The Quantum Soup of Unlikely Companions The QuanTum Soup of unlikely CompanionS Ryan lauRenT a man of ConSideRable wealTh, impeCCable TaSTe, and a Solid ColleCTion of RaRe TeaS. Ryan Laurent Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. 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A man of considerable wealth, impeccable taste, and a solid collection of rare teas, he had earned his place in the higher echelons of society without ever once finding himself in an awkward situation (unless you counted the time he mistook the Archbishop of Can- terbury for a hat rack). But Sir Reginald, being the right sort of man , was never content for long. The pur- suit of knowledge, after all, was a far more satisfying passion than the pursuit of idle pleasure. Or, at least, that’s what he told his butler, Wiggins, every time he was asked why he was conducting experiments in the drawing room rather than the laboratory. It was in the middle of one such experiment that Sir Reginald, deeply engrossed in the intricate work- ings of what he was sure would be the world’s first Ryan Laurent pocket-sized time machine (which had, thus far, only managed to pocket his pocket watch), found himself gazing into the polished brass kettle that sat atop his workbench. “Ah,” he said aloud, his voice dripping with schol- arly satisfaction, “A most curious phenomenon! That fellow looks remarkably like me.” He adjusted his spectacles, though it was unlikely that anyone could ever notice a shift in their posi- tion, considering the sheer immensity of his bushy moustache and stared deeper into the kettle’s reflec- tive surface. The fellow in the kettle did, indeed, look very much like Sir Reginald. But was he, Sir Reginald, really the fellow in the kettle? Was there, perhaps, a deeper truth lurking beneath that polished brass sheen, one that suggested... something far more alarming? The kettle sat there, unresponsive, except for the faint ripple in the surface of the water that seemed to mock Sir Reginald’s growing curiosity. It was then, at precisely this moment of scientific rapture, that Sir Reginald, as great scientists tend to do, had an ab- surd thought. The Quantum Soup of Unlikely Companions “What if... that is not me at all?” he mused, fur- rowing his brow in that uniquely aristocratic manner that suggested an intelligent man was about to make a very unscientific leap of logic. “What if ...stay with me here, what if I have... a doppelgänger? And what if he is... not from this dimension?” Sir Reginald could practically hear the collective gasp of reason and logic across the cosmos. This was a thought so far out of left field, so utterly outrageous, that even his Victorian sensibilities recoiled in disbe- lief. But, of course, this didn’t stop Sir Reginald from immediately putting the kettle down and hurriedly rummaging through his drawers in search of a scrap of paper to record his brilliant discovery. His entire life had been a search for something a discovery, a breakthrough, a tea kettle that could also perform calculations and he wasn’t about to let the opportu- nity slip by. Who needed a rational explanation when you could make a discovery ? He jotted down a note that read: “The kettle may indeed be showing a reflection, but I am convinced it is not my reflection. Is this the work of interdimen- sional forces or an elaborate prank by Wiggins? Fur- ther investigation required.” Ryan Laurent It was at this precise moment, naturally, that the kettle emitted a faint pop , followed by a very alarm- ing squeak . Sir Reginald turned, his mind racing to keep up with what was rapidly becoming a series of events far outside his control. Before he could react, a small, swirling vortex of light erupted from the kettle’s spout, expanding rap- idly until it engulfed the entire room in a blinding flash of chaotic energy. “Wiggins!” Sir Reginald bellowed in alarm, though Wiggins was not, in fact, present, and would, there- fore, not be able to help in the slightest. There was a sudden sensation of falling, but rather than plummeting through space and time, Sir Regi- nald found himself hovering in midair, his once per- fectly groomed moustache now unceremoniously flapping in the wind of an entirely illogical dimen- sion. “This can’t be right,” he said, as the room, if it could still be called that—was rapidly dissolving into a soup of colours, shapes, and occasionally what appeared to be small, polite