Other Worlds Than These

“Follow me.”

I tagged along behind her as she led the way back toward the other end of the house.

“Okay,” she said, as we went, “you know that there are different worlds, and that it’s possible to open portals between them. The first thing you have to understand is that not all worlds are created equal. Some are more real than others.”

I chimed in, “But who’s to say what’s real and what isn’t?”

“Oh,” she said. “We use this.” She reached into the knapsack and pulled out a device that looked like a black-and-purple-striped candy cane. “It’s called an O-meter. Each world, and everything native to it, has a specific Ontological Factor, or OF, which is what the machine measures. Here, I’ll show you.”

She pointed the device at me, and sections of it lit up in sequence until about half its length was glowing.

“See?” she said. “You’re a five.”

“Oh,” I said. “Is that good?”

“No,” she said.

“Oh.”

“But hey, it could be worse. Like those degenerates you ran into earlier. Twos. Total figments. Not real enough to do any damage even to you.”

So that’s why I’d survived the attack of the fish-men, I thought. That made sense. Sort of.

“What number are you?” I asked.

“Ten,” she said. “Obviously.”

After a moment, I added, “At first I thought you were a ghost.”

“Kid, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“But you walked right through a wall, so—”

“Yeah, but it was just a five wall.”

I frowned. We were silent for a while.

She eyed me. “What’s the matter? You seem nonplussed.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “I don’t like this. Some of the greatest minds in history have grappled with the question of what’s real and what isn’t, and how do we know, and it’s something that’s bothered me for a long time too. And then to have someone come along and say it’s just a number that you can measure on a machine—”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” she said. “Kid, forget that crap. We’ve got bigger problems. Much bigger.”

“What do you mean?”

We were in the east wing of the house now. We entered a large library—hardwood floors, overstuffed chairs, a fireplace. And of course, built into the far wall was another of those small crooked doors, this one bright purple.

Asha nodded at it. “That’s the one that killed him.”

“Who?” I said.

“Your great uncle. What’s his name? Cornelius? Creating a portal is hard on anyone, let alone a five. He must’ve been pretty desperate to get out of this craphole world. Can’t say I blame him.”

I stared at the purple door. Unlike the other two, it wasn’t locked. “He did hate it here,” I said.

“Unfortunately for him,” Asha went on, “his first two attempts led to cul-de-sac worlds, and I guess that wasn’t good enough for him. This one here is different. It leads to a world that’s connected to half a dozen others. You can get anywhere from here.”

“So what’s the problem?” I said.

“The problem,” she said pointedly, “is Abraxas.”

“What’s Abraxas?”

“Not what—who. Abraxas is a type of being we call a ‘demon’—someone who can soak up the reality of other people and absorb it into himself. That’s illegal, of course, and most demons refrain from using their ability. But every once in a while you get a bad one, and Abraxas is one of the worst.”

“I see,” I said. “He’s like the embodiment of Nietzsche’s will to power.” She stared at me levelly for a moment, then continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I caught up with him a few days ago, here, on this world. I’m a sort of…bounty hunter, you might say. Unfortunately Abraxas is one sneaky bastard. He gave me the slip, and made off with a bunch of my gear to boot, including my skeleton key. Without it, I can’t open portals. I also used up all my bullets firing at him as he fled.”

She sighed. “So here I am. These portals that your great uncle created are the only ones on this world that are traversable at the moment, and two of them, as I said, are dead ends.” She glanced over her shoulder at the purple door. “Abraxas has to get through this one, and if he does—if he gets away—then we can’t restore the stolen reality to the dozens of worlds, including yours, that he’s pillaged, which leaves all of you at greater risk of cross- world invasion.”

I stood in stunned silence.

“And,” she added grimly, “if someone doesn’t lock him up soon, one of these days he’ll have absorbed enough reality to put him beyond contention even by us tens, and then there’ll be no stopping him, ever. So that’s Abraxas. And he could be showing up here at any minute, and I’ll have to fight him. Now”—she held up her massive hands—“these hands are formidable things, but nevertheless, given the circumstances, I really wouldn’t mind having a weapon, you know what I mean? You getting the picture?”

“Yes,” I said meekly.

“This world is a five,” she said, “so nothing around here is real enough to harm him at all. But behind the orange door is a world that’s an eight. Not the best, but a weapon from there should be enough to knock him for a loop, I’d say. I can’t go myself, because I have to stay and guard this door. That’s where you come in.”

She looked me in the eye and said, “So that’s the story. Now, Steve, I’m asking you, will you help me? Please?”

My mind was made up. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

“Terrific,” Asha exclaimed. “Finally. All right, let’s get you prepped for a little cross-world travel. First of all”—she reached into her knapsack, produced a bottle of pills and a canteen, and handed them to me—“take some of these. Actually, better take them all.”

I opened the bottle and studied the pills, which were small and dark and soft, like caviar. I tossed them in my mouth, took a gulp from the canteen, and swallowed. “What are they?”

“Brain worms,” she said.

I froze.

She caught my expression, and added quickly, “Oh, but not bad brain worms. Good brain worms. They know most of the languages that are spoken across the worlds, and pretty soon you will too.”

“Oh,” I said, uncertainly.

She passed me the knapsack. “Take this too. It’s got pretty much everything a cross-world traveler might need. There’s silver in the side pocket.”

“Silver?” I said.

“Right. It makes a good universal currency. It gets traded around quite a lot, actually, so any silver you come across has a fair chance of having a higher OF than ambient materials. Doesn’t this world have any legends about invincible monsters that can only be harmed by silver?”

“Yeah,” I said.

She nodded. “Most worlds do. Now you know why.” She frowned. “Unfortunately, I have yet to come across anything on this piece of crap world with a high OF.”

I was getting a little irked by her attitude. I mean, I had mixed feelings about this world myself, but it was my home. On the other hand, maybe the place she came from really was a whole lot better. Certainly what little I’d seen of a world with an OF of two tended to bear out her prejudices. That reminded me…

“What if I get attacked again?” I said.

She blanched. “Yeah, that’s an issue, for sure. Be careful with yourself. They’re eights and you’re a five, so