Brad’s Discount Wormhole Emporium
Brad from Sales (definitely human, absolutely not a collective consciousness of insurance claims that had achieved sentience after processing too many wormhole-related accidents) stood before his latest customer with a smile that suggested both opportunity and legal disclaimer.
“Welcome to Brad’s Discount Wormhole Emporium!” he announced, gesturing at the showroom full of shimmering portals. “Where ‘Mostly Stable’ is our motto and ‘Probably Won’t Kill You’ is our guarantee!”
The customer, Mrs. Henderson, clutched her purse nervously. “I just need to visit my grandson on Mars. The licensed portals are so expensive...”
“Ah, family reunions! Our specialty!” Brad produced a contract that somehow seemed to grow longer as he unrolled it. “Our Mars Express wormhole is 73% stable, which is well above industry standards!”
“Industry standards for discount wormholes,” muttered his assistant, Jennifer (definitely human, definitely not an AI that had taken the job to study human risk assessment behaviors).
“What’s the other 27%?” Mrs. Henderson asked.
“Oh, the usual. Slight temporal displacement—you might arrive Tuesday instead of Thursday. Minor spatial variance—could materialize in your grandson’s living room or possibly his neighbor’s. Negligible probability of existing in two places at once. Standard stuff.”
Brad led her past the various displays. The “Commuter Special” flickered between downtown and suburbs, occasionally showing glimpses of parallel dimensions where downtown was suburbs. The “Vacation Package” connected to seventeen different beaches simultaneously, though only three were on Earth.
“What about that one?” Mrs. Henderson pointed at a perfectly stable wormhole in the corner.
“Oh no, that’s just for show. Perfect stability. Both ends exactly where they should be. Completely reliable.” Brad shuddered. “Where’s the adventure in that? Besides, it costs as much as the licensed portals. We’re about value here!”
“And lawyers,” Jennifer added. “So many lawyers.”
Brad ignored her, guiding Mrs. Henderson to the Mars Express. The wormhole pulsed with an unsettling rhythm, like a digestive system considering its options.
“Now, before you go through, let’s review the waiver.” He produced a document that definitely violated several laws of physics just by existing. “Section 1: Brad’s Discount Wormholes is not responsible for temporal displacement, spatial variance, dimensional shifting, probability cascade, existence failure, or sudden onset existential dread.”
“Existence failure?”
“Very rare! Only happened twice this month. And one of those customers came back! Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“He’s 94% himself. The other 6% appears to be his evil twin from dimension 47-B. But they get along great! Share custody of the body and everything.”
Mrs. Henderson was looking less confident. Brad recognized the signs of a customer developing common sense—his greatest enemy in sales.
“Tell you what,” he said quickly. “First-time customer discount! Instead of our usual 73% stability, I’ll upgrade you to our premium 81% stable wormhole!”
“What makes it more stable?”
“We put a ‘Do Not Destabilize’ sign on it. You’d be amazed how much that helps. Wormholes are very suggestible.”
Jennifer leaned in. “We also sacrifice a rubber duck to the probability gods every morning.”
“Ancient tradition!” Brad confirmed. “The ducks are ethically sourced. Free-range. Organic. Never been through a wormhole themselves, which is important for the ritual.”
Mrs. Henderson looked between them. “This seems unnecessarily complicated. Maybe I should just take a regular ship.”
“A ship? To Mars? Do you know how long that takes? Days! Possibly weeks! Definitely months if you count the time dilation!” Brad was in full sales mode now. “With our wormhole, you’ll be there in seconds! Or minutes. Possibly hours. Almost certainly the same day! Unless temporal displacement kicks in, but that’s covered in section 47 of the waiver.”
“I haven’t signed anything yet.”
“Pre-emptive waiver. Covers you for considering our services. Very thorough.”
Just then, a customer emerged from the “Budget Europa Express” wormhole. Most of him, anyway. His left arm appeared to be stuck in next Thursday.
“Bit of a snag,” the customer said cheerfully. “But the views of Jupiter were spectacular! Both of them!”
“Both?” Mrs. Henderson asked weakly.
“Oh yes, the wormhole split briefly. I saw Jupiter from Europa and Saturn from Titan simultaneously. Bit confusing, but my brain sorted it out. Mostly. I can only see in two dimensions now, but that’s probably temporary.”
“Satisfied customer!” Brad beamed. “Mr. Peterson, how would you rate your experience?”
“Five stars! Would be six, but I can’t count that high anymore. Something about number perception being stuck in Thursday with my arm.”
Mrs. Henderson edged toward the door. “I think I’ll take the licensed portal after all.”
“Wait!” Brad called after her. “We’re running a special! Sign up for our frequent flyer program and your tenth existential crisis is free!”
But she was gone, taking her sensible risk assessment with her.
Jennifer shook her head. “You know, we’d get more customers if you were less honest about the risks.”
“Probably,” Brad admitted. “But then we’d get sued by people who expected discount wormholes to work like premium ones. This way, everyone knows what they’re getting into. Or not getting into. Or getting partially into while existing in three states simultaneously.”
“Bad for business though.”
“Business is relative. Like time. And space. And whether this showroom technically exists in this dimension.” Brad straightened his tie, which was definitely a tie and not a probability loop twisted into a Windsor knot. “Besides, someone has to serve the budget market. Poor people deserve existential crises too!”
The Mars Express wormhole burped. Somewhere in the distance, a rubber duck quacked ominously.
“Another day at Brad’s Discount Wormhole Emporium,” Jennifer sighed. “Where physics is negotiable and so are our prices!”
“That’s the spirit!” Brad said cheerfully. “Now help me figure out why the bathroom wormhole connected to the Cretaceous period. The insurance claims from dinosaur attacks are getting expensive.”
Just another day in the discount spacetime business. Where “You get what you pay for” was both a warning and a promise.
And Brad wouldn’t have it any other way.
Probably.
All stories in the TimeShare Properties™ collection explore life in a universe where wormholes are common, complicated, and occasionally discount. TimeShare Properties™: Travel to 1996 the Old-Fashioned Way—Through Time, Not Space!