Note: Certain lines in In Dino Veritas seem to indicate The Professor came from Earth Prime, but a lie detector can be fooled, especially if you mis-speak out of pain, or blurt out something without thinking it all the way through (Saying "our world" instead of "worlds" for example). The "our world" could refer to The Professor and other people from his world, not specifically his companions, or he's assuming it's the same on both their worlds and didn't bother to mention plural worlds as a shorthand way of talking. Maybe he momentarily forgot their worlds were separate?

[0000]

Journal of Maximilian Arturo, P.H.D.

I awoke on the grass of the Mallory's front lawn, the dimensional portal already closed. My temples, jaw and eye ached from my parallel universe twin beating me unconscious.

What a right hook! We must have gone to similar boxing schools, possibly he choosing the better one.

A small blonde woman in a floral dress stooped next to me. Mrs. Mallory. "Mister, are you all right?"

I groaned in misery.

Quinn's mother made tsk sounds, grabbing me under the arm, helping me to my feet.

I brushed myself off, frowning at the woman's white picket fence with its notoriously squeaky gate. Quinn always used it as a Litmus test for determining whether we'd arrived at home. Not one hundred percent infallible, it seems. "Thank you, madam. Unfortunately, I do not think I will be all right for some time. You see, the man who just left with your son is not who he pretends to be...and I, I do not belong here."

"Nonsense. Quinn thinks the world of you. I can't pretend to understand what I just saw, but I saw two of you, and if there's two of Quinn, and the one that's my son thinks the world of one of you, well, him, I don't see why I can't trust you, I mean, why the other Quinn can't..." She rubbed her forehead, clearly frustrated. "What I mean to say is..."

I gave her a kindly smile, putting my hand on her shoulder. "Ma'am, I understand. Regardless of a few unpleasant incidents between me and myself, it heartens me to know that my friends are still in good company."

Mrs. Mallory nodded. "Exactly. If you don't mind, I have a few questions. Would you like to come in for a drink? Some tea, perhaps?"

I blew a raspberry. "Most kind of you. Tea shall be fine."

I'd been inside the Mallory home numerous times on different worlds. Mrs. Mallory always kept the place as neat as a pin, fine China on display in a glass cabinet, table always perfectly set, the air always filled with delicious smells, the only place in shabby disarray being her son's work space. She invariably preserved that area like a museum. I frequently saw her cooking, tidying up, or gardening. Unsure as to what she did for a living, it always seemed improper to ask.

I sat in her living room, drinking tea, staring at pictures of her dead husband. The fact that he died in this world had been a compelling reason for us to stay. The course of events seemed so similar to Earth Prime. "Your husband was a good man. Quinn always speaks highly of him."

"Thank you. Quinn took his death very hard. It's good that he has friends like you...Could you explain what the heck just happened out in my yard? I heard a little about it in your press conference on TV, but a lot of it I don't fathom."

I tried explaining the best I could, the Einstein-Rosen bridge and so forth, tried to keep it as simple as possible. A reference to A Wrinkle In Time aided the explanation somewhat.

"Mister Arturo, if I may be so bold...I know my son was working on something in our basement, and you came over on the day he...`Slid.' I'm thinking he at least deserves some credit for all of this."

I gave her an apologetic smile. "That can be easily rectified, madam. My double's hubris is truly regrettable, but I imagine I shall have plenty of time to make amends, being as I'm stranded in your world indefinitely."

She told me some stories about her husband and Quinn, and I regaled her with tales of our adventures, emphasizing Quinn's involvement (know your audience). It soon became late, and I excused myself.

The woman offered to drive me home when she saw me walking home, but I told her I had a lot on my mind, and needed time to think.

I strolled down the sidewalk. Lovely suburb. Again I wondered what she did for a living, or if she derived something from her husband's trust.

I had, by far, found the best possible world to Slide into. The closest I'd ever get to home. And what was home anyway? I lost my dear wife Christina, and my son didn't speak to me anymore. Quinn, Wade and Rembrandt, they felt like family to me...and now...

Well, I'd have to make do.

On a more positive note: A world with constitutional democracy, history and culture virtually identical to the one I found most comfortable.

I reached the crest of a hill overlooking San Francisco Bay. Although a beautiful view, I scowled with contempt at the Azure Gate Bridge. Such a source of contention! My friends would still be here, if only...

I sighed. "Selfish of me. They deserve to be returned to their true home."

I hailed a cab to take me to my residence.

Lucky thing the house just so happened to be one number off from my true street address.

The unlucky part: My double had taken the keys. I had to enter the same way Quinn did just hours before, by means of a broken window on the back door.

Untidy house. White walls, green trim. Books and papers lay strewn all about, as if my double had failed to take care of himself after the passing of his wife. Some of the framed landscapes, vases and things I recognized from my own home, items Christina picked out, and decor from England.

Autographed photos of Tom Baker and Patrick McGoohan, a TARDIS piggy bank. A framed painting of the Thames.

Identical floor plan to mine, but technically not my house. Although I sleep in strange places all the time, I did not have my companions to keep watch, so I only spent ten minutes in bed before getting up again.

I spent the night digging through the other Professor's personal effects. A fortunate thing, too, for as I began to nod off at two in the morning, someone pounded on the back door, and I had to present a young hoodlum an envelope of money I discovered. My double had, after all, hired him to steal Quinn's timer.