penguins who had no business be- ing there whatsoever. “No, this is not at all what I had planned for my Wednesday.” The Quantum Soup of Unlikely Companions It was, unfortunately, too late to reconsider. A vast expanse of swirling purple goo stretched out before him, and Sir Reginald could only gawk in confusion. Everything was... wrong . The laws of physics had tak- en one look at this place, thrown up their hands in defeat, and gone off for a nice cup of tea somewhere far, far away. “I must say, this is rather inconvenient,” Sir Regi- nald muttered as he floated, for reasons no one could explain, into the depths of what could only be de- scribed as The Quantum Soup , a dimension where reason was a suggestion and logic was a mildly amus- ing rumour. “And I suppose this is... what? A sort of... quan- tum anomaly?” Sir Reginald asked aloud, though it seemed increasingly unlikely that any answer, sensi- ble or otherwise, would be forthcoming. “Oh, it’s not so bad, really,” said a voice. Sir Reginald froze. The voice did not come from anywhere in particular, but he was certain it wasn’t his own. “I beg your pardon?” he said, glancing about sus- piciously. Ryan Laurent “Here, in the Soup,” the voice continued, now com- ing from somewhere directly in front of him, “it’s per- fectly normal for one to have a chat with a sentient teapot. Doesn’t happen every day, but it’s not unusual either.” “A... sentient teapot ?” Sir Reginald repeated, his mind grasping for some semblance of logic. The teapot in question, a very stout, very digni- fied porcelain creation with a rather grand handle, hovered up beside Sir Reginald with the grace of a creature accustomed to both conversation and social hierarchy. “Name’s Gertrude,” the teapot said, tipping its lid in what could only be described as an incredibly for- mal gesture. “I’d offer you a cup of tea, but we’re fresh out of gravity, so you’ll have to make do with the usu- al, I’m afraid.” Sir Reginald stared at Gertrude. He stared at the Soup. He stared at the bizarre circus of swirling non- sense that surrounded him. Finally, he took a deep breath, adjusted his spectacles (again), and said, “I have the distinct feeling I’ve made a terrible mistake.” “Oh, that’s just the Quantum Soup talking,” Ger- The Quantum Soup of Unlikely Companions trude replied cheerfully. “But don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. We all do, eventually.” Sir Reginald, still in midair, sighed heavily. “Well, if I’m going to be stuck in an interdimensional mess, I suppose it’s as good a time as any to start asking the really important questions.” “Oh, don’t bother,” Gertrude said, with what might have been sympathy. “In here, all the important ques- tions are just waiting to be forgotten.” And thus, Sir Reginald Featherstone, scientist, aris- tocrat, and now utterly befuddled interdimensional traveller had his first conversation with Gertrude, the most intelligent life form in the sector. Which, in hindsight, was probably not as impressive as it sounded. Ryan Laurent I. Sir Reginald Featherstone’s first impression of the Quantum Soup was that it was unsettlingly flu- id. One might even say uncomfortably fluid, though that would imply some level of awareness on the part of the fluid, which, in this case, was decidedly lack- ing. He stood in a vast expanse of shimmering jelly, suspended mid-air by what could only be described as “an oddly determined set of quantum forces.” He wasn’t sure how the quantum forces had become so determined, but they certainly were. If he had to guess, they were the sort of forces that would insist on helping a lost dog find its way home, even if the dog was an elephant in disguise. Sir Reginald tried to move, but his legs felt as though they were wading through molasses, or perhaps an unusually enthusiastic vat of strawberry jam. Either way, not ideal for a man of his calibre. He glanced down, only to find that his feet seemed to be sink- ing... no, floating, in a manner that defied all of his previous education. A most disconcerting thought occurred to him: What if this was permanent? The Quantum Soup of Unlikely Companions “I do hope this isn’t permanent,” Sir Reginald mut- tered, wiping a bit of goo from his spectacles, which oddly enough, had remained miraculously free of jelly so far. “I don’t have a spare suit on me.” “Oh, you’ll get used to it,” came the voice of Ger- trude, the teapot, who was floating beside