All Possible Possibilities by Scott C. Carr, Editor Dedicated to the Memory of Douglas Adams Imagine that somewhere a boy of not more than twenty years, and not less than eighteen, after living the better part of his life so far practicing good habits of learning--which indelibly are the reason that he is so fruitful with knowledge at such a tender age-should suddenly find himself alone in his room, and thinking! That this young man should be contemplating matters of deep philosophy and science (or rather the philosophy of science, which is not quite the same thing as the science of philosophy) is not unusual and is evidenced, in fact, even supported, (even to be expected) an effect of the books that cramp the wooden boards that shelve the walls of his room. They are folded and frayed with use. They are science books, they are philosophy books. Felix is a well read young man. There is an entire wall devoted to quantum mechanics. There is an entire shelf analyzing Kafka. The paradox, thinks Felix, is that, in an infinite universe, there should be an infinite amount of things. Naturally. And if the universe is truly without end, and there are an infinite amount of things, why then--there must also be an infinite amount of possibilities. It goes without saying. So far so good. And so naturally, it follows that, in an infinite universe, everything imaginable must exist somewhere. And therefore, anything that can possibly be imagined must exist in some form someplace in the universe. Was it not Plato who said that somewhere exists every object, in it's most perfect form? Well, mused Felix, One man's perfect chair is another man's electric chair, but that's besides the point. Perfect is a matter of perspective. But in an infinite universe, shouldn't there be room enough for everyone's perspective? Still, the theory dictates that everything must exist somewhere. Now here's the problem, reasons Felix, If everything imaginable exists somewhere in the universe, then what about (just for example) a planet? Or a rock, or a star (or a marshmallow, or a basketball, or a porpoise)--something so large, that it could be seen from virtually anywhere in the universe? Well, why can't I see it? ...okay, if the universe is really without end, then it might be just far enough away from Earth as to be rendered undetectable. Arguable. But here's where the real paradox kicks in. Imagine a race of beings-beings who are tiny and green and, having existed for billions, nay trillions, of years, have inhabited virtually every habitable planet in the universe, including Earth? Felix looks around. Specifically. Earth? Nothing.I imagined it, so why isn't it so?" Felix rubs his chin and thinks. What about a fleet of alien ships that will arrive at Earth in, say... five seconds? He looks at his watch, and then walks over to his window. Nothing. That's the problem, he thinks, certain possibilities just don't work well together. If the universe really was infinite, then we would be living in a chaos of infinite paradoxes and possibilities. It's like the unstoppable force and the immovable object. Sort of. So, either the universe is finite, or... There is more than one universe. Several. An infinity of universes. One for every possibility. Or, at least, one for every paradox. An infinity of universes in which all possible possibilities are allowed to play out. Not a new concept, in fact Felix had been discussing this very topic earlier, with a few of his more open-minded friends. They had pretty much concluded that this was the answer. The only answer. The only possible answer. Only, something didn't sit quite right, with Felix. Something nagged, just in the back of his mind, just out of reach. Somewhere, thinks Felix, is an alternate universe. And in this an alternate universe, an alien fleet did just reach Earth. Just as, somewhere else, in another universe, an alien fleet is just about to reach Earth. And so on, etceteras. Somewhere is a universe entirely comprised of basketballs, and somewhere else, is one of... green Jell-O. There has to be. And so on, and so on, ad infinitum. But something still nagged at the back of Felix's mind. It's a wonder that our universe is such a rational, sensible place, he thinks. Then he thinks of a television commercial he saw the night before, one involving a black-eyed, talking dog guarding a cooler of fraternity-house beer, somewhere along the exotic shores of Barbados. Scratch that. Maybe, he thinks, just maybe, everything imaginable exists somewhere on television. But he knows that isn't it But what if... He pauses, thinking, and letting his mind wander. What if... what if everything does exist in it's own alternate universe... then what if... there must exist... there would have to exist... What if, in some alternate universe... A universe entirely dominated by giant yellow killing machines, what if those machines have just discovered a way to breach the dimensional barrier, and are on the verge of crossing over to... to our universe... and having breached the dimensional paradox barrier, they're right now in the process of invading Earth? Earth! In an infinite multiverse of multi-infinite possibilities, there would be no refuting this possibility. But then we're back to the same old problem, thinks Felix. If it has to be, then why isn't is so? Then he stops thinking, as he hears a rumbling noise outside. Felix parts the curtain of his window and stares in open mouthed awe at the tremendous yellow killing machines that are beginning to take apart his neighborhood. They are the size of bulky steamrollers and are equipped with a plethora of extensions making for a more expeditious smashing through, tearing apart, and disintegration of, anything that standing in their way. There are about a dozen of them that Felix can see. But this has little time to register in Felix's fragile psyche, as he is once again interrupted. This time by the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing, behind him. Felix whirls around to discover that a man, dressed in what could only be described as an astro-suit, has just materialized in his bedroom. The term man is merely an approximation based upon the obvious presence of two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head. Any specific features are hidden by the outrageous uniform that covers him, clinging to every inch of "his" body. He is pointing what appears to be a weapon at Felix. The word blaster, comes briefly to mind. "You think too much," says the stranger. Then there is a tremendous hissing sound, and a beam is loosed from the weapon, defining a narrow, precise line (a ray actually, or a line segment, in the truest technical sense) from the point of the weapon, to the side Felix's head, which proceeds to explode all over the walls and ceiling of his room. His body slumps to the floor. The intruder presses a button on what appears to be his belt buckle. Felix's body, and all of the tiny pieces of his skull and brain matter, slowly begin to disappear. To fade from existence. In one fluid motion, the intruder then steps over to the window and looks out. Never breaking stride, he steps through the wall of Felix's house, and majestically glides through the air, and closer to the action. Then, leveling his weapon, he begins blasting the yellow killing machines to kingdom come. Each explodes with one hit, and its pieces, like the pieces of Felix, fade from existence. The intruder never misses. When all of the yellow machines have been eliminated, the stranger again presses the button on his buckle, and all that remains of the afternoon's destruction disappears. The intruder then begins to rotate in a 360 degree circle, in the air, with a careful look of inspection, ever so slow. And finally, satisfied, he again presses the button at his midriff one last time, and then he too is gone. The End. "Wolf Peterson is the Associate Editor of Apocalypse Fiction Magazine. All work and no play makes Wolf a dull boy..."

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