“Hi, there!” Sheila called.
“I’ll bet they all have stories to tell,” Linda said. “And I’ll bet you have one, too, Gene. Whatever happened to you?”
“Got into a strange universe. But that’s nothing new.”
“What about school?”
“Forget it,” Gene said. “I’ve had enough reality to last me awhile. Give me swords and sorcery. Can’t get enough of that stuff.”
“Well, you came to the right place,” Dalton said.
Thirty-eight
King’s Study
The room was filled with books and curios. The ceiling was high, supported by rib vaulting. Bookshelves reached almost to the ceiling. Star charts and astronomical gear — orreries and such — were concentrated in one comer of the study. A rank of instruments resembling grandfather clocks ran along one wall.
“What readings you getting?” one Incarnadine asked of another.
“Things are just about back to normal.”
“Well, that doesn’t solve our problem.”
The other Incarnadines grumbled agreement.
“What exactly is our problem?”
“There is the ultimate ontological question.”
“Meaning?”
“Who’s real and who isn’t.”
“Why don’t we let reality take care of itself?”
“Ultimately it will, but I for one can’t regard myself as the product of some glitch in the supercontinuum.”
“Me neither. I don’t hold with the notion of there being an infinite number of castles.”
“Why not?” asked still another Incarnadine. “Any rigorous quantum interpretation of things would accommodate them.”
“Well, quantum physics is so much whistling in the dark as far as I’m concerned. There’s an irreconcilable conflict between quantum theory and relativity, and everybody pretty much agrees that relativity is right. You can’t have both.”
“It depends what particular subuniverse you’re talking about,” said a third Incarnadine. “The paradigms are polar opposites, but most continua are compromises between the two. Earth, for example, is pretty much fifty-fifty. The ratio has something to do with the amount of magical leeway per given continuum, but just what the mapping function between the two is, is unclear.”
“Let’s drop all this chalkboard chicken scratching. I just want to know who the real McCoy is.”
“Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a philosopher!”
“Very droll. I tell you, it’s relative.”
“It’s not relative. There can only be one of us.”
“Why? Are we supposed to be a god, or what?”
“Well, that’s never been very clear.”
“A demiurge, at the very least.”
“Anybody want to buck for Glaroon?”
“That’s a special pocket continuum, and it’s copyrighted.”
“Look, we’re not getting anywhere. Why don’t we all return to our respective … whatever you call them. Continua, quantum glitches, Erehwons, reflections of reflections —”
“I kind of like this place a little better. Some nice equipment here that I don’t have.”
“See? What you’re saying is that we aren’t merely reflections.”
“I never said we were.”
“I’m getting confused.”
“It is a confusing situation.”
“‘Mirror, mirror … ’”
“Who’s got the mirror? Endlessly regressing fleas, and all that. I say the question’s purely academic, and I say to hell with it.”
“Well, we tried to settle it by force, and that didn’t get us anywhere. Nobody ever gained anything by playing chess with himself.”
“Why don’t we flip for it? Anybody have a coin?”
“Why don’t we all meet in an aspect somewhere, bring guns, and start banging away at one another?”
“Primitive, but it ought to settle something.”
“That’s what I was talking about at lunch. Some of you guys are just a little too bloodthirsty for my taste.”
“Well, all you liberal pantywaists can hold a raffle for the door prize.”
“Who’s a panty waist?”
“Who’s a liberal?”
“Wait a minute. Something’s happening.”
They all looked at one another.
“You’re all fading,” said one of them.
“So are you,” said another. “I can see right through you.”
“Anybody know what’s going on?”
“The disturbance has been quelled. The problem is taking care of itself.”
Gradually the figures in the room grew transparent, save one.
One of the disappearing ghosts raised a hand. “Anyway, fellows, thanks for lunch.”
“See you around,” another said, his voice an echo.
Presently there was only one man in the room. He exhaled and got up from the chair he was sitting in. He checked the instruments again, nodding in satisfaction.
“So much for that,” he said.
On his way out he passed a mirror, and stepped back to consider his reflection.
“Anyway, I feel real enough.”
His image winked at him.
“You and me both, pal.”
Biography
John DeChancie
John DeChancie is a popular author of numerous science fiction/fantasy novels including the hugely entertaining CASTLE series and STARRIGGER trilogy. He lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.