him with all the serene composure of an aristocratic breakfast companion who had, at one point, been on very good terms with gravity. The teapot had a tendency to float about with the sort of attitude one might expect from a person of high social rank, though it was hard to say if Gertrude had any such aspirations. In any case, she seemed thoroughly content with the bizarre na- ture of the dimension, as if she were right at home in a field of sentient jam. “Used to what?” Sir Reginald asked, his eyebrows arching to their usual, rather impressive height. He wasn’t sure if it was the jelly that was affecting his posture or his brain, but there was an unmistakable sense of confusion gnawing at the edges of his noble sensibilities. “This... whatever this is?” “Quantum Soup,” Gertrude replied, her voice rich with the self-assured air of someone who had made peace with the absurdity of life. “You know, the stuff that makes everything in the universe act like it’s had Ryan Laurent a bit too much sherry at the office Christmas party. Quite the charming place, really.” Sir Reginald paused, blinking a few times as his mind tried to wrap itself around the concept. “That... doesn’t sound remotely scientific. Or logical. Or even... I’m sorry; did you just compare this dimension to a drunken office party? ” Gertrude didn’t respond directly. Instead, she hummed a tune that, while pleasant, suggested that perhaps she had a more... unorthodox approach to the laws of physics. “Oh, it’s not so bad once you get into the swing of things,” she added, flicking an im- aginary bit of dust from her porcelain surface. “The jelly is a little thick, but that’s just the nature of the beast. The real problem is...” “The real problem?” Sir Reginald interrupted, his voice tinged with a horrified curiosity. “What could possibly be more problematic than... this ?” He waved his arms in an expansive gesture, which only seemed to make him sink deeper into the gelatinous depths. “This place is an affront to all reason. It’s a mockery of... well, everything. The laws of nature are clearly on vacation, and I am not at all equipped to handle such a... indiscretion .” The Quantum Soup of Unlikely Companions “Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud ,” Gertrude said airily, her lid tilting as if in the very act of demon- strating what she had just advised. “Here? ‘Reason’ is more of a suggestion than a rule. Besides, you’re probably better off just rolling with it.” “Rolling?” Sir Reginald’s voice was scandalized. “I do not roll with anything. I am a man of order and distinction. I demand respect in all dimensions, and I expect to receive it, whether I’m in a drawing room or... whatever this is.” “Oh, I think you’ve had more than enough of that in your previous dimension,” Gertrude said, her voice dripping with that peculiar kind of scepticism one only finds in those who have been both tea kettle and cosmic traveller. “Here? Not so much.” Sir Reginald stiffened at the casual use of his first name. “I am not your ‘Reggie,’ thank you very much,” he said, with all the haughty dignity he could mus- ter, considering the fact that his current situation in- volved his legs slowly dissolving into what could only be described as a particularly ambitious custard . “I am Sir Reginald Featherstone, knighted and exceed- ingly well-mannered, and I...” “Yeah, yeah,” Gertrude interrupted, her lid tilting Ryan Laurent back in what might have been a gesture of polite in- difference, if one could believe that a teapot could be polite in the traditional sense. “Look, Reggie. You can keep waving your highfalutin title around like a flag if you like, but around here? Titles are worth exactly as much as a soggy biscuit. And not even a good sog- gy biscuit.” This was quite a blow to Sir Reginald’s sense of self-worth. His noble lineage, his knighthood, the years of impeccable manners and finely pressed trou- sers—all rendered meaningless in the sticky abyss of Quantum Soup. “You do realize ,” Sir Reginald said, his voice a touch more bitter than he intended, “that I have never, in all my life, been treated with such flagrant disrespect .” “Again, you’re in the Soup now,” Gertrude chirped. “Disrespect is the norm. Try disappearing for five years and see how it works out for you.” “Disappearing?” Sir Reginald asked, bewildered. “Where... where did you disappear to?” Gertrude’s spout made a sound that might have been a