Other interesting finds:

Spare house keys and a key to the car in the garage. Very important.

Ghastly book collection. I think Miss Welles would have appreciated it: Modern poetry, several tomes on ghosts and spirituality, out of body experiences, psychic phenomenon, past lives, aliens, "Ghoulies, beasties, and things that go bump in the night." Rubbish. I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps my wife had somehow influenced the collection, her double here being...less than sensible. A collection of her letters hinted at that, though I confess I did derive some guilty pleasure at peeking at a few. Heh, parallel me.

Numerous prototypes of the Slide Timer my double had attempted to craft on his own, all faulty and burned out due to various technological defects.

Several patents taken out for everything from an oozing plasma version of bleach to a new type of tennis racket.

A whip and a fez in a box, possibly from a costume party.

Newspapers describing a drug that cures alcoholism, an apparition of the Virgin Mary in San Francisco, and a nationwide blackout that ended a few weeks before we arrived. Also, the popularity of the Toei Godzilla franchise had become bigger in the United States than it had been in Japan.

Fossils that shouldn't have existed in my region of the country, but marked with notes about how they'd been discovered in my back yard. Apparently not earth shattering enough finds to merit a scientific prize. I guess the fossils are rather commonplace?

In the kitchen I found comfort foods: Muffins and marmalade, Jammie Dodgers and Marmite, among other things. I think my double must have shipped them from elsewhere or gotten them from a world market.

Oh, and the nicotine! The house absolutely reeked of it, and alcohol. Though I admit to the occasional cigar, this man had whole cartons of cigarettes, plus a large quantity of liquor.

A phone call awakened me. It seemed I had meetings with this that and the other, and it would continue on all day. I drove to the university.

Slightly embarrassing, not knowing where to park, then discovering you have a parking spot with your name on it.

I still marveled at the size of my office. A huge desk, fancy new computer, rare book collection, conferencing telephone and a globe...smelled of cigarettes, though.

I enjoyed the idea of a secretary, but the woman immediately came at me with messages and appointments. I deflected her pestering with asking about the artist who made my statue, requesting a secondary one of Quinn to be commissioned to stand beside it, and if it's not too much trouble, Miss Welles and Mister Brown.

Slight challenge, not having any of them to pose for the sculptures, but she said she could send someone to Quinn's house for pictures, and if they couldn't locate the homes of Wade and Rembrandt, Rembrandt had been a music star (meaning pictures), and they'd doubtless taken pictures of Miss Welles during the production of her book.

The moment I had that task assigned, and taken a few calls with scientific heads, I received a call from Wade's agent. They wanted me to assist in the publication!

Slight editing, a little ghost writing, and a forward. They'd send me a copy of the manuscript. I said I'd be honored.

They offered me a percentage of the sales, but I would have none of it, suggesting it all go to Miss Welles' family.

"You asked to commission a statue in her honor," the agent said. "Consider it repayment."

I scoffed. "Don't worry about it. I merely thought my statue looked lonely. I only wish I had the person here instead of a statue."

"You and me both. I don't need to explain how this is holding everything up."

After this, I have few items of note to mention. I spent most days at my desk, going over information with various scientists. I also had someone repair the back door.

Reviewed Miss Welles' manuscript. Out of respect, (typos nonwithstanding) did not change a word as much as provide commentary and a note regarding her departure.

I had one advantage my predecessor did not: Quinn's knowledge about how to construct a working Timer.

Remember what I wrote about Quinn getting struck by lightning as he entered the Vortex?

...To make a long story short, he entered a `ghost dimension,' preventing him from communicating with any of us, or fixing the lightning damaged Timer on his own. I had to repair the Timer based on instructions Quinn gave through a psychic. With my own two hands.

So now I knew what worked, what could cause a short in the system, what parts the Timer required. Small consolation, though. I still didn't have our home coordinates, or the ones with which to locate my friends.

For the interest of science, though, I volunteered the particulars of the invention, offering to visit labs to oversee construction. Who knew? Perhaps one day we would find the proper coordinates for Earth Prime. I received large sums of money for my work, enough to afford the purchase of a Rolls Royce.

The sculptures I commissioned turned out like caricatures. Can't say my likeness looked any better. At least Quinn and my friends received the recognition they deserved.

Late one evening, after another long day of meeting with scientific officials and overseeing projects in laboratories, someone pounded on my front door.

For a moment I thought my double hired another ruffian and they expected payment, but I spotted a familiar face beyond the window.

Perhaps I should say `Familiar-ish.'

Mister Mallory, for example, wore glasses, and his face bore the markings of ritual scarification. The trenchcoat and Stetson also seemed like an odd fashion choice.

Miss Welles...An eyepatch covered her left eye, her hair mullet styled and spraypainted green. Leather jacket, leather pants, rivets, rivet cuffs on her wrists.

And...Mister Brown...Suit coat, tie, slacks, head completely bald. Half his face had become discolored, pale white.

It took me a full minute to compose myself properly. They rang the doorbell.

I opened up, forcing what I hoped to be a welcoming and jovial response. "Mister Mallory! Thank God you're finally home! I —"

Quinn punched me in the face.