Mom, I'm Bulletproof

Chapter 19.1: Some Stuff to Deal With

"Hi, Dad? It's Sam. I'm good. Listen, the job here in London? No, the place has closed. There was a fire, and then things got complicated.

"Yeah, Dad, I know all about health insurance and unemployment. And my work visa. I know all that. Life's have just been crazy, that's all.

"I've got some... stuff to deal with right now. Once it's over, I swear I'll start looking for work. Even if it means leaving London. Even though I really like it here.

"Come on, Dad, don't cry. You know I don't like it when you cry.

"Me too, Dad. I miss Mom too."

* * * *

"I'm actually nervous," Amber said, sitting on her bed while wearing her pajamas and her oversized novelty Tasmanian Devil slippers.

"What do you have to be scared about?" Marci sat at her desk in front of her laptop. It was after midnight, and the light from the screen was the only light in the room.

"I can't figure out this business about the Temple manufacturing miniature suns," Amber said. "It violates everything about science."

"Everything we know about science," Marci said. "There's always something more than we know."

"Ever since I met Amy and the others, I'm confronted with junk that's scientifically impossible."

"Need I remind you about the paradox thing you deal with every day?"

"I know, I know," Amber said. "But miniature suns? With the same heat and gravity as a normal sun?"

"If it's true, it could be a miraculous energy source. Think about how much it could help people."

"And what about Dreamsmith? He has a different superhuman power every day, based on what he dreamed the night before? How is that even supposed to work?"

"Psycho-somatic phenomena is incredible," Marci said. "Ordinary people have healed burned skin, lifted extreme weights, and even rebuilt lost limbs, all based on their subconscious."

"I don't know," Amber said. "Amy said she gets her powers based on how much Americans care about America. That can't be an actual thing."

"Energy," Marci said. "No one has every truly defined energy – what it is, how it flows from one vessel to another – if energy is mental, or emotional, and if it can be transferred from one physical being or object to another, then what's to say your friend can't draw upon energy of millions of people all around her? It makes a certain kind of sense."

"Yeah, and what about this Proscenium guy? He can turn into a cloud and back into a person. This is assuming he's a person to begin with."

"That's basic particle theory," Marci said. "As particles spread apart or grow closer together, that's how our physical reality is defined. If your friend has the whole theatrical motif going on, he can use particle theory to bend reality into whatever he wants it to be. Fascinating stuff. I'd wouldn't mind seeing him in action."

"And the Ergosphere?" Amber adjusted her pillow, slightly propping up her head. "He says he has a whole village of people living inside him, on the other side of a black hole inside his heart. It would take a week to list all the ways that doesn't make sense."

"Here in school we've all read about black holes and proto-universes," Marci said. "Is it that much of a leap to believe that this guy has one of Hawking's miniature black holes inside him, and he can project his consciousness into it? And that brings us full circle to the miniature suns."

"It's still all theory. Theory isn't good when I'm confronted with the impossible in front of my own two eyes. How is any of this real? How is this grounded?"

"Grounded is good," Marci said. "Science is good. But isn't the unknown also good? Seeing the impossible made possible, isn't that we pursue science?"

"I guess."

"Go." Marci stood up and walked over to Amber's bed. "Fly across the ocean in minutes and hold a miniature sun in your hands. Put an end to an ancient, worldwide conspiracy. Associate yourself with people who can turn into smoke, have black holes in their hearts, and make dreams come true. Be you."

Now Amber stood. "Thanks."

They hugged.

"That's my sidekick," Amber said. "You know just what to say."

* * * *

"You?" the theater manager said, "asking for a vacation?"

"Of course," Arthur said, feeling smaller than usual as he sat in the manager's office. "Haven't I accrued the hours?"

"Sure you have. I don't recall you ever asking for time off before."

"I figured it's time."

"Of course. But you've worked here longer than I have, and I've been here for fourteen years. That's longer than my daughter's been alive."

"About this weekend? I know it's short notice."

"It's fine. You do so much for us. I mean, you work that god-awful graveyard shift, and you keep this place spotless and you even keep that old organ up and running. We've all taken you for granted for far too long. You deserve a break."

Arthur hung his head and pressed his right forefinger and thumb against his eyes.

"Are you all right?" the manager said.

"It's not often that someone thanks me."

The manager shifted in his chair, and said, "Going anywhere special? Visiting family?"

"The ocean," Arthur said. "I'm going to the ocean."

* * * *

The Accretion Disc hovered in orbit around Jupiter with its concealment field keeping the ship invisible from any Earth telescopes, or from anyone else who might be watching.

With the ship stable, The Ergosphere retired to his bedroom to meditate.In space, alone. This was the life.

# # # # 

Next: At the heart of it.