Where the Lost Things Are by Rudy Rucker Page B

he didn’t show up for work one day. I had to cover his classes for a couple of weeks until they found a new physics teacher. A jerk. Didn’t want to work on alsoverse theory with me. So I moved onto other things. But I’d learned enough from Jack to know where the lost things go. They drop into the alsoverse.”
    â€œSo it’s not my fault when I can’t find stuff,” I said. “I like that.”
    â€œMe too.” Jack rolled another cigarette. It was a beautiful evening, the old highway like a river of stars. “Although it is a problem to be losing my bluegene pill every night. It’s not like losing a contact lens or a wedding ring, something unessential.”
    â€œScents?” said a familiar voice behind us. “Sensual essences? Karing Kate carries them all.”
    It was Darly, tapping her sample case. Amara was with her. They were sharing a popsicle. You got a pint of bourbon and seven popsicles in your weekly food pack. Jack and I had eaten our popsicles some days ago, or lost them, or let them melt. But Amara knew how to ration stuff.
    Kentucky gentlemen that we were, Jack and I offered up our rockers and flopped into a pair of metal lawn chairs that I’d bagged from one of the burnt-out condos that pocked the London Earl estates.
    â€œJack dropped his bluegene pill on the floor and now it’s gone,” I told Darly. “That makes two nights in a row. Or four.”
    â€œGone, gone, gone,” she said sympathetically. “No point in looking.”
    â€œStuff just disappears,” agreed Amara. Hard to believe she’d been a singer. By now she had a thin, papery voice. “I know about that from when I toured with Waddy Peytona. Did you ever wonder why he talked so much between songs?”
    â€œTell us, honey,” said Jack, rolling a pair of cigarettes for the women. It was like we were high-schoolers again. Being bad in the dark.
    â€œWaddy talked so much because he kept dropping his guitar picks,” said Amara. “He would have me on hands and knees looking for them while he ran his mouth. Never ever found one of course. I always had extras in my pocket so I could slip him one. But I took my time. I liked hearing his riffs. He was at his best when he had no idea what he was talking about.”
    â€œShould have been a professor,” I said.
    Jack pretended not to hear. His voice took on a Socratic tone. “Did you ever wonder where lost things go?”
    â€œWhen my grandmother lost something, she’d say that it flew up to the Moon,” Darly said. “I never believed that, though.”
    â€œThings have to go somewhere,” said Amara thoughtfully.
    â€œExactly,” said Jack. He held up his finger, in full philosopher mode. “I was just explaining it to Bart here. Lost items pass through to an alsoverse, a parallel world that’s next to our own.”
    â€œWow,” said Amara, polishing off her popsicle. “Don’t you love listening to Jack?”
    â€œNot particularly,” said Darly. “He’s a scientist. Wonder bunnies, I call them.”
    â€œI’ll take that as a compliment,” said Jack, expertly licking and sealing another tiny cigarette.
    â€œIf you know where all this stuff is, let’s go get us some,” said Amara. “I’ll bet that old alsoworld is full of fucking flatpicks. Plus, I could use an adventure. This London Earl life is dragging my ass.”
    â€œYou could afford to fill out a bit,” said Darly. “Karing Kate has a product that…” Amara glared at her. Darly changed her tack. “I’m tired of being cooped up, too. Plus, I’m missing an earring. A nice dangly one with little sticks of gold.”
    â€œI’m missing my new hearing aid,” I said. “Had the little bastard for about ten minutes, and then it snuck off. And I don’t qualify for a replacement for another