sigh, though Sir Reginald had yet to estab- lish whether teapots were capable of emotional out- bursts. “Oh, here and there. And back again. A few The Quantum Soup of Unlikely Companions places, really. You see, once you’re in this dimen- sion long enough, time gets... well, rather slippery.” She paused, considering this. “Not literally slippery, mind you—more like the way your thoughts feel just before you lose them. Right before they slither away into oblivion.” “Charming,” Sir Reginald muttered. “Absolutely charming.” “Tell you what, Reggie,” Gertrude continued, as though she hadn’t heard the sarcasm dripping from Sir Reginald’s voice. “How about I show you around? It’s not as bad as you think. Honestly, we’ll just avoid the boiling glitter section, and you’ll be fine.” “The boiling glitter ?” Sir Reginald asked, his voice rising in alarm. “I... what sort of... dreadful...” “Dreadful is an understatement. Don’t look direct- ly at it. Trust me.” And with that, Gertrude began to float away, her porcelain frame elegantly drifting through the soup with the air of someone who had long since decided that the absurd was the new normal. Sir Reginald, not to be outdone, attempted to follow, though his ef- forts resembled a particularly clumsy dance move, all Ryan Laurent flailing arms and feet that refused to cooperate with his mind’s stern instructions. “Hold on!” he called, trying to regain some sem- blance of composure. “I may be in this... dimension, but I am still Sir Reginald Featherstone! I...” And at that very moment, his foot became en- snared by a rather aggressive blob of quantum jelly, which took the opportunity to pull him down into its sticky embrace. “Blast!” Sir Reginald yelped, flailing as he tried to free himself. “This is most... unsporting!” “Oh, don’t mind the jelly,” Gertrude called back, her voice now almost too far away to be heard. “It’s just trying to get your attention. Welcome to the Soup, Reggie. Don’t forget to write a postcard!” And with that, Sir Reginald, the man who had once defeated a rogue steam-powered submarine in a duel of wits, was unceremoniously swallowed up by the Quantum Soup. A suitable beginning to what, he was beginning to suspect, was going to be a rather unu- sual journey. The Quantum Soup of Unlikely Companions II. Sir Reginald Featherstone was, at this very moment, in the process of determining if he could, in fact, fall in the Quantum Soup. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t. This wasn’t for lack of trying, mind you. After all, falling was something Sir Reginald had done many times before—off ladders, out of windows, into certain so- cial traps but here, it was quite a different experience. For one, the soup didn’t fall in the way Sir Reginald was accustomed to. It didn’t even flow in the way a soup ought to. It was more like being suspended in a constant state of suspended animation, with just enough wiggle room to make you feel as though you were having an argument with gravity and winning... though with a great deal of embarrassment. “Not quite what I expected from a quantum di- mension,” Sir Reginald muttered to himself as he waved his arms about, desperately trying to gain control over his dignity, if not his situation. “I can’t even, Good heavens, Gertrude, are you still there? ” Ryan Laurent “Of course I’m here,” came the ever-calm voice of Gertrude, the talking teapot. Her tone was light, al- most breezy, as if she were floating serenely in a gar- den of lavender, not a sentient soup where the laws of reason went on an extended holiday. “Honestly, Reggie, you’re in a dimension where logic takes a nap, and you’re still clinging to the belief that you can somehow fall .” “Well, it seemed worth a try,” Sir Reginald said, slightly out of breath, as his attempts to break free from the soup’s pull seemed to be getting him no- where. “I mean, if a fellow can’t rely on the basics of physics, what can he rely on?” “Tea,” Gertrude said without hesitation. “You can always rely on tea. It’s one of the few things in life that’s perfectly predictable.” Sir Reginald, who had already decided that his cur- rent predicament was far beyond the reach of any ra- tional thought, decided to let that small but perfectly accurate comment go. Tea was, indeed, a glorious thing, though it had nothing to do with his current problem. “Right, well,” he said, gathering himself with the sort of dignity that only a man who had been knight-