Random Acts of Cosmic Whimsy
Individual Unverses expanding from a main membrane (possibly a p-brane) by Moonrunner Design, via National Geographic.
[Begin of Excerpt.]
Eventually, by making all the right—and wrong—choices, and by passing through some incredibly inventive punishments basically by not being there, Watt and Krikksen arrive in the final room. At first sight it appears rather empty, at second hearing a thunderous voice is transmitted through Watt and Krikksen’s radio channel:
“WELCOME HUMAN MORTALS, DO NOT COWER IN THE FACE OF ABSOLUTE TRUTH.”
“Absolute truth? Isn’t that an oxymoron?” Krikksen turns down the volume, but to no avail.
“If it’s so absolute, no need to make it deafening, right,” Watt turns up the paradox, with some effect. “old geezer?”
“The way I look is just a representation meant not to overwhelm your tiny minds.” The ominous voice tones down, yet warps, twangs, and warbles seemingly at random.
“Right on. We’re definitely overwhelmed.”
“On the contrary. The special effects of X-men 666 were a lot better.”
“Do not joke with me, puny insects. I am that which was, is and will be. The Fabric of Reality, the Basis of your Existence, the—”
“Sounds like he figures he’s God.”
“Not by a long shot. He doesn’t even look like John.”
The chances of this seeming deity smiting the irreverent Watt and Krikksen are actually smaller than the amount of its rather absolute bafflement.
“By all the intricacies of 23rd dimensional Calabi-Yau p-branes interacting with trans-topological twistor space, what do you two idiots want?”
“A confession.”
“Did you or did you not steal the Mona Lisa?”
“I did that. But I do everything.”
“No excuses, you’ve admitted it. Throw the book at him, Watt.”
“Yes. You have the right to remain silent—or at least talk some sense—you have the right...”
“You can’t do this to me. I’m the air you breathe, the songs you sing—”
“It’s what we’re paid to do, unfortunately.”
“Keep John out of this. Are you coming along nicely or do we have to take you by force?”
“You can’t just arrest me. I’m…”
“We just did.”
“Your simple handcuffs can’t retain me.”
“But your conscience can.”
“Aargh! Don’t say that! I’ve been repressing it for billions of years!”
“Conscience and guilt are like the Rolling Stones.”
“They always make a comeback.”
“You yokels can’t bring me to your medieval justice system.”
“Your conscience wants it.”
“Listen. I can bring you enormous riches—if you let me go.”
“Such as?”
“I can release the negative CTL-field shielding the singularity.”
“So what?”
“Your scientists will have access to a Kerr-Newman black hole!”
“And?”
“Research possibilities previously undreamt of!”
“So they can devise a better doomsday device?”
“Together with the nanotech manual your technology will advance enormously!”
“Don’t know if our civilisation is quite ready for such a jump in the deep.”
“The Kerr-Newman black hole is a gateway to the whole multiverse!”
“We can hardly manage our own planet, so unleashing us in the Multiverse would be quite premature.”
“You could even travel in time to any period you like!”
Dimensions of Calabi-Yau shapes in String Theory
“...any...”
“...period...”
“...we...”
“...like...”
“Including 1967—”
“—the Summer of Love?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe we can talk.”
[End of excerpt.]
Review Quote(s):
- Originally appeared in DeathGrip: Exit Laughing (as “The Ultimate Coincidence”), edited by Walt Hicks, October 2006;
- Online in Flurb #6, September 2008;
- Reprinted in Outliers of Speculative Fiction, edited by L.A. Little, November 2015;
End note: while most of this story was utterly tongue-in-cheek, even Rudy Rucker said that the physics was 'well-done'. Oops. . .