The Eolas Anatolijusearliest post first | most recent post first
The cargo was about my height, weighed as much as me, had the same glasses as myself, and the same tartan jacket I wore. To put it simply, I was delivering an exact replica of myself.
Well, replica is the wrong word. Clone doesn’t work, either. This man was me, but not. My cargo, as he technically is, was myself from a world like our own, but a hop and a skip to the left. To put it simply, he was me from another multiverse entirely.
I was contacted by Dr. J, which is what we call him to avoid confusion, indirectly through a hastily written message on the back of a receipt stuffed into an empty soda bottle of a brand nobody recognized. The bottle was found tied to a helium balloon by a
crewmate, who delivered it to me hastily upon shooting it down. How it got here in our universe, we’ve yet to discover.
It’s lucky I can read my handwriting, because nobody else could. Because of that, a typed transcript is included below.
It has come to my knowledge, through a series of colleagues, that you have come
to specialize in delivering what others cannot, to where others can’t go. It would
just so happen that what I need is something somewhere others can’t go, there-
fore cannot deliver. This is where you come in. There will be pay. I trust you will
meet me at the time, place, and coordinates listed on the back of this note.
There will be one chance and one chance only for us to meet, so you MUST BE
THERE. I promise, since this is of interest to me, it must be of much interest to
I really should have realized sooner. The handwriting, the initials, the fact that I’ve never heard anyone else use the word “sinceriality.” However, the opportunity to meet your other dimensional self is so scarce, it didn’t even cross my mind until I met the man.
Sure enough, though, I made it to the rendezvous point and he was standing there. If it weren’t for the fact our clothes were near identical,I may have not recognized him as myself. He looked worried as he asked if I’d accept his job or not. I don’t know how I couldn’t. She’s not a passenger ship, the E.A, but it’s a real difficult thing to look yourself in the eye and say no. I don’t recall ever reading a study on such a phenomenon, but it should really be considered.
As we boarded The Eolas, he promised me he’d explain himself more thoroughly. I planned to record it on the enhanced phonograph I’ve been working on, so I could transcribe it on the ship’s log more easily. He said he understood I must be confused, but the moment he saw the mattress we put in the old storage room, he slept as if under a spell. However he got here, it exhausted him.
Currently we stay idle on the dock we met at, as he never did get around to telling us where to go. The idea of picking up other cargo while we’re here is being considered, but I have a feeling that this journey will need the focus of both myself, and my variation.
Doctor Jonas Opal
Eolas Anatolijus Logs