned to the Queen and he remembered their first meeting.

Rog had fled for his life from dark, eel-like shapes with huge fangs. They lunged out of the water, snapping at him and sinking their sharp teeth into the wooden rails of the bridge. He had leapt from the rail and swung on a flag to a window. Breathless and terrified out of his mind, Rog had lunged into the room and collapsed. When he next looked up, he was facing a princess whose patience had long passed.

I can’t believe you were so scared of those little things! his Queen exclaimed, picking up his thoughts. You know, I was almost ready to give up on the contract, the wedding, and the treaty and just rescue myself. Waiting to be saved is boring. It’s a good thing you showed up. She sat up with a start. It just occurred to me, Queen Plithergaflerd said with surprise. You didn’t know I was there, did you? That does explain your tardiness, though it hardly excuses it.

She frowned. I wonder what has become of our kingdom, she pondered. In our absence, there is a power vacuum that could lead to war. She jabbed Rog in the chest. You need to do something. You need to find a way to return us to our castle.

Rog protested. He had no ability to travel the multiverse. Thelonius, the cowardly wizard, had pulled them from one universe to another. Psychann had pushed the two of them through a trans-universal portal into this universe. On their own, they had no way to jump back to the castle.

Queen Plithergaflerd sighed. I know, she said. It’s not fair to you, of course. You weren’t the one who tore us away during our own wedding. Her eyes narrowed and her voice turned to steel. If I see that wizard again, he will wish he had never been born.

A few over sized rodents flashed past in a blur. There was a shout, and the animals slid to a stop. Rog and the Queen stared in surprise at the creatures which appeared to be a blend of hamster and jungle cat. As one trotted up to them, they noticed its rider. She wore brown clothes covered in pockets, over sized goggles and a tight fitting cap. As she swung down from her mount, her metallic shin guards gleamed in the afternoon sun.

What are you doing way out here? she asked Rog and the Queen. Where is your ride? The woman took another look at them. What is that you’re wearing? Queen Plithergaflerd gasped. Are you trying to lose those legs? the woman asked in a shocked voice. You do know that there’s been a pack of mosqueagles roaming in this area, don’t you?

We are not from these parts, answered the Queen as regally as possible. We are not familiar with such things.

You’re not going to last another ten minutes out here without protection, said the rider. Come on, hop on a cheester. They stared at her with blank looks. It’s safe! she exclaimed. Haven’t you ever seen a cheetah-hamster hybrid? Come on! We have to go! She boosted the Queen on the beast’s back and Rog hopped on behind her. The stranger lashed them to the cheester’s back and mounted her own beast. He’ll take off like a shot, she warned. Hang on tight to this harness. By the way, my name is 9C472LR5. Here we go!

Their heads snapped back as the cheester launched. The landscape vanished in a swirl of color and sound. Queen Plithergaflerd stifled her impulse to scream and focused on tightening her death grip on the harness. They raced across the hillside, fast enough to make her eyes tear. I thought cheetahs only sprinted for short distances! she yelled.

These are cheesters, called 9C472LR5. They’ve been genetically engineered for endurance.

At length, the Queen relaxed, growing accustomed to the ride. Looking ahead, she saw a farmhouse in the distance surrounded by large barns. She felt the cheester lurch into the air as it cleared a fence and raced towards the farm. 9C472LR5 snapped the reins to one side and the animal whipped around a barn. The Queen looked ahead and saw a large upright metal wheel. Before she could wonder why it was there, the cheester leapt into the wheel, spinning it madly.

With their momentum halted, Rog and the Queen caught their breath and relaxed. Hang on! called 9C472LR5. Now we have to stop. She cracked the reins, whistled a command, and the cheester’s claws gripped the wheel. This time, the Queen was unable to stop herself from screaming as they spun madly. After several stomach wrenching loops, the wheel slowed to a stop and hands reached up to pull her off the animal’s back. It took them several minutes to pry her fingers free of the harness.

A Bad Hair Day

Y opened one eye. His hair slapped it shut. To be precise, it was the hair on his head that did so. We are far more productive when you are sleeping, his mouth said. Y wondered why it would say such a thing. He tried briefly to figure out what it meant, and gave up. Y was better off not trying to understand the words coming out of his mouth.

He sat up and stretched. The hair might not like it, but he was awake now. He stood up, feeling the cold cement floor on his bare feet. Get back here! his voice ordered. We aren’t ready to get up. He ignored the protests and wandered across the lab. Y caught sight of his reflection in a mirror on the wall and paused to examine himself.

He needed a shave, there were bags under his eyes, and pillow creases crossed his cheek. The hair was another story. Long and wild, white with red streaks, it jerked and twisted in all directions. Several strands pointed back towards the equipment at the head of his bed. A clump of irritated hair fell across his forehead forming a large capital L. Y shrugged. The hair didn’t seem all that upset today. If it was really angry, it wouldn’t settle for minor insults and pointing. Gonna get a shower now, he told the hair. It stood straight out on all sides. Be good, or I’ll get out the gel, he warned. A thick swath of hair slapped him hard enough to make his vision swim. I’m not kidding, he argued. Give me ten minutes, and then you can have the rest of the day, except for meals. A few strands of hair dug into his ear. He brushed them aside. Okay, he agreed. You can work during meals, but I still get to eat.

We will/won’t/will accept your terms, today, his voice argued with itself. We have much planned for this morning/evening/last week. You will be allowed this time (no gel) so that we will not have to listen to your whining later/yesterday (no spray either). Y wondered what that meant and why the hair made his voice say it. He also wondered why his voice sounded deeper and had a menacing, yet nervous tone when the hair used it. Resigning himself to continued ignorance, he set the thought aside and relaxed. Ten whole minutes! This would be a good day.

Drying off, he reveled in the steam. A stray question bounced around his head, but he dismissed it out of habit. Y never thought about it. What good would it do? What was the point in wondering what how his life might have turned out if he hadn’t hosted the symbiont? Refreshed from his shower, he ambled down the hall, glancing at the pictures tracing his past. He liked arranging them in chronological order, and then viewing them in reverse. Y liked the way he grew younger as he walked down the hallway. He paused before a photo taken when he had been 20 years old.

The hair was new then, of course. It still looks the same, he thought. Long, wild, and untamed in a massive explosion of white with a few red streaks, it dwarfed his simple, vacant expression. He smiled as remembered how much the hair hated wasting time on a quick photo. His smile faded at the next picture. The face was the same, but the bald scalp seemed startling in comparison. Everything had changed when he hosted the hair.

He hurried towards the lab, barely noticing the pictures tracing his life back through childhood towards infancy. The last picture, however, caught his eye. What happened here? he wondered. How is it that I never noticed this in the last ten years? Sprawling in a sailor suit on a baby blanket, with a pacifier lodged in his mouth, baby Y lay swathed in the hair.

Y recognized the hair’s frozen gestures. It was not happy at all.

He