Fantastic Metropolis

Cornelius embellished smoothly. “I understand it’s a question of scale and mass. Put simply, millions of subtly different versions of our reality are separated by size. Each version, though scarcely different in terms of the multiversal compass, is as invisible to us as if we were only seeing a single magnified pixel out of a complex computer image. We never see the whole. It is either too small or too large. We coexist in the same space through scale. Each alternative world has greater or lesser density and is invisible to the others.”

“Proliferating to infinity. Whales, fairies,” Engelbrecht paused, “dwarves.”

“Space curves,” mumbled ‘Prof.’ into his spoon. “Don’t it ?”

“Organically and often, as a branch curves.” Cornelius smiled. “Like ourselves, space consists of spheres, but isn’t itself spherical. Nature would be contradicted if it were. Certain entities somehow adjust their mass and move ‘intrabranally’. For instance, few creatures are as expert at varying their size as cats. Thus their mysterious ‘disappearances’. Happily the phenomenon hasn’t occurred with dogs.”

“Bigfoot, however…” ‘Prof.’ began.

“Cats,” said Cornelius hastily, “see space invisible to us, coming and going through the multiverse pretty much at will.”

“Bunkum,” hiccuped Float. “We were supposed to hear about that New York match our dwarf won by a whisker. In funny circumstances.”

Engelbrecht swelled. “A classy clock fighting for a consortium of Istanbul high rollers backing the Julian calendar. Twice my form and landing some tricky byzantine jabs. By Round 60 I’d borrowed all available time. I’m on my back looking like someone just unwrapped the Mummy.

“I’ve already squared the ref, of course. While shaving I’ve also dreamed up some insurance. Fortunately I have a prism hidden in one glove, a photon in the other. Resting on the count with my hands invisible I pull Harness’s old baffled quantum trick. On nine. Works like a charm. Time hesitates. My seconds Coleman and Benford produce the mirror, rescaling mass and size to shrink the heavy bastard enough so I can stagger up and deliver the dynamite. Gravity completes the job. Down he goes. Dead weight. Space-time readjusts. It’s all over. The Yankee Boomer’s stretched full size on the canvas, his gobsmacked hands chasing themselves round his face. Cheering punters. GMT keeps the title!”

“Convincing,” admitted Aspinall. “Except no way would Coleman and Benford help snatch a fix.”

Engelbrecht winked. “Prof., you can’t name a physicist in the multiverse who isn’t in my pocket. Now, padre, your cats?”

“Oh, another time I think,” said Cornelius contentedly filling his pipe.

Float was at last profoundly asleep.

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Maurice Richardson’s Exploits of Engelbrecht is republished by Savoy. Michael Moorcock’s Multiverse is published by DC Comics.