Bart opened his door in a flash.
"Jumpin' Bart Flash," I quipped, recalling a famous song from yesterweek.
"Huh?" Bart was his usual, preoccupied self. He rushed about his apartment as I stepped into it. "What brings you by, Arnie?"
"Heading over to Good Food," I answered, as if it even needed to be said, "Wanna come with?"
Bart shook his head hurriedly. "Though a fish burger would taste really good right now, I can't. I've got an appointment.
I nodded, waiting for the follow-up. With none forthcoming, I asked. "With whom?"
Bart sped into the bathroom, coming out with a large garbage bag-encased thing. "Well, eventually, with my committee, but first, with John."
"What's that in there?" I pushed my chin toward his bag, "You're latest invention?"
"None other," he replied, grabbing at a hammer. "Contained in here is a fully functioning miniature model of the quasiporter."
I lay down on his purple beanbag, chewing rawhide. It's a nasty habit, but it makes me feel so good. "Instantaneous teleportation?" I predicted.
Bart nodded. "Since the Chronoviz didn't net me my master's degree, I figured I'd try out a more traditional research project."
"So you're taking it over to John's."
"Yep. He said he'd volunteer to be the first subject of the quasiporter."
I bobbed my head, listening carefully. "To rephrase," I finally said, "You have a brand-new, earth-shattering invented device, one that you now have to present to your professors to get out of college. You have a very important thing in that plastic bag, not only for you, but perhaps for the world as well."
He thought it over for a moment. "About the size of it," he said proudly, clearly pleased with his own significance.
"And you're taking it over to John's."
"Mm-hm," Bart nodded.
"All right," I said, getting up, "Your funeral."
I walked toward the door, prepared to sadly big my friend adieu, when he came up on me briskly, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, "What?"
I slowly glared at his hand, and he politely removed it.
"What what?" I asked.
"What do you mean, my funeral?" he didn't seem all that worried, but genuinely curious. Good trait for a scientist to have.
I shook my head, "Leaving aside my general belief that John's a pariah we could all do without --"
"He's not so bad --"
"Save it. Our apartments have been debugged for weeks now. Aside from that, and the fact that he generally caused havoc in any environment he enters, have you noticed the especial damage that John's capable of doing to your inventions?"
"Come on..." Bart said, gliding to the kitchen space, "He hasn't done too much harm, actually."
"Actually, he's done a lot of harm. I wonder what the world would be like today if your Actualizer prototype hadn't been destroyed in high school."
"It was an accident. Your accident. You broke it, after all."
"All because of a plot of John's. I'd like to show you the specifics of what happened that day, hell I wish I could. But then, there's no such device that could show us any event of the past, is there? Nope, we don't all have a Chronoviz, do we? Come to think of it, neither do you."
"Not to mince hairs," Bart said, checking his watch, "But you smashed the Chronoviz, too."
"Again over a John-trick. I'd never have smacked you, if John hadn't made you disguise yourself as him while I was on a murderous rampage. I've already apologized for that, anyway."
"In any case," Bart continued, "I'm bringing it to John because he's expressed any interest, and he's helping me with it, too. Not only does he seem to care about my research," he raised an eyebrow my way, "But he's totally willing to have his electrons transported to the other site."
"In a different plastic bag...?" I mused.
"The same plastic bag, in fact," Bart was getting excited. "And just because we all like to make for of John is no reason to get vitally superstitious about this nonsense."
"Why are you holding a hammer?" I asked.
"It's John's. I'm returning it to him."
I nodded. I thought of the directions I could take this. I could mention falling directly into Fate's plan, or refusing to see patterns through experience, or even a tried and true maxim like 'Stay away from John.' I thought of all the possibilities, and disregarded them. I was still next to the door, and violently bored with this conversation.
"Whatever, Bart," I said, "I'm going over to the Good Food Diner, if, at any time today, for whatever reason, you need someone to help pick up the pieces."
"Whatever," Bart replied, picking up a small package that said TNT, "I gotta go."
"That John's, too?" I asked as we walked to the elevator. He didn't respond. I pushed the button, because his hands were full of stuff. We got off at the lobby and went our separate ways.
I'd been spending more time at Good Food because of Polly. She wasn't really my girlfriend, but not for wont of trying.
"So come on," she said, sitting on my lap, "When will you meet my parents?"
I shrugged mysteriously, my double-sized glass of milk before us on the table. "Not so sure that's a good idea, babe..."
The place was next to empty. That's one of the nice things about a dive like Good Food as your base of operations. There's no one to come around to disturb you.
Except those who know you.
Bart almost broke the glass door as he shoved it open. He trudged in slowly, head down, his garbage bag trailing behind him. The bag tinkled, and crinkled, and sounded not at all like a revolutionary working appliance and very much like a bunch of plastic and metal pieces. Maybe some rubber, too.
Polly slid off my lap, knocking my milk over. She sat beside me as I checked my watch: it had been twenty minutes since I'd seen Bart. I muttered to Polly as Bart slowly approached. "Don't worry about that mess. Get a couple of Kringle shakes over here -- make 'em extra thick."
She rushed off as Bart collapsed across from me. He had a resigned, destroyed light in his eyes. Well, his left one.
"Bart," I said.
"Shut up," he replied, "Just shut up."
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